The Ring Thief - Chapter 5 - The Theft

 Chapter 5 - The Theft

Purple lights shrieked and splintered from the mage’s boney, skin-tight fingers, scalding Taenith’s scales and slapping against Han's face with an explosive crack. Its impact whipped the bowman to the ground next to Grizzel. Wincing, Taenith grasped his wound. It was as if the dark energy had sharpened into blades and pierced him. He thought for a moment to raise his sword, but he had no reason to believe the mage couldn’t simply disintegrate it like he did to Han’s bow. 

“Bastard,” Taenith thought, and eyed the apostle’s mace, which lay a few feet away from him. It didn't seem to be affected by his powers. If he could just grab it, he’d have a better chance at defeating the mage. Then again, he didn’t know how much of Grizzel’s stories were true. If it indeed killed chaotic beings through physical contact, he wasn’t sure if he’d even survive long enough to wield it.

“I must say. I haven't seen a draconian in a long time,” the figure said, charging another blast at the tip of his cracked fingernails. “I thought your kind was taken out by Solaris and his cultists,” he said. 

Staring into the man’s pitch black gaze, Taenith slowly shifted past Han and towards the mace. 

“If that’s so, you should let us go. I could be the last one,” Taenith bluffed as he felt the tip of the mace hit his foot. To his surprise, no divine energy sprouted from the weapon to kill him. Either Grizzel wasn’t telling the truth, or he wasn’t as unlawful as he’d believed himself to be.

The mage laughed. “Don’t be foolish. With this ring I can simply resurrect you so long as some part of you remains intact,” he said, smirking. “Draconic blood always makes for the best death spells, and you seem easier to manage than a true dragon.” 

“A ring can do all of that?” Taenith asked. 

The mage laughed, “Oh, it’s much more than just a ring,” he said, his gaze shifting to the swirling energies that hovered over the blue gem protruding from its spherical center. “It is ...everything.” 

A moment was all Taenith needed. As soon as the mage’s attention flicked to the ring, Taenith quickly dropped to the ground and picked up Grizzel’s mace. Once in hand, an eruption of heat shot through his veins and dissolved into his muscles, like hot coals melting through butter. But this pain was only temporary. The stinging agony was quickly replaced by vibrations that tickled his palms as divine lights expanded outward, breaking away the shadows of the room and revealing the mage’s face in sickly bright clarity. His eyes, typically a ghastly brown, reddened once the radiant display slammed against him. The mage winced and hissed at the draconian before unleashing a blast of magic at him. An ethereal pair of demonic arms sprouted from the mage’s back and rushed towards the draconian seemingly on their own accord, threatening to grab onto and crush him beneath their powerful grasps. Before any of the magical strikes could hit, Grizzel’s mace shot out a bolt of divine energy, absorbing the arms and their blasts into its hilt. In an instant, all that remained of the attack was clouds of dust. 

Snarling, the mage snapped his fingers, sparking a dusty red cloud that fell to the floor. Black ichor began pouring down his ears and eyes while a cloud-like portal opened up from behind him. Dark gray clouds of lightning folded in on each other for seconds before the spell settled. 

"I'll be seeing you again,” he said, spitting his words before stepping backwards into the fog. Once his form was covered in the magical storm, both him and the gate disappeared from view. When the residual smoke lifted from the air, leaving the group to an empty, moistened room, Taenith dropped the mace and rushed to Han’s side. Moving him onto his back, he witnessed the red burn mark that scalded and tore over his cheek in an almost serpentine fashion. After several moments, however, the scar began to dissipate, as if the effects of the curse had worn off in the absence of its caster. 

“Han?” Taenith asked, gently shaking his shoulders back and forth. 

Groaning at the sudden movement, Han blinked a few times before coughing and sitting himself upward. Looking over the small cobblestone room. “W-what happened?” he coughed as he spoke, then looked to the end of the room and noticed the wizard was gone. “Did we get him?” 

