The decrepit keep sat upon the horizon, outlined in silver by the crescent moon. Built into a mountain, the ruins towered over a small forest and cast a long shadow over the hamlet called Honour. A scant dozen buildings, most of simple wood, huddled together against a chill, autumn wind that shook broken doors, banged unfastened shutters, and kicked up dirt from the paths connecting it all together.

The stench of blood and death permeated every inch of Honour, and the wind did nothing to disperse it.

Within the old, wooden tavern at the center of the hamlet, Riggs Korjak peered out of a small crack in the boarded window and cursed the nameless keep. Behind him, the surviving families huddled closer for warmth and comfort, and he heard softly murmured reassurances. Suppressing a shiver, his bleary eyes searched for danger.

Whenever the wind died, he could hear the creatures.

The scuffing of leaden feet.

The scrape of dry bones.

A dull blade dragged through the dirt.

Riggs closed his eyes as he concentrated on the noises. The scuffing sounded close to his pa’s forge, just a few meters past the window where he stood. The scraping bones came from behind the tavern. The dragged blade faded further to the south. He tried to ignore the obvious noises and frowned as he strained his ears to pick out more.

There! He thought to himself as he detected the rhythmic crunch of dirt - a person’s footsteps. They’re-

A child cried out in their sleep and a hand clamped over the offender’s mouth, eliciting more panicked sobbing. Riggs felt a wave of tension rise in the darkness of the tavern’s main room as others woke to the noise. His jaw clenched as the rising confusion evoked a susurration from the crowd behind him.

“Shh!”

A moment of stunned silence, then an eruption of heated murmurs.

Oh, for Shaya’s sake-

A growl rasped from just beyond the window he stood at. Riggs turned to peer out the small crack, the room behind falling silent. Faint, pale light did little to illuminate the outside world, but he spied the silhouette of a person shambling towards the window.

Turn around…

Its head cocked towards the window, as if listening.

Turn around…

Riggs felt his people’s collective trembling through the floorboards.

Those are your knees quaking, boy.

Another shambling step towards the window.

Must be Colette...she was always a snoop.

The silhouette was less than a meter away.

No, you killed Colette last night.

Riggs gripped the sword sheathed at his hip; its hilt too small for his huge hand.

You aren’t worthy of that blade, boy.

The person neared the window. Riggs took a deep breath and relaxed his grip on the sword’s hilt, then unsheathed it.

They’re all counting on you now…

She counted on you, too.

And where is she now?

The silhouette turned into darkness as the person leaned on the window, its fingernails digging into the wood. Riggs levelled the blade’s tip with a crack in the boards.

Maybe that’s her, right there.

Wanting her blade back.

Old wood splintered. The sword’s sharp tip punched into something with a sickening, sucking crack and continued until its simple guard slammed into the boards.

Riggs felt a body’s weight pulling the blade down, forcing it to bite deeper into the wood. He grunted as he pulled the blade back and, with a wet scrape, the weight fell away.

Not another night of this…

He sagged against the wall and his arm shook as he lowered the sword.

“When are you going to forge yourself a proper sword, boy?” A grizzled, old voice said from behind him, the words filled with pain and anger.

Startled, Riggs turned to the old man who had stalked up to him. “I...I already have.”

“You aren’t worthy of that blade.” A hot, rancid breath struck Riggs, along with spittle. “Not after you failed her.”

“I’m-m sorry Gare-”

“Don’t fail us again.”

“Ye-yes, C-Captain Garen,” Riggs whispered back, bowing his head.

A man shouted outside, only a short distance away. “You shoulda just paid us!” The voice was rough and, despite the threat, sounded as frightened as the people in the tavern. “We’re here for our due! Stay in the tavern and maybe our boss’ creatures won’t eat you!”

Get up, Riggs.

“Ritso,” Riggs’ whisper cut through the tavern’s murmuring, “Are they at the food stores?”

Ritso acknowledged with a deep grunt from his window by the door.

Riggs steadied himself and pushed away from the wall. “That gives us maybe a minute or two,” he turned toward the tavern’s stairs, “Avi, tell the hunters to shoot at the food stores first, then toss torches.”

He heard gentle scrabbling as the messenger climbed the stairs on all fours to compensate for the lack of light.

Riggs grabbed the scabbard at his side and guided the sword into it, then felt around for his shield. He hefted it onto his arm and fumbled with the strap until it was cinched tight, cursing himself every time his chainmail to jingled.

Agitated groans came from outside, almost concealing the distant rattling of chains and whispered cursing. No one in the tavern so much as shivered anymore.

Slow is smooth, Riggs. Smooth is fast.

