Grimoires and Gunsmoke

“Gods… How much longer do we have to keep walking…?” Talarion grumbled as he and Ryffka made their way through a vast field of green chest-high grass tipped with golden wheat-like heads.

The field seemed to stretch out like what seemed like an endless sea around the two as every so often a gentle breeze would blow in, relieving them slightly from the overbearing heat. The sun hung oppressively in the clear blue sky like a relentless orb of fire that seemed to suck the moisture right out of the air.

"We should have been in Aldenshore by now," Talarion groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow with a dirty sleeve. "It's just a day's travel."

Ryffka let out a long, drawn-out sigh with a tired voice tinged with annoyance. "It's a day's travel on horseback, not on foot," he corrected while his gaze remained fixed on the seemingly endless stretch of grass.

The Stymph's arms hung limply at their side as he heaved one hot breath after another as his discomfort started to edge near unbearable. Ryffka’s body was not designed for such prolonged exposure to intense heat. Without the ability to cool himself like a lot of the mortal races in the realm, the sun became much more dangerous. Normally, his nomadic kind would usually travel along bodies of water during the summer months, taking advantage of the cooler environment and the ability to submerge themselves should they get too hot during their travels.

However, as they made their way northward, Ryffka had decided against traveling along the waterways, fearing they might inadvertently stumble upon a patrol or attract unwanted attention. It was a calculated risk, one that prioritized their safety over personal comfort. But now, as the sun scorched the earth and the vast field offered no shade, he was beginning to second-guess that decision.

“Okay, but…” Talarion's voice droned on, blending into the background hum of the world as Ryffka focused all his energy on putting one foot in front of the other. The Stymph's thoughts were foggy as his head started pounding with the onset of heat exhaustion. Every step felt heavier, every breath hotter and more arid than the last. But he couldn't stop; they had to keep moving.

In a moment of desperation, Ryffka reached to his side and fumbled for the waterskin hanging from his belt. With shaking hands, he brought it to his lips and tilted his head back, gulping down the precious, life-giving water with a greed born of necessity. The cool liquid was a balm to his parched throat, offering a momentary relief from the relentless sun.

For a brief moment, as the water trickled down his throat, the world seemed to stand still. Ryffka closed his eyes, allowing himself the smallest respite, feeling the water revive him slightly. But as the waterskin emptied, the harsh reality of their situation settled back upon him.

That was supposed to last him a lot longer…

Ryffka's mind raced as he tried to conjure up a map of the area in his head. There had to be some source of water nearby — a pond, a creek, anything to get some relief from this oppressive heat. But the land around them offered no such salvation. There were just endless fields of gold-tipped grass swaying under the sun's brutal gaze.

The poor man couldn’t help but hang his head in regret, wishing that he had taken the time to more thoroughly scout the area, but there was just no reason to. It was just endless fields and roaming herds.

As the Sun Elf behind continued to complain, Ryffka felt as if he was starting to go insane. But suddenly, Talarion let out a frustrated groan as if he made the worst mistake of his life. "I should have just married what's-her-face’s ugly daughter and stayed in my shithole village."

The words struck Ryffka like a bolt of lightning. He snapped his head towards Talarion, his eyes wide with a sudden realization. He reached out, grasping Talarion's shoulders and giving him a vigorous shake. "You're a genius!" he exclaimed, startling Talarion.

"There should be a village! It sprang up not too long ago, not far from here," Ryffka continued, his voice quickening with excitement.

Talarion, taken aback by the sudden intensity, met Ryffka's gaze with a bewildered expression. "What? A village? What are you on about?" he asked, trying to pull away.

Ryffka's grip tightened momentarily as he almost shook Talarion in his excitement. "Yes, a village! I remember spotting a few new settlements a few months back during a scouting mission. They weren't too far from here," Ryffka insisted, his voice a mix of hope and determination. "We can rest there, get out of this sun, and more importantly, get resupplied!"

Talarion, still a bit dazed from the shaking, rubbed his shoulders as he tried to process the sudden change in their situation. "Oh... I thought you were suggesting something about marrying an ugly country bumpkin for a moment there," Talarion said, scratching his head.

“No you fool!” Ryffka replied, quickly getting behind him and pushing the man along. “Didn’t you say you helped the commander extort those villages a few months ago!?"

"Come on before I drop dead from this gods damned heat!" Ryffka barked, forcibly urging Talarion along and nearly causing the Elf to trip.

