The village lay at the foot of a grassy knoll. Small, it consisted of a dozen or so low buildings of wood and thatch roofs, all surrounding a single mighty tree bristling cheerfully in the warm afternoon wind. From atop the knoll looking down, Alden spotted perhaps two dozen soldiers; easy to spot, their helmets gleamed in the sunlight like bright beacons. None, however, wore either officer’s garb or armor.

“Not seein’ her, boss,” said the gruff voice of the soldier beside him. Named Uhtric, the man was as simple as soldier’s came, but he was loyal as a dog, ready to do anything Alden bid.

“She’s not here,” he replied. “But we attack anyway.”

“When?”

Alden mulled it over, studying the town with a discerning gaze. Hilva’s soldiers kept to themselves in groups of two or three, patrolling the town at irregular intervals and shouting at the villagers from time to time. They lacked discipline, he thought. Magic would do for them.

“Wait here,” he said. “Attack when I give the signal.”

Loping down the knoll toward the village, Alden approached the closest thing to a patrol the soldiers had.

Bearing the sigil of some Hilva territory he didn’t recognize, the men stopped at the sight of him, one of them pointing a thin, bony finger his way.

“Who’re you?” one asked. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Look at his outfit. The damn cripple’s a soldier,” said the soldier on the left.

Alden squinted, angry. He would be the first.

Lifting his arm, Alden condensed his magic and let loose a soaring bullet, a gaping hole appearing in the left soldier’s chest. The man coughed, red blood drooling from his mouth, then fell dead.

The other two soldier’s stared at their deceased companion, mouths agape. They turned and ran, screaming, a crowd of Hilva soldiers appearing from the village homes dazed and drunk.

Behind Alden he could hear the soft rumble of footsteps and the clanking of metal as his soldiers attacked. Freeing his sword from its scabbard, he lifted it high.

“Kill them all!” he yelled.

Skill Up

The Leadership Special Ability has advanced to Level 2.

Leadership Lv 2

Those who follow you receive a bonus to their abilities equal to 10% of your Charisma stat. This ability can be upgraded once the requisites have been met.

Requisites for upgrade: Lead 50 people into battle.

The battle took the best part of thirty minutes as Alden and his men circled around the confused soldiers. Bearing down on them with spears and swords and a few more blasts of magic, they could put up little resistance.

Victory

You have defeated your foes!

Reward: 450xp

Alden sat on the flattest rock he could find by the tree at the center of the village, tediously wiping blood from his sword with his one hand and holding it as best he could with his stump arm. It would rust if he did not, and twice already Uhtric had offered to clean it for him, but he declined. He could do this much, would do this much; the offers, though well meaning, felt patronizing and grated at his nerves.

Hearing footsteps he glanced up to see a middle aged woman. Mournful and cheery at once, she was a thin woman with dark gray hair that poked out from beneath a headwrap. Behind her was a child, a small girl with long dark hair and suspicious eyes. She clutched desperately onto the woman’s clothes, half hiding behind her. Stains of dust and dirt etched the girl's face, though not nearly so much as the deep blue bruise that sat comfortably under her right eye.

The woman bowed to Alden, a hand pushing against the child’s head to make her do the same. “Thank ye, lord,” she said.

“No need,” he said, standing. “We didn’t do this for free.”

The woman stood and studied him. “My lord, ah…” she started.

Alden raised his hand to silence her. “We require information. I’ve been told that a knight has been frequenting the local villages; a woman. Have you heard of her?”

The woman nodded. “Aye, sir. She’s been coming by every week these past two months.”

“When was she here last?”

“A week ago. Should be here again on the morrow, or the day after.”

“Good. We’ll be staying for the next few days, then, and I ask that you give us any food and water you can spare. In return we’ll hand over any valuables from the dead.”

“Yes, lord.”

She bowed again and turned to leave, the dark haired child quick to follow. Deftly, Alden’s hand snapped out, grasping tightly around the girl’s wrist.

