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Call to Arms – VOID Kickstarter

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We currently have 19 backers and over $500 dollars towards completion on our Kickstarter Project in 4 days! This has been due to the great support of our WordPress community and Facebook community. We are looking forward to having more communities join us as we attempt to complete funding to finish the illustrations for the free PDF.

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With 26 days left, we realize that we need to make some major strides to meet our funding goal, especially if we want to consider the current stretch goals [as well as those that we have not yet posted]. With nearly 250 followers on our blog, we are asking the community from WordPress to help us continue to spread the word! We are hoping that with such a great community, we can really make this project succeed!

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Stay tuned this week for some exciting interviews coming up! We will continue to provide updates for VOID Tabletop Roleplaying Game!

 

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Balvoc’s Story – Flash Fiction #7

Weeks turned into months. Balvoc trekked across the desert and into the grasslands of northern Marharia. Frequently, he released the pigeons and followed them until he no longer could hold the pace. The land became more familiar as he raced across the landscape. He knew this world. He knew the North.

Balvoc released another pigeon with the rising of the sun. It fluttered into the air and flapped its wings to the Northwest. Balvoc followed. The pigeon only flew for about half an hour before Balvoc saw it land in the distance over a small hill.

He had found the place. Now, if only Maruda was alive. He hoped that Rujan, the God of War and Glory, blessed him this day

Balvoc was aware that the Svet were not known for their stealth, so he did not even try to sneak upon the base camp over the hill. With a snarl, he raced towards the hill. His labrys was clutched in his right hand and the crossbow loaded in his left.

As he climbed the hill, his vision fell on the makeshift camp near an outline of scattered trees. Five Anshedar men sat around the fire, eating their morning meal and laughing heartily. Their bedrolls were still scattered about the area. Their weapons were nowhere near their hand.

Balvoc’s eyes laid upon Maruda. She was down on her knees, collapsed on the ground, weak and thinner than he had ever seen her. Her dark skin was pale. Maruda’s head was dipped towards the ground as though she barely had the strength to lift it. The female Svet heaved and coughed as though sickness had been with her for weeks without remedy.

His wife was alive!

A deep-seeded roar unleashed from his throat, deeper than the dark caverns of the Kras, deeper than the depths of the Netherworld. He bolted down the hill with full intent of laying waste to the human scum.

“Maruda!” he cried. “For glory!”

The Anshedar threw their heads up about the same time that he released the bolt from the crossbow. It tore into the neck of the man on the left, causing him to spew his breakfast to the ground with the blood that erupted from his mouth.

“To arms!” One cried.

And already, Balvoc was upon him with unmatched speed against the two-legged fools that dared cross the centaur. Balvoc hit the first man that stood with his horns, crunching bone, and laying him back down. His feet trampled the man as he swung the labrys towards another. The weapon hit its mark with deadly accuracy, slicing through the underbelly. The Anshedar’s guts spilled like spoiled wine across the green grasses of the northland.

Another human managed to grip his sword, and came at Bulvac with full force. The centaur dropped his crossbow and grabbed the man’s arm that swung the weapon. He pulled the man off his feet, dislocating the arm, and sunk his sharpened fangs into the man’s face with the ferocity of a savage beast. His cries were cut short before the weapon clanged upon the ground.

“Die, Svet!” the last Anshedar screamed, firing a bolt into Balvoc’s stomach.

Bulvac resounded in pain, jerking the sharp projectile from his body, and stamping towards the ignorant pile of sheepdip. He raised the labrys and ran the man through before he could nock another arrow.

“Balvoc,” Maruda whispered faintly.

Balvoc fell to his wife’s side, his touch grazing by the severed fingers of her hand, and touching her face with the gentleness of a falling leaf, “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

 

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Balvoc’s Story – Flash Fiction #6

Balvoc jerked on the ground. He did not know how long he had been unconscious. His body ached and he barely enough strength to open his eyes under the blistering sun. His lips were cracked, completely dried out. His flesh stung with the burning wounds that layered him from hoof to chest. He groaned miserably.

He took note that the world was silent outside of the hollowing wind that pressed against his eardrums in the mid-afternoon heat. He had expected the Lilitu to come crashing down upon him at any moment, to tear him to shreds. The Svet would never leave an enemy to die of their own accord. Balvoc would have assured that his enemy was dead!

He found himself lucky that the Lilitu were not as thorough.