A scowl formed Talarion’s face as he stumbled forward before regaining his footing. With irritation clearly etched on his face, he spun around and growled. "Why the hell am I supposed to lead the way!?" Talarion shrugged Ryffkas grip off and flailed his arms violently. "Aren't you a scout? You're the one who's supposed to know where everything is!"

Scoffing in retort, Ryffka rolled his eyes and gave Talarion a harder shove, saying, "Ya, ya, ya. Just get a move on and lead the way."

Surprised by the shove, Talarion tripped backwards but managed to spin and catch himself as he stumbled forward. Throwing his head over his shoulder, the Elf glared at Ryffka while muttering a string of curses under his breath, but relented and started walking. "It's this way…”

For hours the two continued their trek, the sun climbing higher into the sky as its rays became increasingly unforgiving and when it reached its zenith, marking the hottest time of the day, the heat intensified.

Even Talarion, who was much more resilient to the heat than a Stymph, started to feel his own strength waning with each step. The harsh conditions showed no mercy, and it became even more evident when he glanced back at Ryffka and saw that he had fallen behind.

The Stymph was struggling to put on foot in front of the other and looked as if he might collapse at any moment. Talarion broke out into a run and quickly closed the distance between them before grabbing onto and steadying Ryffka.

"Hey, hey! Don't keel over just yet!" Talarion exclaimed as he examined his partner. The Stymph's face was drawn with exhaustion, his skin paler than usual, and his breathing ragged.

Without hesitation, Talarion pulled off his water flask and with trembling hands, Ryffka reached out and weakly gripped onto the water skin before desperately bringing it to his lips. As Ryffka drank, Talarion couldn’t help but frown. Ryffka's usually vibrant feathers, which on any other day would flutter and move animatedly on their own, now lay limp and scalding to the touch. Each feather, a unique and typically lively extension of Ryffka's being, felt as if one could cook an egg on it.

Under normal circumstances, Stymphs could manipulate their feathers in expressive and practical ways, often using them to communicate or express themselves. And much like hair for humans or elves, these feathers grew long and full, most reaching down to their lower back. But now, the heat had turned each of Ryffka's feathers into a furnace, trapping heat close to his body and exacerbating his condition.

“How much farther do we have to go..." Ryffka murmured weakly between labored breaths, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned heavily on Talarion.

Talarion, maintaining a firm grip on Ryffka, tried to exude a confidence he didn't feel. The truth was, he was just as uncertain about their location and how much further they had to travel as Ryffka. He remembered the general direction that the commander took to get to the cluster of villages — northeast, towards the Dwarven Mountains.

His gaze constantly swept the horizon and saw that the grasslands offered little more than the occasional tree or rock formation. Every feature seemed to blur together, creating a landscape of unending waves of golden headed grass. Panic began to gnaw at the edges of his mind. Had they veered off course? Was his memory failing him? The possibility of them being hopelessly lost started to drive him mad.

But just as despair started to tighten its grip, something in the distance caught his eye. Distinct, dark tendrils snaked up into the sky, outlining themselves against the clear blue.

"There!" Talarion pointed, his voice cracking with a mix of hope and urgency. "Smoke, do you see it? That's got to be the village!"

After gulping down the remainder of Talarion's water, Ryffka felt a massive wave of relief wash over him. The water did little to alleviate the oppressive heat, but it was enough to bring his world back into focus.

Lifting his head, Ryffka narrowed his eyes and utilized his keen sight to discern the rising smoke. However, a great sense of unease started to twist in his gut.

"Wait..." Ryffka murmured, his voice strained but urgent. "There's too much smoke. That's not normal-”

"It's probably just them burning the summer fields or something.” Talarion cut Ryffka off by yanking him off the ground and dragging him along. “Plus, we don't have much of a choice anymore, you drank all the water.”

A yelp left Ryffka’s mouth as felt himself be yanked forward. Snapping his head up to glare at Talaroin, Ryffka opened his mouth to protest, but the words failed to come out. Not only did he not really have the energy to argue, but he couldn’t really disagree with the Elf’s assessment.

They didn’t have a choice.

Even if there was a feral dragon setting every peasant to flame, their lack of water and growing exhaustion left them with little choice but head towards the source of the smoke.

But as they neared, it became very apparent that the source of the smoke wasn’t some kind of summer burn. No, the village itself was being devoured by flames as thatched roofs and wooden pillars sent columns of smoke into the sky. With each step forward, the air slowly became thick with the smell of burning wood and something far more acrid— the unmistakable scent of charred flesh.

The shrill screams and cries of agony piercing through the occasional crackling and popping of the fire confirmed their worst fears. This was no accident nor a controlled burn. It was an attack.

