Arienne digs her teeth into a slab of grilled hare. Sensual moans escape her as melted fat and masticated muscles slide down her throat.
"Storms take me, this hare is divine!" she moans, licking at her fingers. "If The Spirits take me now, let it be with a full belly!"
Lukal sits nearby, struggling to contend with the flicking pages of his notebook as he attempts to record a log of recent events while battling against a mountain breeze.
Day 5: The Windy Mountain
- Broke camp at the glass trees. Leave at dawn. Two leagues walk. East.
- Monster encounter. 'Sun Hare'. Large, rabbit-like, crystal-like spines on back. Passive. We slay three. Edible.
- Reach base of mountain. Shards of dark stone. Strange shapes. Like black glass. The ground feels warm.
- Monster encounter. Goblin. Light-brown. Smaller than Northenian kin. Territorial. Aggressive. Cleared out den. 22 dead.
- Find strange relics. Old-world?
- Camp outside the goblin den. Awake at dawn. Break camp. 8 hour trek to summit.
- Weird fauna. Bulbous. Like strange mushrooms. Short trees with red leaves. Charred bark. Windy and Cold.
Lukal huffs warm air into his palms as he tucks away his notebook.
"It's freezing, Captain!"
"Better than that infernal heat." Arienne scoffs. "We'll be going through much worse, I suspect."
Arienne chuckles beside him as he contends with his freezing appendages.
"I doubt I will last the night." He cries. "This is brutal!"
"Sit by the fire!" She bellows.
Lukal nods. Shivering under a tarp, he edges closer to the camp fire that jumps at the wind.
"What of tomorrow?"
Aribelle lifts to her feet, stretching. Picking at slivers of meat in her teeth, she steps forward and points off into the distance.
Lukal rises, hunched under his tarp. He creeps to the edge of an overhang where Arienne stands. His gaze followed the tip of her finger to a small smattering of light hidden between sand dunes and shadows.
"A village?" Lukal asks, squinting through the wind.
"Something like it."
"Can we trust them?"
"No." Arienne responds sharply. "We approach with caution. Scout before dawnbreak."
"Aye." Lukal nods. He slinks back to the camp fire, curling himself tightly under his tarp.
A swap on watch a few hours later sees him sitting upright under the star-studded sky. He stares up at a giant crescent moon that looms high above as the cold bites at his face.
A blazing rock suddenly splits the sky. Lukal smiles as he watches the light-trail of a shooting star fade off into the darkness. The sight inspires him into song.
"Oh, wind and water and earth and light…" he sings. Deep, crackling breaths blowing clouds of steam into the wind. "Spirits, watch over our resting tonight. Oh, wind and water…"
"... And earth and light" Arienne chimes in softly.
"Forgive me!" He jumped. "I did not mean to..."
"I'm glad you did. That was beautiful." she whispers, eyes set on distant stars. "Aribelle loved that song."
"You miss her, m'lady?"
"I failed her!" Arienne snorts, wiping at her face. "She tried to warn me. Something about the teleportation spell. She knew something was wrong. But I wouldn't listen to her."
"Captain, I don't understand. She tried to stop the expedition?"
"I don't know what she found, but the Guild is hiding something."
"Yet, we continue their mission?" Lukal gasps, face paled by striking revelations and freezing winds.
"Destroying the Dark Lord will always remain our goal. The Guild's actions and dishonesty should not distract us from that."
"Understood." He nods.
"Rest. I will keep watch. We approach the village before first light."
The next morning, the pair descend the far side of the mountain as golden columns of light bled over the eastern horizon.
They cross blackened, muddy fields, groves of spiralling rock and deep crevices filled with bizarre fungi until they reach dunes that creep towards the village.
As they cautiously crested one, a roar shook across the sands.
"What was that?" Lukal whispers as he ducked.
"Look." Arienne pointed.
In the distance below them, a large, lumbering shadow rolled across the dunes. Massive and squat, it groans and clanks to a stop.
"Looks like an oliphant." Lukal whispers.
