DoT: An Unscheduled Meeting

Gazin held up a clenched fist as Vallista entered the outer office, her curled fingers forward; it was their private sign for intruders. Then she held up one finger, so there was only one of them. Vallista tilted her head, and Gazin looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment. Ah. Somebody from Upstairs. There were other gestures for a danger, a discreet visitor, and a messenger. 

Though they'd practiced this, it didn't come up often. Most messengers would wait out here; and Gazin was perfectly capable of dealing with most dangers herself. A visitor from Upstairs was most likely to be able to go directly to Vallista's office and tell Gazin to say nothing. Whoever it was doubtless intended to surprise her. 

Unexpectedly, Gazin touched her throat as Vallista walked past her. What in the hells? "No visitors," Vallista said aloud. "I need to go over the accounts, and I don't want to be interrupted." She figured it out a moment later: there weren't that many people from Upstairs who would make an unannounced visit like this, and that touch to the throat had to indicate Ramantha The Voice. 

That guess was confirmed a moment later when she opened her door and saw the halfling sitting in one of the chairs beside her desk. Vallista kept her steps as smooth as her expression, closed the door behind her, and bowed. "Ramantha," she said. "Welcome."

"This isn't a social call," said the Voice. 

Vallista shrugged. "I welcome your arrival nevertheless."

The Voice tilted her head, studying Vallista for a long moment: questioning, measuring. "Your people were brawling with the Panthers in the central tower." 

Vallista crossed to her desk, turned her chair to face the halfling, and sat. It was her own office, after all; it wouldn't do to seem timid. "This is true," she said. 

"Over your father's death?" asked the Voice, shifting in the chair to face her.

Vallista considered her next words carefully. "I don't believe the Panthers had anything to do with that. Lynna Catseyes and my father were rivals, but it was a respectful rivalry."

"Then why?"

Vallista sat back, relaxing. "Because Lynna and I agreed that it would be better if people thought we were feuding. It gives our troublemakers a chance to scrap, which will keep them settled for a time and prevent any... uncontrolled  conflicts from arising. It might even teach some of them the cost of such infighting."

Ramantha the Voice nodded slowly. She was an imposing woman when she wanted to be, despite her lack of size. "And when I speak to Lynna next, she will confirm this?"

Vallista nodded. "Yes. How much explanation would you like?"

Ramantha considered. "I think I see the shape of it, but do continue."

"As you wish." Vallista leaned forward, attentive. "Someone murdered my father. Very likely someone arranged to have my father murdered, as someone also arranged for a rogue crew to be present when it happened. This same crew staged a successful robbery in my territory some time back, and earlier robbed a courier for the Mist Eyes."

"You're sure of this?" asked Ramantha. 

Vallista nodded. "I've spoken with them. They aren't Guild, and they aren't native to the islands. They've given me information on who is blackmailing them, and so far everything they've told me has borne out. Somebody pulled in outside talent to cause trouble between the gangs."

"You should have come to me with this knowledge," said the Voice. 

Vallista shook her head. "People would have noticed, known. It was better to wait for you to come to me."

"Ah." Unexpectedly, Ramantha smiled. "Your father's cunning and discrimination. You fear this is orchestrated by someone within the Guild." She paused, then added, "...Someone with access to information."

Vallista Greycloak nodded. "I fear it's someone Upstairs."

"Disturbing news. Have you no fear that it's me?"

"I would never accuse you," Vallista said carefully. "You are the Voice, and my best chance of bringing in someone from Upstairs without alerting whoever might be behind this. It seemed worth the risk to tell you."

"This is...  most unexpected. I came here expecting to have to discipline an unruly new gang-leader." She settled back, then sighed. "Of course it would be more complicated than that."

That was a sentiment Vallista could sympathize with. "I've been telling myself that same thing since before my father died."

"...What of this rogue crew?" asked the Voice.

"Cedric Bloodblade and I met with them, just a few days past. They spoke to us of being jailed and blackmailed, and they attest that they have never murdered anyone in the Guild. Cedric is of the opinion that they have to pay, but they can pay by making amends -- and since I need their information and possibly their help, I agree. We haven't said anything in public, obviously, but we consider them authorized contractors."