With his eyes shut, he reached to his belt for another potion to give him the boost he needed to continue the journey. The red liquid slid down his throat with ease, his mind having the general effect of being clouded. He hated the sensation, but the lacerations on his body immediately were given relief.

“Maruda,” he muttered gruffly, a gentle reminder of why he struggled. It was why he lived. His beloved needed him.

As his vision cleared, and his strength returned, Balvoc looked around the landscape for the deadly Lilitu that had attacked him. It did not take long for him to realize that he stood alone. They had truly left him, already thinking him to be dead. They obviously were not familiar with the resilience of the Svet. He had the impulse to seek revenge against the spineless seafarers of the south, to rip them limb from limb and taste their blood on his lips. But, Maruda had to come first.

“I am coming for you, Maruda.”

Balvoc was glad to see that the pigeons had been left at his side. He took one gently from the large cage and set it loose into the air. It flew furiously to the northwest. He gathered his weapons with a snort, his ears flipping irritably at the situation.

With what strength he had, he galloped after the pigeon. His tale was not yet done!

 

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Balvoc’s Story – Flash Fiction #5

The sound of the Lilitu soldiers pursuing Balvoc kept him moving forward, though he knew that he could not maintain the pace much longer. His blood pounded in his ears and his throat was sandpaper. The frantically cooing pigeons on his rump made it impossible for him to hide. He had little choice in how this would play out.

He cocked his head listening. He had, perhaps, enough time to catch his breath before they were upon him, and he had to prepare himself. Balvoc had managed to find a recess in the earth, hard rock that set his back to a column of red stone nearly thirty spans in diameter. The recess at its based looked as though it occasionally held water, though now it was bone dry.

With that thought, he quickly pulled up a skin and drank from it before returning it. He then removed the pigeons from his back, setting them gently on the ground as if the grey and white birds were Maruda. For Balvoc, in many ways, they were. His face, softened for a moment, before turning stony as he hefted an arbalest from his side, knocking a bolt in the heavy crossbow. His other hand swung free his axe, leaning the labrys against his side before he aimed the crossbow over the ridge of the recess.

And then the Lilitu were upon him. The bolt flew from the arbalest with deadly accuracy, taking the first soldier from his feet as he topped the ridge, taking him beyond sight. Balvoc hefted his labrys and snarled as he charged them. The mighty weapon whirled about his head and the Lilitu visibly blanched as his onslaught.

The first few died before they could more than start at his anger, fear gripping them as he howled for blood. The other sought to slow him, but his rage filled him and he shrugged away their feeble attempts to take away his mobility and strength. The blows that landed stung, but his armor helped to reduce their impact, though the Lilitu armor could do little against his heavy blows. Even if the blade did not cut their armor, the force of the blow shattered the insides of the Lilitu.

More than half a dozen lay dead around him before he noticed that they had regrouped atop the hill. Another Lilitu stood among those atop the ridge with raised hands and a roiling mass of sand and fire grew from the ground in a rapidly widening arc that threatened to sweep Balvoc from his feet and burn him to ash all at once. With a snarl, he charged at the wave of sand and fire, some of the sand fusing to glass, glimmering with razor-sharp deadliness. He leapt with all of his strength to clear the wave, and the Lilitu smiled.

With a twitch, his fingers burst open and the wave beneath Balvoc exploded, sending fire and glass into his underbelly, the sand and glass fused to his flesh.

Balvoc screamed.

 

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Fan Flash Fiction #8

[Seigfeld and Razorleaf approach the Ash Tree.]

Screams of lamentations echoed as Seigfeld step into the hollow cavern. The over-sized Ash Tree sat in a pool of dark water, springing upward full of leaves, and fruits, and flowers. Its base was wide and the expanse of its branches was wider still. The roots spiraled in and out of the circulating waters like a serpent prepared to strike out at its enemy. Lining the outer edge of the pool, the metaphorical door to the Netherworld, were the Likhyi. Seigfeld did not have time to count their numbers before they were charging.

“For Anneinda,” Seigfeld mumbled.

Razorleaf made his own battle cry for Lesh and family.

The Arkono sprung forward on its talons, the hands moving quickly to use stone and air to create a dust storm in front of him to slow the charging demons that ran towards the two of them. Seigfeld was thankful as he made his own advancement. He would have never been able to successfully defend against the masses of demonic creatures. The odds just were not in their favor.