Taenith glanced at the mace, which still glowed with its golden hue, and to the unconscious apostle before shrugging, “I picked up Grizzel’s mace and it scared him off. I guess he wasn’t completely lying about its power.” 

“Well that’s a relief,” Han sighed, taking a deep breath as he looked to the apostle who was still unconscious. “Is he okay?” he asked.

---

When Grizzel faced the wizard, he felt his spirits rise to a crescendo, only to be plummeted by a singing pain that knocked him into darkness. Soon, he was surrounded by nothing. Surrounded by…

“Disappointment,” a figure’s low, masculine voice boomed from the darkness.  

Shaking his head, Grizzel opened his eyes and found himself in a void. Nothing, not even himself, could be seen. There was only the voice of the realm, echoing into his mind like a battering ram. 

“You always try so hard, only to fail.” the voice said. He could hear metallic footsteps clanking in the distance, but from where he was unsure. The screeching sound resonated throughout the entire realm, coming from all directions at once. 

A tear dropped from Grizzel’s face as the figure’s words lingered in the ether. The mace in his hand brought him little warmth.

“Who’s there?” Grizzel asked, raising his mace, which like his body, was completely enveloped in darkness. Not even the light of the gods could overcome it. 

Laughter filled the realm, followed by more scraping footsteps. Grizzel’s eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. A massive figure adorned in golden plate mail suddenly appeared in a burst of sunshine that split the darkness into halves, bringing forth a trail of light in his wake. Soon, even Grizzel’s dark form was allowed to kiss the coming day. Blinking his blinded eyes, Grizzle’s body stiffened. He knew exactly who had appeared before him.

“My son,” the towering figure boomed with his sights aimed down at the minuscule human. Taenith was impressively tall, but the Grand Paladin easily towered over him by at least several heads. Even without the golden plate mail that adorned what Grizzel would imagine as a perfect body, he would have been no shorter than twelve feet tall. Finding his knees kissing the floor, Grizzel succumbed to the angelic figure’s might. To those unworthy, merely glancing upon his body was told to erase one’s soul. Just by looking into the master’s bright blue eyes, the only aspects of his glorious human form he could see through his winged helm, the lesser apostle felt his skin burn and recoil.

“Father...” he mumbled, dumbstruck by the woe of his godly being. 

The titan of a man, looking down on the boy, reached down and put a hand on Grizzel’s shoulder. The boy winced as the fires from the Grand Paladin’s fingertips burnt away his armor and cloth shirt, leaving only a blistering patch of skin underneath the massive hand clutching onto him.

“I...I tried,” Grizzel stuttered. “I’m trying…”

The Grand Paladin did not respond, and instead, withdrew his hand and drew a massive sword from his belt. As the blade escaped its scabbard, it erupted into flame, dripping molten steel onto the floor.

“You have disappointed me again, boy,” the figure’s voice boomed. Grizzel’s ears rang from the vibrations of his voice, and he cowered.  

“But...,” he grew frantic, fumbling his weapon in his hands to show his father. “I got this mace! A goddess blessed me. I’m worthy now!” Grizzel cried. 

The Grand Paladin looked down on the minuscule weapon and growled. 

“Should I be impressed by a toy that cannot even best a frail mage?” his voice bellowed. He slammed a foot into the floor, causing the shadows of darkness remaining in the realm to explode into whiteness that began eating away at Grizzel’s pale skin. 

“But, no…I-I,” Grizzel blurted, dropping his head to the floor. He began sobbing. 

“I saved my friends!” he cried.

The Grand Paladin’s blade soared with flame as he raised it into the air, ready to strike down the weakling at any moment.

“Were all my years wasted on you? If you call a demihuman anything but a prize, then you are no son of mine. Your exile is earned. BEGONE!” the figure shouted. He brought down the blade, fire screeching and hissing as it slammed against Grizzel, exploding him and the realm into a cloud of cinders. 

