The dead woman's hand grasped the Shaman by the wrist; causing her to cry out in pain as the cold touch seared through her skin, numbing everything below the wrist. Robin flung open the door opposite and drove his sword point through the creature's chest and out through the back into the seat. The living corpse released its victim and clutched at the blade. Robin snarled and pulled out the sword, slicing off some of its fingers as he did so. The Shaman drew away from the carriage clutching her wrist, the skin of which looked to be frostbitten. "Robin! Get away from it. It's a Wight, if it touches you it will consume your life." She then reached into her medicine pouch and drew forth a small white stone, this she held over her injured wrist and began a hurried chant. The stone started to glow and the coldness of the dead slowly ebbed away.
Robin came around to his lady. "It was dead, and now…. I'm beginning to not like this world." The Wight exited the carriage and stared balefully at the trio, she then looked at the corpses strewn around the carriage.
"Oh, no." Whispered the Shaman. "Robin, you and Bronx dispatch the minions, leave the Wight to me."
"Minions, my lady what do you…"? With a hand gesture from the Wight the skeletal remains of the bandits and guards rose to their feet, a cold blue light glowing dully in their eye sockets.
"Oh. Right then." Robin gripped his blade in both hands, the fur on his back rose at the realization that what he faced no longer should be walking, but living here had hardened him for such encounters and he was ready now to face just about anything. He looked over once more at the corpse woman. "Are you sure m'lady? That undead harlot looks not to be toyed with."
"I can do this, she is far beyond mere steel and claw now, just keep those others at bay." She instructed her guardian.
Robin circled to the right and made some taunting gestures. Three of the skeletons responded by coming towards him. The other two came at the Shaman who backed away a few steps. Then Bronx moved in. The Shaman smirked, "I bet you never met a Gargoyle who likes bones." He leapt upon the first one, crushing it down into the earth and grasping its head in his jaws. The other leapt upon Bronx's back and raked him with its skeletal fingers, tearing to pieces the wigwam strapped to him. They tumbled round and round locked in a deadly embrace
The Wight hissed at the Shaman then casually walked towards her. The medicine woman held her staff forth and drew a symbol in the dirt with the butt of it. The undead creature looked upon it and recoiled in horror. "This is the symbol of life eternal, the opposite of what you represent, ever living death." She reached for a chain that hung around her neck and pulled the pendent out that lay against her chest. "Now that I know what you are I can dispose of your evil spirit." The Wight was back against the carriage, cringing in fear from the wooden symbol that the Shaman now held forth. The Shaman was but a few steps away, holding her holy symbol out with conviction. Then the creature did something she didn't expect as in one quick motion it reached up with both hands and plucked out its own eyes then crushed them underfoot. "By the Great Mother," she whispered as the Wight's hands thrusted out for her throat.
Robin had his hands full. His sword had not done very much damage against his foes for they had no organs to stab at, nor tendons to sever. He hacked at their bones, which only managed to chip pieces off, not even slowing them down. He on the other hand was made of very living flesh that the skeletons wanted very much to see how many holes they could poke into it. Somehow Robin had managed to taunt all three of the carriage guards and all of them were armed. One wielded a sword, the second a mace and the third a spear. They also seemed to retain some memory of their skills for Robin was hard pressed to parry the incoming blows. "Oh just lay down and die already, are you so daft that you don't even know your dead?" Apparently they didn't for the mace-wielding skeleton came in again and tried to pulp his head. Robin deflected the blow then swept his foot out, knocking it to the ground. He plunged his sword point through the wrist joint separating its hand and therefore its weapon. The swift fox snatched up the mace, he pried the still clinging hand off the handle with his blade then swung the weapon at the former owner. The mace caved in the side of the skull like so much pottery, the useless shrivelled brain slid out of the cranium, the blue eyes went dark and the rest of it fell apart. Robin looked at the other two and smiled a wide toothy grin at them. "Next?" He asked.