Ramantha nodded slowly at that. "And what does Cedric get out of this?"

Vallista shrugged. "It seems the Red Blades really have moved against the Mist Eyes. There's a missing fence... Piter, I think... and he's set this group to find out what happened, and confirm that the Red Blades were behind it. If they do, they will make amends by striking back at the Red Blades, and he'll consider all debts paid."

"Cautious," said Ramantha. "Tentative. That's good. Cedric does his duties well, and it seems that you are stepping into yours. If they help you find your father's killer, or the person who sponsored it, will you also consider their debt to the Guild repaid?"

Vallista nodded. Then she said, "There's more," and began to explain the questions she'd been asked about abomination appearing from nowhere, the Age of Beasts, and the possible involvement of the Crescent Circle. 

When Ramantha the Voice left her office, her expression was troubled. 

DoT: Misgivings

Grot stopped at Daystar's desk. "Okay, they're working on it."

"Good," said Daystar, without looking up from the appeal that he was writing. "Let me know when it's done."

Grot must have hesitated a moment too long, because Daystar stopped writing and looked up. "Anything else?"

Grot shook his head. "I just hope they're up to this one."

Daystar shrugged. "They're getting better at this... though that will become a problem in itself at some point. Did they argue about it?"

Grot shook his head. "No, they seemed pretty resigned."

"There's that, at least," Daystar paused, considering, then said: "Let me know if they start sounding rebellious."

Grot nodded. "I will." 

"Meanwhile, the stronger they get the more use they are to us. And it's not as if they aren't receiving plenty of compensation for their work."

Grot tilted his head, then nodded. "Maybe I should remind them of that."

"Maybe you should," Daystar told him.  

Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part thirty-one

It was four hours later when Graznir returned, with Crack-bone carrying a small chest behind him. "My apologies," he said immediately. "The ancestors are... touchy, about their resting place. There was much discussion: who I am, who I brought with me, how many, how many others we might bring home. But they do have some resources, so I can keep my word to our captured workers."

Crack-bone set the chest on the ground and opened it, then called to the workers. "Form a line! One at a time. Come and get yer pay!"

The kidnapped farmers exchanged glances like they couldn't believe this was finally happening, and Azrael gave Tybalt a similar look. Tybalt just shrugged. The gnolls weren't necessarily trustworthy, but they were practical -- and this was a good way to build trust with the people around Aldpond. Plus, with the opening of the crypt it seemed they could spare some wealth. 

It suggested that there were few of them and much stored away in the depths, but Tybalt wasn't even vaguely tempted to go looking for it. Seven dead kings could likely overwhelm them, regardless of what they tried, but also... whatever was down there in the dark belonged to Graznir and his people as a rightful inheritance. Jacques was either entirely too trusting or else he pulling a friends-close-enemies-closer maneuver, but either way... if the Formorians became a problem, they could deal with it later. And if they didn't, well, powerful allies were hard to come by and good to have. His father had understood that.

Graznir and Jacques both watched as Crack-bone counted out ten gold coins for each of the farmers -- probably more than they made in a decade of farming -- and handed it over. Blunt-tusk had shown up at some point, and was standing at the back of the line to make sure nobody tried to circle back into it. 

It was late afternoon, and with the farmers paid and released Graznir turned his attention to Jacques. Tybalt stepped up to listen, but Graznir merely said, "What remains in the chest is yours, if you want it."

Jacques waved that away. "Sol Povos is not stretched so thin that we cannot get by, and you will need money for any rebuilding you do. Besides, I would rather have you feel that you owe us a debt, if you or one of your kin is going to be numbered among my father's barons."

Graznir blinked at him. "As you say, and I hope your father shares your wisdom... and your charity."

"Send word to Caristhium if you need assistance," Jacques replied. "I'm sure my cousins would be happy to assist me in answering any reasonable requests." 

Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part thirty

"Success!" Graznir sounded delighted; then his snout wrinkled and his next words with worried: "Surely you aren't the only ones to survive?"

