Arlette Faredin ambled down the well-maintained desert road, lost in thought. Harsh winds beat against the wrappings covering all of her face save a small gap for her eyes. Such weather was commonplace as one neared Begale, the area’s sandy dunes doing little to slow down the powerful gusts as they battered her body and screamed into her ears. It was enough to give anybody a headache, but Arlette’s head already hurt for other far more significant reasons.

In between gusts Arlette could hear the voices of Sofie and Pari, tittering away like maidservants with minds filled with gossip and too much free time. The pair had become inseparable since that night five days ago, sleeping together, eating together, and everything in between. As the days went on, it was becoming clearer and clearer that Sofie had effectively adopted the child in her mind, and that was headache number one.

Pari Clansnarl was a little girl who was as cute as a button, with a disarming, naive, joyful smile that melted your heart. Pari Clansnarl made candles that could explode and kill people. Pari Clansnarl wore an arm sleeve around her left arm that she refused to take off. Pari Clansnarl made absolutely no sense.

Arlette found everything about the beastgirl to be utterly bizarre. When asked about how she knew how to make her candles, Pari had simply replied that her grandfather had taught her. When asked about the equipment that she carried around in a large sack that was bigger than she was, she had simply replied that her grandfather had given it to her. Who had raised her? Her grandfather. Who’d made the raggedy clothes that she wore? Her grandfather. Everything about Pari seemed to revolve around this unnamed grandparent, who she always described as either “the greatest”, “super strong”, or “super great”.

Yet it seemed like this beloved figure who had played such a pivotal role in the beastgirl’s life had failed to raise his grandchild properly. Many beastpeople had to be trained from an early age to control their body’s movements to avoid giving away their inner thoughts. Those with triangular ears and long tails like Pari needed that training the most. But Pari was an open book, broadcasting her joys and sorrows to the world with every curve of her tail or fold of her ears. Arlette had even heard the girl purr openly in public as Sofie scratched her head, an act that Arlette knew to be considered perhaps the most embarrassing thing a beastperson could do.

She remembered the only time she’d heard Lilybeth purr in the four years she had been part of the Ivory Tears. It had slipped out only after copious amounts of alcohol had been consumed and even then only for a short moment, but the beastwoman had been so mortified that she’d refused to leave her room for three whole days. Yet here was Pari, purring away like there was no tomorrow. Why hadn’t anybody taught her?

For that matter, why did she always refer to herself and others only in third person? What was she doing in the middle of the Deadlands? Why did it look like she hadn’t eaten in days? Why was a nine-year-old all alone in the middle of nowhere? No, there were too many mysteries here for Arlette’s liking.

She wanted to delve deeper, ask questions, but sadly she couldn’t without Sofie’s cooperation. Everything Arlette knew about the child had come secondhand, because Pari refused to talk to anybody but Sofie. Any time that Arlette tried to speak to her, Pari would hide behind Sofie, her trembling arms clutching the older girl’s body and her ears folded straight back against her head. Arlette would feel her soul wither as she stared into those terrified eyes, the accusation present in that gaze weighing her down from the inside out.

Sofie herself remained moderately miffed at the three mercenaries, replying only that she would “think about it” when asked to help bridge the gap between the two parties. Still, if anybody could bring about a swift resolution, it was Sofie, because Pari took every word out of Sofie’s mouth as gospel. So of course, instead of educating the little tyke, what did she do? Why, she filled the girl’s head with her own deluded notions. In fact, Arlette bet that she was doing so at that very moment.

“Yes, very much like a wagon, except that you don’t need any animals to pull it. There’s a machine inside that moves the whole thing on its own, far faster than a garoph could ever hope to run.”

“Oooohhh! Pari wants to see! Pari wants to see!”

“Heh, you think that’s neat? If we want to get to some place far away really fast, we just get in a thing we call an ‘airplane’ and it shoots off into the air. Zoom! And then we fly through the sky all the way to where we want to go!”

“Uuwaaaahhhhh! Sofie-sis is so great! Pari wants to fly too!”

