The world we see with our eyes is but a skin, you see. It’s nothing but the surface of the mine, nothing but a wall from which we are able to catch only the barest hints of the drumbeat that it’s the core of reality. It beats, you see, it beats and wishes not to cease. What, you ask? What is there behind the skin that our poor mortal eyes can’t fathom? What but the Gods? Protean, multi-formed, multi-faceted, the Gods are as much as their realms as they are individuals. Incarnations of natural forces and concepts, they are the drumbeat and what keeps the drumbeat going. They cannot act on our world like they once did, but what does this matter? They are here, you see. They are in the wind and in the waters, in the cities and in the meadows; they are our darkness and our light, our hatred and our love. They are our world and our world is them. Divinity flows beneath the skin, you see, and if you look hard enough, you can see the shadows move under the surface. Sometimes it reaches out and touches one of us, and a wonderful being is born. A Hero, you see, a child of the Gods. Inheritors of their parent’s might, these incredible individuals are always destined for great things, be it for good or for bad. Why, we use the word to mention incredible people ourselves. But that’s the original meaning, you see. A child born from a human and a God. Rare like a diamond in a sty. Powerful, sacred, destined.

They make for wonderful raw materials if properly processed.

Unknown.

Most of the warriors were too focused on combat to notice the change, but some did. They didn’t pause, since doing it would invite death and injury, but each and every one of them was impressed by it, the strange sensation sending goosebumps running along their skin. If asked, they would say that it was like another scent had filled the air, reeking until then only of blood and sweat. It was a smell that spoke of savage things stalking the jungle at night and bonfires crackling fiercely under the stars, of metal gleaming in moonlight and steaming blood dripping on the earth.

Of those that noticed the change, the bandits took some tentative hope from it: they recognized it, even if they feared it just as much as they welcomed it. The Gremlins took only dread from it, their grips over weapons slacking ever so slightly.

Few warriors noticed the woman, those that did immediately making a double-take.

She was tall as a man, her skin a rich hazel. Lean and muscular, she wore two large strips of purple cloth that crossed over her modest chest and left her stomach uncovered. She wore pantaloons of the same color, and a thick belt with a large metal buckle crossed her waist. Her shoes were simple affairs, showing the wear and tear of someone long adjusted to life on the road. Behind her, a ponytail of silky auburn hair swayed gently. A worn cap covered her head, its long rims falling over her ears.

A delicate veil covered the lower half of her face, allowing everybody to see pale eyes like gems sparkling with anticipation. She held a long spear hefted over a shoulder, the deadly sharp point dancing with the light of the spreading flames. A long strip of cloth written with foreign language dangled from the end of the handle.

The woman walked with the effortless grace of a dancer, everything about her screaming of feline danger.

As she advanced toward the melee, more and more noticed her. Not knowing if they faced a new enemy, the Gremlins hesitated. Their info didn’t speak of such an exotic looking woman. The bandits cleared their doubt by cheering, albeit a bit hesitantly, the newcomer.

While the battle on the path was still going strong, the fight in the clearing was on its way to end. With the fall of John and the escape of Robin, the bandits’ morale had been plummeting. The ferocity of the Gremlins had done the rest. Many of the bandits were down for the count, dead or surrendered, with the few remaining clustering in an ever-shrinking circle of widened eyes and trembling weapons.

Finding themselves free from opponents, five Gremlin warriors advanced toward the woman. Even outnumbering her, they did so warily. They hadn’t missed how the few remaining brigands had cheered her, nor the strange air that surrounded her.

Carefully, the five circled her. She let them, standing perfectly still apart from the eyes shifting behind the veil. Her posture was excellent. She looked like she was ready both to start flying and dancing at any moment.

The Gremlins exchanged glances. That was so strange. And… was she humming?

One of the warriors, an aggressive, strong male, decided that it was all bullocks. He was tired and sweaty enough as it was. The last thing he needed now was a humming female.

With a cry, he launched himself forward, swinging.

