The twilight sun was masked by thick, rolling clouds that periodically dropped cold showers upon the four travelers from Stonegullet as they made their way through the Wilderlands toward the ruined fortress city. The dampness seeped into them with a subtly not unlike some canny hunter stalking unsuspecting prey in the tall grass. With the passing of each rolling hill, the fabled City of the Dead, dreaded Corpsewatch, loomed ever closer and Ronir could not chase away the haunting thoughts that the Fortress of Graves that stood before them might indeed mark their very own final resting places. Like spirits of the damned escaping their eternal torment, a smattering of burnt-out hovels seeped lazily out of the low lying mists conjured by the intermittent showers.
Khaz'mir's silent, cat-like footfalls lead the group across a bone littered plaza; once bustling with caravans, merchant tents, and the chaotic haggling of men. Mung-Ke's crudely scrawled map showed their destination; a short tower nestled in and among crumbled and squatting structures that was labeled as 'The Tower of Atuk-Mar.' Passing by distracting and enticing locales, the quartet stole their way into the partially concealed courtyard. The entryway into the former Magic Shop was now clearly evident and nervous beads of sweat beaded upon Ronir's brow.
Whether produced by the anticipation of adventure or creeping fever, the dripping sweat burned his eyes - prompting him to involuntarily clear his vision. That is when it struck with the crashing strength and quickness of a thunderbolt. He rolled to his feet as pain screamed out from his shoulder. Rising from the toppled remains of rooftops and battlements was the embodiment of Ronir's every vile and haunting thought.
The shadowy hulk - standing twice that of a man - before them was barren of flesh and sinew. From unblinking and hellish points of light where its eyes once rested, it mocked their quickened, fear-drawn breath and prepared to end them all with another clenched bony fist.
"Use ye the flats of thy blades! The beast has no meat to cleeve!" Mung-Ke quickly commanded to the other three.
Obediently, the thieves took to task in destroying the monstrosity, turning the edges of their curved blades just before striking it. Ronir took another powerful bludgeoning strike from the giant, and although the effectiveness of their attacks was diminished, they dispatched the unnatural horror with practiced ease.
Listening intently, catching their labored breath, and peering nearly blind into the mist heavy darkness, the four determined that the sounds of slaying had not carried far enough to rouse the lusts of hidden demons. They creeped forward toward the double wooden doors of the tower.
After tending to Ronir's wounded shoulder, Mataji gently pushed the doors open; they were not barred from within. Her strange witch-sight spied little but a dusty, stone walled chamber with a stairwell leading to the floor above and another wooden door before them. Torchlight revealed the floor above was partially visible through damaged rafters, and among those exposed timbers stared back startled red glowing eyes that quickly fluttered to life, filling the air with a torrent of leathery wings.
Fangs, claws, and curved blades encompassed the cramped foyer and blood sprayed freely upon its dusty, stony walls. Before Mung-Ke could cast his first incantation, his fellows lay wounded upon the blood-stained stones before him. Yet his call to the Arcane was answered in the billowing form of an obscuring smoke that prevented their winged attackers from further assaulting them.
Quickly, but with great effort, the aging Illusionist dragged his companions out of the crumbling tower and into a near by shed that, in better times, might have housed a smithy. Cursing their haste, Mung-Ke knew full well at this terrible moment that they needed more hands and blades to steal away the treasures of The Ruins. There, in the darkness, with nervous and shallow breath, he tended to his wounded fellows as the entirety of Corpsewatch itself seemed to wickedly leer at thier misfortune, foolishness, and woe ...