Aribelle remains quiet, inspecting the hulking figure closely.
"Doubt it. Too mechanical." Aribelle remarks.
She quickly slides down a dune, sprints over a small patch of flat sand, and approaches the shape from behind. Lukal stumbles along shortly after.
"A construct." She whispers.
"Some kind of wagon?"
Arienne shrugs. Producing a spent flame crystal from her pack, she tosses it at the machine. It connects with an echoing plink. No reaction. She tosses another stone. Nothing.
They rise and cautiously approach the machine.
Like a huge wagon, set upon four, thick wheels. Its red, metal body was caked in layers of dirt and grime. Four large eyes sit upon its face, unblinking as it groans gently in the stiff breeze.
Arienne walks alongside it, tracing her finger tips along the strange surfaces of the mechanical beast.
Lukal pokes at it with a dagger. "Wonder what it's doing here. Why did it come…"
A sudden explosion knocks Lukal back as he is beset by a violent blast of air that hisses from a ruptured wheel.
"Storms take you!" Arienne scowls.
"WAAAH!"
A shrill skriek suddenly erupts from within the construct. Arienne leaps back, hand on hilt. Lukal jumps to his feet, retrieving two daggers from his waist.
"Sounds like there's a girl inside." Lukal sneers. "What do we do?"
"Help."
Arienne, sword ablaze, strikes at the machine. Digging her blade deep into metal, she sweeps it aside, carving a ragged hole across its flank. Inside, she glimpses a small, pale face, frozen in terror.
"PESTLE!"
A ways off, knee deep in the entrails of a giant lizard, a man turns his head towards the construct. Eyes narrowing, he listens intently.
As a soft shriek floats on the winds toward him, he screams. "Saia!"
A blur of footsteps patter across the sand. Like a wisp of wind, he sprints toward the screaming voice, leaving a wake of dust behind him.
"We mean no harm, child." Arienne softly beckons. "Come here, this place is dangerous."
The child quivers. Icy-blue eyes hidden by silver strands of hair stare worryingly at Arienne.
"Who are you?" The girl asks with a whimper.
"Arienne Lindbergh. Knight-Captain of the Northenian Royal Army. Now, please, step forward…'
A shadow flicks across the ground, startling Arienne. She grips her sword and raises her gaze.
"Leave her alone!"
A fists comes roaring down upon her. She lifts the broadside of her blade and flesh hits metal with a resounding bong.
Arienne shrieks. The force of the man's blow on her blade erupts around her as a giant plume of sand ejects into the sky. Lukal is flung back into a heap. The machine wobbles.
"Wait, Pestle!" The young girl shouts.
As sand and dust settles, Arienne stands deep in a crater, tumbling sand collecting around her feet. A massive fist sits firm against her blade as she struggles to contend with its strength. A man looms overhead, sweaty curls ring his forehead. Dark, brown eyes stare at her, hidden behind the shadow of thick brows.
"Who are you?" He grunts.
"She's an elf-kin!" The child shouts excitedly.
Arienne, wincing in pain as her muscles strain, ignites her blade and pushes the man off with a blast of air.
"I'm Arienne Lindbergh! Northernian Knight-Captain. I mean you no harm!" She shouts with a huff.
The man sneers. "What do you want?"
"Pestle! Don't be rude." The girl yells, poking her head out of a small window.
"Look at The Hog!"
"They were trying to help me. I don't think they're from here…"
"We are not!" Arienne snaps, rubbing at her aching wrists. "We come from the north. We are on a quest…"
"Stormlanders?" The man interrupts, his face twisted with distrust. "You don't look cursed."
"No! Further. Beyond the storm. The Kingdom of Northenia. We quest to destroy the Dark Lord."
"You expect me to believe children's stories?" The man quips, turning away from Arienne and inspecting the damage she had caused to his possession. "I really should kill you for this." He groans.
"Apologies, sir." Lukal interjects. "We heard the young lady screaming. We thought she was in need of help."
