Vultures

[Striker]

On the Black Desert's fringe is a small oasis town by the name of Mabroc. Small white tents and simple buildings stand around the sunken pool of water, giving life to those souls who appreciate the isolation. Proudly standing against the merciless sun, the town was a testiment to the stubbornness of men and dwarves.

A day's travel north along perilous roads stands a coaching inn called The Broken Drum, the only shred of civilization between Anebrilith and Mabroc. It was here that a very disappointed Striker was planning to stay the night after an unsuccessful trip to visit a masterful dwarven blacksmith, now retired. Waiting out the evil heat in the ill-furnished and neigh empty common room, the panting cat man was surprised to see a group of haggared humans and dwarves collapsing in heaps into the inn. Desert travel is a dangerous business, and walking under an afternoon sun was terrible enough, but these poor fools looked as if they had been running. Wrapped head to foot in white cloth they arrived, in droves. It was as if the whole damn town had made their way north!

"We had to!" an old woman cried when asked, "A great evil came down upon us! Oh bless us!" She cried, her eyes dialated from heatstroke and mania. Striker suddenly found himself fighting for his sleeping space in a very crowded public house, as cups of water made their rounds. The whole inn was filled with a dull roar, as excited rumors spread. Just by being in the room, Striker was regaled with stories of evil spirits and vengeful warriors, long dead. The world suddenly became a much more frightening place to live as all citizens agreed - the apocalypse was upon us.

Silence shattered into the room after a hobbled old man began pounding his glass upon the wall, screaming for quiet. "We all know what happened today! The food's gone south! Poisoned! A terrible blow, but it has happened before! Now the lot of you, rest up. We have a long way to go to buy supplies, but tommorow night we'll be back in our town, and we'll have enough to rebuild."

He paused, and collected his breath.

"Today has been a tragedy, yes. But do not lose heart! Rest now. In a few hours, we carry on, and tommorow night we will repopulate our town, and carry on!"

A cheer. Toasts were exchanged, as people drank much needed water and gave their bodies a chance to hide from the inescapable heat.

A whole town, abandoned? A whole town abandoned with nothing to fear but a night of travel on an empty stomach? Striker didn't need to be told twice. Perhaps there was a way to get steel out of a retired blacksmith after all...

Quietly and avoiding eye contact, Striker stood and waded out of the crowded room. Standing in the door, he braced himself for the wave of heat, and stepped out, to return to an empty Mabroc.

[Khalxaen]

The lands of Raiaera were nothing like Khalxaen had seen before. Every new place was different in many ways, and it made Khalxaen find out more to an unknown extent. But at the moment, all she wanted to know was why a whole group of people would actually plan to leave their town. It seemed so farfetched—what could be so bad to drive that much out.

The reason Khalxaen was in Raiaera was because she often found herself in places she didn’t expect. She had stowed away on the safest looking ship she could find, and she found herself in a land that she didn’t know about. It was a good thing the crew from the ship didn’t notice her, as they happened to be simple merchants and nobody of importance. They had left a couple of hours after they arrived, heading to their next destination with their cargo. Khalxaen didn’t feel like going with them, as Raiaera stirred up her curiosity.

She didn’t even expect to get a real adventure. The demon had been there for days and she was starting to get bored. The people there didn’t seem to give out missionary work like in other places, and if she didn’t find money soon, she’d probably have to stow away again to get out of that place.

Khalxaen found her answer of an adventure from a few kids. She was cooling herself by the water hole, at the same time complaining about the heat. Nearby, she spotted a few kids playing with the water. They were talking about how they had to leave their town because of some mishap. Curiously, Khalxaen asked them if their family wanted a new life abroad. The answer shocked her. A kid answered—“No, the whole town wants a new life some place else!”

She asked them why in the name of Althanas would any given group want to abandon a town like that. The kids couldn’t answer her properly. All they could do was give her the vague explanation that there was an ‘evil’ that had to be vanquished, but nobody would do it for them.

Interesting… Khalxaen mused as she headed for the inn where the kids said the adults were. She was a bit curious why the place was so heavily crowded with people, but she thought they were nomads who had come to rest in that said Oasis town.