The woman didn’t even bother to raise her spear. She lightly stepped back, angling her weapon diagonally. The slash meant for her neck passed an inch from her skin. Carried by his own momentum, the Gremlin smashed his chin against the butt of the spear. His head snapped back, he stood wavering for a moment and then went down like a sack of wet straw.

The other warriors’ eyes widened so much that they could have made for good saucer pans.

“No ability,” the woman stated with clear disappointment. Without deigning of another glance the downed Gremlin, she twirled her spear and put it back on her shoulder.

That made them angry. Strong or not, nobody fucked with the Gray Goblin and came out unscathed. And surely nobody that was such a smartass.

They attacked together.

The woman felled a second Gremlin by putting her spear’s butt in the trajectory of his face even as she danced out of the way. Another slam of the weapon caught another Gremlin behind an ear, making her crumple to the ground without a sound. The last warrior came hidden behind his shield, trying to stab her. Light as a feather, the woman pivoted around him and sent him stumbling forward with a light kick to the back. Snarling in rage, the Gremlin whipped around, just in time to receive a smack on the head by the weapon’s handle. He slumped down with a gurgle, joining his fellows.

“No skill,” the woman said, coming to a stop amidst the fallen with a graceful twirl.

Her spear whipped out, smashing an arrow out of the air. She glanced with eyes shimmering with amusement at a gaping Tad, the Gremlin’s bowstring still quivering.

The few bandits still standing cheered harder. The Gremlins stood speechless.

Tur, face pale and clutching a blood-stained hand to his chest, barked a series of orders.

“Assault group! Surround her!” He barked. “You lot finish off those ones! Come on!” He gave a rough push to a hesitating Gremlin and that broke the spell. Moving in coordination, the Gremlins divided into groups, with some assaulting the few bandits remaining, while the rest and the best, the group that was supposed to attack the bandit’s leader house plus some others, charged the woman.

If she was intimidated, she didn’t show it. Still, this time she didn’t take the attack by remaining still. Smoothly passing from perfectly still to being in movement, she lunged. Her spear whipped out like a viper, sending another Gremlin tumbling down with a dented helmet.

Then Huk was upon her. The woman smoothly fell under the axe’s swing and kicked. The big guy grunted as his knee gave way under him, and fell on the other. She brought her spear around, but Fret jumped in its way, blocking it with her long knife. The blow sent her smacking against Huk with a yelp.

The woman jumped back just in time to avoid a sword slash. Three Gremlins ran after her, trying to trap her between them. Dancing lightly, she blew away the mace blow of one with the butt of her spear even as the point did the same with the sword of another. The third received a kick in the chest for her trouble, ending to tumble into the dirt.

An arrow sped through the air. The woman whipped around and snatched it straight out of the air. She broke it between two fingers, laughing at Tad’s even more gaping face.

Her laughter was cut short when Gunnar slammed against her. The priest had his shoulder against her back, his tree-trunk arms struggling to grasp her waist. At the same time, Sun came with his swinging mace for her head.

Like a feather, the woman smoothly slipped out of Gunnar’s grasp. In an incredible demonstration of nimbleness, she used the protesting’s priest hunched back like a trampoline over which she somersaulted, slamming Sun away with a double kick that caught the priest under in his arm and chest. He fell back with a cry.

The woman had one foot on the ground when Huk slammed his axe against her with a bellow. Sharp edge met spear’s haft, and the woman was thrown away. She rolled and nimbly jumped back, coming to a stop on a knee, her spear held behind her and her eyes glittering with excitation.

Fret had been skulking at the edge of combat, waiting for the right moment. She fell on the woman’s back with a knife raised and triumphant laughter. The woman bent like a reed, sending her stab to hit only air, and, as an earning for her forethought, the girl received the spear‘s butt in the stomach. The poor girl crumpled to the ground with a whine.

“Stop moving…” she whined, shaking a weak fist against the woman.

The woman laughed and danced away.

