[https://i.imgur.com/iqbKpQ6.png]

Chapter 7

Now alone, Qrs crashed through the undergrowth, heading up the ravine as fast as his legs could carry him. Familiar landmarks grew more frequent as he made his way, giving him a more exact sense of where he was.

He kept looking to the ridges peeking through the canopy, resisting the temptation to climb up and see how far the Demon Emperor’s forces had advanced. As powerful as Jaldabaoth was, the fact that he was subjugating all of the people around the Abelion Hills – capturing them to be imprisoned, enslaved and tormented – lent him the hope that more time would be needed to complete his domination.

What was considered the ‘Abelion Hills’ covered the western half of the wilderness, and were full of not only strong and populous tribes but also those who dwelled in places which were hard to deal with. There were races living in high places, deep forests and the darkness of the underground. Rooting them all out was an unimaginable undertaking.

His steps slowed as he came out of the top of the ravine, following the clear brook bubbling through the sparse woodlands of his territory. In the skies to the west, he could see no sign of the fires spotted by the Armat that morning. Qrs resumed his run, passing groves of aspen and vast stands of birch until the familiar smells of home grew strong on the wind.

On the dry, shallow slopes on either side of the brook was a large village, but, long before he arrived, two shadowy figures intercepted him.

“Hey, you – stop right there,” the first to reach him said. “Wait…Chief? What the hell happened to you?”

“A few months late, aren’t you?” Said the other, “Don’t tell me you’ve spent all this time wandering around naked in the woods, waving your giant rod around. Your wife is going to skin you alive.”

The two sentries relaxed into conversational tones but remained alert to their surroundings.

“Trouble,” Qrs told them. “Big trouble. Gather the elders – now.”

The sentries exchanged a glance before trotting off in the direction of the village. Qrs glanced to the western skies again but still could not see anything in the distance. Was the Armat mistaken? If there were fires a little over a day distant, they should be visible from his village. Perhaps the fighting had been brief, and the newest flames extinguished. He stopped again when he crossed paths with a young, female sentry, who shouted and levelled her spear in his direction.

“Get to a high overlook,” he told her as she gawked at him. “Check the west for signs of any trouble.”

There was a plain question on her face, but she nodded wordlessly after a moment and left to do as he bid. He still wanted to look for himself, but evacuating the village was the more pressing issue. Ignoring the stares of the villagers, he strode straight past his home towards the wooden platform that served as the stage for where important meetings were held. No one had arrived yet, and he tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the village elders to be roused.

“Qrs?”

A familiar, female voice sounded from behind him. He tensed and stared at the floor for several moments before setting his features grimly. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face his wife, Rholh.

“Get the girls and start getting ready to leave,” his voice was terser than he had intended it to be.

“You’ve been gone for how long and that’s the first thing you say?” Rholh’s rounded features broke into a scowl, “What do you mean by leave? Why are you standing up there naked? Where’s Dyel?”

“We can talk later,” he told her. “You need to go and get ready now. Food, clothing – all the supplies you think we can carry between us. The sooner, the better.”

His wife crossed her arms, face settling into an annoyed look. He wanted to shout at her to go, that there was no time for this, but he realized that there was just too huge of a gap in their sense of urgency. She was a good female, but that meant she had a stubborn personality that accompanied her strength as well. Convincing her properly was a luxury that no one could afford. Qrs glanced around, seeing a few of the village elders approaching.

“Look, the elders are on their way,” he said. “Once we’re through here, we’re emptying the whole village and as many of the other villages as we can. No one can stay here – even the Gnolls to the north are getting the hell out.”

Rholh finally relented, releasing a long sigh. She unwound the long shawl from over her shoulders, tossing it into his chest. Qrs nodded in thanks and drew it around his waist before turning to see to the matter at hand.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only person that would need convincing. He envied the Gnolls for their nomadic lifestyle right then: a sedentary people like his own would be much slower about uprooting from their ancestral homes. He turned back to face the platform and found three of the five village elders awaiting him. The other two could be seen coming from their respective dwellings. Several dozen other villagers had appeared to watch from the surroundings, drawn by the growing commotion. Qrs waited silently until all five elders stood before him.