As she was just about to reach out for the inn’s door, it came rushing open as a person a lot taller than her stepped out. Khalxaen blinked and found herself staring rudely as she wondered just what he was. He looked like a cross between a human and a cat. Before she could stop herself, she was staring at him with great confusion.

[Striker]

The sudden encounter with the outside world after the greater part of a day indoors assaulted Striker's pupils, leaving him shielding his eyes and snarling with pain. In his rush to cash in on such an easy opportunity, opening the door to the wide face of the desert sun was the last thing the cat man had expected. It was so surprising, he even felt a light punch in the chest!

Wiping the sudden rush of moisture from his eyes, Striker looked down at the blurry after-image of a figure, slowly rising from the darkness to take form. Shaking his head and steeling his reserve for another journey out into the malicious light, he looked down at the young woman developing in front of his very eyes.

And here he was hoping to hide in plain sight. If nobody saw him leave, nobody would have thought to follow him. Well, here's hoping that this... um... what appears to be turning into an elf... isn't the curious type.

Shielding his eyes from the sun just getting used to the idea of going down, Striker scanned the horizon. Striker didn't like the desert. He didn't understand how there could be so much space with absolutely nothing in it but the sand under your feet. More importantly, how there could be a place with nothing between you and, say, a very upset archer.

Or a curious traveller. Running through sand, with nowhere to hide, and no chance to find your way back once you stepped off the flag marker path... if she followed, here was no escape. Something at the base of his skull told him that violence was a perfectly acceptable solution, but someone following you is a piss-poor excuse to kill someone. And there's always a chance she was good enough with that sword to make this a big enough spectacle to bring even more people. And she's still staring. Best to act quickly.

Clearing his throat of the sand the sand that had already accumulated in the back of his mouth, Striker leaned over and started muttering.

"Alright, if you want a cut, follow me. Move quick. The fewer people following us the better."

Walking toward the black flag, dead in the windless afternoon, Striker set out to make the recently abandoned town of Mabroc by sunset.

[Khalxaen]

“Huh?”

Khalxaen blinked, snapping out of her reverie. With her scarlet eyes, she focused it on his back that was walking away. Follow him? Why? What cut? Her pointy ears drooped with great confusion. The first thought that came to her mind was that he was speaking without relevance, and it would be best to ignore him.

Wait? What if he did know something important?

The demon started running after him and then slowed down to get the same pace as he did. “Wait, what are you talking about? Are you heading for the abandoned town or something, too?”

The sand made scrunching under her thick leather boots. Khalxaen had her head tilted, trying to get a better view of his features. She didn’t even know his name or just where exactly he was leading her, and most of all, she couldn’t tell what he was. It would be rude to ask, and even though Khalxaen wasn’t exactly the most polite person on Althanas, she still wouldn’t open her mouth to inquire about his race.

She was being too trusting. It was very unlike of her, but as usual, curiosity overtook her instincts again. Once she saw someone interesting, it would lure her like a child to candy.

The heat was killing her, and it didn’t help that she had her usual worn-out scarf around her neck. It was habit that she wore it, even in warm places, but it was probably laziness or just plain stupidity that she wouldn’t take it off. She felt like she would get a heat stroke soon, but she wanted to know just what was going on; she wanted to know if the fact that this person enthralled her enough to follow him was worth it.

“Are we heading towards the abandoned town?” She repeated, but in a much more collected manner now. “Well, just tell me, and you’re name too, please. I’m Khalxaen.”

[Striker]

Striker looked away from the next black flag marker. Was she just being coy? Maybe she knew more about this situation than Striker knew. Maybe she was just testing him, to see how much he knew!

He stared at Khalxaen for a moment. Nope. Nothing. Oh well. No point in hiding it, they'd just run into the town anyways.

"They said it was bad food, I think. So watch what you eat. But there shouldn't be anyone in town, not after the frenzy at the inn. And, uhh..."

And what? And I want to ransack an empty town? And there's this one dwarf who wouldn't sell me any of his weapons? And I want the five finger discount? And I'm willing to take advantage of this tragedy to get it?