“Who knows? Maybe one day you will!”

Arlette watched the little beastgirl’s eyes sparkle with excitement and wonder and clicked her tongue in disgust. She could feel her ire rising as she listened. It just wasn’t right, filling a kid’s head with junk like that. It would only lead to them getting hurt later. She knew that all too well.

To take her mind off of those unpleasant thoughts, Arlette turned her mind to the other thing that didn’t make any sense: everything. After their unscheduled run-in with Pari, Arlette and company had rushed back to their campsite, moved to a better place to withstand an assault, waited for the incoming onslaught, and... nothing. During their chase there had been screams, there had been cries, there had been the “crack” of exploding candles that must have carried far and wide, but even with all that ruckus nobody had shown up. Nobody could understand why.

Still, not ones to inspect a free beast’s hooves, they had quickly moved onward and left the Deadlands behind before the next day was through. Only one patrol had popped up along the way. Two days of unobstructed travel later, they’d come upon a decently large town, bought some clothes, stayed the night at an inn, and continued to experience no problems. Like most towns in the area, the main road that passed through continued on straight to Begale.

After much debate, the decision had been made to beeline for the city as fast as they could. If they really had escaped those hunting them, they wanted to make as much progress as possible while the window remained open. Not only that, but between their concealing clothes and two extra members, the group would blend in much better than before.

They’d headed along the road towards the city for the next two days and still nothing reared its ugly head. No hunters ambushed them. The few patrols they did pass didn’t even pay them, five people walking down a public road like all the others they passed every day, a single glance. Was this some diabolical trap, like they had originally assumed, or part of something bigger? It was impossible to say. Perhaps they would be able to clear up the matter when they arrived at Begale.

Begale, the Gateway To The West, had once been an oasis in the middle of an inhospitable desert. Now it was home to over two million people, and one of the most thriving metropolises in Eterium. Centuries of terraforming by teams of Observers specializing in the earth, water, and plant studies had created a pocket of life in the middle of relative nothing.

Entering the city proved simple. Nobody running Begale cared about people coming to and fro — they cared about goods, and since the group didn’t have any of that, they’d been let through with little trouble. The only delay came from a clerk inspecting the contents of Pari’s sack, getting very confused at the array of odd implements and materials within, and then moving them along so he could deal with bigger matters.

The best thing about Begale, in Arlette’s opinion, was how easy it was to hide your face there. Wrapping your face to protect from the elements was a fairly standard practice, so the three mercenaries could hide their identities without even standing out. They’d be able to move fairly freely without hassle, at least for a little while.

Sofie and Pari gawked at the masses of people as Jaquet led them all through the crowds, deeper and deeper into the city. Slowly the bustle of the markets faded as they worked their way into more residential neighborhoods, the cries of merchants hawking their wares being replaced by the sounds of children playing in the streets.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Arlette asked Jaquet after the second time he’d led them down and alley and then turned around fifteen paces in.

“Aye, I jus’ haven’ been ‘ere in over a decade. ‘t'll come back ta me soon, don’ worry.”

“Hey Boss,” whispered Basilli as they continued their journey into the city depths, “I know a few informants in this place from back in my younger days. Once we get to wherever Jaquet’s taking us, I’m going to go see if I can learn anything that might help us out.”

“Great idea, as long as you don’t get identified,” Arlette replied.

“These people don’t care who you are as long as you pay enough. It won’t be a problem.”

“Alright. Go ahead.”

Half an hour of bumbling later, Jaquet proclaimed they had arrived as he stopped at the front door of a moderately sized wooden house. Arlette could see signs of age and wear in various parts of the structure, but overall the building seemed to be owned by people who cared, as evidenced by recent repairs to one of the front walls. It reminded her of her first home from back when she was barely old enough to remember — lived-in and comfy.

“Now we jus’ gotta see if they still live ‘ere,” he said.

“You’ve dragged us across this entire city to find your relatives, and you don’t even know if they’re even still here?” Sofie moaned.

