Rakarn edged his mount forwards and the Burdemek grunted and obliged, leaving the smell she had found behind to walk to the edge of the cliff. The rockface was steep, nearly vertical at times, scored by sand carried on the ocean wind and the droppings of the blue-winged seabirds that made the cracks in the wall their home. Beneath it was a scattering of dunes, hardy grasses and shrubs that lived by the edge of the Western Ocean. The rockwall curved around to the north and the south to create an enclosed portion of the coastline that Rakarn now looked down into. Some 200 metres to the south he saw a natural ramp, easily wide enough for three Burdemeks to walk abreast, that led from their plateau down into ther sheltered region.
Rakarn rose to stand on his saddle and turned to face the rest of his band. 30 Dorgeshi warriors, carrying supplies for a week's travel, each with their war-spears and tribal knives and their polished war-masks reflected the afternoon sun. Many had bundles of moonleaf tied to their tribal sashes. Rakarn himself had taken great care to weave a titan bone into his sash, making it a sturdy piece of armour. A censer of polished brass that hung around his neck carried a fresh piece of redsang, harvested on the day of their departure. When they returned to the village, the harvest would be ready and they would escort it to the market to sell.
"We rest in the valley below!" Rakarn shouted and raised his spear. Uniquely among his band, as he was the captain, he carried a further weapon in his belt; a titanium battle-hammer, purchased from a Vaulter in exchange for a bushel of hydromiel.
His band lifted their spears in return and turned their mounts southwards, seeking the ramp. Sometimes a Burdemek would sense something in the ocean scent and stop in its tracks, but the Dorgeshi were master handlers, and the beast would be on its way in moments.
"You call this a valley? It's barely even a dune." One of his riders said. Her mask was on her chest, hanging in its straps from her neck, showing a sharp-featured face with tanned skin and green eyes. She was named Bulethi and was Rakarn's most trusted handler. Wicked with a spear and knife, Bulethi's true skill was in wrangling beasts for the tribe. So much so that, Rakarn knew, the elders wanted her to stay in the village rather than go with the scouts, but her skills and accomplishments had gained her enough influence that the woman could go where she wanted. Rakarn was pleased that that place was his band.
"Come on now, Bulethi, there is more space here than in Rongen Village." Rakarn indicated the breadth of the natural enclosure with a sweep of his hand. Indeed, the entirety of their home village could live here comfortably. Two miles from the cliff face, the Western Ocean lapped at the shore, greeting them with the soothing sound of ocean waves.
"If you say so, kalthan." Bulethi said with a smile and turned her lizard-mount in the direction of the ramp. The vanguard of their band were already stepping onto the ramp.
"Bulethi!" Rakarn called out. When the handler-woman turned to face him, he sat down cross-legged on his saddle. "Come to my tent tonight?"
"As you wish, kalthan." Bulethi responded with that same smile. Rakarn, spurred on by thoughts of the coming night, rode to catch up with the other riders.
Camp was set up swiftly, with tents being unfurled even before Rakarn reached the valley floor. Sentries had been arranged, a feast made of the beasts caught during the day's travel. The trees that grew in the cliff-ringed valley had seen better times and made for good firewood that produced a thin ribbon of white, odorless smoke. Some fruit-bearing cacti grew closer to the water and Groy, a rider fresh from his naming-day less than a week ago, dared to eat one of the fruits. When he still felt fine half an hour later, the fruits were picked and added to the feast. The group sat around the fires as the meat cooked and told stories and sang songs. One time one of the sentries by the water called to Rakarn from the perimeter.
"This better be important," Rakarn teased the sentry, "Groy was about to sing Bel'na Taphr."
The sentry, an old dog named Lenk, walked him away from the campfire and into the gloom that had followed the sun's descent below the horizon. "It is down by the water, kalthan."
Rakarn let his jibes go. "What did you see, what did you hear?" A shudder went over Rakarn then, though it was not cold. It had been a splendid day of the early summer and the sand under his feet still carried some of the heat. As Lenk began to answer his question, Rakarn noticed a low fog out on the ocean, clinging to the water surface. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Lenk pointed at a spot out in the ocean-waters with his spear. Rakarn saw nothing remarkable about that stretch of water. Even the low fog was far away. "I saw a wave crest the water. A big wave, bigger even than Bulethi's Burdemek."
"So?," Rakarn asked, "You saw some big fish, a whale or a shark close to shore."
Lenk planted his spear in the sand and kept looking out to that spot in the ocean. "I wish I could think that, but no. Something broke the surface, something I've never seen before. It was big, Rakarn, real big. It looked right at me, I swear on my beast's bridle. The strangest feeling came over me then, and I felt heavy, like my armour doubled in weight."