Gunnar came at her with a flurry of sword slashes. The woman danced back as she parried, her spear whipping around her lithe form. She ended a pirouette with a deadly thrust that the priest diverted. Hooking the spear with his sword’s teeth, he smoothly followed with an attempt to grasp the weapon’s haft. Fast as lightning, the woman retreated it, leaving him to grasp at nothing.

She jumped, dodging Huk’s axe. She whirled in mid-air, bringing her spear to slam against the big Gremlin’s head. He grunted, staggered, but didn’t fall. That had to be unexpected because then the woman was unable to avoid being slammed out of the air by Huk’s following blow. She fell and rolled, sweeping a Gremlin’s legs beneath him as she did. A last roll and she was back on her feet.

Tur watched the fight with clenched teeth. Whoever this gal was, she was good. Too good, probably. Something needed to be done.

“Come on!” He shouted.

Just then, the last of the bandits fell clawing at his face. Her face a cold mask, Dara turned to his chief and nodded. Around her, the group was free.

Tur repressed the rushing relief. “Go! Attack them on the back!” He pointed firmly at the battle still raging. It didn’t matter if they struggled against that strange woman: destroying the bandits and the camp was their true objective. As long as that was done, their mission would be a success.

The Gremlins glanced where their comrades struggled to keep up with the whirling woman but didn’t protest. With a cry, they fell upon the back of the bandit formation.

Taken on two sides, the brigands’ line fell into chaos. Even the Ogrekins, that until then had been holding their own against the Urs’ fury, found themselves beset. One of the abominations was already down, almost cloven in two by a gleaming blade, when Tur turned to regard the camp’s conditions.

The flames had already engulfed a good half of the place and were only taking more and more speed. Their job done, the arsonists had shifted at helping the assault.

Tur felt a fierce joy surge. The flames still appealed at that small part of him that was still a Goblin. He didn’t fancy the idea of getting caught in them, though.

“Quick!” He shouted.

“We’re trying!” Gunnar replied, half-laughing. The priest sounded like he was enjoying himself immensely.

It wasn’t the same for Sun. Spewing an almost non-stop flurry of curses about flames and pain, the priest attacked wildly, his mace almost a blur. It didn’t do wonders to his patience that the woman lightly danced between his wild swings.

“Stand still!” He howled, his eyes flashing with radiance.

To his surprise, the woman didn’t even slow down. Laughing, using her spear as a pole, she whipped around and kicked him straight in the chest, sending him to tumble into the dirt. She followed by falling on the cursing priest with an overhead blow. To Sun’s luck, Huk got in the way, the blow slamming against the handle of his axe. The big Gremlin pushed back with a grunt, just to receive a kick in the side of the head as the woman used the momentum to spin around. He staggered to a side and couldn’t stop the flogging that came. In rapid succession, the woman smacked him on the head, on the knees, on the sides, on the stomach. Reeling for breath, Huk fell at his knees, his axe useless to stop that barrage of blows. With a final gurgle, he fell face-first on the ground.

“Down you go,” the woman said, a triumphant edge on her voice. She turned to face Gunnar, but then she froze.

Huk’s large hand had grabbed hold of her ankle.

Gunnar was on her before she could free herself. She parried a savage side-swing with her spear and then a punch with her forearm.

But there was no slipping away this time.

Bellowing, Gunnar stepped forward. He received a blow to the stomach but still kept going. He grabbed the woman by the shoulder, slamming his sword against her naked side. His eyes widened as the teeth of his sword only managed to graze her.

He didn’t get another chance.

The woman slammed the butt of her spear against Huk’s wrist, forcing even the stubborn Gremlin to lose his grip. Now free, she somersaulted, smashing both feet against Gunnar’s chin. The War Priest reeled with a scream and then was downed by a precise smack.

Light as cricket, the woman cartwheeled away. She ended her movement with a graceful somersault. She had barely touched the ground that she was already walking, stalking back and forth as her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Touching sore spots and cursing, loudly in Sun’s case, the Gremlins were getting back up.

The woman watched them for a moment. Then she dashed forward.

Tur realized that something was off the moment she passed a staggering Huk without even touching him. A moment later, he realized who she was actually aiming to: him.