Nothing remained. Only darkness. And pain. 

---

As if on queue, the seemingly dead Grizzel burst to life and sprung to his feet like a premature firecracker before lunging for his mace and swinging at the air where the mage used to be, shouting as tears sprouted from his eyes and blood leaked from his ears. 

“Coward!” he panted, his voice cracking and his hands shaking. He was barely able to hold the mace upright.  

Standing up, Han walked over to the apostle and patted his singed pauldron, “Hey, it's alright. He ran off.” As he looked over Grizzel, who looked the opposite way from Han, he noticed the red in his eyes and cheeks. “He, uh, ran away after seeing that mace,” Han offered a reassuring smile. 

For a moment, a deep seeded frown permeated the apostle’s lightly bruised features before a wide, dumb, grin sprouted over his face. 

The vision was wrong. It had to be. It was just a dream. 

A dream…

Grizzel wiped his face, his hand hugging the hilt of his mace. Then, a rush of pride bubbled inside him.

“Haha!” he shouted, flexing his arms and raising his mace to the ceiling, “You never stood a chance, mage! Not against the likes of Grizzel Valone!” His tears of pain swelled into tears of joy. But when he took in a deep breath, his chest stung like it had been pierced by needles. The mage had certainly done a number on him.

Taenith huffed and began to retort before Han nudged him and whispered, “Probably the best for the both of us if we let him have this,” he said, looking to Grizzel who had since puffed out his chest and stood heroically in the absence of the powerful mage. Taenith didn’t protest, noticing the redness that colored the apostle's face. 

As Grizzel celebrated ‘his’ victory, Taenith decided to walk over to where the portal had vanished. He’d never witnessed such magic performed before. Seeing that kind of power in the hands of a simple human made him anxious, but even more than that, jealous. As he looked over the old oaken table, Taenith felt a slight tug at his chest, as if a cold envious hand had coiled around him, squeezing his very soul with sharp, freezing nails that waterfalled boiling coals down his paper veins. Looking over the desk, he opened a few drawers whose locks had been shattered, and uncovered many more rings and bundles of gold and silver coins strewn about with layers of dust caking them. Opening the bottom drawer he could see several parchments of paper with black ink writings in a different language composing them.

Grabbing one of the slips, his eyes widened when he realized its words were also ancient draconic. Though he couldn’t quite make the sentences out, as it was in the same script as the mage’s, he could understand it was some sort of spell page. Of the words, the most prominent was ‘invisible.' The rest, though at one point probably pristine, were now doused in speckles of oil and stained in wax, as if someone had purposefully ruined it. 

“What’re you looking at?” Han asked, approaching from behind. When he neared the desk, glints of gold caught his eye, turning his attention immediately to the piles of abandoned treasure. “Holy…” he said, “There’s enough here for fifty trips to Kanda,” he said, laughing as he dug his hands through the pile and picked out a few large gemstones to examine more closely.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to touch that,” Taenith said, setting the piece of paper he’d been examining onto the table. 

“Why not? No one’s here to defend it,” he said.

Taenith pointed to the bottom cupboard Han had overlooked. “That mage could’ve enchanted them with curses. All these papers are spell scrolls.”

Han glanced from the pile of papers and to the gold, shrugging, “Well...I guess it’s too late for that,” he said.

“Gold?!” Grizzel asked. Wide eyed, he broke his heroic postering and stormed towards the desk, frantically digging through the piles of rings and necklaces that bundled together in a knotted pile. 

Shaking his head, Taenith grabbed the ruined spell page and slipped it into his bag as the others dumped anything that shined even the faintest glimmer into their own.

“Vulture,” Taenith’s thoughts automatically inquired while he watched Grizzel stuff fistfuls of coins and gems into his grease-stained bag. It was at the moment when he remembered the two apostles in his old home. Howzer and Litner. He could still remember perfectly their fat grins and black hearts bleeding over the gold afforded by the death of his parents. 