The Wight was kept at bay by the Shaman's staff, which she held across her body, the undead woman laid atop her, grasping at her throat. The Shaman was by no means weak, she was thirty-two and physically in shape, but the sheer wait of the dead body bearing down on her was causing her arms to tremble in exhaustion. Brackish pus from the creature's eye sockets dripped on her face and where they fell blisters appeared. Suddenly the creature was pulled from her, the Shaman sat up to see Bronx, still with the skeleton on its back, dragging the Wight away from her by its dress. The Wight screeched in frustration, clawing the ground trying to stop its forceful removal. The skeleton was leaving a bloody trail on the Gargoyles back and continued to do so. Earlier Bronx had tried to shake the thing off but it had wrapped its legs tightly around his waist keeping it anchored. The Shaman stood up and hastily made an even larger holy symbol in the churned up soil just as the Wight managed to turn itself around and place its hands upon Bronx's face. The Gargoyle yelped in pain as the burning cold stung him, he released his grip on the Wight.
The skeleton atop his back raised its bony claws again but was brutally halted as Robin's newly acquired weapon shattered its left leg. Bronx looked at the leg and then over its shoulder at his bothersome rider. He then gave two great shakes of his body and sent the bony enemy to the ground, then all two hundred fifty pounds of him came crashing down on the now brittle bones leaving naught but powder in his wake.
The Wight was now standing again and this time came after Robin, the guardian held his sword out with the mace at the ready in his left hand, he was surprised to see that even though the creature no longer possessed eyes it still knew where he was. But he would not test his skills against it this day, for his sworn ward had snuck behind the witch and pressed her staff against its throat and had begun pulling it backwards, keeping it off balance. The undead tried to lay its unholy hands upon the medicine woman but she had wrapped strips of her own clothing around them for protection, now the Shaman brought it over to the symbol of life she engraved into the dirt and forced it atop the mark. The results were instantaneous as the body exploded sending flesh and bone in all directions. The battle was won.
The three companions were wounded but they would recover. The Shaman made a poultice to lie on Bronx's back; the gouges on his back weren't as deep as first thought but the poultice would keep infection from setting in. Robin had some bumps and bruises but was relatively unhurt. The skeleton's claws did not penetrate his leather armour so the patching up he needed were to his cloak. The Shaman's arm was on the mend but she had not yet regained total feeling where the Wight had touched her.
After the battle they piled all the bones and bodies into the carriage and set fire to it. The Shaman told Robin that this was the handiwork of The Horned King, Ruler of the Deadlands. No one was totally sure if he was man underneath that antlered skull or if that was his head, but all feared him. He was said to be a great swordsman and rider, and all who were cut by his blade; named Chill, did not rise again. He also had in his possession a great cauldron that could raise the dead and serve under him. No doubt the Wight was a part of his army, placed here to kill the unwary traveller and feed his army. The Shaman did not mention the possibility that they were placed here to possibly slay them, for the Horned King had an uneasy alliance with the Sorcerer. It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination that the Sorcerer asked his ally to help him to kill or capture them, especially if the reward was sweet enough, that reward being more bodies to fuel his ever-swelling army.
After the fire had burnt out and they scattered the remaining blackened bones, they picked up their packs and moved on from this cursed place. As the trio walked in silence away from the carnage the sounds of the forest again let them be heard. Finally Robin spoke.
"What kind of world is this that contains such beauty and peace one moment and such depravity the next?" The Shaman halted and looked at him.
"All worlds have its beauty and ugliness, some just show it more plainly then others. Your world had its share of each I'm sure."
"Oh, I have no doubt of that, but gargoyles and walking skeletons I think I would remember."
"No, your home was not given to vulgar magiks, you had the One God to keep those in check. Here there are no greater gods, only those who think themselves as such."
"Like the Sorcerer and this Horned King." Robin stated.
"Yes, and others I have not yet mentioned. This is not a natural world Robin."
"That goes without saying."