Jaquet ignored the young woman's complaining and pounded on the front door, so forcefully that even the upstairs windows shook. Wooden walls creaked as people inside began to move, wrested from whatever they had been doing by the insistent knocking. Unintelligible voices spoke to each other as the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps approached the other side of the door.

“Who is it?” a mature male voice asked.

“Does tha blood o’ Delon still stand strong in this ‘ome?” Jaquet asked in reply.

Nobody on the other side made a sound for several moments. Suddenly hands fumbled with sliders and levers and a small part of the door slid aside to reveal the face of a man just entering his elderly days. His balding head and well-manicured gray beard lent him a very charming “grandfatherly” quality. Behind him, Arlette noticed a woman, also leaving middle age. The man stared at Jaquet’s wrapped visage, saying nothing for what felt like a hours.

“Get in, quickly!” he finally hissed. Several locks clacked and he pulled the door open. The group obliged, with the exception of Basilli, who tapped Arlette on the shoulder and then headed back out to the street.

The inside projected a welcoming warmth. Wooden chairs surrounded a large table near a hearth, a small fire burning within under a large tea kettle. The man and woman, whom Arlette assumed to be a married couple, fretted about, clearing away various items to make room for their unexpected visitors.

“May I introduce Lucas an’ Liela Delon,” Jaquet said to the rest.

“Don’t act like you can just walk in here and pretend everything is fine,” Lucas snapped back. “After what you’ve done, you think you can just show up years later and everything is going to be okay?”

“I didn’ ‘ave much choice, Lucas,” Jaquet tried to explain.

“And what do you expect me to tell the clan?”

“Ya can tell ‘em whatever ya feel like. Ya don’ even ‘ave ta tell ‘em I was even ‘ere if ya like.”

Arlette and the others unwrapped themselves as the two men argued about something involving clan politics, as far as she could make sense of it. “Thank you for helping us in our time of need,” she said to Liela.

“Oh, think nothing of it,” Liela replied. “The clan looks after their own, after all.”

“Words cannot express my gratitude,” Arlette continued. “I am Arlette Demirt. This is Sofie Ramaut and Pari Clansnarl.”

“Hello!” Pari chimed in with a wave.

“Well, aren’t you just a cutie!” Liela said as she crouched down and gave the girl a quick hug. “I have just the perfect task for you two. Put your things upstairs in the empty bedroom and come back down to me, okay?”

“Okay!” Pari scampered down the nearby hallway and up the stairs at the end, Sofie following behind while yelling that Pari shouldn’t be running inside the house.

“Would you like some tea?” Liela asked, pulling several stone cups from a nearby shelf.

“That would be lovely.”

Soon Sofie and Pari returned and Liela took them aside, handed them some coins, and ushered them out of the house. Then she poured a cup of tea from the kettle and handed it to Arlette.

Arlette sat down by the table and sipped at her tea. The bright, clean taste of the tea mixed with the argument in the background brought back many a memory of life with her second father. She had never really appreciated just how good she’d had it back then. Maybe, once this was all over, she’d return to Gustil for a bit. Revisit those old teenage haunts.

“Lucas, that’s enough,” Liela said. “All of you sit down. I sent the children out to buy some food, so let’s take advantage of this short quiet and get down to business.”

The two men sat down at the table.

“There is much to discuss,” Lucas began. “Have you heard about Droaja?”

“Did somethin’ ‘appen?”

“The Empire invaded half a season ago. The clans didn’t stand a chance. Ubrus controls all of Obura now.”

“I’ve been sayin’ that they were comin’ eventually,” Jaquet glumly stated. “Bu' I didn' think they would move so soon."

“Nobody knows why they moved now of all times,” Liela said. “But combined with the everything else that’s been going on, things are starting to fall apart all over.”

“Eterium’s started sending more troops to Redwater Castle already, and word is Gustil is as well. There’s talk of a possible attempt to take the pass.”

“Not possible,” Arlette said. “Redwater Castle is impenetrable. With reinforcements, the Empire could throw whole armies at it and never even get near the gates.”

