Dylus loved animals. Most of them, to his misfortune, did not like him back. Fon watched as the mercenary and his floating companion struggled long and hard to appeal to the scaly mules that the hunters used to track the jungles with. As they explained to them how to approach the beasts, the mule busied itself with letting out annoyed, sometimes outright panicked sounds in their presence. Benji and Gurha, who had both calmed their animals down and saddled themselves comfortably, watched their captain fall another time as the mule shoved him to the side.
“Captain! I don’t think he’s fond of you, maybe you wanna switch out your ride with us? Or maybe let your partner try to serenade it?”
“Nah, I got this.”
Wally helped him up, then spoke with genuine worry, “Are you sure, buddy?”
Dylus instead repeated himself. They all watched as the scaly mule went through the same motions, as did the captain himself. It seemed as if someone would go down again when the scaly mule suddenly stopped being skittish and obeyed Dylus’ whims.
“Trust the skull.”
The villagers wondered if it had something to do with a small flash of green from his eyes. The mercenaries knew it did have to do with his powers. Wally only shook his head and worried about his best buddy getting caught in the act, especially when the people of An Vrong were murderously paranoid about evil sorcerers. For now, they seemed to be more focused on the expedition. Fon spoke tersely, “All good, Slayer?”
“Yup, just getting used to the saddle,” Dylus noted, shifting his bum and slotting his feet into the stirrups, “this is some very nice leather. Got a nice grip on it, doesn’t feel like you’re sitting on spikes, and plenty of room for the kids to breathe in.”
“Yarma specials. A couple of friends there were damn fine leather makers. Don’t worry about them too much, they managed to pack up and find safer places up North.”
He hummed, thinking of a question to lighten the mood as they left the safety of the stables. The smell of mule dung and old wood slowly left his nose, replaced by the fresh scent of untouched greenery. The jungle was not too far ahead; the exit sign visible in the distance. Finding little to no inspiration to jostle his mind, Dylus looked around.
This part of An Vrong was still reasonably populated, mostly by farmers and villagers looking for a safe commune for their animals. Some of them gathered around fences and junctions to look upon the six riders, regarding the newest additions with some twinkle in their eyes. The mercenaries gave them all waves, while Wally twisted his face into strange proportions in front of some curious kids. Their screams were countered by him being poked and slapped by both the children and their parents. He floated back to Dylus, feeling bruised.
“Man, the people in this world are weird, chum. It’s like I don’t even surprise them.”
“You have foggy memories,” Dylus knocked the side of Wally’s head with a light tap. Something rattled inside of it, most likely his brain. It was full of surprises, yet so little on smarts, “you live in a place like this, you’ll see it all before you even reach ten.”
“The surprise is what’s fun about first impressions, man. It’s like my auntie Vella. She loved shocking kids ith-”
“Nope, stop, not right here, not right now,” Dylus said, “also, that already sounds like a bad time to me.”
“What? It’s not what you’re thinking of, you idiot.”
“Even if it is, you could have worded it so much better.”
“How?!”
The both of them bickered, stuck in their little argument all the way to the exit. Fon listened, snickered here and there, found herself a little bit disgusted with how the conversation went, then finally called him to the front. The captain sheepishly acknowledged her and came over.
“I know you ain’t got much time on Sardine, but she’s a reliable one just like the rest of them. Stick with us while we bring you to a few of our usual game trails, do nothing funny, and we’ll be right as rain. Got it, Slayer?”
“Yup, that’s clear with me,” Dylus turned around and called the other two out, “what about you guys?”
Benji shouted for them both, “Yeah, we know the drill, boss!”
He smiled, turning back to Fon, “They should be fine out there. What’d you hope to bring back today?”
“A couple of sprite-runners,” explained Fon, “two-legged critters as tall as the mules, can’t miss their plumage even in the undergrowth. Their meat will keep us stocked for a little longer.”
“Huh. Don’t suppose I should ask about the game trails themselves.”
“Most of them are untouched. Wildlife here don’t think too much of the war, especially with what usually goes on. Rengleb’s the one they fear and she’s taken some of those trails for herself.”
“Anything we need to keep our eyes open for if we’re near it?”
“You’ll be able to tell once we get near. Even the blind can sense the poison she leaks.”
“Nasty.”
Dylus turned to Wally, who seemed a little lost knowing his partner would leave again, “You play nice with everyone, okay? Take care of them. I know you will.”
“You got it.”
With that, the hunters left, spiraling dust where they once stood. The timeframe for the hunt was tight. Only four hours, five at the very max, including tracking and travelling. Once nightfall was on the horizon, all of them had to be back here to prepare for any possible attacks. Dylus had been told that there would be some additional tasks on-hand, as the spread of thamorja had made a growing part of this region near-inhospitable. He hadn’t yet seen the victims of such corruption, but the words he heard about their conditions were utterly haunting.