The first Likhyi swung a blade wildly missing Seigfeld. The Anshedar twisted, stabbing is sword through the gut of the demon. Black blood spewed. His mark struck truer than he could have hoped and the demon immediately collapsed. A second demon was able to quickly grab Seigfeld’s leg crawling through the dust. Its razor teeth sunk into the man’s bare calf. Seigfeld screamed in agony as the bite tore through flesh to bone. He nearly collapsed.

Razorleaf wielded two stone swords that he had cast into his hands. The Likhyi swarmed upon him like insects upon decaying flesh. The Arkono did not hesitate. He released one sword, and used air to hold it in place as it transformed into a large shield that floated around his body. A second sword was then formed in his hand. The Arkono moved through the cavern with two swords striking true, and a shield blocking the attacks from the demons, randomly knocking a demon back when opportunity presented itself.

Seigfeld struggled to get the Likhyi off of him when a second secured his sword arm and locked onto his wrist. As his blood flowed freely into the demon’s mouth, he dropped his blade. Without his weapon, he was nearly helpless. “Razorleaf! Razorleaf!”

The Arkono ignored his pleas for help, using both swords and the shield in unison to attack the many dark-skinned demons that charged him. The Arkono was weakening himself, using so much energy to defend against the demons. For the time being, the bird-man was still alive and it was better than having the leeches hanging off of his body.

“Razorleaf!”

An arrow buried through the Likhyi’s skull that had his leg. A second arrow struck the back of the Likhyi on his arm before he could respond.

Seigfeld gasped, glancing towards the opening from which they had come. There stood Farthr, who had finally found the strength to escape through his stone prison. The cannibal’s face was laced with the fury of an entire race of centaurs. He raised another arrow upon a strange looking bow, possibly picked up from the Likhyi corpse at his feet. He pointed it towards the Highborn and released.

The arrowhead tore through Seigfeld’s shoulder, taking him off of his feet. He hit the ground with a grunt, knowing his death was upon him.

The centaur turned, and fired three more arrows towards the Arkono.

Farthr was going to kill them all, demon or otherwise.

Seigfeld had to stop him…but first he had to find the strength to stand. It was futile.

 

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Fan Flash Fiction #6

[The Arkono named Razorleaf had made quick work of the Bukavac to the astonishment of Seigfeld and Farthr. The mention that the strange "bird-man" protected the Ash Tree needed further definition before they could carry onward. It was yet to be determined if this talented wielder of stone and sky was friend or foe. Then again, as much had still not been determined of the cannibalistic centaur.]

The Svet let the dagger’s blade rest in the brain of the Bukavac and stood back to his full height. His muscled frame and lengthy body easily towered over the Highborn and Arkono. His beady eyes penetrated the dim light, laying rest on the odd-looking, feathered man that had unarguably saved them. “Razorleaf, is it? What are you doing in these caverns?”

“Where else should he be?” Seigfeld asked, suddenly wondering if Razorleaf were really a male or female, or even if his kind distinguished between the two.

“Where he belongs. In the jungles to the south of the desert!” The centaur’s voice was loud, uncontrolled. Farthr’s tone was misplaced and could only suggest that there was an unknown history between the Svet and Arkono.

Razorleaf shuffled his feathers, “I already told you that I must protect the Ash Tree.”

“From what?” Seigfeld said.

The Arkono did not hesitate, “From any that would take its substance back to the land of the living. Its life force must remain where it lies, as is the unspoken word of Lesh. Now, if you will excuse me, you should head back to your homelands.”

Seigfeld bit his tongue. He did not know what or who Lesh was, but he did know that he needed the root of the Ash Tree to save his sister, Anneinda. This Arkono would attempt to stop him, and likely would succeed.

“No,” the centaur whispered, barely heard.

Seigfeld tried to sound unwavering, “I must go forward.” His voice quivered.

Razorleaf shrugged, paying little heed to the Anshedar, “Do as you wish, Highborn.”

“No!” Farthr wailed raising his long bow towards Razorleaf. An arrow was released before Seigfeld could speak. The Svet were known for their rash behavior.

The Arkono barely winced, raising his forearm in front of himself. A stone shield, larger than his torso, formed from nothing. The arrow connected with the hard surface and snapped in half. The projectile harmlessly fell to the ground. In a movement as smooth as a summer’s breeze, Razorleaf countered the attack. He leaped towards the centaur, the stone shield melted into a stone sword in his fist as he landed soundlessly upon the path. In a smooth arc, the sword broke through Farthr’s bow.