“I know ya are proud o’ Gustil, Letty, bu’ nothin’s impossible anymore. I used ta think a city couldn’ disappear in a day, bu’ now...”

“What actually happened up there?” Lucas asked.

“Gian’ scaly critter showed up an’ roasted tha place,” Jaquet replied. “Bigges’ thin’ I’ve ever seen. Scaly, with a mouth so ‘uge that could swallow this entire ‘ouse with one bite. Angry too, real angry. Then tha thin’ wen’ up like a firework ou’ o’ nowhere, took tha res’ o’ tha town with ‘im.”

“Where did it come from?” Lucas asked with a shudder.

“Nobody knows,” Arlette replied. “Honestly, I don’t think we’ll really ever know.”

“Nobody could understand what had happened when word first came around. Such destruction seems unfathomable. And then came word of the bounties on your heads. Lucas and I refused to believe it.”

“You’re a right bastard, Jaquet, but not the kind of bastard to do something like that.”

“’t's been a long road...”

“And we still have more to go,” Arlette added. “We can’t stay here more than few days or you will be in danger. We have to head towards Stragma soon.”

“No,” Lucas said, “if you’re running to Stragma, your best bet is to get a spot in a caravan. The next caravan headed that way won’t be leaving for another ten to twelve days. You can stay here until then. I’ll get you a spot.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Arlette objected.

“The clan takes care of its own,” Lucas replied. “Especially now, when there might be so little of us left.”

A depressed silence born of his words settled around the table.

“Well!” Liela said, breaking the silence with a clap of her hands and a smile. “You’ve been on the run for a long time. Are there any other things we could fill you in on before the children return and we begin supper?”

Arlette and Jaquet shared a look.

“The Deadlands,” Jaquet said. “Didn’ ‘ave any patrols anywhere. Got us all twisted around in our ‘eads.”

“Oh right,” Liela replied. “I’d forgotten all about that. Almost all the patrols up north have been reassigned to the southeast for the moment to help push back the Otharian refugees.”

“The what?” Arlette had anticipated several answers, but that was not one of them.

“You haven’t heard about that already?” Lucas asked. He scratched his chin in thought. “I guess word hadn’t made it to Kutrad in time for you to hear it.”

“It’s all hearsay, anyway,” Liela butted in. “Rumors upon rumors, and nobody knows what’s real. At least nobody who’s not part of the Council. Best I can figure out, from what I’ve heard-”

“And she’s heard a lot. Nobody gossips like Liela. Especially since she works in the local Council headquarters, which is a non-stop fountain of rumors and speculation.”

“Quiet you.” She hunched over the table, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “He calls himself ‘Ferros’, or so the story goes. Nobody knows where he came from, or what he looks like — he just appeared one day out of thin air. They say he wears a suit of armor larger than any man alive, with eyes that glow in the dark like a vengeful spirit, and that nothing has ever even scratched it in battle.”

“Pfft. Sounds like some o’ tha bandi’ chiefs I ‘unted back in tha day,” scoffed Jaquet. “They make up a load o’ crap abou’ ‘ow amazin’ they are, an’ then when ya figh’ ‘em they don’ even las’ more than a momen’.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve heard lots of weird tales about what happened there, but the one thing that they all agree on is that this Ferros person had overthrown the Church. Killed everybody in power and proclaimed himself ruler of the country.”

Arlette spat out her tea from hearing such an absurd statement.

"What?! One man conquered an entire country?!" she sputtered in disbelief.

"Oh, that's where things get strange. He has an army with him, but who or what they are is hard to say. Some stories claim that he kills children and enslaves their spirits with some dark ritual. Others say he has a swarm of armored monstrosities that never tire or bleed."

"Are you certain that any of this is actually true?"

"Oh yes. Hundreds of Otharians try to cross into Eterium every day, which is why the Council had to move all the patrols. All the fleeing people insist that the higher-ups in the Church of Othar are dead and that they need to run away. Of course Eterium doesn't want that filthy bunch, so the soldiers round them all up and send them back where they came from, but that's a whole other conversation. One thing is for certain: Otharia is no more."