The Lengthening Shadow

Samuel and Co. were making their way through a thick patch of scrubland a few miles from Cape Bucktooth. Instead of taking a clear route north-east, they had decided to take a long-forgotten path along the coast. It was more direct, but less safe. Once out of the scrubland, they made their way across barren plains towards their biggest obstacle. The first trouble they encountered was when Samuel made a new enemy.

Three leagues out from the scrubland, they saw another group of beasts walking straight towards them. Samuel wasn’t nervous, he had a score of lizards, Swoop, and Morgan with him. However, when they came closer, the mouse saw that they were vermin. Whispering this to the others, he walked slowly out to meet them. As they approached, they noticed that the vermin were making no move to attack them. This Samuel found odd. “Why aren’t they attackin’ us, mate?” asked Morgan. Samuel made no answer to the otter, but boldly called out to the vermin, “What are you doing in this land, vermin scum? You have no right to be here; of old, your kind dared not come within five hundred miles of here!” The head of the vermin boldly called back “Our master does not allow woodlanders in his realm! If you will not depart this region or come to his questioning, you shall die. What answer shall I take back to him?”

“Tell him he can boil his arrogant, slimy head, bilge pests!”

The vermin answered “You have made an enemy of our master, mouse. When he finds you again, he shall kill you!” Then he whispered something to a member of the troop, who ran back across the plain. Samuel drew his sword. “Why don’t you try to kill us now, beetlebrained ditherer!”

The leader drew two daggers, and the rest followed suit. Morgan cocked his bow, and the lizards unsheathed spears and shields. Samuel charged, with the rest of the company behind him. The vermin charged.

As the battle began, Samuel felt a thrill in his chest. He was a warrior, and these vermin had no right to challenge him. There was a clang of metal upon metal as the lizards and vermin engaged in combat. Within minutes, the battle was over, for Samuel’s sword had cloven the leader in two, and beheaded or hewed his vanguard. Amazingly, none of his band had died, though there were a few minor wounds.

Little did he know, he had been set at enmity with one of the most powerful creatures in all of Certaria. Right now, though, he was caught up in the exhilaration of victory over these heathen cowards. They had fought in a small circle, and their feet stamped so hard, the place was known ever after as “Samuel’s Ring”. After a few days of crossing the wide plains of the south, they came within sight of a great peril. On the thirty-seventh day of Samuel’s journey, they saw a black line, hazy in the distance. As they drew closer, the black line flattened out into a wide gorge, about fifty miles across. Samuel stopped his troop as they marched closer. “This is the Undercrag,” he said to Morgan. “It goes north for about two hundred miles, which would take too long.”

“However, a league from here lies the Great Bridge, the only other way across. If you fell down it, it would be a day or two before you hit the bottom. Down there is a raging river of sharp rocks and melted iron.” Morgan leaned over the edge and peered downwards. He could discern the walls for a mile or two before it was completely black down in the canyon.

“Phoo, that would surely be a long drop, eh, Sam?”

The mouse nodded and turned his head to the south. “We go that way. Let’s march as far as we can, camp, then reach the Great Bridge tomorrow.”

Far away, across southern Greenbloom, the ninescore vermin under the command of Alrack and Uldrich were marching steadily in the direction of the far-off pine forest. Little did they know that two of their number had different ideas. In the back of the group, about thirty pirates were listening to speeches that inflamed their hatred of the Captains from two vermin: Axetooth and Finnel.

“I knows yer ‘ankerin’ fer a fight, but I over’eard our ‘dear captain’ talkin’ wid the fox. This ‘ole thing is nothin’ but a treasure hunt. ’E’s a goin ta murder us when he finds it, ’cause he can pay fer another army wid the loot.” Axetooth contributed some fiery words as well: “’Owever, we’re gonna fight ‘im and take this crew back ta the job o’ plunderin’ an’ lootin’. Let’s get ‘em when we’re all tuckered out and more o’ the crew will listen ta us. Who’s wid me?” There was a resounding YES from the crowd. Finnel shushed them by putting a claw to his lips. “Shhhh! Do ya want ‘em findin’ out?” The vermin quieted instantly. “Good”, said Axetooth in a low voice. “We’ll make our move tonight. Now, here’s what we’re gonna do...”