Rakarn listened, trying to make sense of what Lenk described. The ocean held many creatures of a vast size, bigger than even the largest land-dwelling creatures, for the ocean retained the most of Auriga's old blessings. But those creatures did not venture close to the coast.
"Then, before I knew it, I heard a sound like a wave crashing and the sensation was gone, and so was the creature." Lenk said. He shuddered as his tale finished.
"I will check with the other sentries, see if they noticed anything similar," Rakarn said then turned to Lenk and put a hand on the man's shoulder, "For now, go to the fire and relax, I'll get someone to replace you."
"If you wish it, kalthan."
The following morning came all too quickly. Rakarn had questioned the other sentries, but none had seen anything like it. And when he asked Bulethi around the campfire if the traits of the creature reminded her of anything, she had nothing. She echoed his thoughts that the large ocean creatures would not normally venture so close to the shore.
And so Rakarn focused on the feast and on Bulethi's visit. They held each other's full attention until they fell asleep on the blanketed floor of Rakarn's tent.
Rakarn woke slowly, turning on the blanket and reaching for his companion from the evening before. When his arm only found more blankets, he groaned and opened his eyes. Bulethi was nowhere to be seen in the tent and the entrance flap was unhooked. His eyes fell on the bottle of mead they had enjoyed the evening before and he groaned again, rubbing his throbbing head. Rakarn looked around his tent, trying to judge the time of day, but while his internal clock said that the sun should be up and about, the world outside seemed grey and muted. As he thought about it, a whisper of fog came through the tent's flap. He dressed quickly, hanging his kalthan mask from straps around his neck but leaving his weapons on their rack.
As he pushed the tent flap aside, he did not step out to the campsite of the evening before, but rather a world of objects floating in fog. It clung to the ground and went up to his calves. A couple of metres from him, it had risen even further. If he laid down, he fancied that the fog would hide him entirely. It swirled around him in all directions, and his only clue to orientate himself were the cliffs that surrounded the oceanside valley. The fog lapped against them like waves crashing in slow motion, creating a surreal image that held Rakarn for a moment before he shook his head and turned back to examine the camp. He could see none of his band, no fellow riders. Nor could he hear anyone. Perhaps it truly was early, and Bulethi and he were the only ones awake.
"Bulethi!" He called out, putting a hand to the side of his tent for balance while he walked through the dense fog.
The fog was so obscuring that he could not rely on his eyes to guide him through the camp to where they had leashed their mounts. The mounts of his people are more valuable than the people themselves, so they are put in the safest place in a camp or settlement; the centre. A cross of wood with individual spokes for each lizard was staked into the soil and the camp built up around that. The individual Dorgeshi knew their mounts well enough to find their own without any specific organisation. A shelter like a horizontal ship's sail could be put up if needed, but the weather had been fine so Rakarn had seen no need.
Rakarn took careful strides through the fog, careful to not hit his feet on rocks hiding in the fog. One time he stepped into a low cacti and muttered a colourful curse as he hopped to safety. When possible he held on to a tent for assistance as he moved towards the centre.
It was as Rakarn was about to leave one of these tents and return to the fog that he sensed movement in the fogs. He steadied himself and waited.
The fogs were pushed forwards as a man ran around the side of a tent. He was dressed but not armoured and his war-mask was nowhere to be seen. Neither was he armed. Rakarn recognised it as Lenk, the sentry from the night before.
"Lenk!" Rakarn called to the man, but Lenk appeared not to hear his kalthan, instead continuing past him and into the fog, vanishing without a word.
"Lenk!" Rakarn tried again, surprise creeping into his voice. The man did not even have his tribal knife in his belt. In addition, Rakarn could see pure terror in Lenk's eyes. Whatever Lenk was running from, it had surprised him as he was preparing for the day, for no Dorgeshi ventured from their village without their mask and their knife. If so, the camp could be under attack, but Rakarn had yet to hear anyone or anything since leaving his tent. Even the Burdemek lizards were silent, and such creatures were never shy about announcing their presence. Without more information, Rakarn decided to continue his course. The fog made the short journey difficult, and now with the possibility of the fog hiding attackers, Rakarn had to be extra careful. He drew his knife and kept it close to be ready if any attackers pounced on him.
A short while later he saw part of the central cross appear out of the fog. A few steps further and the first of the Burdemeks were visible. They were standing, but silent, gently swaying from side to side without a sound. Rakarn found it unnerving.
"Bulethi! Lenk!" He called out again. The silent, fog-shrouded camp was getting on his nerves. Dissent in the group, that he could handle. An attack by monsters or bandits, easy enough. This was something he had not seen before.