"The others stayed behind. Once we take you to meet your ancestors, we'll all depart." Tybalt sounded only slightly impatient.

"Ah. Yes, that's probably for the best."

"I'll give you my word on something else, Graznir," added Jacques, as they traced their way back into the crypt. 

"Oh?"

The viscount nodded. "If you keep your word to the farmers back there, not only will my kin and I keep quiet about this, but we'll do our best to do be sure that they do too. Tell some sort of story about how they were captured and we rescued them-- which is basically true if you don't look at the details too closely."

Graznir snorted. "Ah, politics," he said. "Very well, I accept. Certainly better than having your father track us down... or hunt us through the ruins. And at least this way we'll have time to build back some of what we lost."

"You seem a surprisingly reasonable sort for a kidnapper," observed Tybalt. 

"You sound surprised," Graznir said, "but it's easy enough to explain: I am devoted to my goal. I will do whatever it takes to regain the ancient knowledge of my people and see some portion of our kingdom restored. It required kidnapping, but once we had the numbers we needed persuasion was easier -- and far more practical -- than bloodshed. And if we do succeed at this, we'll need to be able to negotiate with our neighbors afterwards. We'll need trade, allies, acknowledgement. Much easier to find if you don't go around murdering people."

Jacques nodded. "As I said before, if you keep your word I'll do my best to help. The Forgotten Desert is considered wasteland; placing it into your hands as a barony should be an easy win, especially since most of our idiot nobles see your people as savages. By the time they learn better, it'll be established and much harder to revoke, even if anyone were so inclined."

They came to the chamber of the dead ones. Graznir moved forward, knelt, and bowed his head. He growled something in ancient Formorian. 

"Rise, my descendant," said the king at the center of crescent of thrones. He spoke in common, clearly intending his meaning to be understood to everyone present. "Are these others tools, or allies?"

"Allies, Magister," Graznir said, following his ancestor's lead and switching back to the common tongue. "They, and others of their kind, helped us to find you."

"Then they should depart now. This place is sacred to Formorians, and Formorians alone."

"A moment," said Graznir. "For the assistance they gave, they deserve some reward. May I beg the use of something here to repay them, and their kin who helped us with the digging?"

"Come forward," said the Magister, and then bent to speak softly into Graznir's ear as the rest of the children of Ruin, Tavros, and Vendril gathered near the door way.

Graznir straightened after a moment and turned to them. "Await me on the surface," he said. "I will keep my word, but this place is not for you."

Jacques didn't bother to survey the others. He just turned and walked out, knowing they would follow.

Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part twenty-nine

The massive slab of stone disappeared up into the ceiling of the passage with a rumbling sound, a small shower of stone chips and dust, and almost nothing to mark it as mobile at all. Jacques whistled softly: if he hadn't seen the thing go up, he would have no idea that it could come back down. 

Beside him, Tybalt nodded. "That's some solid engineering. No wonder nobody could find them."

There was a commotion up ahead, and they started down the hall. A mixed group of humans and gnolls was coming towards them, and Jacques flagged them down with desperate movements. "Hold up! Wait!"

It took a moment for the workers to lose momentum; then they came to a gradual halt. "What is it?" asked one of the gnolls. 

"We need to get Graznir down here. This place is crawling with undead, and they don't like anybody who isn't a Formorian being down here."

"Ah," said the gnoll. "That... isn't entirely unexpected." He turned to the others. "All right, Blunt-tusk, you go get Graznir. Local farmers, get back to the surface -- you should be safe there." He looked back to Jacques and Tybalt. "Where are the rest of you?" 

"Waiting with the mummies, as a gesture of good faith."

"Brave," said the gnoll. "I'm Crack-bone, the work-leader. Technically, I'm an architect -- which is how I ended up directing the work crews." 

"I'm a bit ashamed to admit it," said Jacques, "but I really didn't come here expecting to find a bunch of well-educated gnolls engaged in an archaeological dig."