The emotional response was more frightening than anything the Bukavac could have created within Seigfeld. Farthr’s face was coated in rage. His mouth gaped with sharpened teeth as he roared in defiance, but the horseman had no time to react to the quick Arkono.

Razorleaf stabbed the sword into the ground in front of Farthr. The weapon multiplied around the centaur in a perfect oval, and the stone weapons extended from floor to ceiling, creating perfect stone bars around the brute cannibal. Farthr was trapped within a cage made of solid rock.

The centaur’s tone was thunder. He slammed his body against the cylinders that entrapped him. But, with no room for momentum, he was imprisoned. His strength was useless against the constructs.

“The Svet never change,” Razorleaf muttered, starting down the path.

Seigfeld stood in astonishment in front of Farthr. The human had feared the centaur with each passing step through this cavern. Even now, the beast’s eyes were permeated with loathing and caused Seigfeld to wonder at his fortune.

Yet, the Anshedar was at a crossroad. He could release Farthr and continue to walk in the shadow of eminent death, or he could follow Razorleaf, who may deliver him an equal fate when finding out his intentions to steal a piece of the Ash Tree. Either scenario hinted at his failure to save poor Anneinda. Either choice was the wrong choice.

Seigfeld followed Razorleaf.

The echoes of Farthr’s vehement clamor would soon reduce to insuppressible weeping.

 

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Fan Flash Fiction #5

[Seigfeld and Farthr are exhausted from the ongoing battle in the underground tunnels. As they believe that the hoard of demons are nearly through, a monstrous beast steps out of the shadows. The Bukavac, a bluish-grey demon, knows no mercy.]

The Bukavac had thrown down its crescent-shaped axe, knowing it had no use in the cramped space. It roared and pounded its massive arms on the ground, hunched over like an over-sized monkey. Farthr slammed his body into the demon, sliding the demon back only a few inches. The Svet stabbed wildly with the dagger in a futile attempt to cause some damage. It was obvious that the small blade was not the centaur’s weapon of choice.

In response, the Bukavac peddled its foot against the hardened surface, and rammed its head forward into Farthr. The bludgeoning blow knocked the centaur back significantly further. It was obvious who had the greater strength.

Seigfeld could do little else but stare in amazement the centaur stumbled backwards. The centaur was a head taller than the human and weighed over six times his weight. That blow alone would have imprinted the Highborn’s body into the rocky wall, killing him instantaneously.

The Bukavac roared again. The echoing sound was deafening.

“Farthr,” Seifeld muttered, his voice trembled as he held onto the wall. His stomach was uneasy. He felt unbalanced.

The Svet stamped his hooves, steadying himself, “What, Highborn?”

Seigfeld gestured to the Bukavac that transformed before their eyes. The demon dropped to the ground on all fours, its hands flattening to the ground. The spine jutted upwards and curved as two additional legs sprung from its midsection. Bluish blood oozed as the new legs formed. The blotched skin iced over like an impenetrable armor. Gnarled horns erupted from above its brow, curved and sharpened. The Bukavac was stronger and faster. The demon prepared to charge.

“I don’t think we are going to cut him down.”

Farthr grunted, “Not gonna outrun him either.”

In unison, the human and centaur turned their head to assess their ability to flee.

“Ghaaaarr…” the Svet cried.

Standing directly behind them was a creature that neither had ever seen before. It stood as tall as Seigfeld, covered in red and gray feathers with the torso of a man and the lower body of a bird. The thin legs and taloned feet gave the impression that the creature was frail, but it was possible that the feathers hid the upper strength of this “birdman”. Its nose was flat, and its chin was jutted forward giving it a beak-like appearance. Bright red plumes stood erect from the base of its head as it pushed pass the gawking face of Seigfeld and Farthr.

“Neither of you should be here,” the creature crooned in singsong voice, stepping forward to face the Bukavac. “The Ash Tree is mine to protect.”

The Bukavac charged.

A strange fog filled the cavern as the creature spoke and waved its arms. Stone and sky magics weaved in the haze to tear rocks the size of boulders from the walls. The massive chunks of earth were thrown at the beast. The ice armor splintered and shattered with every step. The Bukavac grunted and staggered, but continued to press forward at full force.  Seigfeld and Farthr could do nothing but stand like a man seeing a naked woman for the first time.

