James' Island

54th of Kusha

2138 years since the new gods came.

They had wriggled through the gate, easily consuming the opener. Now the settled in for a short stay, as their forms contorted, adapting to the new world. They had been here once before, and failed. This time they would succeed! And open a way for their masters to finally enter and feed.

Over the course of the next few days they did adapt. Bone yellow legs burst from the developing flattened segments, then the segments grew thick armored chitin. Instead of legs, pointed appendages that dripped an acidic liquid sprouted from a smaller segment behind the head, and the head grew barbed pincered jaws. Their bodies varied in size, the smallest being a mere two feet long, and the largest almost three hundred feet in length. Bodies varied in color from a dark burnt orange, to a lighter more pleasant orange, with a brown to black head and tail.

Many days after coming to the new world, the thousand plus things headed to the north east, the nearest source of food, and place to lay eggs. They swam the salty water, and crossed ice bridges, losing half their number to water born predators, the cold, and drowning. Those that survived the journey happily ate the food of the new land, and laid eggs in the corpses. Then burrowed down to curl up under the snow to rest. Some would die in the snow and ice, but the strongest would live, and breed more.

Soon enough, the spring would come, and they would make the journey to the south and east, toward more food.

*-*-*

The demon lands.

Winter.

2138

The snow had started several weeks back. It lay thick and cold across the landscape of the demon lands. As the worg pack continued west, following the odd human and it's mutterings, they communicated with the outriders through guttural howls. Back and forth the howls went in the cold night. Cold, except near the odd one. The keeper of the pack. The protector. For it, had mastered fire.

He had lay back against a worg, letting the large fire warm his face, while the young ones played around it. Now is the time. West. WEST! There is danger west. Bread. Redemption. Bread is bad. But maybe good? I can run. No chains bind me. RUN!!!! West. Bread. Graaaa.... Soon. SOON. Then sleep. Rest. Then rest. End. Everything is ended. Soon.

The snow fell.

*-*-*

The Demon Lands.

44th of Anael.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Second Lieutenant Garath of the Order of Puppies was cold. The snow had been brutal for weeks now. Everyone was chilled. Ever the fire mages were taxed to exhaustion from the magic used to keep the troops warm. His tent was cold, the bedroll was cold, the rations were cold. It was a miserable march. Only some 200 of the orders troops were on horseback, and the majority of those were nobles of station, the rest were just of noble birth, second or third sons and daughters, relegated off to fulfill a parents wish. He sighed. Maybe tomorrow will be better? He knelt and prayed for the Heretic's intervention.

- - -

In the beginning of his sleep, Maxwell rolled over, and mumbled. If anyone had been there to hear him, it would have sounded like “Just do your job”.

- - -

45th of Anael,

The sun was out, but it was still cold as Garath led his troops under the cloudless sky. Someone in the Order of Kittens had started singing a bawdy pub song, and it just didn't go away. People spoke, breaking the tranquility of the snow. And while the soldiers marched, a raven watched from the top of an long dead tree.

47th of Anael,

Garath was on the northern flank when the rider came in screaming about wolf tracks. Hundreds of them. And the remains of a well contained fire. More scouts were sent out, most on foot to prevent being seen as easily in the blindingly white snow. That evening they returned with stories. Stories of horror, the likes of which hadn't been seen for a hundred generations. Worgs.

*-*-*

He stared at the people across the shallow valley. People? Here take back bedlam?!?! NO! Wait. Knights, pretty doggies! Pretty pretty doggy flags! PUPPIES!!!!! I love puppies!! He steered his worg mount towards the people. I must talk. Puppies like talk. Happy!

- - -

Garath looked at the 'pack' of worgs. More than a thousand! And with bitches and young. I can see that one standing and waiting for it's pups to drink! He saw something different then. A giant worg, with...A man? There is a man riding on a giant worg! And he is coming my way. Now he's waiving a...shirt?... a flag? At me? Shit. This is above my pay grade. “Sargent? Get the commander. There's some idiot waiving a flag at us while riding a giant worg.” The Sargent ran for the Captain.

- - -

Nice people. Nice nice people. I used my words. We are friends now. My doggies aren't really sure, but I am. We are ALL going west. WEST. Bread. Heretic. He shakes in fear for a moment. Redemption.

- - -

48th of Anael,

Garath had been assigned to 'escort duty'. This involved keeping an eye on the worgs, and their crazy human. The man kept babbling, and wouldn't shut up. Why is he talking about holy bread? And what was that he was telling the worg about bedlam and blood? He's a bloody loon! But Garath kept his mouth shut, like a good soldier. It was strange though, the longer they marched together, the less of a problem the worgs seemed to be.

*-*-*

51st of Anael,

“Puppy man! PUPPY MAN!!! Why don't you ride up here?” The insane man asked the soldier, pointing to the top of a worg. Why no think of earlier? Stupid brain rot. They ride, we go faster! Worgs can handle it. I want toast. And C4. What's C4?

“Fine.” Garath said, giving up on ignoring the crazy man. “Bring one over, and I'll try.” He almost jumped when one of the oversized wolf like creatures with a gray and white striped fur pattern, tufted ears, and very cat like fluffy tail, walked over and crouched next to him. He stared at it for a long moment, then tried to climb on.

“No, no, silly! Grab a clump of fun on the hackles, and climb up!” The insane mane pointed.

Garath grabbed the fur, and made it up. He clenched tightly to the fur, and looked around. This is better than a horse! And so warm! “Thank you kind worg, and you as well.” He patted the worg gently on the head. “Any chance the rest of us could mount up?”

The worgs in the near vicinity showed their disapproval by grumbling, and huffing a bit, but eventually succumbed to the orders of their leader. The Order of the Puppies now had mounts.

*-*-*

The Demon Lands.

44th of Anael.

2138 years since the new gods came.

The bards moved fast, much faster than most people. Boosted by music and song, they nearly flew towards their destination. On one of the roads heading northwest through Demonia, they came across a strange, oddly well dressed band of people. They rode together for a time, and when they all stopped for the night and made camp, proper introductions were made.

The next day, a happy, if slightly hungover, group of sixteen people left the camp. Together the larger group made good time, crossing the country in three days.

Nine days later they came across old tracks. Worgs. Hundreds of them. Since the tracks made the travel easier in the snow, they followed them.