It was just common sense, after all. If the soldiers prove themselves to be too tough, just try to take out the officer. Maybe like that you can break their morale and send them running. Tur thought that just as he realized his own mistake: by shouting orders, he had given away his rank.

Acting on instinct, he threw himself forward. If he was going down, he wasn’t doing it while standing still, that was for sure.

If the sight of a man half-covered in blood charging instead of running surprised her, the woman didn’t show it.

Tur raised his arms to protect himself as much as he could, tightening his muscles. His wounded arm protested loudly, but he ignored it. Pain be damned, he wasn’t going down so easily.

He almost didn’t see the spear whipping at him. The butt of the weapon smacked him straight in his midsection, knocking the wind out of him. He felt his knees go weak, his head swam. For a horrible moment, the world spun around him. Clenching his teeth, out of sheer force of will, he pushed the dizziness away and lumbered forward, making a grab with both hands. If he only could catch her, slow her down, maybe the others…

The woman expected it. Probably it had been Huk to teach her that she was facing a tough breed of opponents. She disappeared from his sight, leaving him to grab only the empty air.

“Ah, fuck,” was everything Tur managed to think.

Pain exploded in the back of his head. His vision exploded into red and white and, before he realized of being falling, he was tasting dirt.

It was some time before his thoughts turned clear enough for him to think straight once again and when they did, he groaned and turned.

He froze.

The woman towered over him, her spear an inch from his throat.

Tur watched her, then hazarded a glance around. His warriors were on their feet, weapons in hand, frozen in their places. None dared to move, lest they caused their chief’s death.

Tur looked at the woman. Under the transparent veil, he saw sharp features, polished skin and lush lips pursued into a disciplined puffing. She was beautiful, but her beauty was lost on him. He looked straight in those eyes looking down at him as they twinkled with merriment and a question. He showed her teeth, then raised his chin, offering his throat at her spear.

The woman tilted her head aside in what could have been slight puzzlement.

Tur just glared hard. His mind was a vortex of angry frustration and self-loathing. But he was going to be damned before he surrendered.

The fistful of sand fell on the woman almost gently.

She cried out in surprise and pain, and jumped away, nicking his throat as she did. Tur let out a choked sound, hand running to his neck. Snapping around, he saw Dara standing beside him, her hand already deep in her large pouch to retrieve more sand.

The woman scratched at her face wildly, then just ripped out her veil. Dara’s expression was a cold mask as she turned angry eyes toward her.

The priestess’s hand whipped forward, and gray sand filled the air, each grain shimmering darkly like a black star as it sped forward on innatural momentum.

The woman danced aside. She was back in her game, but the lull was over. Furious, the Gremlins charged. They wouldn’t forgive who had dared to threaten their chief, they wouldn’t stop until the bastard was dead.

The woman whipped into a fighting stance. The Gremlins closed on her. The fire painted dancing light on weapons’ edges and furious eyes.

“ENOUGH!”

That voice cut through the nightly, cinder-filling air like a blade.

Everybody, the Gremlins, the woman, the bandits that remained; they all froze and looked where it had come from.

Gorren strode purposefully into the clearing, the lithe figures of Trich and Krik hurrying after him. The spreading flames cast dancing shadows over his mask.

A sharp glare hushed any protest at having the Master present on the field. Instead, the Gremlins scampered out of his way.

Without regarding them of a single glance, Gorren stopped at some distance from the woman. Even her, for all her strength, seemed wary of that commanding figure.

For a moment, nobody moved, nobody even dared to say a word. All the attention was focused over the tall, masked old man.

It was Gorren to break the tense silence.

“You’re a Hero,” he said, matter of factly. He kept his hands folded behind his back, seemingly unconcerned by having the spearwoman close by. The same couldn’t be said for the Gremlins. At Trich and Krik silent gestures, they shook themselves up and cautiously took up defensive positions.

The woman blinked, looking lost. It was a moment, then she retook her composure. She swung her spear, putting it to rest on her shoulder. Still, something spoke about her of anything but calm. Her eyes focused over the old man with almost wild intensity, her fingers gripped the weapon’s handle a little too tightly.