While Grizzel continued looting, Han noticed Taenith was unmoving, save the slight twitching of his razored tail. He didn’t know much about draconians, but the blank stoicism in his eyes was more unsettling than his usual rageful gaze.  

Moving towards Taenith, he motioned for him to lower his face to his height so Grizzel couldn’t hear. This was to no avail, however, as the draconian continued his trance-like stare.

“Hey, you okay?” Han asked.

Taenith tried to shove down his intrusive thoughts, but they clung to him like chains. He had no response for the bowman.

“I know what you’re probably thinking. And I understand,” he whispered, “But this is what we came here for. What happened to you in the past, that’s not what’s happening here, okay?” he said, gazing up into Taenith’s absent, vibrant eyes. Doing so, Han could feel his throat tighten. Being up close to the massive draconic figure, and feeling his anger through the heat coming off his body was more than intimidating. It really was like staring into the eyes of a dragon, or a demon for that matter. Even so, the frail bowman did the best he could to keep his straight posture and steady eyes, even if all he wanted to do was run away.

For a few small moments, Han and Taenith continued to stare into each other, the sound of Grizzel digging through gems and coins was the only noise that resonated in the otherwise dead quiet room. Han longed to reach out and place a gentle hand on the draconian, but hesitated in fear of losing it. Before he could make up his mind on the action, his thoughts were interrupted. 

“Praise the gods!” Grizzel chimed and sang while continuing to fill his bags and excess pockets with coins.

“Praise the gods….” Those cursed words slipped into Taenith’s mind, causing his features to flush with rage. He tightened his grip on his scimitar. Staring into Han’s face, all he could see was blood and debris. 

Maybe he was the same. 

All humans were.

Taenith’s sight blurred as he felt the flames in his body roar upwards into the back of his throat. In that moment, he felt his mind numb and his hands sting. His wings began to stretch and his tail curled like a snake ready to strike. 

“Taenith,” Han said, trying to keep a straight tone.

Han’s words melted into mere noises as Taenith felt his brain turn to mush. And though his vision didn’t blur, Han’s soft, Kandan features became unrecognizable, a chaotic blend of flesh with no discernable patterns or meaning. Indeed, Han the bowman was no longer Han, but something else - a creature - to be slain. The blood in Taenith’s head bubbled and swelled, intoxicating in him a relaxed numbness that took away the stress in his shoulders, and the pain in his heart. It was…nice. 

He wanted to thrust his scimitar through both their rotten chests. 

Then, a part of himself - old and long-buried, yet eerily familiar - clawed its way back to the surface. And it was more than eager to speak its mind.

“They destroyed your kind. You saw how eagerly they reached for gold. Like flies to feces. They are all, deep down, offensively and naturally, beasts,” his thoughts spoke to him, like a guide inhabiting his soul. It urged - no, commanded his clawed hands to choke the life out of the faceless and soulless figure before him.

Taenith’s irises became vacuous, and stared into nothing. 

“Taenith,” Han said, his stern tone beginning to falter.

 “Raise your sword,” the voice seethed. Taenith’s grip trembled; he clenched the hilt of his blade.

“And kill,” his thoughts hissed. 

Before Taenith could act on his baser desires, however, he felt a burning sensation spread throughout the left side of his maw. As the pain resonated in him, he could feel his senses snap back to reality, and the fog covering his eyes fell apart. 

When he was able to once again see the room for what it was, he witnessed Han’s flickering eyes as he had backed away, and was speechless. Taenith could see his hands shake sporadically while beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. 

“Han-” he began. The cold of the stone floor against his covered feet began to feel like ice turning his scales to snow. Nothing was comfortable, especially not Han’s fearful gaze.

After a few moments of silence between the two, however, Han seemed to shove aside most of his fear. He quickly replaced his shaking features with a stern glare and turned his back on Taenith, walking up to Grizzel. He put a hand on the apostle’s shoulder and smiled. “So, what now?” he asked. Though his voice was clear, his teeth chittered against each other every few words. And the sweat on his forehead continued to wet his flesh. 