As Fon put it, a quick death was the best outcome. Anything else is cruel mercy.
Curiously, nothing was said of Lon’s forces. Even when he tried to pursue the subject near one of the trails, Fon simply gestured for him to stay quiet. He had a sinking suspicion that his paranoia wasn’t a matter of coincidence in that matter. It made him think; how closely was Lon watching them all, and how many were in his cabal? Despite the magic and the training and their advanced weaponry, they were only human. How could they keep track of everything in these jungles? Was that even possible?
For the next hour, the question kept him on edge. Every section of the jungle- even the very earth they trod on- felt like an ambush zone. They were wide open for the kill. It was just a matter of whether the killers were up and about in the first place.
After a while, the hunting group stopped. Directly in front of them was one of the corrupted game trails, a long, uneven heath of warped earth. The most obvious sign of the corruption wasn't the strange colours in front of them, the strong smell of rotting carcasses, or even the desiccated foliage. No, it was the heavy, translucent mist that wobbled and shimmered in the air, giving the heath a nightmarish hue that was instantly familiar to Dylus and company. Fon had raised her hand high, gesturing towards Sakda and his mule. Without a word, he quickly reached into one of his many pouches and pulled out a strange set of tools. As she got off her ride and took the tools, Dylus and the mercenaries pulled back. One of them conferred with him with a hushed voice.
“What’s the lady doing?”
“Just keep looking.”
“You don’t know, boss?”
“Probably has to do with the corruption ahead. Betting it cleans it up.”
“Ten quids?”
Dylus nodded, “Ten quids.”
That day, Dylus won ten quids. One of Fon’s tools rattled, picking up on the tharmorja corruption. With the first part done, her voice called out to Sakda for some kind of ‘battery’ as she combined a prod-like device with the first. The glow at their tips reminded the captain of fireflies; their hauntingly beautiful flickering within the deep dark, looking for one last dance with the right woman before the night claimed them.
A loud crackle filled the air. The leaves near Dylus shook and rustled. A rush of wind blew through the thamorja-corrupted territory, parting the translucent mist and restoring the area’s colours. Fon seemed pleased for a moment as a battery flew out of the prod, only to see that the mist returned in much thicker quantities to where it once was. Worse still, it started approaching them, spooking the scaly mules and sending them galloping somewhere safer.
“Move. Move!”
Without another word, the six hunters backed up- the word was an understatement, they ran- as far as they could. With some distance between them and the trail, they watched as the mist came to a gentle stop. The hunters traded looks of deadly concern with each other, while the mercenaries gathered around the mist like curious apes. Dylus knew better than to even touch the mist, thinking back to his previous experiences with Warp radiation. For Benji, however, his mind thought it would be best to see the effects first hand.
Fon did not realise what was going on, too busy discussing with Sakda and Jek, until someone shouted in surprise. When she looked, the tone of her voice immediately ascended into a sharp warning, “What the hell are you doing?”
Benji turned and looked at her. He looked completely unperturbed by her outburst, “Just a lil’ experiment, miss, see how this ‘ta-moi-jah’ stuff works.”
He held up a plucked leaf by the petiole. What was left of it, that is. The burning smell was an incredible experience for Benji and Gurha in the worst way possible.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Get away from the damn mist, you fucking morons. You’re lucky it didn’t decide to eat your arm.”
“Eat my arm?” Benji said, “Eat my arm, she says. Man, Gurha, this is some crazy shit.”
“Well, it’s crazy, man-eating shit. Don’t do that again, Private.” Dylus said, standing up, “Miss Fon, are these poisoned trails usually like this?”
“No,” Fon said, clearly not happy with what had happened, “the poison usually gets cleared permanently when we hit it with these cleansers. Gifts from up North.”
“The resistance?”
“Yup. They had plenty of run-ins with the Khayavitis. Fascists are one thing, sorcerers are an entirely different ballgame. They made these to clear out corruption. Think of it as anti-tharmorja. Doesn’t only cleanse, but it makes the area inhospitable for sorcery. For a while, anyway”
“Fascinating,” Dylus mused, “I look forward to trying to replicate these down the line.”
“Try all you want. Unless you had access to Scinite ore, there ain’t no way you’re ever making one of these things,” Fon pointed towards the mist, which was now pulsating like a jellyfish, “and from what just happened, I don’t think we can rely on them for long.”
All heads turned towards the mist. Dylus rubbed his chin, “Any reason this corruption doubled down on us?”
Something like thunderclaps roared far beyond them. An agonised cry, undulating back and forth between different tones unnaturally, belching out of a blood-filled, scarred windpipe. Having received a very straight answer, Dylus saw no need for any more reasons to head back to Sardine. Everyone did the same, galloping off towards the next trail. Their faces were mighty buried into their mules, not wanting to look back and see if the source of the roar sensed them in the slightest.
