Winter had set in across the Plains, which meant rain, and that meant the wagon’s youngest occupant was beyond miserable.
Though thankfully, likely helped on by the fitful night prior, she was currently curled up tightly, her soft snores in tune with the grating, bellowing breaths of the figure whose chest she rested upon.
“Quite a duet, huh?” Kit muttered softly, looking up at him.
The pale halfling was dressed in grey padded armor, buried beneath an almost comically large purple scarf, and a fur-lined hooded cloak. A steaming cup of tea was clutched between his fingerless, mitten-adorned hands. A bow and quiver sat at his side.
“Could wake the Primordials themselves, they could,” he continued.
Despite his joking tone, his eyes were flicking in every direction, hunting for anything of note, be it opportunity or trouble.
Sparse clumps of tinder-dry grass almost taller than their wagon sprung up about them intermittently, while much of the ground was a wet mixture of mud and melting snow as far as the eye could see.
They trundled along, led by their lumbering bison who remained calm as ever, docilely huffing as they made their way towards the pinprick of civilization resting on the far horizon. Meanwhile, the Striders, graceful yet sturdy flightless birds, were clacking their beaks in irritation as they followed along at the back of the wagon. He’d have to feed them before they got into town, lest some stranger lose their beloved pet.
Taking his eyes from their surroundings, Egon smiled softly as he turned to take in the slumbering occupants.
Vanya, a black-furred goblinkin that was pushing eight feet tall, was dressed in relatively light clothing despite the weather. A simple red shirt, grey cloth pants, and a deep brown traveling cloak made up her current ensemble, while her iron breastplate and immense great sword lay off to the side, though still within reach of her lengthy arms.
Lying atop her chest, looking all the smaller for their height difference, was the thin, pale-skinned form of little Eliza Baker. Her eyes were sunken, but her expression was peaceful, which gave him an ounce of relief.
Too many nights ended with him sitting sentinel while she had tossed and turned, fitfully whimpering and clawing at her skin, waking up in tears which he tried to soothe away with the soft tune of his violin. Vanya had made sure to bundle the girl tighter than a trussed rabbit once the weather had turned, and while she still wore her blue mittens and wool hat deep in her slumber, her oversized wool-lined coat was draped over them both like an ill-fitting blanket.
Egon turned back to Kit, “I don’t mind it. It’s comforting, don’t you think?”
“Only to your tone-deaf ears,” Kit muttered, sipping his tea, grimacing, and then slipping his hand inside his coat and removing a small bronze flask.
“Starting early, are we?” Egon remarked, his large golden eyes narrowing as he looked at Kit, who shrugged noncommittally.
“I know you can’t feel the cold, Grey Claws, but it is bloody freezing.” Kit remarked, pouring a good helping of whiskey into his drink, “And this helps.”
“Sure it does.” Egon returned with a smirk, though he had to concede to Kit’s point; he hadn’t felt the cold in a very long time. His bundled layers of coats, scarves, and a ragged cloak were for others’ comfort, not his own.
“Take the reins, I’m gonna get started on breakfast,” Egon stated, handing them over to Kit and carefully clambering into the back of the wagon.
“Why, we’re gonna be in Corinder in a bit?” Kit pointed out, nodding towards the town in the distance, “The local inn has good grub.”
“If by ‘in a bit’ you mean three hours, then you would be correct,” Egon stated, pulling away his scarf, revealing a concave nose and wane mouth packed with far too many length fangs, “And if you hadn’t noticed, we’re distressingly light on coin at the moment.”
He nodded to the pouch hanging on the wall, once fat with gold, now clinking hollowly with what little coin remained to their names.
“I noticed,” Kit remarked, grimacing slightly as Egon began pulling out provisions and looking at them critically, “Can you at least wake Vanya to make it?”
“Why?” Egon asked, chuckling softly, “You don’t trust my cooking?”
“Vanya knows how to put a bit of love into her food…” Kit stated, “You’re one of the few I know that somehow manages to insert a fair share of despair.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to give you an extra-large helping, you snippy little badger,” he fired back with a laugh.
“Love you too, Egon,” Kit muttered, guzzling his spiked tea and snapping the reins in an effort to escape the dour morning all the quicker.