Crack-bone snorted. "Oh, there are plenty who aren't," he admitted. "With the fall of the Kingdom, our people scattered, and whatever they had to in order to survive... and we can survive on diets that most civilized peoples would find criminal. That's where "Gnoll" comes from, in fact: it's an old Formorian word indicating something feral."

Jacques tucked that away. "Sounds like it's more polite to refer to you as Formorians, then," he said. "My apologies." 

"Eh, don't worry about it." Crack-bone grinned. "It's been so long now, that's just etymology. Maybe we'll start making an issue of it someday, but it was a name we gave to our own." 

DoT: New Developments

"I think it's time to up the stakes," Daystar said. 

Grot looked up from the broadsheet he'd been reading, the Hinnom Happenings, which claimed to be the only accurate report of day-to-day events on the island. It was, of course, full of gossip and libel, but sorting the truths from the rumors was half the fun. "What do you have in mind?"

"There was a skirmish between the Greycloaks and the Panthers two days ago," Daystar observed. "This is exactly the sort of result we wanted. Distrust. Strife. Uncertainty. Let's stoke it."

"Lynna Catseyes. Have them take out that Tabaxi lieutenant of hers. I don't care if they murder him or put him on a ship to Magraven, just as long as he's gone."

Grot considered that, but couldn't find any immediate objections. "As you wish," he said easily, and rose. "I can take word to them in the morning."

Daystar smiled. "Yes, do that. Best to let them get an early start." 

Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part twenty-eight

Jacques watched as the dead things all turned to look at him. He stopped, knelt. "Blessed Ancestors," he began, "your descendants have returned, and sent us ahead to clear the way for them." 

The dead ones remained still, jackal-headed, studying him. "I seek to open the passage to the surface, that they may come and learn of your wisdom in order to reclaim your greatness."

He waited for the space of a breath.

Another. 

Another. 

Then the figure on the central throne opened its mouth. "They survived, then?"

Jacques nodded. "They did indeed. Let me bring them to you, and I will prove it. I know we are not welcome here, and depend solely on your mercy. Let me open their way to you, and we will depart."

The jackal-headed figure at the far left end of the crescent asked, "How long has it been?"

"I don't know," Jacques admitted. "Graznir Toothtaker probably does."

"Your accent..." said the one just to the right of the central throne.

"Is it hard to follow?" Jacques asked, deliberately slowing his words. "I'm sure many thing have changed since you took shelter here."

"They are enemies, robbers, vandals," said the one on the far right of the crescent of thrones. "We should destroy them."

"We have taken nothing," Jacques said, "and fought only in self-defense. We did not break anything, either. Check for yourself, if you like."

"What do you know of us?" asked the figure on the central throne. 

"Very little," Jacques admitted. "I know your people ruled here, or near here, a very long time ago. Graznir tells us that there is a legend of a Sealed Tomb which contains the knowledge of his ancestors, and he hopes that this place might be it. He said that if nothing moved in the darkness, that would be a disappointment."

The central figure looked around at its fellows. "We will meet with this Graznir. The intruders will depart. And perhaps, at long last, all will be made well." 

Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part twenty-seven

"We've taken a wrong turn," Jacques breathed. Flanking him on either side, Telorn and Skyflower nodded.

There were passages out of this room, one to the left and the other to the right. Ahead of them was a raised dais, with seven stone thrones arranged in a crescent to face them. The central throne was two steps higher still, on its own raised platform. Each throne was occupied by a jackal-headed corpse, wrapped in funerary bandages and arranged stiffly in a seated position. 

They stopped at the end of the passage, a step away from actually entering the room. 

"Odds that they all stand up the moment we set foot in there?" asked Telorn. 

"Absolutely certain," Skyflower whispered back. 

Jacques studied the dead things again. Had the one in the center turned its head to regard them? He wasn't sure, and that was worse than knowing it had. "Okay, next question," breathed Jacques. "If we back away, are they going to get up and pursue us?"

"...Seems likely," Skyflower told him, "and I don't think we can take them."

"Then it's diplomacy," Jacques said, trying to ignore just how desperately he suddenly needed to piss. "Telorn... go back and get the others. Skyflower... wait here. If they turn me into paste, try to get everyone back out up the shaft."