“Well,” Grizzel examined the rest of the room. A frown stretched across his face once he saw that only an overturned chair, torn painting, and all too frequent cobweb was all that remained of the decrepit room. “Doesn’t look like much else is in this room. But did you guys wanna check out the rest? We didn’t exactly check out those locked doors on the first floor,” he said

Looking down the barely lit staircase, Taenith could hear the air filtering in and out through various windows, groaning like an old man irritated with new visitors. Though he was almost certain they were now alone, his chest tightened at the thought of being somewhere the mage could come find them again.

Before Taenith could say anything, Han chimed in. “Well I’m not staying here after that, and I'd rather not be here when whoever owns this place returns."

Grizzel bit his tongue at the suggestion, but stood silent and looked to Taenith for his own thoughts.

“He’s right,” Taenith muttered. “We got what we came for...” he added, his tone flat as he still dwelled on the feeling of whatever had come over him.

"Fine," Grizzel muttered as he looked over the musty room one last time. "Let's go."

Ignoring the less than enthusiastic response of the apostle, Taenith led the way downstairs while Han followed, unknowingly dropping the occasional coin from his bag for Grizzel to catch and stow in his pockets. Once the group found themselves past the furniture-ridden hallway from before, they followed the dimly lit torches of the fort to the entrance they’d left open to the plains.

As Taenith opened the doorway to reveal the burning sun and the basking grasslands beyond the dust-crusted castle, Grizzel felt reinvigorated. The sorrow that stressed his chest alleviated knowing his mace was at his side and he had a mountain of gold to prove his success in the field. The master was wrong about him. And now, all that stood between him and his return to Kingswatch was the road…or rather, the plains. 

Glancing backwards, Han caught a glimpse of his pause. “Forget something?” he asked with an eye raised. 

Brushing a hand over his neck and face, Grizzel smiled. “Oh, No. I’m coming,” he said as he followed the others outside. Once they were free from the cold innards of the fortress, Taenith eyed the distant plains, seeing only a few miscellaneous deer and the occasional group of elephants drinking by a nearby watering hole. Looking to Woodhurst, which from their position looked to be no more than a small scar over the horizon, he was quickly reminded of the apostles who lived there. He’d been denied even simple water in the town. If they brought back heaps of gold, even with Grizzel along with them, he doubted the others would respect his ‘divine’ authority or their finds.

“What is it?” Han asked. His eyes told Taenith that he was calm. But after the scene from in the tower, he couldn’t help but avert his gaze. The guilt was too much. He had come too close to losing control.

Looking to the distance, Taenith spoke, “Returning to Woodhurst with all of this gold would be dangerous. I don’t imagine the apostles there would have much of an issue with killing us for it.”

Grizzel raised a brow. “Why? Were they Kingswatch?”

Taenith glared at the apostle. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah. Not all apostles hate demihumans.” 

“I doubt that,” Taenith replied. 

Grizzel was about to respond before Han butted in. “Okay come on you guys. I saw how they treated him back there. It wasn’t great. Can we just find another town?” 

Grizzel sighed. “I guess. There’s always Vinetree.”

“Never heard of it,” Taenith said. “And let me guess. It’s owned by Kingswatch?”

Grizzel bit his lip. “Well…”

“If it’s a city controlled by Kingswatch then they’ll have apostle security, and we are trying to AVOID that.” Taenith hissed, fangs bared in agitation.

Grizzel ‘s chest burned at the tone of Taenith’s response. For a moment, he tapped into that trained frustration he was meant to have. That he was meant to use against people like him.

“You are. We’re not the ones burning inns down,” Grizzel said, looking up to the draconian’s now burning eyes. 

“Say that again.” Taenith’s nostrils flared and his wings twitched outwards.

Han stepped between the two, shoving them apart. 