Corinder was a small town, the slapdash bronze roves marking it as formerly Empire-owned territory. Still, when the Haldenwoad barbarians had routed their Army of Expansion, those who had built the town had decided to throw off their collar of clicking gears and become a freehold. Rusting, yet still functional bits of Sven steamworks jutted up above certain parts of town, puffing thick clouds into the air that managed to make the town a touch warmer than the surrounding wilderness. The folk currently residing in Corinder were a mixed bunch: Imperials —humans, dwarves, and halflings —in weathered regalia, including many deserters, rubbing elbows with the native Plains humans and halflings, as well as the occasional centaur and ratfolk from nearby Morrin. The real eye-catchers in the crowd, however, were the Clockworks.
Eliza darted behind his cloak for what must have been the fifth time as one crossed in front of them, its rusting metal body fogging with condensation as the cold air and warm steam fought for prominence. It looked at them with its green glass-pane eyes, lit from within, and gave a stilted but friendly nod as it continued on its way.
Egon smiled as she peeked out once more, and gave a very cautious half-wave after it, and then looked up at him.
“What are they?” she asked, her red eyes glinting curiously.
“Well, the full explanation is something of a story,” Egon admitted, “But the short bit is they used to be people.”
“Used to be?” Eliza asked, clearly confused.
“They’re still people, just like Grey,” Kit remarked, smiling at her, even as his eyes pierced every passerby with a barbed look, “They just live life in a very different way… like Grey.”
“Oh,” Eliza said, but the look on her face exclaimed that she was still quite confused.
“I’ll explain it more later, as I said, it is quite a story,” Egon remarked, looking up as the crowd parted, intimidated by Vanya in her full regalia, the glittering mass of red pendants about her neck earning more than one scornful glance that quailed the moment her eyes chanced upon them.
“Checked the boards, quite a few bounties,” she remarked, a soft smile crossing her face as Eliza transferred her slightly frightened grasp from his cloak to her hand.
“Grab any?” Kit asked, even as he sent a truly writhing glare at a ratfolk that had gotten too close to the coin purse on Egon’s belt.
The ratfolk froze, and judging by the smile on Kit’s face, he was hearing the halfling’s voice echo within his head.
They darted away a moment later, smacking into a barrel, eliciting a shocked gasp from Eliza, and a dark chuckle from Kit.
Vanya sighed, “No, I didn’t, and you know damn well why.”
She nodded down to Eliza, who was transfixed on the ratfolk.
Egon followed her gaze and noticed that they were bleeding from their forehead, and the bickering that Kit and Vanya were about to begin vanished from his perception.
He flicked his eyes back to Eliza, noticing her free hand trembling and a fang poking out from her lips as a faint bit of tears welled in her eyes.
“Vanya,” he remarked. The goblinkin turned to him and looked down at Eliza, immediately gauging the situation.
“Come on, ‘Liza,” she remarked, her soft but still growling voice drawing the girl’s eyes towards her though her gaze remained locked on a distant place none of them could see, “Let’s see if we can find anything interesting.”
Kit had the good sense to look shame-faced as Egon walked over to the ratfolk and helped him to his feet, drawing a cloth from his pack and offering it to aid in staunching the bleeding.
“Thanks,” they muttered, before darting back into the crowd.
Egon turned back to Kit with a frown.
“He was trying to steal the little bit we had,” Kit remarked coldly, “How was I to know the idiot would bash his head open?”
Egon grimaced, but nodded as they went to find Vanya and Eliza.
“Outside of the bounties, any other work?” Kit asked as they caught up.
Vanya nodded, keeping her eyes on Eliza, who was coming back to herself slowly, though the shock was sure to linger.
Tonight was surely going to be a rough one.
“There is a caravan heading to Haldenwoad; they need some extra muscle, and one of their regular drivers was apparently caught on the Bridge trying to smuggle firearms past Far Morrin,” she stated a bit conspiratorially.
“Perfect,” Egon remarked, “Did you sign us on? What does it pay?”
“It pays well… but there’s a ten gold surcharge, for any damages that occur on our part.” Vanya remarked, “Fucking Svens, even on the frontier, they manage to involve their pointless bureaucracy.”
Egon and Kit sighed in unison.
“Right,” the former muttered, “Let’s get what we need and keep moving then.”
Kit took charge after that, leading the party around the town in a hunt for the vendors he believed would be the “biggest pushovers”. Egon kept hold of the little money they had, handing it over to Kit whenever he managed to seal a deal. It was on the last one that Eliza finally came out of her stupor.
She walked up to the stand, staring at several jars of glimmering, multicolored liquid.
“What’s this?” she asked.
The merchant, a heavily tattooed halfling woman whom Kit had been flirting his way towards a discount with, turned towards her with a smile, “Taerryn’s Transitive Tints, magical paint that takes on whatever color the painter desires.”