Telorn turned and departed silently. 

Jacques set foot inside the room. 

Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part twenty-six

The ruins were old, and overrun with undead... but it was the constructs that gave them the most trouble. Animated suits of armor, small scuttling things with pincers and blades, an iron cobra... 

The hallway was full of them, and none of them were friendly. Rose watched her half-siblings and friends tear into them, smashing with draconic strength or carefully-channeled magics. Azrael, the bladecrafter, seemed to know just where to hit the things; his blows weren't powerful, but the constructs couldn't absorb them the way they seemed to absorb everything else. And he was fast enough to avoid being hit himself. Jacques Fontaine danced in and out, making himself a distraction while calling orders and offering encouragement; Rose could see his early training coming through. 

Her own spells were ill-suited to this, but she did what she could to help: conjuring roots and vines to trap enemies, healing allies so that the clerics were free to deal with the undead. Telorn and Skyflower fell back beside her, covering the rear and then moving forward to check doors when the last enemies were down. 

Jacques glanced back to where they'd emerged, then surveyed the hall and led them down it. "This way, I think," he said, and turned to the left. 

Telorn checked the door for traps, then opened it cautiously. Skyflower remained at his side. 

Nothing charged out at them. 

"Okay," Jacques said softly. "The three of us will check up ahead. Everybody else, hold here until we get back -- unless you hear fighting."

Risk grinned. "Then we come running." He was looking forward to it.

"Be careful," said Tybalt, barely loud enough to be audible.

Rose watched as the three of them moved out. 

Afterworld: Casualty Count

Jason was fine, of course, still busily plucking venomous murder-squirrels off his spines. So was Devon, still wearing his fur and moving on all fours; Chad had had a bad time of it, but apparently the squirrel-blood was mammalian enough restore him. Jenny had taken nearly enough damage to collapse, which would have been disastrous; her fur was better armor than it looked like, but she was still staggering. I was feeling a bit staggery myself, and could barely feel my right leg; and Mary had managed to protect herself and Ishanna until Jason could step in. 

"What's the consensus?" I asked, keeping careful track of my balance. 

"Time to pull back," Ishanna said quietly. "Chad'll be all right in a little bit, but you and Jenny are barely on your feet."

Mary nodded, looking worried. Chad met my eyes and said, "Yeah. You know how it is."

I knew how it was, because I was the one who'd first told him. In situations like these, the moment you got hurt your odds of getting hurt further went way up.  

Jenny had her hands pressed to the sides of her head. "Yeah, I... I need to sit down. Somewhere. Maybe not here."

Jason said, "I could keep going, but..." He looked at Jenny. "Better if I take rear on the way back." 

Devon just grunted. 

"All right," I said, testing my leg again. "Devon, lead us back. Jason, you're rear guard. Everybody else, stay alert as best you can."

It was going to be a long walk back up the mountain. 

Afterworld: Venomous Murder-Squirrels

They really were about the size, fluffiness, and general proportions of squirrels, except for the very tips of their tails, which were equipped with stingers -- and their teeth, which spiked carnivorous instead of Rodentia. Mary fell back with Ishanna, still breathing out feline predators, but I got taken by surprise and missed everything else. 

Also, the damned little things could jump. 

So I flung my right arm up to protect my face, used my left arm to catch and crush the murder-squirrels, and took a couple of bites and stings in my right thigh while I was at it. I didn't worry too much about trying to kill things with my right hand; I was mainly using the knife to protect it, and my arm to protect my exposed head. My right leg went numb and I staggered, but I managed not to fall. I was wearing armor -- after a fashion -- but it wasn't enough.

One squirrel... another... another... Plucked off my leg or chest, crushed, and flung aide. The chain mail shirt wasn't doing nearly enough to stop the stingers, which was going to be a problem. They couldn't sink in deep, but that venom felt like the kind of shot a dentist gives you before she starts drilling on your teeth. I could feel the numbness spreading. 

I caught the last of them with my left hand, crushed it, and reached for another before realizing there was nothing else on my body. 