“Sit,” he commanded. The woman gave her a sad look, but only nodded.

With a flash of light he cast healing magic on her, the dark bruise fading, and the girl’s dour mood with it. In its place was a soft smile and happy eyes. The girl giggled as she raced off.

“Thank ye, lord,” the woman said again, bowing once more.

“I need no thanks,” he said.

She left him to bask in the shade under the village tree. Peaceful, he felt his bones settle as his muscles relaxed, and twice found himself nodding off.

He was thankful when Uhtric approached, a band of soldiers and villagers in tow; he could sleep when the work was done.

“They’s holding out on us,” Uhtric said. “Not enough food, they’s say. Soldier’s ate it all.”

The village men were a sorry lot. Downtrodden and filthy, they were as thin as the woman had been, with one being so thin Alden thought he could see the man’s skull through his translucent skin.

“Hunt, then,” he said. “Look at them, Uhtric. Do you think they can afford to spare food looking like that?”

Uhtric turned, glanced at the villagers. “Suppose not. But huntin’s gonna be hard this time of year. No game. Drought and all.”

Alden sighed as he rose to his feet, knees creaking. “Do you have any cows to spare?”

The thought didn’t sit well with him, but he couldn’t afford letting his men go hungry. Hungry men were angry men, and angry men like to mutiny.

“None, lord,” a villager said. “We’ve only milk cows, and we need them. We trade cheese here, lord.”

Alden sighed again, cracking his neck. An old habit that he thought had died out.

“Are there any lakes nearby? Rivers?”

“Yes, lord. A river lays a mile that way, lord,” one said, pointing east.

“Uhtric, you two, grab a bucket. You’re with me. The rest of you set up patrols around the town until we get back.”

“Yes, sir,” the men said in unison.

It felt good to have men follow his orders for once.

The river sat where the villager had said it would. Long years had etched away at the landscape, the river having settled some five feet or so below the ground line. On either side were rocky beaches, the sand wet and squelching as he stepped through it to the water.

Flowing low, the surface sparkled unevenly. He dipped his hand into the water, feeling the cool liquid flow between his fingers.

“Ain’t going to get much, sir,” Uhtric said.

True enough, the river was more a stream, barely ankle high and flowing weakly south. Walking along the water’s edge, Alden looked for any sign of fish swimming within and finding only the sparkle of slippery stones.

“Check for tracks, then. Might be something came by for a drink.”

Only minutes later one of the soldiers started shouting. “Tracks,” he said, hands waving in the air.

Crowding around the spot, Alden pushed the soldiers aside and looked with his own eyes. An unmistakable two-pronged hoof print lay in the soft sand, a pocket of water settled at the bottom. As wide as his hand with fingers splayed apart, whatever creature made the print must have been massive.

Uhtric turned, pacing. “Damn our luck,” he said.

“What is it?” Alden asked.

“That ain’t no deer print, sir. It’s a fuckin’....”

The words fell away as shock came over him, his jaw hanging loose. Pointing a shaky finger, Alden and the rest turned to look as eerie silence descended over them.

Looking down on them from the river bank was a multicolored creature that stood twice as tall as any of them. A mix between a deer and a peacock, the creature had no fur but instead feathers of emerald and vermilion and sapphire that almost seemed to glow in the afternoon light. Standing tall and majestic, its giant wings flapped powerfully at its sides, creating a gust of warm wind.

“Peryton,” Uhtric finished, whispering. “Resistant to magic, sir.”

It was impossible for them to kill, then, or damn dangerous at least.

“Retreat slowly,” he ordered. He drew his blade slowly from its sheath as he backstepped. His men did the same and, one by one, they climbed the other edge of the river bank.

The beast let out a sound halfway between a chirp and a roar, accented with high and low notes; entirely otherworldly, halfway between an elk’s call and a lion’s growl.

Suddenly the beast leapt into the air, wings outstretched, and in an instant it crossed the river, flying past them. In its wake fell glittering silver dust. It landed with barely a sound and turned to them, approaching slowly.