Though they were called ‘elders’, they weren’t terribly old. Two were of Qrs’ generation and the remaining three from his parents’ time. The strong were called on time and again to defend their lands, and those that rose to positions of leadership rarely survived to a venerable age.

A female tapped the butt of her gnarled staff to silence the onlookers, beads of her shawl rattling from the movement. Rholh’s younger sister, Rhag, shared many similarities with her sibling, but she had chosen to pursue the path of the mystic. He felt some of the mental burden over his shoulders easing at the sight of the village’s Chief Druid. She was looked to for her wisdom and experience with unfamiliar things, and would perhaps be able to shed some light on the catastrophe that had befallen the Abelion Hills.

“A season late and now you’re kicking up some sort of fuss,” she spoke after everyone had quieted down. “I can’t imagine you actually losing out there, but you look like a whipped Goblin right now.”

After his long incarceration, he supposed that his haggard appearance must have made him look the part. Qrs took a deep breath, speaking loudly so that all those gathered could hear him over the wind rustling through the canopy.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“At this year’s festival,” he said, “a Demon God fell upon the land.”

Shocked looks passed between the bystanders, but none dared utter a word as they waited on him to continue.

“We must leave our homes and go east,” Qrs told them. “Not just this village, but all of our allied tribes.”

“That seems a little extreme,” Rhag’s dubious voice followed after his statement. “Should the wilderness not gather its strength to drive away this Demon God like the stories of old?”

“The festival was well underway when he appeared,” Qrs replied. “He fell right into the midst of everything, devastating a vast swathe of the Dale with his mere arrival. All of the champions; all of the braves…we came to attack him as one, and none could even touch him, never mind hurt him. His strength far surpasses those Demon Gods of the stories, who could be wounded by the strongest of our champions. This ‘Demon Emperor Jaldabaoth’ professes to not be a Demon God, but I feel that he only said this to mock us.”

“I do not know you to be craven,” Rhag said, “nor are you a liar…but surely there must be some way to fight him – some weakness to exploit?”

“No,” Qrs shook his head. “If he has such a thing, it probably doesn’t matter. He is unlike the Demon Gods in the tales, who come as singular foes that sow destruction over the lands. This Jaldabaoth has armies of Fiends at his command, many who are as strong as I am or even stronger. The mere sound of Jaldabaoth’s voice can wrest body from mind, turning our own people against us. All who have suffered at his hands agree that standing to fight only guarantees misery and death.”

A low murmur filled the air at his account, and the villagers looked up at him with worried expressions. Qrs was undeniably strong – a tribal leader whose strength guaranteed security against all of their neighbours. If their champion openly admitted that he was no match against Jaldabaoth and his minions, worrying was all they could do. Rhag tapped her staff on the wooden platform again.

“If he is that strong,” she asked, “how is it that he hasn’t come to slaughter us yet?”

“Because he does not only come with destruction,” Qrs replied grimly. “He sends his armies of Fiends to capture and imprison the peoples of the wilderness – unleashing sick and twisted torments upon all. The destruction of our bodies is not what he desires: it is to break our very souls. The fact that he is so thorough is likely what gives us the time to escape.”

Rhag turned to look towards the other elders, but they could only shake their heads silently at his words.

“How long do we have?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Qrs admitted. “The Armat this morning said that he saw fires a day away from where we were. I sent out a sentry on the way here, so we should know how bad things look soon.”

“An Armat?” Rhag furrowed her brow, “Why was there an Armat?”

“We are not the only ones fleeing this Jaldabaoth,” Qrs told her. “There were Armat and Hobgoblins with me as well – the Gnolls to the north are also preparing to leave their lands. All of the other races who have escaped from his clutches have only one thing on their minds. It is as I said: all agree that staying is folly – the only way to survive is to flee.”

“Bugbear territories lie east,” Rhag noted. “We would be crossing The Neck. How can we safely bring our children through?”