When they reached their next stop, the sun was halfway across the sky. Half an hour had passed, with the first fifteen minutes spent in silence trying to escape the area and the other fifteen spent listening to Benji and Gurha panic. When they had stopped, the two mercenaries quickly got off their mules, downed their canteens shakily, and started rambling about the roars.
“What the fuck was that? Was that the beast?”
Fon’s reply was calm and blunt, “Yes, that would be Rengleb. No wonder that tharmorja heath was at extra strength.”
“Still milling about, it seems.” Asked Dylus, who seemed nonplussed, more winded than anything from trying to control Sardine, “Any chance it’ll come around again?”
“Not anytime soon. Once it’s done with its frenzy, it retreats into the jungles and heaths for something we don’t like to talk about.”
“What’s stopping it from pushing into town again? It’s got you on the ropes.”
“Bullets. Lots of bullets, some poison arrows in the mix,” spoke Sakda, having never said anything up until this point, “Even though it has gone mad, it’s still an animal at its heart. We can’t kill it without your help, but we always ward it away.”
“Makes sense,” he said, turning his head around. This trail, fortunately, was free of the tharmorja corruption. It was clean- as clean as a jungle could get- and had patches of flat grassland that broke up the thick denseness of the foliage. There were herds of animals scattered throughout, grazing mindlessly and paying no heed to the faint roars of Rengleb or the hunting group. There was, however, another mark of this area that personally interested him.
There were small little mounds throughout the area, all lined up as if following some hidden line. These mounds were heavily overgrown by kuzu creepers, tenacious plants that could not only thrive anywhere, but also became much worse to manage when introduced to Warp radiation, giving off hints to Dylus that they weren’t exactly natural. He stuck with the group instead of investigating, confident he knew their true nature.
Fon could sense the captain’s intuition from afar, confirming his guesses, “This place used to be an Old World town. Pretty big one, at that. If you take it according to your plan, this would’ve been the fourth town on your to-do list. Unfortunately, you’re late by about a couple hundred years.”
“Find it funny you haven’t made an attempt to restore it back to its glory.”
“The kuzu creepers make that impossible. The only things holding up these buildings are their roots. Take that away and the whole thing comes falling down.” She whistled high to low, letting him imagine the collapse in his mind. Not that he needed it, as he’d seen bigger buildings fall to the kuzu.
“There’s always other ways.”
“We don’t need them,” Fon insisted, “our homes are good enough. Besides, let the dead rest. They’ve been through enough.”
Sakda, however, had other things to say, “That’s our philosophy, but it is not Lon’s. There, next to that crashed chariot.”
The mercenaries turned their attention towards where he was pointing. Only Dylus was able to find the ‘chariot’ quickly- in reality, an overgrown quad-tank that easily dwarfed the building Sakda pointed out- the other two were so aloof that they deigned to ask further, only stopping when Dylus directed their gaze. There, the three of them could see signs of disturbed vegetation. Something whispered into Dylus’ mind, telling him to look even closer. The hunters watched him move forward, never blinking.
The kuzu was hiding an entrance into the building. He spoke of it to Sakda, his voice quieter and lower, “Who’s inside?”
Sakda matched his tone, acknowledging the mercenary’s wariness, “Nobody for now. Had there been anyone, we’d be dead already.”
“Comforting,” Dylus said, “I don’t suppose you lot do parting gifts?”
“As many as we can. But they do the same, in ways that keep catching us off-guard.” Sakda looked over to Jeku and signalled to him with a swift hand. The both of them slowly began making their way to the building, checking their bags for ammunition, tools and materials. Dylus said nothing, knowing exactly their purpose, and gestured for the mercenaries to follow him,.
“They should be fine out here, lads. They know this land better than we do.”
Fon followed, overtaking him slightly so that she wouldn’t have to speak loudly, “Sakda and Jeku will catch up with us soon. Our sprite-runners will take us another hour to get to.”
“Sounds good.”
And so time passed The hunting party, temporarily a band of four, travelled across more corrupted heaths and jungle reaches. Hills rose and and sank in the distance, cresting the horizon and hiding the dying light. There were plenty more ruins to be found along the way; the most prominent being the crash site of a massive airliner and its scattered parts. All of it had been covered in strange, almost tumour-like growths from which eerie grey flowers bloomed from. There were gelatinous things crawling around the site with limbs sticking out of them: eerily human limbs amidst the many, Dylus noticed. Fon had some choice words about the sight to spook the mercenaries.
“I’d love to say these things were dropped off by a Warp storm. Really, I do. I bet the first guys who settled this place thought the same. They’ve been here this whole time, never leaving that place. Gailich knows how old they are, because we don’t want to.”