“Stop! We’re not doing this! ” he grabbed the map and opened it. “Grizzel, where else can we go?” he asked, shooting the apostle a stern glare. 

Grizzel’s gaze stayed trained on Taenith for a moment longer before he looked down to the parchment. He took a deep breath, exhaling his frustrations as he looked over the available options. He noticed a city in the woods nearby, but no name was marked on it. It was times like this when he regretted saving the extra coin for an unmarked map.

"Fine. How about here?" Grizzel pointed to a visible town marked by farm fields and a large center of towers near a sprawling forest.

"Oakheart," Taenith said. 

"Does that work?" Han asked.

"I've never been there. Just heard it's a farming district. It gets most of its workers from Woodhurst."

"Then it's more likely the apostles came from there. And we can’t have that, can we?” Grizzel snipped.

Taenith clenched his fists. 

Han groaned and slammed shut the map. “Okay. Time out. Grizzel, come with me.”

Taenith was taken aback when the bowman grabbed Grizzel’s wrist and, with surprising authority, dragged him back into the tower, slamming the door shut behind them. Taenith didn’t even get the chance to retort. 

“What the hell are you defending him for? He’s the one attacking me,” Grizzel snapped, ripping his wrist away from Han’s grasp. 

“Taenith’s entire people were killed by apostles, you dumbass. So shut the fuck up and work with me, okay?”

“I-” Grizzel began before realization settled in and his words faded off. When he was a boy, he heard of the crusades against the demihuman kingdoms. The ones his father led…

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I just…we’re not all bad. You know that, right?” 

Han sighed. “Of course I know that, but Taenith has no reason to trust you yet. This kind of thing takes time. So can you just not mention anything about gods or apostles or whatever until we’ve had a chance to cool down? We just met the guy. I’d rather not piss him off on day two.” 

“Okay…okay,” he said with a small frown. Guilt settled in his chest as he studied the floor between them. “I didn’t think…” his words trailed off.

“It’s okay. Just…” Han pinched his forehead before turning to the door. “Just wait a couple minutes so I can talk to the big guy. Alright?”

Grizzel nodded. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door once more to find that Taenith had his back turned against the building. He was watching the fields in silence. 

“Oh, what the hell am I doing, papa?” Han muttered under his breath as he left the tower’s entrance. It was at times like these when he missed his family the most.  

“Good crems Han. Good crems,” he repeated in his head. 

As Taenith watched the plains, listening to the wind rolling over the long grass, he heard Han’s light footsteps behind him.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” Han began.

Taenith didn’t turn around. Instead, he continued staring into the distance. 

“It won’t happen again,” he muttered.

“You were thinking of attacking us.” Han said. “And I get you hate apostles. I really do. But if we’re going to be together, we need to learn to get along. We need to trust each other. I mean, come on. Grizzel didn’t know about your past. Neither did I until last night.”

Taenith huffed with a sharp breath through his nostrils. He took notice of a small faun in the distance. It had a limp and was completely alone. Weak, and with no one to save it from the horrors of the night that would come.

“Then I will take my share and leave,” Taenith said.

Han pressed his palm against his forehead. “And then what? Return to Woodhurst and get killed?” 

Taenith didn’t respond. 

Han was about to find something else to say, before they both heard the creak of the door. Grizzel had been listening, and came forward.

“Griz, I told you to-” he began.

“I know. I just… Taenith?” he asked. 

Taenith grumbled before his sharp gaze flicked back to Grizzel. “What?” he snapped.

“I…” Grizzel racked his mind for the right words, fumbling his fingers. He was never any good at being real with others, or himself for that matter. But he knew he had to say something. “My father always hated demihumans. I was taught to. But I’m not like that. I try not to be anyways. And I know you hate us. But we’re not all like that.”

Taenith’s tail twitched, but he was quiet. Listening.

“The cult of Lune started it all. I’m trying to end it. Trying to make things better. That’s what I’m here for.” 