"No," she pressed, "I mean that this world was pulled together from others, or at least the essence of them were, it is hard to explain, let us continue walking and I will try." Robin nodded and they started again. "When the Sorcerer received his powers and after he disposed of his greatest enemy he knew that he wanted to reshape the world in an image of his choosing. However as great as he was, even he could not undo and reshape history, so he set upon a plan to cast a spell that would effectively create a new world on a different plane of existence."
"Sounds like delusions of grandeur."
"It was, and if it wasn't for the help of an enslaved fey being, he wouldn't have succeeded. As it were, the spell was cast but the fey was smarter then the Sorcerer thought, he made the world from images and memories of places he had been before. You see the fey being had been around for many thousands of years, his was the power to grant wishes and dreams but always in the servitude of others. He had been to the past and had seen the future, or possibilities of it at least. So the world he created was one that did not contain mere slaves to the Sorcerers power, but sentient beings pulled from various points in time and in some cases the imagination."
"Suffice it to say the Sorcerer was not happy." She continued. "He wanted a pliant infant world that he could mould to his twisted imagination, what he received was a land filled with beings with individual thoughts and feelings. Ones that the fey hoped would rise up against him."
"Like yourself?" Robin asked.
"Yes, I came from the Sorcerer's world but not his time. But my story is for another day." She looked at him and gave a small smile; Robin nodded and indicated that she should continue.
"The one thing that the Sorcerer wanted was for the city he conquered to be transported here with all of its surrounding land intact. That is why a vast desert can be found to the south. It is also there that we will find his undoing."
Robin interrupted, "What happened to the fey?" Surely he would help us if he hates his master so much, and the enemy of the Sorcerer you briefly mentioned."
"Dead. The young man who opposed him was dealt with swiftly and as for the fey, that is what I meant when I mentioned his undoing. You see the Sorcerer placed him back in his prison and then in his prison's prison, a place that only the very bravest would dare venture. The enemy of the Sorcerer once went there and found the fey until it was stolen from him. Now when the Sorcerer's land was transported here the resting place of the fey was also brought, much to the chagrin of the Sorcerer who wished to be the only power on this world."
"But he's not, what about the Horned King?" Asked her guardian.
"The Horned King came here on his own, even I do not know the full tale of his being and arrival. As I was saying, if we can free the fey then we can undo all that the Sorcerer has wrought."
"But we need help."
"Yes."
They came to a stone bridge that spanned over a dry riverbed. Bronx sniffed at it then warily began to cross. The Shaman followed with Robin crossing last. When nothing eventful occurred they continued following the road which now, thankfully bent away from The Deadlands.
"Who are these allies? Have you met them?"
She nodded, "In a way. I communicated with them through the dreamscape, a place where the Sorcerer cannot travel." Robin raised a whiskered brow, she explained. "The dreamscape is where all go when they sleep, I and a few others have learned to travel there while in our deepest sleep."
"You mean spiritually and not physically."
"Yes, in a way. While there I was able to search out prospective beings that could help me, it was there that I found four individuals who seek a purpose in life."
"And they will help us?"
"This is what I hope, I have spoken to them in their dreams but whether they chose to believe in me remains to be seen."
"If they are true of heart and wish to bring down the tyranny of the Sorcerer then I'm sure they will not need much convincing," Robin assured her.
"Oh, I have no doubt they wish to see the Sorcerer dead, most everyone does. It is their own demons they must overcome. You see, when they were brought here, like everyone else they could not escape the corrupting touch that imagined this world. So all that have come here has had a tragedy befall them, some worse then others."
"My memory loss?"
"That I believe now was unintentionally caused by my spell."
"So I would not recall my tragedy, that makes sense I suppose, although I feel hollow without my memories, tragic though they may be."
"I know, and I'm sure it will wear off, just give it time." She squeezed his shoulder, feeling the hard leather under his cloak. "All will be remembered in time, for good or for ill."