Thankfully, they never saw anything like that for the rest of the journey. The unnatural and the natural had blended together so seamlessly after centuries of Warpfalls, human abandonment and floral overgrowth that, when they had reached the next game trail, they almost missed the fact that it ran straight through an overgrown dwelling. Dylus thought of that first when he saw the signs, only to be corrected when he spoke to Fon about.
“You’re not far off. Used to hang around here as a kid, found all sorts of weird stuff that the jungle didn’t take. Grew up, realized just how grim this whole fucking lot is. Look around.”
She pointed at the many, many strewn about objects covered in kuzu. The creepers were scattered in smaller densities here, leaving the Old World remnants a little more conspicuous here.
“Recognize anything?”
“Not that I’m familiar with,” Dylus said, “but there’s dozens of wrecks about, if you mean that. Some skeletons here and there, not really… anything to note. The creepy whispering though?” He fiddled with his free earlobe, unmarred by what could possibly be the souls of the damned, “that’s slightly interesting.”
“Yeah, there’s quite a few ghost stories in the village about this place. I don’t pay attention to any of it, outside of the idea that this had to be a place of death.”
“Where isn’t one these days? With the whole war going on and all.”
“Maybe, somewhere across the ocean, there could be an island of peace.”
There was a peculiar basal noise gurgling towards their west, chortling and occasionally clicking hidden behind foliage. The group came to a stop, got off their mules and tied them down. Dylus sensed that their prey was nearby. Fon confirmed it for him, signalling for the group to quietly dismount and scurry into the overgrown ruins.
“Sprite-runners. A healthy mob of them. You know what to do.”
“Gotcha. We don’t have much time to set up, so cross your fingers we get even one.”
“I know. Could be others watching too.”
By others, she had obviously meant other predators that prowled the darkened underbrush. It didn’t stop Dylus, however, from rekindling his wariness about Lon’s raiders being up and about. The fact that it was just the four of them, with Sakda and Jeku still catching up to them, made him even more alert. He tried to play it off in his mind, convincing himself that he could find some joy in the hunt for a bit with an old mantra:
The only things I will worry about are the trees and the prey.
How they sing, how they graze, how I will hunt what my heart and eyes are set upon.
There are no others, except those who are hunters as well.
It had been passed down to him from his father, written straight into the heart of the Pursuit Specials’ creed of huntsmanship. As the wind picked up and the dying light strained his eyes, he repeated the creed mentally during their stalking of the sprite-runners. It made it much easier to digest the strangeness of this Old World site. The whispering would occasionally overpower his hearing, but the something-else in his heart would shut it out just as quickly. Alongside that, a lifetime of causing death had desensitised him to the sight of countless bones and skulls hidden in the foliage. All in all, he treated the hunt normally.
A few minutes had passed when he finally saw the sprite-runners. True to Fon’s description, they were indeed brightly coloured- a rich lavender coat that spread all over their feathery hides. It made them easier to pick out in the dark and highlighted their size. They were well over the size of the average man with legs that looked like they could kick a hole in one. Luckily for them, they were too consummated with their grazing on fallen fruits to notice them slowly approaching them.
Dylus donned his cape, minimising his profile as much as he could, and pulled out his rifle. Looking to his left, he could see two more shapes crouching near Fon. The other two hunters had arrived. Now it was six versus a mob. A tad bit overkill, but they were along for the ride as guests after all.
Fon made some hand signals for her comrades. They nodded and moved away, setting up a firing line. Then she waved to the mercenaries, gesturing to them to do the same. The set-up for the hunt took less than ten minutes, which was more than enough time for the sprite-runners to shift towards a trickier place to get a shot off on: a rocky clearing, enough to obscure their vital parts. Dylus grunted, looking for a better vantage point. He found himself on top of an overgrown helicopter, very narrowly sandwiched between rusted blades and tail section, with his scope on the targets.
It seemed like a bad place to an outsider. From where he perched, Fon and his mercenaries were visible. To the sprite-runners, he wasn’t. The huntress saw this and flashed him and Sakda three fingers up high- meaning three shots, one moment. Dylus readied his rifle and took a deep breath. The wind grew stronger, making him feel at ease as his finger reached for the trigger.
The jungle heard the cracks of two rifles, its wildlife scattering into its depths from the sound. Two bodies fell, one still writhing in pain from a bullet off its mark. The rest of the sprite-runners dove into the foliage, having their fill and not wanting to risk their lives at the mercy of man’s tools. That there was a huge predator waiting nearby, also fleeing from the presence of the humans, added some extra irony to the situation. Dylus watched as that predator galloped away, tails tucked between its rear.
He smiled. The village would have something meaty to eat for the next few days, and they had some bit of field experience to use against Rengleb soon.