Yes. All of those things are true. But that doesn't mean you have to say them. Though, honestly, what other reason would there be to go?

"...And I want to see it."

Passed another flag. He was making good time. They were making good time. He might not have to root around that shop by moonlight after all.

[Khalxaen]

Khalxaen had a frustrated expression on her face as she crossed her arms and followed him. She was practically stomping her feet, deeming his reason not believable. But then again, her reason was the same—she just didn’t think anybody else would want to check something out of curiosity. She thought there was a much deeper reason to this. And he still hasn't told me his name!

“Fine then. You want to see it.” Khalxaen muttered as they crossed another flag. In the horizon, she could see the vague visage of a few buildings. They were getting closer; just a few more minutes. She couldn’t tell just how long they were walking, but it was probably a lot longer than she realized. The sun was setting already, giving the sand a cascading color.

The closer they got, a better view of the abandoned town could be seen. It was so calm, but there was nothing from it that seemed like a good reason to abandon it. They were still a good distance away, so maybe it wasn’t logical to judge yet. Whatever the reason, they would find out.

Even though there was nothing strange looking about their destination aside from it being abandoned, it gave away an eerie feeling that Khalxaen couldn’t explain. She gulped a knot in her throat. As they got closer, she could hear soft footsteps on the sand that wasn’t coming from her or her companion. She strained her eyes, but she couldn’t see anything moving at all.

[Striker]

As the abandoned town drew closer, Striker was pleased to see the grim absence of life. The whole town was dead still, cast in all reds and deep shadows as the desert sunset crawled across the sand. Not even a breeze stirred the tent flap doorways. The signs of a chaotic exodus were everywhere. Houses had vomited their guts out into the improvised roadways and the shutters on store windows flapped open and shut. The adobe walls around the city went unmanned. Striker walked through the front gates, still open, unperturbed.

Something was wrong, but that much was obvious. After all, that’s why people had left in the first place. Nothing to worry about. Still, it was hard to swallow that gut feeling that inspired cowardice in the face of greed. Striker looked around, taking the whole of the scene in before he set himself to dirty work. Absolute carnage.

Striker could see the center of town from the main road he stood on, and the tallest building in town was housed therein. With the absolute lack of movement around town, it was plainly obvious when a naked man, bearing a white paint handprint over his heart, slowly fought his way out of the building and up the street to the pair. He held a club, formerly a table leg, over his head and seemed like he was more than prepared to use it – although he might be unsure how.

Eyes wide with the glory of the unseen, he stopped uncomfortably close to the two, staring at neither. Talking just at a tone just under screaming, he demanded

“HAVE YOU SEEN THE GLORY OF THE HAND?”

Striker stared down at the man, stepping back a little bit. He could see a few heads popping out of the building now, staring at them. There could be more anywhere. Striker considered the question.

“Umm… Yes?”

Striker looked down at Khalxaen for help, shrugging.

[Khalxaen]

Khalxaen had a goofy face of disbelief as she stared at the man. She backed a way a bit, wanting the man to respect her personal space. It didn’t help that the fact he was naked was making her feel utterly uncomfortable. The man looked greatly enthusiastic by Striker’s reply, and Khalxaen was half joking in her mind when she wondered if he would try to look for a handprint on Striker.

The naked man looked down at Khalxaen in contemplation, until she realized that he was also asking her the question.

“Uh. No.” Khalxaen replied in an aggravated tone.

“Show me your mark!” The man hissed at Striker, suddenly trying to be sure. More heads were popping out and staring at the two of them, and they were all pointing at the tall building the first man had come from. Curiously, Khalxaen looked at it, tilting her head in indifference. “YOU MUST SPEAK TO THE MASTER!”

’Stop yelling…’ Khalxaen wanted to growl, but kept herself from doing it, fearing that it may lead to something much more nasty. She looked up at Striker who was looking down at her with a shrug. “Should we go to that weird building thing?”

[Striker]

The formerly dead town had drummed itself to life. Striker didn't have to turn around to know that all of these formerly empty buildings were now home to doezens of eyes and white painted hands. This would be a good time to be careful.