“By numbers and force. The Gnolls have agreed to join us on our journey east. We will try to convince all others to join us along the way; those who stand against us will be trampled.” A sneer entered onto his features at the recollection of the recent past, “It would still be a better fate than what has befallen the peoples of the west.”

Rhag silently appraised him with a neutral look. The villagers waited for her decision – if she supported Qrs, there would be no opposition. If not…

“I see,” she said. “We will send runners to the other villages, then. This will be bad – our stores are still depleted from the winter.”

“I know,” Qrs agreed, “but we’ll just have to make do.”

He looked around at the assembled villagers, wondering how many would survive. Not only was food a problem, but water as well. He could only hope what they found along the way was enough. He sent the villagers out to prepare, picking out the fastest among them to deliver the will of the High Chief to the rest of the tribal settlements scattered around their territory.

Upon returning to his own home, he found the door open. Rholh and their daughters were packing away their things. He set his weapon aside, looking for a change of clothes.

A shadow fell over the light from the doorframe.

“So,” Rholh said, “can you talk now?”

“There’s not much I can say,” he didn’t look over his shoulder. “I told him to pack up and go home when it happened, but I’m not sure if it would have mattered. Jaldabaoth fell upon us so suddenly – tens of thousands were captured across the Dale in a matter of days. We were imprisoned beside each other for a time: the things they did to us…”

He forced his hands to keep moving, waiting for Rholh to respond – scream at him, beat him, anything.

Rholh said nothing, and light returned to the room as she went away. Qrs gritted his teeth, clenching his fists until they trembled violently. With a cry of frustrated anguish, he struck the ground. The wooden floor cracked and splintered at the impact, and the back wall split open to the ceiling. In the evening sunlight that filtered through the drifting dust, he released a shuddering sob.

What champion? His strength was worthless. Never mind the tribe, he couldn’t even protect his own son.

Qrs rose to his feet after a few minutes, wiping his face and shaking out the fresh garments and spare equipment of dwarven make that Rholh had laid out for him. He changed, then looked around to see if anything had been left behind. Seeing nothing, he left the building and shut the door. A pointless habit – he would probably never see the home of his ancestors again.

Outside, his three daughters shouldered their share of the belongings in oversized backpacks. Rholh stared silently at the building they had lived in for over two decades, raising their four children. The fringes of his chainmail jingled lightly as he approached. She let out a sigh and turned to face him.

“What about the other villages?” She asked calmly.

“They sent runners,” he replied. “There were columns of smoke this morn…”

His words trailed off when the sentry he had dispatched returned to the village. She stepped up to the central platform and scanned the milling forms of the villagers. Qrs jogged over to speak to her.

“Chieftain,” she said as he approached. “I went to the ridge: there’s no sign of raiding in the west – everything looks clear.”

At the report, he looked to Rhag and one of the elders that remained on the platform to help direct the evacuation. They looked back at him, a question over their features – maybe they thought he would call everything off.

“Are you su–”

Imminent danger washed over his senses, and Rhag’s eyes went wide as Qrs abruptly raised his weapon and lashed out in her direction. His studded war club connected with something in mid-air, and a spray of gore erupted from nothing. They looked down at the mangled body that thumped to the wooden floor.

A coppery, scaled creature with leathery, bat-like wings lay on the floorboards. Its body was not even a metre tall, though it had a twitching, barbed tail that dripped with green fluid. Qrs brought his rod down on it again to make sure it was dead. His mind raced, gaze going from the body to the elders on the other side of it, then up to the evening air. The sense of danger had not subsided.

“Imps!” He roared, “Protect the Druids!”

His command resounded out into the air, its power rolling over the villagers. Warriors and hunters started to collect around the mystics of the tribe, occasionally taking swings at the empty air. It was soon enough that the bodies of Imps started to appear over the ground, swatted out of their invisibility.

Qrs took another swing, finding another Imp. The sound of leathery wings rose from between the trees – first dozens, then hundreds.

“Get moving!” His voice boomed over the village, “NOW!”