Riggs took a deep breath, then moved to the exit. The door’s latch quivered as Ritso held it. “Just a few of them tonight, we’ll be fine,” Riggs whispered with as much reassurance as he could muster.

Ritso’s trembling continued, unabated.

She could have done better.

“Get ready,” Riggs drew his heavy smithing hammer.

In the distance, the rattling of chains and cursing intensified.

Bows twanged from above and cursing turned to shouts of pain and anger.

“Now.”

Ritso pulled the door open and Riggs ducked his head as he stormed out of the tavern. He caught a blur of movement in the faint moonlight and charged it, bringing his hammer down toward the creature’s head with all of his might. It spun towards him at the last moment and spoiled his aim, but Riggs still heard an explosive crunch as the figure crumpled.

"Nice shot Tarley!” the shout came from above, boisterous and deep.

“Ha! Try to keep u- Look out!” The twang of bows fell silent, replaced with scrabbling claws and crashing furniture.

“Ritso!” Riggs shouted back, “Go help Tarley and Kirk!”

Behind him, the door slammed shut.

A person ran into him, stiff fingers locking onto his surcoat and trying to drag him down. Teeth cracked and shattered as the thing bit into his chainmail and the stench of rotting, bloated flesh assaulted his senses. Riggs snapped his left arm down, his shield’s rim pulverizing their hip. It refused to let go even as its body collapsed beneath it, the dead weight pulling Riggs off balance.

The bandits shouted, outraged. At least one of them screamed in pain, but the arrows whistling by and bouncing off the tavern’s walls suggested plenty still stood.

Another creature grabbed him from behind with a desiccated wail and a blade banged off his pauldron. With an exasperated roar, he swept his hammer through the incoming enemy’s knee and whirled, smashing the creatures together. Bones crunched from the collision and the weight dropped from him.

Retake the initiative.

Riggs slammed his hob-nailed boot onto the first creature’s head, which produced a crunching, wet pop. In the same motion, he dropped his knee onto the second creature’s chest, crushing it beneath his weight, and raised his shield. Two arrows skipped off his shield.

“Torches!”

The blacksmith swung his hammer down on the pinned creature’s head; its skull cracking as the blow glanced off its writhing form. The creature struggled, claws flailing, and his second swing only sent teeth and jaw flying. More arrows landed around him, one sticking into his shield with a thock. His third blow to the creature’s head stilled it and his hammer produced a wet, sucking thlurp as he pulled it from the shattered forehead.

“Torch incom-” the shout turned into a panicked yell from above. Moments later, someone crashed to the ground and Riggs heard bone and cartilage crumple as they landed. A familiar voice bit off a pained shriek.

Riggs’ eyes widened as he saw the bloody, perforated apprentice smith clearly – from the torch the woman still held onto.

Without hesitation or grace, Riggs fell between Tarley and the bandits. The torch’s illumination made them easy targets and within seconds crude, bent arrows struck him one after another. His heavy chainmail caught most of the arrows, but one found a gap in the mail and got caught in the layered cloth of his gambeson instead. Riggs dropped his hammer and grabbed for the torch Tarley clung to as she rolled around in agony.

“Tarley’s injured out front!” Riggs shouted.

More arrows skipped off him, but one bit into his back as he struggled to get the torch from Tarley. Finally, he wrested the torch from the senseless apprentice and heaved it over his shield, in the direction of the arrows.

Riggs grimaced from a sharp, stabbing pain and sighed in exasperation as the torch landed only some ten feet away from them. He and Tarley were still dimly illuminated by it, with none of the bandits revealed. More of his friends and neighbours shambled into the light, their flesh pallid where it showed through dirt, grime, and blood. Their bodies bore twisted limbs, broken bones, and open wounds, but they marched toward him with grim determination, unperturbed.

Desperate to avoid seeing their faces, Riggs looked over his shoulder and noted the arrow sticking out of his back.

A cold, tingling sensation washed over him.

Not from the arrow...

...but from what he saw beyond the shoddy fletching.

A nightmare skittered out from the tavern’s shattered window, a hideous mockery of a scorpion. The abomination moved without flesh or muscle, composed entirely of bones fused and melded into something alien to their original purpose. Riggs made out a hint of rib cages, skulls, and other sharpened bones, slick with red blood.

It crawled down the wall towards him, claws digging into the wooden walls with ease.

“Shaya, Goddess of Honour and War, protect me from this new horror,” he pulled the arrow and its sharpened wooden tip from his back with a wince. Rolling his shoulder, he stood up and drew the sword from its scabbard.

Her sword.

You’ll be joining her soon.