Eliza’s eyes lit up, and she began looking over the jar carefully, smiling even wider as the paint seemed to shift to resemble a staring night sky.
She looked up at him with a grin, and if he had still needed to breathe, he believed his chest would have hitched a bit, as it was the first genuine smile he had seen on her face in a very long while.
“How much?” Egon asked. The merchant looked at Eliza and flicked her eyes to Kit, who gave her an exaggerated wink.
“Thirty gold is as low as I’m willing to go,” she remarked, and Egon fought back a sigh as he watched Eliza droop almost immediately.
She set the jar down and walked back over to Vanya, leaning against her as she took her hand.
“Maybe next time, little one,” Vanya said, trying to draw a smile out of her, but giving Egon a frustrated glance.
Kit finished his dealing, and they began to walk back from the cart when a ball came bouncing around the corner and tapped against Eliza’s foot, who looked down at it with a mixture of timidness and confusion.
They turned as four kids came running around the corner, a short half-human girl with long curly auburn hair, brown eyes, tan skin, and slightly pointed ears, a portly dwarven boy with a shock of blonde hair and pale green eyes, a thin ratfolk pup with piebald fur and wide blue eyes, and towering above all of them a centaur girl with brown hair and matching fur on her lower half. They were all dressed in mud-drenched winter clothing and skidded to a halt next to the group.
“Sorry,” the half-human girl remarked, peering up at them all, before focusing on Eliza, “Oh, hi, wanna come play with us?”
Eliza blinked several times, taken aback by the other girl’s forward nature, and looked up at Egon.
“Go on, we’ll be nearby,” he remarked to Vanya, adding a gentle push to get her going.
Eliza picked up the ball as the other kids took off running, shouting.
“I’m Juli,” the half-human girl remarked, offering a hand to shake.
“Eliza,” she returned with a very timid smile as she cautiously took the other girl’s hand.
“Nice to meet ya, now you play this game by-”
The younger girl trailed off as they moved just out of earshot of him, but Egon knew that Kit would keep a closer eye as they followed after them.
“We’re spent, aren’t we?” Vanya asked, looking down at him.
“Not fully,” he returned with a grimace, “Still have a few coppers left.”
“If we need fast money, I can…” Kit began, making a snatching motion with his hands. Vanya and Egon shared a contemplative look before the three turned back to Eliza.
“No…. At least not yet.” Egon stated, watching Eliza race after the other kids, and outstripping all but the centaur as the game continued, “We’ll figure something out.”
That night, Eliza fell to sleep quite easily, and to Egon’s joy, her hours of running around with the other kids had tired her out enough to give the nightmare nothing to gain purchase on. She was curled up in the wagon, as they had decided to stay near Corinder for the night instead of moving on.
The bison and striders had all fallen asleep, while he, Vanya, and Kit sat around a large fire, the crackling logs seeming to sing an odd tune any time the wind sent a bit of snow fluttering into its depths.
“Where are we headed next?” Kit asked, looking up at him and Vanya, “Not Far Morrin, I hope?”
“They might have work,” Vanya muttered.
“Yeah, bounties, which you won’t let us take,” Kit stated somewhat bitterly, “Or they’ll set me up polishing shoes, and wiping their asses as is the proper Sven tradition while they put a bullet through Egon’s eye.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Egon remarked, “But I agree, Far Morrin isn’t an option right now.”
“Where then?” Vanya asked, “The only other people around are the Followings, and they’re still fairly tense around any travelers from outside the Plains.”
“I think I can solve your money problems,” a silky smooth voice stated, causing all of them to lunge to their feet. Vanya’s hand immediately went for her blade, while Egon felt his claws extend from the sheer adrenaline of the moment.
Out of the flickering shadows of the flames, a figure stepped, emerging from the near pitch-black night, as only Lama hung in the sky far above, her reddish-purple light offering nothing.
They were a tall, Sven man in countenance, but as pale as the snow now covering the ground around them. Dressed in black armor, with a cloak made from the pelt of some clawed beast hung over his shoulders. A sword hung on his hip, and clutched in his one hand was a black pendant, a swirling, glowing red liquid held within the crystal on its face.
“Please, I come in relative peace,” the man remarked, “I am simply here to retrieve my master’s lost property, and I am willing to compensate you quite well.”
“Lost property?” Vanya snarled, looming to her full height, blade outstretched against the fire at him, “Do we look like thieves?”
“Partially,” the man remarked, with a pointed smile, revealing a set of razor-sharp fangs.