In moments, the Bukavac had closed the gap, its horns at the ready to run through the feathered man.  In the last moment, a stone wall burst through the ground, separating the demon from the three. The monster crashed into the wall and fell flat. Unconscious.

As if shaken from sleep, the centaur rushed forward with his dagger and plunged it into the Bukavac’s skull.

Seigfeld was the first to find words, “Wha – Who are you?”

“My people are the Arkono. You could never pronounce my name in your own language,” the creature cooed, “but you can call me Razorleaf.”

 

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Fan Flash Fiction #4

[Seigfeld and Farthr have tread deep within the darkness of the tunnel beneath the crags, heading towards the Ash Tree - so they hope. Demons lurk at every bend as they draw nearer to the doorstep of the Netherworld. The human and centaur stand boldly against the terrorizing Likhyi, but will soon find that greater nightmares guard this path.]

Seigfeld smacked the closest Likhyi with his shield, and stabbed the second with his iron sword. The blade pierced its flesh, slicing through smoothly. Black blood fell. Seigfeld ignored the gushing stench of death that poured from the gash. His attention was on the third Likhyi with the razor fangs that plunged towards him. He was vulnerable with his sword and shield spread wide from the dual attack.

“Farthr!” he cried.

The centaur wasted no time loosening the arrow from his mighty long bow. The bladed shaft tore through the black demon’s skull, taking the creature off of its feet.

Seigfeld spun and thrusted his sword into the back of the first Likhyi, who he suddenly realized had a feminine body. The female still stood in shock from the force of the buckler that had slammed into her face. Seigfelds sword cut through muscle in her back and extended between the demon’s breasts. Her scream nearly made him weep.

Seigfeld reminded himself that she was not living.

Farthr raised himself off the ground on his hindquarters, firing his bow again at the hoard that swarmed towards them. The numbers of the hellspawn were diminishing, but so was the strength of the two warriors.

“We cannot hold this position!” Seigfeld shouted over the clashing of his weapon.

“Fleeing in the dark is … ” Farthr roared, stopping mid-sentence. A dagger plunged into is foreleg, thrown from a demon beyond the range of Seigfeld’s sword. The Svet wasted no time in returning his own projectile. His aim held true, an arrow piercing the chest of the Likhyi.

A roar that resembled the rumble of thunder matched the centaur’s tone. The ground shook, the walls tremored.

Out of the shadows stepped a beast that stood twice as tall as Seigfeld with a blotched, bluish-white body. It was cramped in the tunnel, its head pressing against the ceiling. The massive, crescent-shaped axe that the monster held between its thumb and three fingers would barely have room to be wielded.

“Bukavac,” Seigfeld gasped, knowing only its kind through supposed legends meant to be stories to scare children. “We must flee the way we have come!”

Farthr jerked the dagger from his body, stained with his blood, and snarled. “Highborn, it is said that the Hyaendi Hills were once painted with the towering trees of the Dyndaer before the Svet cut them down.”

Seigfeld paused in confusion. “I don’t see – “

“They were taller than this cur!” The centaur insisted.

The human warrior took another look at the menacing face of the Bukavac, and took another step backwards. “Farthr, correct me if I am wrong, but I imagine your people weren’t cutting down trees with daggers and arrowheads.”

The Svet snarled with the look of a madman and charged. Seigfeld found he had no choice but to follow.

 

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Fan Falsh Fiction #3

[Seigfeld makes the decision to give life to a sworn enemy of the Anshedar. Now, the warrior travels down the dark path with Farthr, the Svet. Will the centaur prove to be his saving grace or the bringer of his death?]

Seigfeld grunted, sliding off the back of the centaur’s back. The horse hair stunk like rotten manure and brew. The bald-headed man coughed and wheezed, wondering if he should thank the gods he was alive or be regretful that he was not dead. The stench was agonizing. Seigfeld could not imagine living in a society overridden with these filthy beasts.

“What is your problem, Highborn?” Farthr grunted.

“…Nothing…” Seigfeld managed in a hoarse voice. It took a lot of energy to cure the poison that had afflicted the horseman, and he was still feeling the effects. The world was hazy as though he had consumed some of the poison himself during the healing process. Of course, that was not the case. It had simply drained his senses.

Farthr grunted again.

“How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.”

“I suppose I should be grateful that you did not eat me.”

The Svet turned to stare at the human. It was noticed that he squeezed the band upon his longbow before responding, “The day is not yet done.”