"The... 'master'. Of course. Lead on." Striker said, as the naked madman started his strange hobble back to the building. Keeping as many of his wits about him as he could given the circumstances, the beast followed.

Through the huge pair of oak double doors, what had formerly been some kind of mayors office had gone through a rather radical change. Striker was sure the floor in the middle of the lobby did not have this largely improvised staircase clawed through the wooden floor. The white hand went through, and when he turned around to becken them forward, Striker gripped his halberd tight as he followed. Ghostlike, the entire town followed at a distance.

Warmed by the glow of torchlight, the cavern below was little more than an earthen pit, centered around a huge stone slab table. "WAIT HERE." the madman demanded, and then ascended the stairs as quickly as he came.

Striker glanced at Khalxaen. "We should get out of here. Soon."

[Khalxaen]

Standing in that place would probably anyone a weird feeling. Khalxaen could hear voices chanting softly, but she couldn’t understand the words, and she assumed it was the whole town that had followed them. She wondered why there were even people there, if that’s what they were, if the town was supposedly abandoned.

There was a weird stench to the place, and Khalxaen didn’t like it one bit. Her companion was right; they needed to get out soon. Khalxaen admitted she probably wasn’t the cleverest person, but she knew that everything in their situation at the moment was a bad omen. The demon knew that the people were going to try to put a handprint on her too, and there was no way that was going to happen.

She looked up at her companion, whose name she still didn’t know. It didn’t matter, it probably wasn’t important. Khalxaen decided to make up a nickname for him, until he decided to tell her his name. “Then let’s get out right now, Fur ball.”

Khalxaen moved to ascend the stairs, blinking as she looked up at the townspeople who stared back down at them. Shivering, she put her foot on the first step, when that all-too-familiar yell came again.

“HE HAS ARRIVED!” Came the yell, as the first naked man they met came down. Several people behind them bowed down, and Khalxaen creaked her neck, trying to get a good view at the ‘master’ behind him. She couldn’t get it, seeing as though the naked man was blocking him.

“Fur ball, I have a bad feeling about this.” Khalxaen muttered under her breath.

[Striker]

Striker swung his halberd around, ready to end a conflict before it began when the crowd parted and a slim man in a pair of thick round glasses dressed in his pajamas emerged from the crowd. Dusting himself off, he looked to the two sheepishly.

"I really do apologize," he said, adjusting his glasses, "I am not entirely sure what is going on myself. My name is Finnias. I am a scholarly mage here, doing some work for the university, but it would appear that my work has had some... side effects? I am trying to get all this down but the scope of the situation is truly maddening. The sudden change to the environment, the people, this preoccupation with hands, it's all absolutely fascinating. In the past fifteen hours I have filled as many notebooks with my notes. This all started as just a thesis, you know, but it is turning into one of the most fascinating works ever done..."

Finnias went on like this for thirty more seconds before Striker interrupted with a roar, "Well, tell them to let us out of here right now or this book of yours is going to have a tragic ending!"

Finnias looked aghast. "And ruin the results? This is the first time they have encountered an outsider to the town! You would deny me the opportuinty to see what happens?"

The question was answered with a blank stare.

"No. Absolutly not." Turning to an equally naked dwarf woman, also adorned in handprints of white, he muttered "Do with them as you will."

[Khalxaen]

“Uh…” Khalxaen said in a confused manner as a few hands suddenly grasped her arms, which she quickly squirmed her way out of. “What do you guys want?”

The mage in front of them named Finnias brought out a notebook and crazily started scribbling things down with a maniacal chuckle. Khalxaen uncomfortably backed away as the people were muttering something and trying to grasp both her and her companion. It was as if they also wanted them to join their weird group or something.

Khalxaen suddenly screamed as a hand went around her neck. As if it was the last straw, she shot her elbow sharply at the person’s stomach, making him fall backwards. Heads shot around angrily at her, and most of them directed their attention at her.

“Do not offend the Hand…” She heard one of them mumbled. Angrily, she punched her way out of the thickening crowd. She could just bring her sword out, but somehow she could understand that they were just innocent people being influenced under something they had nothing to do with.