The forest had gone silent. The attack was over.  

I sheathed the fighting knife that I'd been using to protect my fingers -- it had knuckle guard of sorts, which wasn't enough for this but was better than nothing -- and started picking up my other weapons, in case anything else was coming this way. We used the guns as little as possible, not just because ammunition was scarce; they just attracted too damned much attention. 

Afterworld: Trouble Follows Trouble

"Holy fuck," said Chad, emerging from the woods. "Well, that was big."

"You, sir, have a keen grasp of the obvious," I told him. Like Jason, he'd been a college kid when everything had gone to hell, and he thought it was hilarious when I sounded like a professor... which I often did, sometimes by accident and sometimes as a bit.

"Thank you," he said, looking pleased. "So keen to live up to your expectations."

"Quiet," said Ishanna, and a moment later I heard it: a soft chittering, somewhere out in the trees. More than one source, out there in the trees. 

Mary looked at me and then sighed through her nose. Devon and  Jenny exchanged a look, then moved apart from us, scenting the air and studying the forest around us. 

"Oh, shit," said Jenny quietly. "Murder-squirrels. Get ready..."

They came in a wave, small packs moving in and out. They were small and fluffy and brown, and would have been cute if they hadn't been trying to eat us. Probably they'd been too lightweight for the fall from the storm to hurt them much. Beside me, Mary was breathing out cat-sized predators as fast as she could shape them from her breath. On my left, Ishanna was stepping back and Jason had moved in front of her, squeezing his fists in a way that made his spines extend. That was smart; Ishanna wasn't really equipped for this kind of assault; Jason was. Chad swallowed, but held his ground. 

I dropped the sword just like I'd dropped the bow a minute earlier. It wasn't the right tool for the job. A flamethrower would have been better; a flamethrower also would have been suicide. The best I could do was a knife I'd had since my early teens, a simple design with a finger-guard.

They swarmed over us. 

Valthor: Aboard The Galleon

I was down in the bath when someone reached in and shook me. I shot up, putting my head above water, and heard someone squeak as I wiped the water away from my eyes.

"Harvest Mother!" shouted a woman's voice. "How long have your been down there? I thought you were drownt!"

I leaned back in the still-warm water. "I don't drown," I said. I opened my eyes again and found myself staring at a petite redhead with her hair cut short, wrapped in a towel and still gaping at me. "So I find it relaxing to sit under the water."

"So you're... you're not dead?" she asked. 

I laid my head back against the edge of the bath and sighed. "No, I'm not dead." Then I gathered myself, because of course she had a point. "But I appreciate your concern. I'd appreciate it even more if you didn't mention this to anyone."

"So... you're a sea elf? Like the Captain?"

I weighed that for the barest moment, because it would have given me an easy out. "No," I told her after a moment. "I'm something else."

"But alive, right? Not some vampire we accidentally invited on board?"

I chuckled, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "Yes, I'm still alive, so no, I'm not a vampire." I lifted a damp hand, held it out. "Valthor."

She hesitated for a moment, then clasped it. "Kiela," she told me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to disturb your bath."

I shook my head. "Perfectly natural reaction," I told her. "No reason you would know."

She shrugged apologetically, then grasped at her towel as it started to slip. "Well, now I do," she said. "It won't happen again." 

Music: Shadows

The Midnight:

Afterworld: The First Beast

It was something like a boar, a razorback, if you'd made it the size of a moving van and crossed it with an armadillo. It was snuffling around in the underbrush, and for a long moment I considered just backing away and leaving it to forage. Then it looked up, locked eyes with us, snarled, and charged, 

Jason grounded the butt of the boar spear and caught the beast in the throat, while I bounced an arrow off its forehead. I'd been aiming for an eye, but I missed. The spear snapped, but Jason rolled aside and sliced into its armor as it passed, his spines doing their work. Another arrow shattered at the joint of its neck and shoulder -- Ishanna's work -- and I heard a curse from back among the trees.  

Injured, the beast spun, trying to decide which of us to attack.