He snorts, sneering at Lukal.
"Pestle! They're not from here! Look at her ears." The girl yells.
The man turns back to Arienne. Hidden beneath dirty-blond hair were long, pointed ears poking out from her head.
"What are you?" he asks, face bent.
"I can ask the same of you." Arienne rasps.
The man scoffs. "Whatever. Get lost."
Arienne tightens her gaze upon him. She marches towards the man, reaching for his shoulder. "Look here, you uncouth…"
Before she can react, he grabs her wrist, pulls her over his shoulder and flicks her body toward the construct. A twist of her hips sees her land, boots first, against the machine's hull. She stares at the man, who glares back at her. An eruption of compressed air at her soles launches her toward him. He grabs and counters her punch, flipping her into the sand. She crashes into a crater, robbed of all breath.
"Sir!" Lukal screams.
"Tell her not to touch me." He barks.
Little feet hit the sand as the girl jumps from an open door on the construct.
"Pestle!" She shouts, wagging a finger as she struts towards him. "They were trying to help. Don't be mean!"
"They hurt The Hog." He groans.
"We can fix it like we always do. I want to help them. They're on a quest!" she says, smiling widely.
"No! Way!" The man snaps back. "Bring me the patch and pump."
The girl approaches, eyes fluttering and hands outstretched. "Please, Pestle!"
"No!"
She wraps her arms around his hand, gripping tightly. He shifts his gaze, releasing a long, defeated sigh.
"Fine!" He groans. He turns to Arienne, face carved into a scowl. "What do you want?"
Sneering, she lifts off the ground, dusting off her gear. "Information." She groans.
"What you want to know?"
"Where are we?"
"The Western Wastes. What else?" he snaps.
"The village nearby. What can you tell me?"
"You're dead the moment they see you. Strangers not welcome."
Arienne's face creases as she looks at the odd man. Tall as a carriage horse. His skin deeply tanned from years of life under the scorching sun. Unkept curls hung low over bushy brows. His clothes tattered and torn. He felt wild, unrestrained and powerful.
"Who are you?" She asks him pointedly.
"You can call him Pestle." The little girl chirps from his leg. "I'm his sister, Saia."
"Pestle? Like Mortar and…"
"Yes. Problem?" Pestle snapped.
"No." Arienne mumbles. "Can you organize safe passage into the village?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Pestle!" Saia scolds.
"We have naught to offer." Arienne laments. "Our expedition was decimated on arrival. Please afford us this assistance. The Great Spirits will bless you for your sacrifice."
Pestle chuckles. "More fairytales."
"The Great Spirits are no tale!" Lukal cuts in. "They watch over us. They guide us through…"
"Shut it!" The man scowls. "I'll get you into Blightmark, and that's it."
He turns to the young girl. "That's it, Saia! Now bring me the patch-kit and pump."
She pouts at him, huffing as she struts back into the machine. She tosses and box into the sand, followed by an old cylinder.
"Come in!" She smiles, gesturing at Arienne and Lukal to follow.
Pestle sneers at the Northenians as he gently rubs at the punctured wheel of his construct.
They climb short, silver steps that lead to a small swinging door. Inside, they find a small cabin lined with some seats. The rear is filled with various cargo. The smell of fresh and fouling meat permeates as various weapons and bladed instruments line the walls. The ceiling is covered in pages filled with crude, child-like drawings.
"Cozy." Lukal cracks as he creeps inside, settling into a soft, leather seat. Outside, Pestle curses and kicks at the machine as he struggles to fix it's wheel.
He eventually enters, dumping himself into a seat at the front of the machine. With a jingle of metal, he produces a bushel of keys from a pocket at his waist. He slips one into a little port behind a protruding wheel, checking various measurements and readings as he tugs on a lever beside him.
With a burp and grunt, the construct rumbles to life.
"What is this thing?" Arienne calls out over the mechanical noises, surrounded by cluttering equipment and instruments of death.
"Quiet!" Pestle grunts. "And don't touch anything!"