Without warning, Kro burst out from the underbush, his rapier aloft as he went for a quick decapitation of the closest guard. Caught of guard, the guard did not have the time to raise any sort of alarm giving Kro a few scant seconds to fall upon his next victim. Fortunately for Kro and Lyod, newly risen undead aren’t highly organised, for had they been so, they surely would have been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of numbers that were present.
Haphazardly weaving his way through the fray, Kro eventually found himself face to face with Lyod. Giving each other feral grins, they took back to back positions as the remaining undead surrounded them.
Magic Malkeem. That’s what they had called him during the war. Nowadays he was known as Malkeem the Malicious or Malkeem the Mad. He preferred just being called Malkeem, but whatever. What people called him was of little consequence for he had bigger problems to deal with.
The caravan trundled past the two skulking figures before coming to a stop at the ‘checkpoint’ further along the road. The said ‘checkpoint’ was very simply, some medium sized rocks and tree branches laid out on the muddy track by some very clever bandits.
After LyOD had apologized and reassured the farmer they were not adventurers with battleaxes, he and Kro journeyed further into the Plaguelands.
With the few provisions between them, Kro and his unplanned bugbear companion, who had introduced himself as Lyod, had to scavenge the dessert for sustenance. With Kro spearheading the direction in which they fled, this meant that their path took them towards the edges of Shifter Tribe lands into Orc territory. The bugbear, who Kro had managed to convince a pair of Shifters they had crossed paths with was a traveller he was escorting to the fringe of Shifter lands, seemed to be keeping up with him much to his credit. Kro refused to call him by his name, indirectly blaming his very appearance for his exile and although he knew he was unfairly pushing the blame on to the bugbear it was simply easier to do so.
With its sharp eyes it spotted a rattlesnake down below sunning itself on a rock. The wind ruffling its feathers the eagle took the plunge, cutting through the sky like an arrow catching the its prey in its outstretched talons. By some fortune of events the snake managed to twist upwards sinking its fangs into the side of the eagle. Once. Twice. Bother hunter and prey locked in a tangled mess of writhing coils and flapping feathers. Later, fire-ants would come across the deceased corpses of the two locked in the throes of battle even in death but this would be of little consequence to them as they start to dissect their Queen’s next meal.
Elder Rhead Swiftclaw knew a bad omen when he saw one, and the inevitable fall of the great eagle was one such omen. He could feel it in his bones. Banishing such thoughts, he turned his attention to his approaching friend S’jiit Longtail. At the mention of a travelling bugbear who had managed to track a now-deceased orc to his camp, he knew that by the end of this day someone would be in very big trouble and he would be suffering an immense migraine. Never would have guessed that these events would have put in play events that would irrevocably change the destiny of his Hunting Party.
An icy chill sweeps the sandy dunes after the sun sets, the sand dunes haphazardly rolling over one another as dictated by the fickleness of the wind. In the dimming light the Prey had finally decided to take shelter from the unforgiving desert winds. This was it. It had been two moons since this Prey had entered his Hunting grounds and he couldn’t resist, this one was too fine a specimen to ignore. Surely, geared as it was, sitting atop a riding lizard it would prove to be a worthy Prey considering his lack of a Hunting partner. And although the Elders had declared no Sport was to be had until the next Blooding, there were only two beings who would know that he had participated in Sporting and Kro was very determined that soon, he would be the only one alive to know this.
Bitter disappointment. The Prey had been to panicked to be considered a serious threat and thus Kro had been willing to let it live, taking the opportunity afforded to him by his Prey quickly back peddling Kro sheathed his blades and contemptuously hissing at this pitiful Orc turned to leave. Against its better judgement, this Orc let out a roar of unbridled anger as it once again charged forward hoping to strike Kro from behind. Perhaps it was its battered pride that forced such an action but it was to no avail for the last thing the Orc saw was an explosion of sand.