“Speak plainly, dust-blood,” Egon remarked, pulling his hood back and revealing his blind head, taut grey skin, long pointed ears, and fanged visage. His long tongue lashed out menacingly as he let his complete Ghoulish countenance show. He flicked his eyes over, and he noticed that Kit had slipped away without the Vampire spawn realizing. The spawn looked him over, somewhat surprised.
“Another of Paragris’s damned children, interesting. Fine, I have come for the girl,” the spawn stated, pointing at the cart with the pendant. “My master wishes his daughter returned to him, and she will be. I am simply offering to make this transition as peaceful as possible.”
“You really think we’ll just hand her over?” Vanya growled.
“No, I don’t, and I sincerely hope you take that option,” The spawn remarked, “I am quite famished. However, I hope you will realize that having her with you will one day prove too costly, and that simply handing her over now would be the preferred option. After all, I am not likely to be the last, though I might be the most amenable.”
“Do you believe you are the first?” Egon asked, and he smiled slowly as a look of confusion crossed over the spawn’s face.
“What?” the Spawn asked, staring at them both in a confused manner.
“In short, we’ve heard this before,” Vanya remarked, “And the answer was and still is, ‘No’.”
“Fine, no more wor-” the spawn had begun to say, quite haughtily as he reached for his blade, only for an arrow to pierce clean through his lips, through his teeth, catching his tongue and piercing through the bottom of his jaw and into his neck.
“Sorry, didn’t quite hear that. Want to speak up?” Kit snarled as he drew another arrow and fitted it into the immense bow he had set into place atop the wagon.
Before the spawn could even react, Vanya was on him, her blade igniting with blue fire as it slammed into his chest. There was a flash of divine energy that seared Egon’s eyes, and the spawn crumpled backward, unable to scream, as fire and light burnt his skin to a paper-thin tautness.
The spawn scrambled and snarled, choking fitfully as it slashed at her, cutting a line across her face with its blade as the pendent rolled free of its other hand. It then followed up the attack, kicking her heavily in the chest and wrenching the arrow from his face.
“You’ll die for that wretch,” he snarled, his wounds already healing. He pointed a finger at Kit, gleaming red energy snaking up his arm.
Egon lunged for him, and the spawn ducked aside, swinging his blade up, though it only slightly nicked his chest.
The spawn snarled, on the verge of completing his spell, and Vanya, moving quicker than most would believe possible, smeared some of the blood seeping from her facial wound onto the pendant around her neck.
A silent wave of force erupted from her, and all sound died, wrenching the words slipping from the spawn’s lips into nothing. He snarled silently, instead sending his blade spinning towards Kit. He released his bow and tried to dodge, but it caught him in the side, and he fell with an empty scream.
Claws punched free of the spawn’s fingers as he eyed the still slumbering Eliza, glancing over at Vanya, her sword raised defensively, and the ferally crouching Egon.
He bolted for the cart.
Egon was on him in an instant, one slash to the neck, and the man suddenly went stock still as thick black venom dripped from the ghoul’s claws and hissed against the earth, the black ichor working through the man’s partially dead veins.
He rose from the now still form, looking at his companions as tune of wind and grass returned, Vanya’s spell fading as she lifted Kit to his feet.
“Fucker.” Kit growled, stumbling towards the body, drawing a dagger from his side, “I’ll pay ya back for that.”
Egon held up his hand, ears twitching, head on a swivel. So far, all was quiet. Kit grumbled, clutching at his weeping belly wound.
“I’ll take care of it.” Egon muttered, dragging the spawn away from camp, “Vanya, patch him up, and keep an eye out for more.”
The others nodded, both of their heads on a swivel, as Vanya backed up and climbed into the cart.
Egon dragged him, as far from the town as he could manage, while still being within earshot of the wagon, and began to dig with his free hand. Any renewed struggle from the man was met with another venom-soaked claw, and Egon found himself fighting with the base nature within him.
As he dug deeper, so grew his hunger.
The need to sink his teeth into this man, to rend, tear, crunch, consume, savor.
The Damned of Paragris, such as he, had more freedom from their dark urges than most undead forced to walk the world’s face, but that did not mean they were not there.
It clung to them like their shadows, ever-present, unshakable, but easy to control much of the time.
He dug deeper still, dragging spawnpawn with him until, finally, he thought it would be deep enough, and dropped the man onto the cold dirt.
He then drew a long, wooden stake from a pouch on his hip and allowed himself a cruel smile as the spawn’s eyes widened.
