Things wouldn’t slow for long, but the moment of silence after his last kill was an unnerving moment of ease. Storm heard the soft whisper of air escape the lungs of the demon he rose from, wiping his dagger off on the side of the leather strappings that mounted metal plates upon his prey. They hadn’t helped much for the demon, and were useless for much else now that they were stained with the acrid smelling fluids which bubbled sickeningly from the felled foe’s chest cavity.

You motherfuckers are even grosser dead than you are alive.

The wizard stood with a sneer, feeling aches from a litany of spots upon him. A deflected blade had grazed his shoulder; his arms trembled from the work and hips and knees were sore from his rapid pouncing. He could still certainly move with the lethal speed that had helped him rise to power, but the pains of age lingered far longer now. His back also groaned with dismay at all the torque he had introduced, which did not bode well for the long ride ahead. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand.

If a skeleton could smile, the looming goliath was beaming. This abomination was made for war; he seemed wholly satisfied with his work, having killed a few demons swiftly. Sorian, the more reasonable of the pair, wore a blend of relief and fear upon his face that seemed altogether familiar.

Cazri had directed them inland, and offshored their boats expeditiously. Bringing Storm a horse was a shrewd move, if only for her own self-preservation. He was no damned good twenty miles back, and at his age and level of degradation, it was highly unlikely he’d be able to keep the pace. Worse, Demons could run them down if they weren’t on horseback. Elite could easily pace with them; his strides were long enough that a smooth gaited stride was the speed of a cantering horse.

The horizon was clear for the moment, but the wizard’s eyes continued to squint as he imagined new packs of demons emerging as little black silhouettes. The plains were long and flat; he could hallucinate a lot of terrible things over the miles ahead. Worry plagued him as he tried to gently ride his able horse, gently adjusting in the saddle as he tried to recenter his satchel behind him. It was clear from his stolen glares that Sorian felt unsettled by the helpful elf, but for the life of him Veritas couldn’t pin down why.

Poor poker face, Sorian; we’ll have to gamble sometime. Not today. Focus on the real threat. Need to stay away from any new packs coming in. Only takes one mistake against these shitheads to end it all.

The cold air blew across their faces as they began to move, carrying that awful sulfurous scent that reminded Storm of fouled eggs. It wouldn’t be long until they grew nose blind to it, and at this point he longed for the ignorance. Annoyed by the quiet, he began some chatter.

“Thanks again back then. I think I’d have been okay, but better not to have found out. How about you two? Didn’t catch you with my little shot across the bow, did I?”

Sorian offered a polite if unexpressive acknowledgement. Elite merely nodded, as though the magician would deign to understand what he meant. Better, Storm thought, to not understand and fake it than risk upsetting the beast. Allies were in short supply, and it was a near miracle they had escaped the first volley as cleanly and healthy as they were.

“And you? For all your work in saving the ships and our asses with these horses, it looks like you were able to escape combat. That’s good; we need you alive.”

The silver haired dark elf snapped back at him. “Just because YOU don’t see something doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I took out one of these monsters for my trouble. I also had to put down a woman in camp that had been attacked by the demons. She was beyond saving.”

Cazri’s gaze drifted over the horizon, which was now lighting up more brightly as the morning sun grew taller. It seemed impossible they had all endured so much so early today, but that was the fact of the matter. They still had hours before noon, and long miles to travel. As for the elf, the sadness in her eyes told of a woman that had lived for hundreds of years and not seen such horror. She had walked a fortunate path upon Althanas, but the magic ride was over.

“It’s… it’s never easy.” Storm’s tone slowed now, free of panache or bravado, but rather offering empathy. “The three of us, we’ve seen war plenty, and it’s terrible every time. I knew when they mentioned the portal that there was a chance our expedition would include death; I’d be lying if I didn’t say it shook me every time a battle ends. How many times we walk the tightrope. How easy it would be to slip.”

He expected he was not heard by Sorian or Elite, as the winds lowered much of his voice for him. Either way, it was nothing he’d be willing to walk back.

“You’ve already proven very valuable; I meant what I said.” The traveler raised his right hand again, removing the glove and letting little pale blue tendrils of electricity dance across his fingertips. “It’s easier to be brave with the curse, here.”

Cazri seemed somewhat unmoved by his gesture. “That’s just it. You three were chosen to come here because of your magic. You arrive conquering heroes, without a thought in your heads for what people here think of you. Because you’re not from here.”

“But MY people? I told them of my dreams, my visions, and they think of me as a witch. I’ve seen this all so far, and it hasn’t helped anyone, I couldn’t stop anything. They wouldn’t listen to me when I said we’d need the dwarves. They cast me out here in my home for alluding to the possibility that the elves alone would need help to stave off the red ones.”

Her eyes were welling, although her tone remained steady and stoic. “They hate me for doubting them, when I’m just trying to save us all. That woman I killed in Etherea, she looked at me and begged me for the end, and all she could say was ‘I’m sorry, Cazri.’ How does that help either of us?”

Sorian and Elite joined Storm and staring upon Cazri for her admission of possible precognition. It was hard not to gawk at such a claim. Veritas chose to believe her, for pragmatic purposes.

“Maybe I do believe you. What else have you seen? What do we do?[/i]

Cazri rubbed her face, clearing any tears as though it were no more than winds-carried silt. Her gaze caught Storm, a known liar, but found him to seem earnest enough. Survival was a hell of a motivating tactic to rally around. “We ride north, staying east of the portal. Meet with the dwarves first. We need their axes, and more importantly their machines, if we’re going to have a chance.

“If what I saw is what’s actually coming, none of this may matter.”