Alden approached the beast alone, sword raised and staring into the black shining orbs that were the peryton’s eyes. It examined him for a moment, as if its animalistic eyes could see through the veil of his soul. Alden examined it in return.

Great white antlers sat atop its head, rising high into the air. Sharp and numerous and as thick as an arm in places, each deadly tip was like a bull’s horn, made for gouging. A simple flick of the beast’s head would tear him apart, if it came down to it.

Thankfully it did not. Content with whatever it had been looking for, the beast turned, let loose another of its unusual chirp-roars, and flew off, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

Alden sputtered as he waved the dust cloud from his face, squinting after the peryton. A beautiful sight from afar. Up close had been another matter, and Alden was not at all surprised to find he had been holding his breath.

“Gods be praised,” a soldier murmured. God be praised, indeed.

“We’ll return,” Alden said. His men were relieved at his words, some still shaking from the ordeal. Sticking close as they walked back, none took their eyes off of the sky.

The nameless village was quiet as night fell. Orange firelight poured out from over half of the buildings as families sat in silence to eat and pray, with parents and children alike peeking curiously from behind doors and window sills. At the center of the village a bonfire had been constructed of spare wood; small, the smoldering flames could barely be called a bonfire, in truth, but it was enough.

Alden and half of his thirty men sat around the fire, the rest consigned to patrolling the village and its outskirts. Repeating the mistakes of the dead was a fool’s task, and Alden liked to think he was no fool. The others had agreed well enough, giving no word of complaint.

Uhtric sat beside him, knife in hand, shaving away at a piece of yellowed wood; it had begun as no more than a disfigured lump, firewood, but now had been shaped in the image of a cow, utters and all. Shifting it in hands, Uhtric smiled, then tossed it into the flames and watched as it burnt black.

“Tomorrow?” Uhtric asked.

“We wait,” Alden replied. “Then again the next day, if we have to.”

“We don’t have the food.”

Observing the blue screen before him, Alden saw images of meat and cheese, bread and water, ale, wine, and more. Costly, he could afford none of it with the money on his person; his wealth had been deposited into the Arvolt Guild’s bank where it sat nice and secure from all who would attempt to get it, including himself.

But there was an alternative. Etched neatly above the image of cheese and bread and meat were orange-gold letters. He read them again and again. They were in the shape of words, yet each time he read them he could barely understand what he was reading. It was all too fantastical. But he understood, eventually, and with his understanding he felt a ball of loathing grow at his center.

“I have a plan,” he said.

Uhtric dusted the wood shavings off his hands, creating a pale cloud in the air. It reminded Alden of the silver dust that fell from the peryton as it flew overhead. Odd, how everything seemed to drag him back to the beast.

“Mind tellin’ us?” Uhtric asked. Alden prodded the flames with a stick, shifting the burning wood-cow into a standing position. A few spots remained untouched by the flames, appearing almost white against the charred black. He lifted it from the fire and settled it onto the ground where he kicked dirt on it, extinguishing the fire. He’d keep this one as a souvenir.

“No. You’ll have to trust me, and keep everyone in line. I’ll be leaving tonight and I don’t know when I’ll be back. In the meantime, I want you to keep everyone on the other side of that knoll over there and keep watch. If any knight or soldier shows up, high tail it to the river. That’s where I’ll be.”

Uhtric nodded hesitantly, looking concerned. “Aye, I can do that,” he said. “But I’ll tell ya, if you’re not back by midday, well… some’ll run, and I won’t stop’em.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “Just be sure to remind them of what happens to deserters.”

Uhtric nodded again. “Aye, sir.”

“Good.”

Staring at the orange-gold letters once more, he wasn’t entirely certain he would come back. I’m about to risk my life for some fucking cheese.

Quest Created

Tame the peryton.

Requirements: Tame the peryton frequenting the nearby river.

Reward: 12,000xp, 10 bonus points to Charisma, 12 wheels of cheese, 12 loaves of bread, 7 pounds of dried meat.