“With gold?” Taenith quipped, his tone laced in sarcasm and distrust. 

Grizzel took a coin out of his pocket and weighed it in his palm. Such a small thing it really was. Maybe he was a fool for thinking all the loot in the world would somehow make his father proud of him enough to abandon his hateful ways. 

“The story I told you about the mace is true. Even if you don’t believe me, I want to show others there’s another way. A way to protect all people, not just humans. And with this gold,” he rubbed a thumb over it. “I can…return home.” He was as honest as he could afford. But he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, mention his exile. To be banished from the academy…the largest in the world at that. It was one of the greatest dishonors owed to an apostle. So for now, he would continue that charade. He was still an apostle. He needed to be. 

Taenith paused for a moment, closing his eyes to clear his mind as a tense sigh escaped him. A gust of cold wind from the plains blew past his burning head, chilling away the frustration that rested there. He hadn’t expected Grizzel to open up like that, and he appreciated that his goals were at least somewhat respectable.

Taenith took a deep breath. What felt like an eternity of strained silence passed before he finally turned around to fully to face the others. “Oakheart it is then.” 

Grizzel smiled immediately. 

Han felt like the weight of a continent had lifted off his shoulders as he took out the map once more. It was a bit crumpled by now, but it still functioned for what it was worth, which was not much. 

“The map says it should only be a few hours past the treeline over there,” he said, pointing to the expanse of pine trees jutting out of the ground like weeds in the distance. 

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” Taenith said. 

“Great, I’ll lead the way!” Grizzel grinned, rejuvenated by the new agreement they had come to.

“So weak...” his father’s voice echoed into his mind, bittering his tongue and drying his throat with a deep seeded, unnatural hatred that entwined in his chest like a malignant tumor. He didn’t want it, but it was there anyway. It wasn’t a pleasant guest either, always ready to call him “Idiot,” “Fool,” or “Disappointment” whenever he did as much as step over an ant hill rather than through it, which, as he led Taenith and Han through the plains, he did several times. Not even the most fiery of ants were slain beneath Grizzel’s steel boots. This, of course, caused his mind to become racked with contempt for the one he loved and wished to make proud. He tried so hard to be the best he could be yet it was never enough, his values never appreciated.

 “Does he always travel like this?” Taenith, watching Grizzel straighten his back and return to goostepping. Taenith still felt a bit awkward about earlier, but was glad they were able to at least converse normally again. Well, as normally as people who’d only met the day before could. 

Han chuckled, hefting the straps of his overweight bag over his sore shoulders. “Always. Without exception.”

Noticing his struggle with the bag, Taenith offered a hand. For a moment, the bowman hesitated, but his exhaustion overrode any residue of frustration that hid within his heart from earlier.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing his sore shoulders. 

Taenith slung the bag over his back and continued forward. As he did, however, he suddenly felt his foot hit a wad of something moist. Looking down, he noticed that he had stepped on a giant nest of insects. Their ichorous blood now covered his boot in hundreds of tiny black speckles. 

Han laughed. “Guess he was avoiding that,” he said.

“I guess so,” he said before wiping the base of his foot on the grass and continuing forward. Han’s stomach did a small summersault as the blades of grass in the draconian’s wake became covered in the insect viscera.

Not long after this, the fort they had ventured through was now barely peeking over the distance. Even more, the shadows provided by the clouds above had finally abandoned them as well, leaving their bodies exposed to the beaming rays of the sun. Though the walk had only gone on for a couple hours, it only took a few moments of the absent clouds to unleash a blistering hell that forced them to multiple breaks at various trees strewn across the plains. The heavy armor trapping every bit of that burning heat against their bodies. Han was suffering the least, but Grizzel and Taenith were punished for their heavy metal armor.

