“Stay calm, big fella. No reason to get your balls in a twist over a bunch of creepy ribs. Probably just a scary looking space put together by a bunch of goddamned pussies to chase off the actual terrors. Town must be close, and likely not well guarded.”

Storm Veritas had seen what he always presumed to be damned near everything in his travels, and he worked to assure his mighty steed that there was nothing to fear. In spite of his worldliness, he couldn’t help but tremble a bit at this clever façade; the land strewn with bones from various beasts and baddies, with manufactured hallways of ribs stretching up from the earth and hands reaching up at the man and his horse, bones tethered together with either mud or magic. With a flick of the wrist, he fired a diminutive blast of electrical energy at one of the outstretched limbs; it exploded and tumbled to the earth without any sort of contention. The crackle-snap, the boom and bluster… these bones fared no better than human ones.

We’re still getting the f*ck out of here. I heard Concordia was largely unguarded these days; didn’t expect something so elaborate. What happened to a few heads on stakes?

His mind drifting, he tried to square up why Concordia would build such elaborate defenses. They had the use of the rangers at their disposal for centuries, and while Storm gave them only a cursory speck of respect, he couldn’t help but notice the rest of the local rubes about Corone in general spoke of Them as if they descended from the clouds on Am’aleh’s own chariot.

Could be some religious group, a band of local fools. Could be a pet cemetary, affixed with bones of the big ones to seem more imposing. Could be an old prank that no one bothered to clean up.

Could be damned near anything. Just go.

The clip-clop of heavy hooves yielded to a splish-sploosh type of sound as they entered more slippery terrain. The wretched odor of decomposing leaves implied this place had been long since abandoned, and yet the mighty ribs (which might have belonged to some sort of dragon) remained upright and firm. Attila brayed beneath him, kicking front hooves and chuffing mouthfuls of air forward in frosty clouds of disquiet.

“Easy. Nothing to worry about, Attila. Nothing but smoke and mirrors.”

Smoke and mirrors and some very probable magic hanging over this horrible place. Get out get out get out.

A swift but not angry heel-kick landed in the thick muscle of the ebony horse’s haunches, spurring the stallion forward in a steady march. Storm rode tall in the saddle, grey eyes squinted in a fine line as he tried to reconcile whatever loomed ahead.
It was a tandem, two smaller ones, a male and female yapping back and forth in the middle of this great mess. Too many times he had underestimated the little at the expense of his skin and bones; he would not be caught off guard ahead. Fixing his tailored travel coat taut about his sinewy, muscular frame, he ran long fingers through his hair to look less fatigued, more official. As the great beast strode forward, the hands of the aging wizard gathered energy, a barely visible white aura faintly humming about his knuckles.

“Evening, folks. Hell of a place to get lost! You wouldn’t happen to be from Concordia, would you?”

Despite a gleaming white smile and brilliant blue-gray eyes, the dimpled aristocrat kept a keen eye on the duo. If they worked quickly without his focus, atop a horse could prove a terrible place to be.