In the heat and haze of the day, as the relentless sun bore down upon them, Ryffka's keen eyes caught the distinct movement of several men on horseback patrolling the outskirts of the burning village. They moved with purpose, likely acting as a screen to intercept or hunt down any fleeing villagers or unwanted witnesses.

"Horsemen!" Ryffka yelled, a note of panic in his voice as he pointed towards the rapidly approaching riders. "We need to run!"

But before he could take even a step, Talarion's firm grip on his arm stopped him. "No!" Talarion hissed, locking eyes with Ryffka. "Even if we weren't exhausted, we wouldn't outrun riders, especially not in this open field!"

Ryffka's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of their situation settled in. They were out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. The riders, likely screens for the raiding party quickly started to close the gap.

Talarion's grip on his falchion tightened, his knuckles whitening as he recognized the colors and emblems of the riders as they came into focus. It was a noble house he had ridden with before on many expeditions to pacify the countryside and ‘acquire’ supplies from the villages and towns in the area. Lord Saralor's retinue, a noble house well known for its horse breeding and aggressive tendencies.

And Talarion knew mostly all of the skirmishers that rode this side of the territories, so it looked like he was going to have to talk his way out of this one.

As the riders closed in, Talarion stepped forward, his stance defensive yet open, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "Hail, men of Lord Saralor!" he called out from across the field, raising a friendly hand. “By the gods am I glad to see you!”

The riders' hard gallop started to slow as they took a much less aggressive approach as the lead horseman, a rugged-looking and sunkissed human with a weathered face and eyes sharp as a hawk's, squinted at the two mountless interlopers as he approached. His horse, a massive chestnut colored stallion, snorted and pawed at the ground, agitated by the smell of smoke and chaos.

"Tal? What the infinite hells are you doing out here?" the horseman called out with a tone mixed with surprise and suspicion. He eyed Ryffka, who had uneasily hid behind Talarion and looked away nervously

"I figured you dead like the rest of Count Harmswid's boys on the border," the horseman continued, his expression softening slightly but still guarded. “What you doin’ with a damned Stymph?”

Talarion, masking his nerves under a well-practiced facade , responded with a blend of half-truths and omissions. "Gods, you wouldn’t believe it, Raf…” he said, pulling off his kettle helmet and running his fingers through his unkempt hair. "The Stymph and I were the only survivors of that gods forsaken attack. Black horrid flying beasts swooped out of the sky spitting fire and death, carrying strange men who descended from their bellies on ropes. We barely made it out with our lives."

He casually left out the part where they had fled at the first sign of trouble, knowing full well that admitting such cowardice, even if it was the smarter choice, would have them hung as deserters.

The horseman named Raf seemed to mull over Talarion's words, his gaze shifting between the two survivors. After a moment, he nodded slowly, as if accepting the explanation, albeit with a hint of doubt. "Truly? The only survivors?" He asked gruffly. "The fort was slaughtered to nearly a man and it looked like they barely had enough time to even leave their post.”

Raf's skepticism was evident in the way he scrutinized Talarion, his brow furrowed, and his eyes unyielding. The horseman was no stranger to battle and how surviving one that went as bad as those forts was very unlikely. But he knew Talarion was a resourceful and conniving son of a bitch, so it was completely out of the realm of possibility.

I know you, Tal. You're a survivor, always have been," Raf said, though the underlying tone suggested he was aware of Talarion's less-than-noble characteristics. "And I know better than to take everything at face value, especially with you."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "But ain’t for me to judge.” Raf said, squinting his eyes as it roamed the field. “Your fort ain’t the only one that god attacked, them otherworlders are lurkin’ around these parts attackin’ supply caravans and pickin’ off commanders.”

Talarion's brow furrowed as he processed Raf's words. The casual brutality of the situation made him uneasy, but he knew better than to show any hint of disapproval or shock. Instead, he forced a neutral expression, knowing full well the kind of ruthless measures often employed in war, especially under a lord like Saralor.

He glanced over at Ryffka, who was doing a good job of hiding behind him, and then turned his attention back to Raf, nodding slowly as if understanding the gravity of their circumstances. "Did they... did the otherworlders attack this village?" Talarion asked, gesturing with a subtle nod of his head towards the burning wrecks and the distant, yet still audible, screams of agony and despair.

