Monster totem pole - AI Photo Generator - starryai [https://r2.starryai.com/results/236301709/31cc817a-d561-4224-bf18-72dda3ec28cc.webp]

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Palms sweaty, and his mind numb with horror, Walter could not believe what he had just witnessed. It was like he had slipped into a waking nightmare from which there was no respite, and all he could see was the slavering maw of this beast, blood dripping from its wide beak, and gobbets of pink flesh swallowed whole.

Bent over gasping for air as he relived the scene again and again, he tried to shake himself of the horrifying memory, but it seemed the more he tried, the harder it became until all he could see was its blood red orbs fixated upon him.

Quivering uncontrollably, his body still in shock, it was only until he had started running again and tripped over head first into a tree that the vivid memory was torn away from him.

Breathless as he clutched his throbbing forehead, he admonished himself for being such a coward. What would Sergeant Durgan have said if he had seen him running off like that? And what of Lord Huxelberry who still waited for him to return with news? Come on Walter, you have to get it together.

Half surprised that was enough to calm him down, he quickly scanned the area wondering if he was lost again, when he spotted wood smoke off in the distance. Not sure whether to thank the saints or laugh at his pure dumb luck, he had to guess that this was one of Robar’s camps.

Much smaller than he had thought it would be, he saw a few drab gray tents set up around the campfire, logs chopped into sitting stools, and what looked to be a totem pole at the center of their camp. Not liking the way its wooden face seemed to be looking at him, Walter hunkered down, and noticed a few of the tents decorated with antler skulls. Half wondering what he should do now that he had found one of their camps, he realized that the place seemed awfully quiet. The only sound to be heard was the crackling of the flames.

Finally gathering the courage to stand back up, he circled around the camp to get a better vantage point, when he heard the snores of the sleeping bandits. Wrapped up inside of their bedrolls, they seemed oblivious to the world around them. The only exception was a lone man resting his back up against a tree with a rifle nestled across his lap.

Fearing he might have gotten too close, Walter considered calling out to them. After all, the plan was to be recruited and perhaps by showing them how sneaky he could be, they would lead him to Robar. But before he could put his plan into action, something hard hammered into the back of his skull and he blacked out…

…Awakening to the sound of coarse voices arguing over him, Walter wondered if he was dreaming, when a boot kicked him hard in the ribs. “You still alive, boy? Looks like that scaleskin you drank has kept you breathing, but that won’t last for long.”

Coughing out blood as he rubbed his chest, Walter nodded his head, and looked up to see four rough faced men in badly dented breastplates, pot helms, and surcoats. Easily the biggest ugliest brutes he had ever seen, the closest one, an obese man with thick black stubble on his chin, barked, “What are you doing sneaking around our camp, boy?! Did Huxelberry send you?! Answer me!” Kicked in the ribs again, Walter recoiled in pain, his stomach pulsing with agony as he struggled to breathe, “Please.”

But that seemed to only enrage the big man even more as kicks and punches landed into him. Each one sending Walter in and out of consciousness, while a part of himself cursed his idiocy and cowardice, when a second voice spoke up. “Enough of that, Gallard, how’s he supposed to speak if he’s dead.”

Still snarling with a rictus of rage as the man landed a final boot to his head, Walter felt his whole world spin on its axis, every part of his body aching, when the second man knelt down beside him. Pulling out a knife from his belt, he pressed the weapon underneath Walter’s chin. “Now, I know Gallard here can be a little impatient, but me,” he let out a nasty smile, “I like to take my time. First I’m going to slit those pretty ears of yours off, then maybe a couple of fingers and toes. So what’s it going to be? Are you going to talk?”

Blood dripping out of his nostrils, Walter nodded his head, and finally managed to rasp out, “I wanted to join you.” The few words, causing Walter to cough in pain.

Heads shaking as they threw back their heads in laughter, another man released a gobbet of spit that sprayed wet flecks onto Walter’s cheek. “You’re not a man, you’re just a mewling babe pretending to be a soldier. I’ve seen gnomes with more backbone than you.”

Leering down at him with a twisted sneer, the shorter of the three men began to poke the knife into Walter's throat, and he felt his entire life flash before him. He remembered the arguments he had had with his father, the last words he had spoken to Penny, and all he could think about was how he had wasted it. All that time he had spent dreaming of something better, all of it was gone, and all he could feel was a white hot rage. Rage at himself for thinking that he could head into the woods alone, untrained, and think that he could survive. Blast Durgan! And blast Lord Huxelberry! They had probably known all along that he would get himself killed!