Another movement in the fog caught Rakarn's attention. To his delight, it was Bulethi striding out of the fog. In contrast to Lenk, Bulethi was in full armour, with her spear in one hand, the other reaching for the tied bridle of her Burdemek. The woman was calm, untying the Burdemek with effiecient movements. If she was affected by the mead from last night, she showed no signs of it.
"Bulethi, good to see that you're alright." Rakarn said and put his knife back in its sheath.
Bulethi did not respond, nor even seem to react to his presence. Her Burdemek was untied now and she began to move it back into the fog. The lizard grunted once but acceded to Bulethi pulling it away from the leashing-cross.
"Bulethi? What's the matter?" Rakarn said and moved to put a hand on her shoulder.
The moment Rakarn touched Bulethi's shoulder, the woman reacted. The Burdemek's leash was dropped and she spun towards him, grabbing at his arm with one hand and raising the war-spear in her other. She had her war-mask on so he could not see her expression.
"Bulethi, what's going on!? I'm Rakarn, your kalthan!" He shouted, wrestling with her as she tried to hold him still as she stepped back and moved to strike with her spear.
It was lucky for Rakarn that he had been so close when she attacked. Had he been further away, he would not have been able to close the distance so quickly, moving inside the range where she could use the spear effectively. Still Bulethi jabbed at him and he sidestepped, though her arm restrained him enough that the sharp blade grazed his side. His cloth vest was no protection and he felt the blade cut his skin. He grabbed hold of the spear-shaft before Bulethi could draw it back and pulled, hoping to disrupt her balance, but the woman let go of the spear and reached behind her. The Burdemek, normally protective of its riding mate, stood placidly off to the side. Rakarn did not have time to ponder that mystery before Bulethi drew the tribal knife from her back and stabbed at him. Rakarn sidestepped and leapt away from the backswing, grabbing hold of the spear-shaft in his hands, pointing the sharp blade away so he could use it as a staff.
"Bulethi, don't you recognise me?" Rakarn tried again. He did not want to hurt her, but she was leaving him precious few options as she cut and stabbed at him with her knife. He suffered more cuts on his hands and forearms before he saw an opportunity to strike back. Bulethi made a clumsy downwards cut then turned it into a stab at his midsection. Rakarn twisted aside and hit her hard on the wrist with the staff. Bulethi made no sounds of pain but simply dropped the knife without a word. Rakarn made to speak again, hoping the pain would help her see more clearly, when she jumped on him. His guard had been down for a moment and she used it to close her hands around his neck. Rakarn grunted but only a weak gurgle was heard. Bulethi still wore her implacable war-mask, making no noise beyond raspy breathing as she straddled his chest and tried to crush his wind-pipe. Rakarn's surprise at her ruthlessness almost cost him his life, but he managed to hit her elbow with the staff, despite the awkward angle. Her grip lessened just enough that he could force her hands away from his neck and push her away.
Bulethi stumbled away from Rakarn and stepped in the leash of her Burdemek. The leather got tangled and caused her to fall forwards onto the ground. Before she could recover, Rakarn was on her. He was loathe to hurt a member of his group, Bulethi moreso than most, but she was a danger to them all like this. Rakarn wrapped his arm around her neck and tightened, keeping her on the ground with his knee. She struggled in his grip, pushing at his arms and his face, but within moments she weakened and then fainted. Her body slackened in his grip and he gently put her down, laying her next to her Burdemek. Even with its master threatened, the lizard had not made a sound or moved to threaten Rakarn.
Gasping for breath and thoroughly unnerved, Rakarn stumbled to his feet and leaned on the wooden leashing-cross. The fog swirled around him as thick as ever. Somewhere above him he could see a glowing hint of the sun in the sky, a yellow-ish patch of fog moreso than a fiery orb in the sky. Even so, it showed no sign of letting up under the day's warmth. He was still thinking that the camp must be under attack, but what force could have such an effect on Burlethi, a seasoned hunter? Thinking on it, he leaned down and lifted her mask. Her chin glistened with saliva and sweat beaded on her brow, but he saw no injuries. Her eyelids fluttered and Rakarn took a cautious step back, but Bulethi remained unconscious. Curious about something he had noticed, Rakarn leaned down and lifted her eyelids. He almost shouted in his shock, but managed to restrain himself.
Bulethi's eyes were brown and flecked with grey, as always, but there was a discoloration. Black splotches were evident in both of her eyes, like someone had cleaned a brush of black paint in a glass of water. Maybe the cactus fruits from the night before had not been so benign after all. Rakarn's belly grumbled in response to his thoughts. Grabbing Bulethi's spear, he stood up and went back into the fog-shrouded camp to look for anyone else.