If these crazy people don’t quit it, I’m going to stab that insane mage. Khalxaen growled, ducking under the crowd and crawling beneath legs and finding her way out. Since the slow people who acted like zombies were still crowded in the area she was previously, it had opened a small path up the stairs.

“Fur ball, shouldn’t we go?” Khalxaen muttered quickly, making a move to climb up the stairs.

[Striker]

Striker moved to force his way through the crowd. The weight of the mob, however, had something rather different to say about the matter. The individual people became an amoeba of reaching hands. Nobody knew what they wanted, not even the quickly fleeing academic, but Striker did not want to find out. He had come here for one purpose, and this group was not going to get in his way.

Envious of Khalxaen's darting frame, Striker decided to take a slightly different approach to his escape. Jumping back to gather some room, he gripped his halberd tightly.

"YOU MUST SEE THE GLORY THAT IS--" the monotone speech was cut short by the crack of a wooden shaft on skull. The impact of the blow sent waves through the whole of the cult, some fifteen strong. Suddenly, they were mad.

"SILENCE THE DISCOURSE!" A naked elf man bellowed, hurling himself toward Striker. As the Mob closed in on him, the beast leapt forward, swinging the staff and the flat of his blade to knock madmen aside like bowling pins. Running awkwardly past, he hit the stairs as fast as he could.

"Come on! We need to find that crazy mage! I want some answers." Striker said, tearing his way back up to the ground floor.

[Khalxaen]

Khalxaen shook her head rapidly. There she was, saving blood since she thought the left villagers were innocent. Striker thought otherwise, something she didn’t see. Whatever, I don’t really care when I think about it. Or maybe, she was just avoiding blood, which for some reason always made her mind go haywire when she could smell it nearby.

The demon and her companion ran up the stairs, after the strange mage. She could feel hands grasping her feet, which she violently kicked away, her face in obvious irritation. If they didn’t get anything from all this trouble, she would really have to hurt someone then. As they ascended the stairs, she could see the back of the fleeing mage, his maniacal laughter echoing in the halls.

Even more people came out in front of them, blocking their view. This time, without hesitation, Khalxaen brought out her sword and slashed her way through, going towards the direction the mage had went in a quick sprint. Finding the right room where she remembered him enter, she kicked the doors open with a growl.

“Quick!” Khalxaen told Striker, urging him to do whatever he thought was correct for the situation. To tell the truth, the demon was finding the whole ordeal freaky rather than shocking. A nagging voice behind her mind wanted her to find out the cause, but at the same time, it also told her it wouldn’t be pretty.

[Striker]

Striker bounded up the stairs, the sounds of anarchy breaking out behind him as he climbed up circular stairways after the harried academic. Finnias had a huge lead on the both of them, but from the sounds of his breathing Striker could tell they would be closing in on him, and fast.

The slamming of a door echoed down the tower. Damn

Striker stormed up the remaining stairs and eyed the top door. How cute. It was real wood and everything. Lashing out with a kick, the lock gave with almost no resistance. Still, the crowd would be coming soon and he would be in a bad position if they wouldn't listen to reason.

Finnias was screaming at him. He looked like he was waving a stick, and in all honesty, Striker could feel his fur starting to stick up on end, and start to singe.

But maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. Striker picked up the man, sending his reading glasses across the room, and broke a window open with his back. They must have been fifty feet above the ground, and Striker was holding the poor man by the scruff of his robe with one arm.

But he couldn't do it forever.

"What did you do to these people!?" Striker bellowed at him. The sound of a crowd stopped him and he turned to the masses.

"Awright you primitive screwheads, listen up! If any one of you so much as touches me, and your leader here won't be leading but two things, Jack and Shit," Striker turned to his victim, "And Jack left town. So I'm gonna ask you one more time. What did you do?"

[Khalxaen]

Khalxaen’s eyes widened as the people stepped forward anyway. Finnias was screaming loudly, and Khalxaen would have too, if she were being held a good height up. She would have been terrified.

“Fur ball, it isn’t working.” The demon stated, pointing up at the crowd with a nervous finger.

