It had been far too long since he’d felt the wind on his face, the sensation of his hair blowing in the stiff breeze of the Wilds, and felt the freedom of a good hunt. Leaning against one of the city’s huge flanking towers, Arthur took a deep shuddering breath.

Dray’Mel had changed. When he came to conquer the sprawling city, so long ago now, it had been surrounded by massive mountains. There had been a huge forest, filled with life that made for an exciting and rewarding hunting trip. Lake Dray’Mel had been a sight to behold, a large piece of smooth, almost glass-like water that looked too perfect and tranquil to disturb with something so benign as a fishing trip.

Now the land was blighted. The very ground beneath his feet cracked as it died, all its nutrients exhausted. The negative Energy had stripped away all of the beauty. The lake was nothing but a dry bed of sun-baked earth, the rotting marine life reduced to dust. The vast forest was now charred tree stumps and eerily silent, devoid of any wildlife. A hunter would be lucky to find a Ghoul for it was far less intimating than the Hooroun that stalked between the deadened wastes. While most native creatures had long since died out under the flux of Necromantic Energy, the local bear population had instead evolved to accept the blight. Swelling with cancerous tumors, and ignoring any wounds that covered their backs, the Hooroun were deadly beyond compare, ferocious and reckless beyond the norm of their ancestors.

Of course, there were still signs of life if you need what to look for. A well-traveled road, worn from wagons full of goods. The rotting corpse of a Hooroun’s prey, bones thrusting towards the sky, picked clean of any meat. The swarms of vultures that would gather, circling their prey from above as they waited for it to succumb to its fatal wounds.

Off some ways in the distance though, across the vast desert to the east of the city, was the quarry Arthur hoped to spy. Just as he’d been briefed, a massive pillar jutted from the earth, blighting the horizon. It looked exactly like the painstakingly inked drawings in his father’s old history books. Raptaloekr. The ancient city was even older than Dray’Mel itself. Centuries ago, when the first humans had grown intelligent enough to congregate and build, Raptaloekr was the fruits of their labor. The pillar had been the Tower Of Kings, built by the slaves brick by brick.

Arthur had vague memories of being told of its downfall. How an invading tribe had wiped out the city’s inhabitants and left it to rot. Slowly, as the sands shifted, Raptaloekr had been buried. Now, like some grim corpse, it had risen from the dead. It was surrounded by various beasts from the desert, all working together to some nefarious end that threatened Dray’Mel.

Rath’Mel, the lord of Dray’Mel, had summoned him for his aid. The people of the city were in danger and Arthur would be the one to save them. It was, after all, his new calling. The Hallowed Pilgrim was the bulwark of the masses, the savior to his fellow man.

It was a glorious thing, Arthur thought to himself, to have a purpose once more. His torture at the hands of his captors had felt like eons but, Loth’Mel had explained it all to him. Arthur had been cruelly blinded when he was young, indoctrinated by the forces of Chaos to turn upon his fellow man. Why else would he have willingly waged war on other humans? No, it was clear now that for so long, his eyes had been hooded. Now, he could finally see.

He reached up to his neck and gripped the drop of rose quartz that hung there. Dear, sweet Adelynn. He wondered if she was still waiting for him? But he shook away that thought just as quickly as he’d birthed it. Of course, she would be. Loth’Mel had promised that it would only be a matter of time until they would be reunited. He was going to personally arrange for Adelynn to be brought to Dray’Mel in his finest traveling coach.

A feast would be prepared in her name and the whole city would rejoice on their behalf. Two lovers reunited. And it would all hinge upon his victory. Once the threat of Raptaloekr had been dealt with and safety restored to Dray’Mel, Adelynn would be sent for. The death and destruction outside of the city walls would be conveniently forgotten and he would be allowed to retire in the newly constructed Residential District of the city. Loth’Mel’s finest builders were already constructing the mansion that was to be their marital home.

Smiling to himself, Arthur let out a whistle as Briarwave crested the battlements. Noble and pure, his palomino companion was as majestic as the day he’d met him. The purebred Pegasus was still the gentle soul that he’d always been but still possessed the steely determination that made him a fine warhorse.

Swiftly mounting his companion, they took to the skies, piercing through the distance between Dray’Mel and Arthur’s target. As they rapidly approached the massive pillar, Arthur could make out hundreds of forms surrounding it. Cyclops and Manticores worked side-by-side to carve niches into the stone, pixies, and bats flying the debris away, while a pack of Minotaur worked to excavate the pillar.

The reason for their cooperation was becoming clear, massive welts and unnatural pulsing sores spread across their bodies, pulsing with unholy might. Each beast, from the smallest of imps to the most gigantic Ogre, ignored their natural inclination towards violence and worked with a fervor that defied logic.

Each of the affected creatures worked with unnatural coordination with their peers, acting as if they shared the same vision, the same goal. Rath’Mel had spoken of a dire threat to Dray’Mel, the daunting beast that threatened their home.

The Restless Swarm.

Little was known about the Chosen other than its ability to infect and turn any creature it got its hands on. Once infected, the creatures acted as one mind with each other, creating some kind of hivemind. Truly an opponent that would inspire fear in any man, the Pilgrim noted to himself.

Grimly taking one last look at the jutting mass of stone, Arthur sped back to the city limits. Gently guiding Briarwave back down into the castle walls, the Hallowed Pilgrim dismounted with practiced ease. Hailing a passing guardsman, Arthur raised his hand to command the man’s attention. Only, the hand he raised before him was wrong…

Twisted…

Instead of smooth unbroken skin, his hand was ruptured and gnarled. Sores and pus stood out on tainted flesh, his skin no longer tanned and whole. His fingers ended in skeletal claws, the bones showing where his tissue ended.

This was all wrong, he heard a voice screaming in the back of his mind. Why was his flesh rotten, his skin grey like ash? Why had he forgotten the true depths of his torture, 600 years of pain and suffering? Turning to Briarwave in shock, he looked upon his oldest friend and saw a monster made flesh.

Crafted from the deceased corpses of a dozen men, the flesh of the beast was molded grotesquely into a mimicry of a horse. Its tail was made from a dozen fingers, all undulating with each passing moment. Its body was red with flowing blood, flayed flesh convulsing into a mockery of a stallion. And its eyes, heartless and bereft of life, were two still-beating hearts, each pumping Necromantic energy throughout the creature.

Reeling back in disgust, Arthur felt a blinding headache come over him. Panic and fear clouded his heart and mind, and for a short moment, he could feel the lash once more upon his back. Thankfully, Loth’Mel had told him of these nightmarish visions, because of course none of this could be real.

Pulling loose a vial of black liquid, he put the flask to his lips. A small part of him screamed to cast it away, but this madness was too much for him. Tipping back the vial, Arthur drank deep, his eyes shut tight as he tossed the empty glass aside.

It took but moments for the elixir to do its work, his fears dissipating swiftly. It was truly a miracle drink, to cleanse him of his weakness so readily.

Turning to his companion, he was glad to see Briarwave was whole and unchanged, the perfect Pegasus steed.

He would do anything to protect this city, and that began with the Restless Swarm. He would gather a company of pure-hearted men and would slay this beast, the Hallowed Pilgrim told himself.

And everything would be fine, once it was dead. The Archmage had assured him of it personally.