“That’s what they call my kind in your lands.”

A wave of surprise passed through the Gremlins. Without disapproval or roughness to it, the woman’s voice was soft and musical, really not what you‘d expect from such a fearsome warrior.

Gorren watched her in silence for a long moment.

“Why is someone like you siding with vulgar bandits?”

The distaste in his tone set an amused sparkle in her eyes.

“They pay me well. And you gotta eat.”

Gorren conceded the point with a curt nod.

“Anyway, you’re spoiling the dance. How about you step aside and let us continue?” The woman took back a battle stance.

Gorren held up a hand, stopping the Gremlins already clustering defensively around him.

The old man’s eyes never left the woman. The slight stiffness in what was to be a flawless form, the fervent intensity of her gaze. None of those little cues escaped his attention.

“I won’t. This foolishness has to end.”

The woman raised a shapely eyebrow, not bothering to hide her disbelief.

“It’s not money,” Gorren stated. “There’s a destiny hanging over you. That’s what you’re chasing.”

That short phrase resulted completely uncomprehensible to the Gremlins. Destiny? Chasing? What was the Master talking about? How had they ended exchanging talks like those with the one flogging them silly only a minute ago?

And still, they couldn’t have ever foreseen the reaction that the Master’s words drew from the woman. Her hands fell down, the spear point grounding against the dirt. All her cocky attitude, her war-like stance, it all disappeared in a flash, replaced by a look of complete bafflement.

“How do you…?” She frowned hard, visibly struggling to control herself. “Who are you?”

“I am the one that can help you,” Gorren said dryly. “You feel it, don’t you? The cursed blessing of the Nightwalker that stirs upon me. Where i walk, fate walks with me. And it can walk with you too…”

The woman hesitated, looking conflicted.

“What are you exactly proposing?” She asked, wary.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The Master cut the air with a short chopping gesture. “Come. Stand with me. I will carry you to the destiny that you are chasing.”

A hand was extended in beckoning. The woman watched it with an almost mesmerized look.

“Y-you speak of it like you know a lot.” Her tone tried to sound bitingly sarcastic, but it was clear that she was struggling between temptation, confusion and wariness. Her eyes, glued to the hand proferred to her, sparkled with conflicting emotions.

“I do.”

The Master fell silent, his gaze stoic as he watched her.

The woman had to find something in those eyes because her own widened.

For a long moment, nobody moved. Even the Gremlins, that could barely follow the conversation, barely dared to draw a breath. Even lacking understanding, they felt the importance of the moment at a primal level. A crossroads of destiny.

“One choice.” The Master’s voice was as deep and unforgiving as a slow-moving mountain. “One chance. You know that is like this.”

He and the woman locked gazes.

And that was enough.

The woman stood taller, all the conflicted emotions draining away from her. Wariness abandoned her, and in its place a newfound, solid determination came.

“Alright…” she said quietly.

The Master nodded curtly, his stony expression softening of the tiniest bit.

And just like that, the tension that had been weighing on the air dissipated, leaving the Gremlins to blink in confusion. Did the Master just stride in there and resolved the matter they were struggling, or better, that it was kicking their asses just moments ago?

Gorren called them back to their duties.

“We’re done here,” he said. “Mop up what remains and let’s go.”

With that, he meant: kill whoever is still alive. Not a difficult proposition: the battle was on its last legs already, with the few remaining bandits being cut down swiftly. Even the Ogrekins had been overwhelmed, their twisted carcasses left to bleed in the dirt.

Relieved for getting back to something they could understand, the Gremlins saluted and moved to obey.

“No, we’re not.” The woman’s glance was as sharp as her spear. “You and i have a lot to discuss.”

“Indeed. But not here, not now. We’ll speak soon.”

The woman sniffed with annoyance but didn’t contest. She wasn’t keen being consumed by flames after all. She stood aside as the Gremlins got to work, many throwing suspicious or hostile glances her way but none daring to approach her or complain about her presence. The Master’s decisions were absolute after all.