Seigfeld traipsed behind Farthr for another hour, keeping an eye on the scar upon the back of the centaur that he had mended. He hoped that the Farthr respected the gesture enough to not turn on the warrior. However, that would suggest that the Svet had honor in their blood. They did not.

“Ghaaaarr….”

Seigfeld peddled backwards away from the battle cry of Farthr as he fired an arrow into the darkness ahead of them. A screech of pain resounded and then quickened footsteps raced towards the two of them. Farthr bellowed again and fired another arrow. A thump sounded as something connected with the ground in a heap. More footsteps followed.

The sound of gnashing and growling resounded. Seigfeld could not see anything in the darkness.

He pressed his hand forward and slung a bolt of fire into the tunnel to light the way. As the bolt shimmered down the tunnel, Likhyi lined either side menacingly. The warrior manipulated the bolt, folding and twisting the flame to strike the demon spawn on either side. Soon, the fire lost momentum and shimmered from existence. Some burned. Some screamed.

There were too many Likhyi to count. Maybe the Ash Tree was close.

“We will survive this, Highborn, but not without bleeding.”

Seigfeld stood forward, raising his sword hand and buckler at the ready. He was still unsteady and not at full strength, but he was determined to save his sister. “As long as their blood flows more freely than ours. Stand with me!”

The centaur held true to its kind placing another arrow at the ready. The Svet would stand steadfast against the odds, brave and reckless. Come death or glory, the battle had begun.

 

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Fan Flash Fiction #2

[We continue with Seigfeld for our second presentation of fan flash fiction. Remember this is presented in hopes of presenting a piece of the world, the lore and legend, and a taste for how encounters may play out during actual game play in VOID.]

Seigfeld’s face tightened as he gripped his injured shoulder with a scowl on his face. The wound was not bleeding as heavily as it had yesterday, but it was definitely still bleeding. It was no matter. The warrior’s blade had done far more damage to the Likhyi than the monster had done to him. He turned his head slightly in the pale light to take notice of the demon bodies that lined the path behind him. The beasts were thick in these caves, nearly too thick. He would kill them all to save his little sister.

“Anneinda…” Seigfeld whispered her name, nearly frightening himself half to death at the sound of his own voice. He stopped at the bend in the path. He did not need to draw attention to himself. These walls might as well be the horns of battle, carrying sound for miles – for eternity.

“Your feet cause enough ruckus the way it is, Highborn. Be wise to keep your flap shut,” a voice gruffly whispered beyond the half-arced turn in the tunnel. A stifled cough followed the harsh tone.

Seigfeld paused, hearing the strangely familiar accent. Most humans were known as Highborn, but the label was as common as calling them Anshedar. This creature that spoke to him was no demon, though. Of that, Seigfeld was certain.

“Worry not, human. I will not eat you. My body is fading.”

The warrior inched forward suddenly realizing what lay before him. Around the bend was a fallen Svet. The barbaric centaur from the Hyaendi Hills was known for its cannibalistic nature. The human half of the beast leaned against the stone wall, weakly slumped over the rest of the body that resembled that of a horse. Even in the dim light, Seigfeld could make out a gash down the centaur’s back, swollen and infected. The beast had been poisoned and was dying.

“Why…why are you here?” Seigfeld muttered. Words had never been his strong suit.

The centaur grunted. Conversation obviously was not the centaur’s forte either.

Seigfred took another step forward, cautious as to whether or not this was a ruse. The Svet held his long bow loosely in his left hand. His quiver of arrows was on his back. The beast would not have the strength to draw an arrow if he tried.

“I…I could heal you,” Seigfred stuttered. He could not believe what he was suggesting. He had killed hundreds of Svet in battle in the North, probably brothers and sisters of the very centaur that lay before him. By healing the beast, Seigfred would be enfeebled and vulnerable. There would be nothing afterwards to stop the Svet from overpowering him…or eating him.

“Why would you do that, Highborn?” The Svet’s eyes widened in wonder. His mouth gaped open, the top and bottom of his gums were lined with sharpened teeth. The creature was beyond savage.

The warrior took another step closer, “The path to the Ash Tree is dangerous. I cannot succeed alone, and … I cannot otherwise fathom why our paths have crossed in these tunnels so far from home.”

The Svet took no time in weighing the offer, “I am called Farthr.”

Seigfeld felt the sacred magic run course through his veins as he moved to place his hands upon the Svet’s torso. He would provide introduction after the deed was done, if he survived supper.

 

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