An evil was moving in the North. The lord of Thazanc had decided that Norsän-Ran had been safe for long enough. With a great CLANG, the gates of the Evil City opened. Out marched host upon host of soldiers in the black-and-silver livery of Thazanc, the symbol of the Destromancers embroidered on their pauldrons. The cold light of the crescent moon glinted off of spears, swords, and shields as the armies marched West across the blasted land of ruin. Ra’vok’s invasion of Certaria had begun.

Thousands upon thousands charged the small walls and guard towers of the border, slaying indiscriminately as they marched deeper into the other Northern region. The inhabitants of a small thatched-roof town watched the East. At first they saw only a cloud rising above the mountain peaks, but as it grew closer, they could see that it was an army, an army made for one purpose: domination. The soldiers burned the houses, slashing at any who were in their path. Above the carnage, Wyrms screeched and wheeled about in the darkening sky. The hosts marched on, leaving behind them only bloodstained, mutilated bodies and burning houses that sent a huge cloud of smoke into the sky. The officer overseeing the invasion was a ferret called Lieutenant General Smake, a cruel plotter who fought dirty, known as the ferret without a conscience.

Riding upon his personal Wyrm mount, Shadowscreech, The clanking of the ferret’s armor could barely be heard above her horrible shriek. As he landed inside the wall of a city, his vanguard rushed to meet him. They were dressed in scale armor tunics above chainmail trousers, iron-studded boots, black pauldrons and black leather pants, but on their heads was the feature that set them apart. Each had a huge helm, in the form of a fanged mouth facing the sky. They were mounted upon huge wolves of the frozen North, brought to the pits of Thazanc as a special force. Inside the inner wall of Bregellach, the Bastion of Light, the lord of Norsän-Ran shivered in his seat, his counsellors quaking with fear around him. Baron Noventa had normally been perfectly safe governing the harsh Northern land, but an invasion of this size was unprecedented, save only by the War of the Wizards long ago.

Noventa could hear the screaming of innocent creatures meeting their deaths at the hands of Ra’vok’s merciless soldiers. His nerves broke and he fled into the deepest corridors of his castle. But it was to no avail. The hideous stench of Shadowscreech assailed his nostrils, and he heard the clanking of Smake come right before him. He crawled to a corner of the room, begging “Please, spare me, I’ll do anything! Please!” Smake acted as if he had not heard, and drew his sword. A sudden pain hit him, and he watched dark blood flowing from the stump of his right leg. Smake kicked him toward Shadowscreech, and Noventa knew his end had come. He felt the horrible agony of the Wyrm’s teeth close around his waist, and he watched his flesh and organs spill onto the cobblestone floor. His last sight was of the giant snake’s huge ungodly mouth, filled with red-stained fangs, advancing toward his skull.

Smake watched the fox Baron being devoured alive by his mount with no emotion whatsoever. He walked away with no smear on his nonexistent conscience. Now that Bregellach was taken, the Lord of the Destromancers had total control of Noventa’s realm. The next step in his master’s instructions was to bring in a vassal to hold Norsän-Ran in the name of Ra’vok. He mounted Shadowscreech to get back to Thazanc and meet this new general.

Trouble had finally come to the pirate band of Alrack and Uldrich. When the crew was camping in a complex of riverside caves, Axetooth had slapped Waveclaw in the face during a roll call, and had been taken to a temporary cage made of dried reeds. Two weasels, Dritch and Halfglim, were guarding him when the the captains came for the questioning session. Seeing their chance, the small band of mutineers had slain a few sentries and overrun three caves, boarding them up with supplies scrounged from the wreck of the Vengeful.

After the question-and-answer session with Axetooth, the captains braced their crews for a fresh assault upon the rebels. They charged the barricade, swords and spears flashing in the light of small lanterns. A volley of arrows shot out from the gaps in the barrier, felling a few vermin, but not enough to stop their charge. After a few minutes, they broke through the barrier and fell about the mutineers, slaying indiscriminately.

Finally, Alrack cornered Finnel on a balcony. He lunged at the stoat, and with one sweeping slice of his sword, he chopped him in half. Finnel’s two rat stooges, Gardy and Flint, attacked Alrack, but they were both slain almost immediately. With their leaders gone, the treacherous vermin surrendered. They were marched back to the main cave, at which Axetooth was taken out of his cage, tied to a wall, and shot. At that, the mutiny was dispersed, and the pirates turned back to their ultimate goal: the great Fort Brushtipp.