What was that? A shape moved between two tents up ahead. While Rakarn's logic told him it was Lenk or one of the others, his other senses, those more animalistic than the logic created by civilization, kept him from shouting out to them. Every hair on his body stood straight and his hands and legs were shaking so badly that he almost stumbled. With an effort of will he pulled himself back behind his own tent to hide, then tried to make sense of what he had seen. His headache intensified as he tried to collect his thoughts.
It had walked on two legs, with a slight limp as if it was disfigured or injured, while wiry limbs groped about in the fog. Its movements were jerky and unnerving, but the thing's body had been the true horror. A thin chest supported bulbous shoulders and a head that was so disfigured that Rakarn could not tell where the chest ended and the neck began. Its focus had not been in his direction and Rakarn shuddered again at the thought of what it would have done had it seen him.
He turned around and made to move back towards the leashing-cross when he stopped dead in his tracks. A finger on a spindly arm was pointing at him out of the fog. As Rakarn stood transfixed by his fear, the creature approached. Much like the shape he had seen in the fog, its body was horribly disfigured, all boils and limbs at odd angles. Its skin was grey and slimy and ill-fitting on its body, resulting in flaps and pouches of skin all over. It supported its wretched body on a length of a material that Rakarn could not recognise, for it was covered in weeping barnacles. It stank of rotting seaweed and salt. Despite its horrific body, the true horror was the creature's eyes. White with pure-black pupils, they radiated with malice. Never in his life had Rakarn felt such loathing, such evil.
The creature approached. Rakarn wanted to strike at it, but his hands shook so badly that he could not wield the spear. He wanted to run, but his legs had turned to jelly. He took a step backwards but caught a rock hiding in the fog and stumbled. The creature stopped by his side and reached down to touch him on the forehead with its finger. He had a brief sensation of its slimy skin and then his conciousness went inwards.
He saw Auriga. That beautiful land he had lived in his whole life, as his father had and his father before him. Its towering mountains and deep valleys. Plains of high grass and wheat swayed in the wind in great waves, like a green ocean. Forest chirped and buzzed with life. Even the deserts, glaciers and volcanic wastelands had their own life, hardy insects and beasts adjusted to the harsh land they lived in. This land that Rakarn remembered with such love was now vile and disgusting. The lands were dry and dull, the mountains forbidding. The life that teemed on the land, be it the birds in the forest, the oxen on the plains or the townsfolk on the plains, soured this horrid place even further. Rakarn's fists clenched with the anger building inside him, but it was a distant emotion, like seeing it rather than feeling it. His mind was a conduit to his body, allowing entry to an outside force which he was powerless to resist.
His vision of hatred for Auriga was interspersed with memories that were not his. Whereever he looked, the ocean was there and he was deep beneath the waves. A metallic chamber, a cage with no windows or doors, held him. It held him for millenia, for tens of thousands of years. His anger and bitterness grew and swelled till it drove him mad. Then, one day, the cage fell away. He saw the ocean floor and the cliffs that separated the deep ocean from the habitable oceans that the pitiful surface races knew, and he would reclaim what had been theirs.
Rakarn's sight, his vision, descended from the skies to look closer. There was a town. Rakarn knew it well; he visited it often when his band escorted traders to market. Seeing it, he felt the same loathing that Auriga had kindled in him. A black spot, like ink in water, spread over his vision, clouding the sight of the town. He could still sense its presence. A presence he had to destroy.
The creature watched its latest servant stumble into the fog, its mind warped by the creature's mental powers. The fog was the creation of its own master, and so the fog proved no impediment to its senses. A shudder of pain went through it; it was too far from the water even here, and it clutched its barnacle-staff. The power concentrated in it kept the curse of the land at bay, allowing the creature to function for a little while longer at least. But with its latest victim, it had done its job. The entire camp had been touched, brainwashed into servants of the Morgawr. It began the walk back to the ocean shore, leaning heavily on the barnacle-staff for support.
Their people had lived on Auriga for time untold before the Endless, curse their name, had arrived on the planet. They had found the Morgawr to be disgusting and disturbing, and so had pushed their entire people off the land and into the oceans, where they had been imprisoned, sealed away from the world. For millennia, all they knew was metal walls and frustration. Endless frustration. Then, one day, the cage opened. Their walls fell away and they were free again. Or so they thought. Even though they themselves were long gone, the legacy of the Endless reared its ugly head again.
When they left the oceans, the very land fought against them. Auriga's blessings turned gto curses. They were weakened, their unparalleled mental acuity diminished and suppressed. They had to retreat back to the oceans where the waters protected them.
The creature stepped into the surf and sighed with relief. Its barnacle-staff could not have supported it much longer. It took a moment to recover from the strain of the land then began the journey to return to its master. There was much to do before they could reclaim the land, but the Morgawr would rule again.