That was when Devon pounced on its back and sank his teeth into its neck. It thrashed, trying to fling him off, and its tusks tore up huge chunks of underbrush and scraped  gouges in the ground. I tried another bow shot but missed again. Its skin was just too thick to pierce that way, and those small black eyes were difficult targets. Jenny came in under it, clawing at its gut, but while she managed to draw blood it wasn't anywhere near a killing blow. She came out the other side and darted away, further distracting it. 

Then I heard a pff like somebody blowing out a candle, and part of its right foreleg exploded. That was the power the monks had given Mary: her breath was shield and weapon and conjured reinforcements, depending on how she shaped it. Evidently she'd decided on sniping. 

The beast reared with a grunting howl, then slammed its hooves down. Devon was still clinging to its neck, claws and teeth hooked firmly into the edges of its scales and trying to chew his way through. Jason had circled off to one side and was yelling abuse at it, trying to keep its attention on him. Then a crack of thunder split the air. 

Ishanna had given up on her bow, and gone to the rifle instead. The hole she made was cleaner than the one Mary had given it, but probably deeper. I dropped my bow and drew the Zombie Cleaver; it was my only other option, and the bow had done nothing so far. 

That was the moment the beast decided to come at me, charging at me like an oncoming train and lowering its head for a scooping slash with those massive tusks. If it managed to connect, it was going to cut me in half. 

I waited, calculating the timing. 

Then there was another pff and it stumbled, and I took that opening to dart in, kick off my altered left leg, and throw myself up and past its tusks at just the right angle to take out its left eye with the Zombie Cleaver, cutting on the pass. Behind me, I heard it squeal -- but I was busy moving, putting distance between us. 

Then the thunder rolled again, and the beast staggered and fell onto its side, throwing Devon loose. Jenny came out of the trees in a blur, found his place, and dug her claws in, ripping into its flesh.

It shuddered, squealed once more, and lay still. 

Ishanna's bullet had taken it through the right eye. 

Afterworld: Out On The Hunt

We found a lot of corpses. Even among those who survived the fall, a good number had fallen to the influence of the Sacred Trees. They were strange things, misshapen and -- when they survived -- always hostile, but I still felt bad for them. I doubt they wanted to be here any more than we wanted them here.

The trails were narrow, so we kept to single file, with Devon and Jenny alternating on front, Ishanna and Mary and Chad in the middle, and Jason and I switching out at the rear. Devon had put his fur back on, and was moving on all fours. I was carrying a bow, but had the Zombie Cleaver in easy reach, while Jason had borrowed my boar spear, both for anything that he might want to keep out of reach and for generals use as a walking stick. Ishanna was carrying a bow but had a rifle slung across her back and pistol at her hip, while Mary and Jenny were just relying on their natural abilities. Chad had borrowed a katana from my collection, and had a pistol on his belt.

We came to an abrupt stop as something stirred, groaned, reached vaguely in our direction, and then collapsed back. It was vaguely humanoid, but with four stumpy legs and four tentacles -- or I guess pseudopods, technically --  for arms. Jason came forward and put it down with the spear; it might recover and be a threat, but if it couldn't then it didn't deserve to suffer. Either way, it had to die. 

We were nearing the bottom of the hollow now, where the ground smoothed out and even with the trees it was easier to move around. With a little better footing, we might shift to a two-by-two formation, but for the moment...

Devon whined softly, and Jenny held a hand up. "There's something up there," she whispered back at us. "I can't get its scent over the corpses." She peered forward, and Devon moved slightly in front of her, instinctively protective. "I can't tell how big it is, either. But it's definitely still alive and moving."

I considered that for a long moment. "Switch positions," I whispered. "Jason and I will take front. Ishanna, Mary, spread out and flank it. Devon and Jenny, you two hit it while it's distracted with us. Watch your paths, in case there's anything else active out here. Chad, you watch our backs."

The thing ahead of us gave a series of grunts, but didn't seem to be moving our way. We shifted positions carefully, moving up to encircle it. I didn't mind having become a monster myself, but I'd never fancied hunting them. Still, at the end of the world you did what you had to do. 

Jason and I crept forward.