They’d approached a shaman of the Plains, desperately eager for his help. Runes carefully curved along its length, naming each of Seleme’s Ushers, the goddess of death and her army of councilors, each and every one of them loathing the existence of beings like them both. It burned him even to hold it.
“Do you know why we had so little coin?” Egon asked, clutching the spawn by the front of his armor, “It’s because we spent it all on this, to make sure she would be safe from you mutts.”
He plunged the stake down, wincing as the divine energy within scorched his pallid flesh, even as it sank deep into the spawn’s chest, and there was a sound that resembled the clanging of an impossibly deep church bell.
The spawn began to struggle, become more and more frantic as the venom wore off, his body falling away before Egon’s eyes, starting with the fingers, which crumpled away into meaty dust-covered chunks, followed by his arms. It then proceeded until all that was left was an ash-covered, shattered skeleton, all blood melting away into a thick grey slurry.
His stomach growled, and he grimaced as he forced himself out of the pit and began burying the latest of Eliza’s hunters.
He rushed back to camp, skidding to a halt at the edge of the fire.
“Is she alright?” he asked, looking between Vanya and Kit, both of whom had oddly joyful smiles on their faces.
“Slept through the entire thing,” Vanya remarked, with a soft smile.
“And lucky for her, because she’s going to wake up to more than a few surprises tomorrow,” Kit remarked, tossing Egon what at first seemed to be a ball of some kind, only for it to land in his hands, revealing itself to be a bulging coin purse.
Egon opened it, and if his heart could beat, it would have stopped as he stared down at dozens, no hundreds, of platinum coins.
He looked up at the others, a broad smile on his face.
Eliza woke slowly the next morning, blinking sleep from her eyes, and crawled out of the cart.
“Good morning, Little Liza,” Vanya remarked, messing up her already tangled hair as the girl sleepily fell into her lap.
“Morning, where are we going next?”
“Into town, for a real breakfast at the biggest Tavern you’ve seen yet, kiddo,” Kit said, leaning back with his “tea” mug clamped in his hands.
“Oh?” Eliza asked, rubbing her eyes and looking around, confused.
“Yes, but first, here,” Egon remarked, pushing a small crate over to her.
Looking around at them all, she cautiously opened the box, and her mouth fell open as she spotted several jars of the magic paint from yesterday, alongside a smattering of other art supplies.
“I-how?” she asked, looking up at Egon, and then shifting her gaze to the others, forcing her head back so she could look up at Vanya.
“As I said when we found you, Eliza,” Egon muttered, reaching out and brushing a bit of hair out of her face, “We’ll always be looking out for you.”
Eliza felt some tears begin to fill her eyes as Vanya wrapped one of her oversized arms around her.
“Alright, enough with the mushy stuff,” Kit remarked, standing up and stretching, “Let’s go get some grub! I’m looking forward to eating some actual food for once, no offense, Vanya, much offense, Egon.”
Eliza fought back a laugh as the ghoul shot Kit a rather dark look, and quickly packed up the paint supplies, hiding them under the small staircase that led down into the wagon from the front, and followed after Kit as he jokingly marched into town.
Years later, Eliza Baker awakes alone, head swimming from drink and pain.
Sometimes, she wonders if her time amongst the plains was but a dream.
After all, she’d never done anything worth that much affection and peace.
Yet, in times like these, she has a reminder of the truth, far-fetched as it seems.
She roots around in her back, drawing out an ancient jar, and inside, gleaming with the same beautiful shade of indigo and black she’d seen that day, was the last bit of magic paint.
She had never sought to use it. Nor sell it, shit, it could have given her at least a bit of good coin to get by on…
Or gain a good night of drinking, instead of the schlock she slaked her thirst on these days.
But they’d tried so hard, fought so long to protect her from the shadows in the night, never realizing how much she saw or how deeply their actions moved her.
She hadn’t deserved it.
At least she didn’t think she did.
“Eliza! We’re getting close; we need you up here.” A clipped voice calls out.
Gosh, he is a pain.
Clarity returns, and with it the knowledge that the wavering of her vision is not entirely born of drink; no, it’s partially the ship she had somehow stumbled aboard.
She sighs, hides away her last happy moments, and rises to meet the day, a liquid breakfast in hand and a disjointed feeling stuck in her craw.
Yet… the rocking in away keeps her rooted back amongst the plains, and for the first time in several months, she greets the noonday sun, early riser she is not, with a smile just south of genuine.
“Right, what the hell are we doing again?” She barks as she rises to the deck above.