Nearby small ponds occupied by harmless deer and rabbits were a more than welcoming place to rest. After having walked for most of the afternoon in a silence that was only broken by the dripping waterskins and clanking metal coins, they found themselves rescued by the overbearing shade of a forest entangled by large pines that spread into the sky like titans with dagger-like spikes sticking out of their trunks. 

“Well, that sucked,” Grizzel wheezed, tiredly slinging his bag down onto the ground before stretching and plopping himself down next to it. The shade of a nearby tree began stealing away the searing heat from the armor that was practically roasting him alive. He could even swear a hint of bacon was coming off his skin. 

“Wait, there’s no trail?” Han asked, looking over the thicket coated in a glaze of shadows and nervous chatterings of bugs and animals. His stomach sank at the occasional set of yellow eyes that peered from the brush at the group before quickly disappearing once more into the dark underbrush. 

Grizzel craned his neck up from the ground and looked to where Han had mentioned, “Guess not from here,” he said, shrugging. “But how bad can it be?”

As his words left his mouth, a guttural howl permeated the trees, sending shivers down their collective spines and draining Han’s face of color. Stepping backwards from the thicket, Han shot the apostle with a gaze of daggers. 

“You were saying?” he asked. 

Grizzel grabbed his bag and jumped to his feet as he pulled out his mace, shining its divine radiance into the darkness of the dense forest where denizens such as deers, rabbits, and foxes quickly retreated further into the woods. Even the exposed roots of the trees seemed to flinch and recoil as the divine light struck them. 

“If the mage was scared off by the mace I’m sure some wolves won’t be any trouble,” Taenith said. 

“Really? You’re going to just get up and fight whatever giant wolf pack is out there? You guys are actually crazy,” Han said in disbelief at how eager these two were to just face off and fight whatever came by.

Taenith couldn’t help but smile at the bowman’s lack of enthusiasm anytime the group urged forward or prepared for a fight. He couldn’t blame him at all. Han wasn’t accustomed to a life of survival in this region, but nonetheless, it was entertaining to see the human squirm in the face of danger, when he had displayed such courage against a draconian like himself only hours before. Stepping forward from the group, Taenith drew his scimitar and approached a small gap in the treeline where some of the tangled branches and a few smaller plants had been crushed and run over by a larger animal. As the three walked into the disturbed piece of the forest, however, a thick, rancid smell of dried blood and rot conquered their senses. Taenith and Grizzel recoiled at the scent, but Han immediately shot to the ground where he could see several blades of grass had become caked in blood and chunks of flesh. 

Standing up, he nearly hurled as he looked further down the flattened grass where he could see a deer’s hoof. 

“Ah hells no,” Han wheezed, clenching his stomach to hold back an onslaught of vomit that inched up his throat. “We-” he paused, gagging, “We have to go a different way.” 

Grizzel raised a brow, “What’s wrong?” 

Han glared at the apostle. “Do you not see the pile of-” he began before noticing a maggot crawling out of the waste of the carcass. As it writhed around, he averted his gaze. His face was completely green at that point.

Grizzel also cringed, but tried to be positive. “I’m sure whatever ate it is happy!”

As he spoke, one of the bones jutting out from the blood pile slipped out and hit the ground, only to reveal a dozen or so other scattering scarab-like creatures that had already begun making their homes inside the leftovers. Even that sight made Grizzel sick to the point he had to turn away as well, but only for a brief moment as he turned back to Han to try and encourage him with a strained smile.

 Unfortunately for Han, the sight of the bone and bugs was enough to make him spew his sickness onto the ground. 

As the two recoiled from the dead animal, Taenith looked over the wreckage behind it. He quickly noticed a trail of blood that strayed from the leftover body and continued into the brush. Judging by the massive imprints of bear-like feet that followed it along with the bent and damaged trees, it was certainly large. 

“There’s a trail after all,” Taenith said, attempting human sarcasm. 

As the three stared down the bloody path, another tree-shattering growl permeated the forest. Whatever was lying in this thicket of dark woods, hiding low beneath the shadows, was very close.