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And as the rage consumed him, he instinctively snapped his head forward smashing his forehead into the man in front of him. Shortsword then ripped free of his scabbard, Walter thrust the blade into the man’s belly, and saw the look of shock mirrored in the faces of the men around him. With little time to waste however, he leaped to his feet, and flew into a roll for his rifle scooping it up. Hoping it still worked, he cocked the weapon and fired, each shot perfectly aimed as he killed one after the other. The last man, Gallard, held up his arms as he backed away from him. “Please have mercy!” Before he turned on his heels to flee.

Shooting him in the thigh, Walter watched with distaste as blood pooled around the man's leg as he fell, and calmly walked up to him. His expression vacant, he leveled the rifle at the bandit's face and without hesitation fired.

Then like a dam bursting, he fell back a step, vomiting out everything he had ever eaten. It was like he had been possessed for that brief moment, and as he was brought crashing back to reality he finally realized what he had done.

Head spinning as he suddenly felt dizzy, he quickly sat down, and felt his stomach clench as he stared into what was left of Gallard's face. Saints, what had he become? What had happened to him?

Wiping the bits of vomit from his lips, he barely had time to think, when he heard the flutter of wings from above him.

Instantly understanding its meaning, he jumped to his feet, and limped away. The ravenous flock of birds that descended out of the trees, tore into the bandits with a ravenous hunger, their flesh a whirl storm of black feathers, blood, and viscera.

Quickly hiding himself away behind a stone, he listened to the crunch of bones, and felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the simple thought. That could have been him. If he had not acted. If he had not fought back. He would be dead.

Shaking a little at that, he glanced out of cover to see the bloodwings disappear back up into the forest’s canopy, and almost vomited again. The campsite had become a mess of limbs, twisted metal, and broken bones. He could also see bits of flesh hanging off the surrounding trees and tents.

Still sick with fear, he curled himself up into a ball, his body shivering uncontrollably.

After a while however, he managed to snap himself out of it, and stood back up. His quest was not yet done. He still had to find Lord Robar and put an end to his raids. Raids that threatened his home.

Wiping the blood from his shortsword, he shouldered his rifle once more, and started away from camp, when an odd thought occurred to him. What if the dead bandits had left something behind in camp?

Not much liking the idea of rifling through tents covered in blood and guts, he took a deep breath, and turned back. Heading towards the first tent, he peeked his head inside, and saw a wooden chest at the other end of the tent. He also saw a sleeping pallet made of wood and furs off to the side, and discarded undergarments on the ground.

Nostrils wincing at the strong stench of decay, he stepped inside, and dropped to his knees in front of the chest. Simple enough in design with no lock, he flipped it open and found more clothes, a bottle of rum, and some bread.

Hungrily gobbling it down, he left the tent behind, and searched the other two. But besides odd bits of food and clothing, there was nothing here, and the smell was only getting stronger.

Studying the campsite one last time, he started to leave again, when he noticed a hollow spot in the wooden totem at the center of camp. Carved in the likeness of an old man with a very long beard, Walter carefully avoided the bloodied bones that littered the soil, and again dropped to his knees before it. Seeing nothing up close however, he dug his hand inside, and to his surprise felt something smooth. Pulling it out slowly, he realized it was tanned leather hide, but on it was a crude drawing of the forest. Marked near the center was a huge X, while all around it were dozens of smaller x’s. Thinking this had to be some sort of map, Walter let out a low whistle of surprise as he counted at least two dozen campsites.

Using Hycal’s farmhouse to the south, the mountains to the west, and the rising sun to the east, Walter guessed that he was a couple miles north of the main camp. That was assuming of course that the big X represented Robar’s camp.

With that in mind, he paid careful attention to the four camps that dotted the area closest to him, and traced a path that went around them. It would be best if he didn’t run into more bandits like these ones. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if he should just head back. After all, he had part of the information he needed. But without any proof that this map would lead to their camps, it could prove dangerous. Sighing heavily, he reluctantly stood back up, and journeyed in a north-easterly direction.

Passing through more thorn bushes, Walter took another sip of Hycal’s concoction, the taste somehow worsening, and noticed that parts of the forest were covered in white mushrooms. He also came across trees crawling with green lichen, and further to the north, rabbits that darted across his path.

Moving incredibly fast, Walter had no chance at grabbing any of them, and pressed on further into the woods. Cresting a nearby ridgeline, it was at this moment that he heard a strange moaning sound on the breeze. Crouching down quickly, he thought it sounded like the jumbled up voices of hundreds of creatures, but stranger.

Nearing the area where he thought the big X was located, he let out a gasp as he came out into another clearing. This one however was much different with a large fenced off space between the trees, but that wasn't what had caught him off guard. Staring down into the enclosure, he mumbled half a prayer to the saints as he looked upon hundreds of rotted corpses surrounded by barbed wire, while off to the north-east atop a hill was a huge sprawling encampment.

With dozens of armored guards watching its perimeter, Walter had a hard time believing that anyone could have missed this. For it looked like he had found a small army in the woods.