“What are you doing?! Listen to him!” Finnias yelled, deeply struggling but to no avail. Sweat dripped down his chin as he yelled orders at the zombie-like people who weren’t even glancing at him. “This isn’t supposed to be happening! Listen to him, you imbeciles!”

“Are they out of control or something? I mean, more than before, now that they’re not even listening to this crazy mage?” Mumbling under her breath, Khalxaen kicked back a few. It was a dead end, and the only exit was the window that led nowhere but fifty-feet down. In addition, it wasn’t a very pretty exit.

With a growl, Khalxaen ran over to Striker. “What’s going on now?!”

[Striker]

Striker's arm sank as his victim rambled at the ground below. Gritting his teeth as if to draw strength from his jaw, the beast vaulted him up again and demanded his question a third time. This earned him little more than the verbalizations of a man wetting his pants.

Khalxaen's warning snapped him out of their brief interview together, and he gave the young, elf-like girl a quizzical look before realizing the mob was drawing ever closer.

"I told you what would happen if you monkeys touched me, so if you are thinking for even a second that this is going to-"

One of the crowd, a young woman wild-eyed with rage, olive complexion and fitting the standard uniform of nudity and painted hand gave striker a solid blow with her weapon, formerly a candlestick holder. In response, Striker made good on his promise.

Watching the arguably mad academic fall to the sands below, packed over the years by the feet of the townspeople, the cat-man began to consider that this action may have been, in fact, incorrect. Inded, he might have just killed the one man who could have saved all these people, dooming them to a short life of madness. The candlestick hit him again, with more authority this time. Lamentations for the death of Leader rose from the crowd, starting to pack the room.

Striker had just made the lunatics angry, and if there was any way to help these people, this companion and he would have to find it themselves. But until then...

"Time for plan B!" he grunted, parrying the candlestick holder with the blade of his halberd and striking the woman down. Several pairs of eyes glared at him. Striker just hoped none of them had a real weapon. "We're going downstairs!" he bellowed, charging the crowd packing the door.

[Khalxaen]

“Whooooa!” Khalxaen bellowed, standing on tiptoes and staring out the window. Blood was smeared over the sand, painting it crimson. Not a very pretty sight, Khalxaen concluded, and she tore her eyes away from it. “Down. Right.”

Khalxaen was oddly a small person compared to others, but it did have its benefits. It made her more agile, meaning in situations like trying to cross a raging crowd, she could duck herself all the way through without staining her sword red from blood.

The only time she brought out her sword was when they were finally reaching the final steps of the stairs and there were a couple that had decent weapons that weren’t furniture. To her surprise, another sword met the blade of hers, and she parried it away and avoided the next strike. She did a quick stride away and made a run for the main door.

She opened the door and ran outside into the sandy ground. Her eyes widening, she saw Finnias spread out before them in the streets. It wasn’t a pretty sight from a window on the upper floor, and it was even more ugly if you saw the corpse a couple of meters away.

“Ew.” Khalxaen muttered under her breath, a chill going down her spine.

[Striker]

Striker was not a subtle force. Moving down the stairs, he fundamentally displaced dozens of people trying to stop him simply by using his halberd as a shield and pushing against the mob. A few fell over the railing, falling to a satisfyingly messy death being buffeted by railings along the spiral staircase.

The mob pushed back. Striker lost momentum. He could feel his strength giving way. Weapons were starting to snake their way through, and the board with a rusty nail through it was of particular interest to Striker's survival instincts. Pushing off the wall, he leapt. Rather not as far as he would have liked however, he fell a few stories before catching the opposite railing, painfully. Hurling himself onto the stairs, the mob was already chasing him.

There has to be a way to help these people... But it is damn hard when I keep having to kill 'em!

He practicly stumbled over Khalxaen as he fell through the front door. The square before him had even more of the nutty bastards, but of further interest was the man in the center. The rather large man, who could have in fact constituted two men. He stood eight feet tall and draped in chain mail almost like a toga. And he was screaming.

"LEADER IS DEAD! DEAD! THE HAND GUIDES US STILL! I AM THE NEW LEADER! I AM THE HAND AND WE SHALL BURN THIS PLANET DOWN!"

Leader was staring right at Striker. Striker did not appreciate the attention.