Raf let out a dark chuckle, the sound grating and devoid of any real humor. "Nah, this is all Lord Saralor's doing. Gotta deny the enemy any respite, you know? Torch the villages, kill the peasants. Make sure there's nothing left for those otherworldly bastards to use against us. And, well..." Raf's smile turned into a knowing smirk, "a bit of fun while we're at it, right? Soiled peasant girls go for a pretty bit of copper, hell your pretty Stymph goes for several silver if yer sellin’. Pretty sure a few lads are into the girly boy types."

The callousness of the comment made Talarion's stomach turn, but he masked his disgust with a tight-lipped nod. He'd heard similar justifications before, brutal strategies aimed at crippling the enemy by any means necessary, but the reality of it all was always a harsh pill to swallow. Still, he knew arguing or showing any sign of weakness or dissent wasn't an option, not here, not now.

"Nah, I still need him to find my way around." Talarion replied, his voice low and steady. "But I get it, It's a cruel world out there and the Auxiliaries don't pay much. Gotta make coin somehow."

A hearty chuckle left Raf’s mouth and nods. “I thought you only chase after the curvy ones! Didn’t take ya to plow tiny half breeds!” He looked Ryffka up and down and nodded. “I ain’t gonna blame you, though.”

As Raf continued to demean and harass Ryffka, the subject of the discussion felt a surge of indignation. As he remained hidden behind Talarion, the Stymph’s feathers bristled with a mixture of fear and anger at the offense. However, his survival instincts and better judgment forced him to swallow his pride and stay silent.

However, their conversation was soon interrupted by the sound of more hooves thudding against the ground. Talarion, Ryffka, and Raf all turned to see another group of riders approaching. Leading them was a figure who exuded both authority and arrogance. The man sat upright and held his head high in an insufferably prideful way as he strode for.

“Ahh… Commander Elarion,” Raf said with an exhausted sigh. “Try not to say nothin’ stupid. Bastards the 7th son of a damned Baronet, but acts as if he’s the 1st son of a Duke.” He said as the tall, upright Sun Elf known rode towards them with an air of self-importance.

As the commander drew closer, Raf straightened up, his demeanor changing from casual to a more respectful stance. “Commander,” Raf lowered his head in deference. “I’d like you to meet Talarion and his… guide.” He quickly introduced Talarion and Ryffka to the commander. “The two are survivors of the fort attack and…” the horseman recounted the story, conveniently omitting the part about Talarion's less than reputable nature.

Commander Elarion regarded Talarion with a cold, disdainful look, his lip curling slightly in disgust. "Survivors? Why did you not fall with the rest of your unit, like a proper Imperial?" he accused, his voice dripping with contempt. "Cowardice is a stain upon the Empire, and you, along with that disgusting harpy hiding behind you, are no exception."

Elarion's words were like daggers, and Talarion felt the weight of his gaze and judgment. "Sir, we fought valiantly, but the situation was hopeless, we were tasked to bring what information we cou-” Talarion tried to get out, but the Commander scoffed and cut him off.

“Hah! Hopeless? Intelligence?” The Commander sneered, with his hand gripping the lance in his hand. “You sound more like deserters! A true Imperial soldier would have died with his comrades. You should be lashed, if not hung, for your cowardice!”

Talarion’s face twitched as he moved his body in a more defensive posture. “C-Commander! With all due respect, we have invaluable information about the otherworlders and we witnessed their capabilities first hand! Our superiors tasked us with…" As Talarion desperately tried to make his.Ryffka tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

The Stymph’s every instinct screamed at him to flee from this perilous situation and his stress levels were going through the roof. Ryffka then momentarily closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm his frayed nerves and slow his heart to regulate the heat, but as he focused, a strange buzzing noise caught his attention.

It was barely perceptible against the backdrop of the surrounding chaos… but it was there. Monotonous and… alien.

Ryffka's eyes snapped open, and his sharp vision focused on the small black dot in the sky.

A horrible foreboding feeling started to swell with the Stymphs chest just like back in the fort as he stared at the strange and unsettling object as it just… floated there.

Unmoving and unnatural.

The thing was mostly a reticular shape with four arms with four… things spinning impossibly fast. As if the sight alone wasn’t unnerving enough, Ryffka felt as if the object was observing them, studying them. Just like how a hawk watched its prey to calculate the best approach.

However, Just as Ryffka opened his mouth to say something, his head snapped to another object that he just so happened to catch at the corner of his eye. There was another black object, but this one was different – longer, faster, and it was coming directly at them.

Without a second thought, Ryffka's survival instincts kicked in. He reached out, grabbing Talarion's hand with a vice-like grip and yanked him hard.

"RUN!"