The soldiers worked quickly and efficiently, dispatching the wounded bandits and recovering the bodies of their fallen. At Gorren’s orders, they spared John and a couple of bandits that had acted as officers during the battle. With Robin’s disappearance, that was their best bet at obtaining information about the group’s benefactors. Even an Ogrekin was salvaged, the multiple wounds that had brought down the creature bandaged and his mighty limbs secured. Gorren was fascinated by the creature. Studying it would surely be worthwhile.

The revelation made by an ashamed Tur about the loss of his sword didn’t hit Gorren as anything more than an annoyance. He had made sure to alter the sword just so to avoid the chance of it being recognized. Even if it was stolen, he didn’t foresee it being much of a problem; nor it was to reproduce it. Someone stealing from it, though, now that was something he wouldn’t forget…

The Gremlins recuperated every single of their fallen until nobody could ever guess who had actually destroyed the camp; the rest, they left to the flames.

Their work done, the group made its way out of the burning camp and into the forest. Night had long fallen and soon they had only their torches and the light of the moon to guide them, the flames taken from their sight by the treeline.

The hero-woman had refused all invitations to join them. Instead, she walked at the back, so that nothing but the darkness was behind her. Even from the center of the small column, Gorren could feel her gaze boring into his back. Sarissa, that was the name she had given. The old mage marveled over it, and how fate could bring the most different destinies to intertwine.

His musings were interrupted by Krik.

“Master?” The Gremlin’s expression was full of curiosity. “How did you know?”

Gorren didn’t take his gaze from the forest before him. “What i did know?”

“The talk with that woman back there.” Krik gesticulated, trying to convey what he meant. Like all the Gremlins, he had barely followed their conversation. “When you talked of destiny. How did you know that… well, that she had something like that going on for her?”

“Don’t bother the Master with your stupid questions!” Trich berated, shoving at him.

“Hey, it’s just a question!”

“I know! That’s the point, you numbskull!”

“Every Hero has a destiny to follow.” The duo stopped their quarrel and looked up in surprise. Gorren spoke without looking at them.

“Being born by the divine is a blessing just as much as it’s a curse,” he explained. “Gods can exercise more influence over those that bear their blood and they never hesitate to make use of the chance. Every Hero has to bear upon him the will of their divine parent. Some accept it, some deny it; all are defined by it.” Gorren glanced back with a pointed, knowing look, just enough for the woman to notice it before turning back. Behind him, the woman bristled.

“I just deduced that it was likely that only in following her own calling such a powerful warrior would find herself in a shoddy place like that bandit camp, and acted accordingly.”

“Wait.” Krik looked astonished. “So, you mean that you gambled? You weren’t really sure?”

Gorren shrugged. “You can never be truly sure when it comes to these things.”

“Ah, that’s hilarious!” Krik laughed, only to receive another shove.

“Stop being insolent!”

“But it’s the truth! It’s hilarious! Come on!”

Gorren left them at their bickering. Indeed, it was hilarious.

The Gremlins were attentive. They needed to, considering that the Master himself was amongst them. Still, they were dead tired as well, the battle having sapped their energy and spoiled their focus. Many were busy trying to come to terms with the deaths of their comrades. Even their latest addition was deep in thought, pondering over the words and the promise made to her by Gorren.

That was why they noticed the ambush only at the last second.

The woods all around suddenly came alive with the massive figures of Dire Wolves. Like an avalanche of fur and fangs, the wolves smashed through the surprised Gremlins. Some were knocked to the ground, others managed to avoid it only by sheer reflex. In an instant, the column was in chaos, the great beasts roaming at will between the shouting Gremlins.

None was there to stop the massive, scarred wolf that charged straight toward the center of the column. Still, rather than its physique, what truly set him apart from the other members of the pack was that this one had a rider: a lithe, young man swathed in stinky furs and holding a stick tipped with a massive fang.

As one, rider and mount fell upon Gorren, the young man howling a single word.

“Murderer!”