Valiant heroes are often caught the same way that one catches a moth. The swatter may be more elaborate and the stakes are admittedly higher, but all valiant heroes who have been deprived of light, starved of their senses, will flock to it. It is your job as a cunning Necromancer to ensnare them properly and “swat” them until they bleed no longer. For it is valiant heroes who are the greatest villains of progress.

Azog guided George and me through the forest on our fetch. It had only been an hour of traversing the silent and serene forest before we came across the great Black Crag Beetle. It had yet to truly snow, so only a thin film covered the forest floor.

“Black Crag Beetle,” stated George in awe.

“Is that what they’re called? Those buggers bite really hard. One time I had two of them bite the same finger only minutes apart,” remarked Azog as stared down the rather large beetle.

“Shouldn’t it be named the darkish blue beetle? It’s not black.” I observed.

“Aye, but Darkish Blue Beetle doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like Black Crag Beetle. You’ve got to get better at naming stuff if you want to make a name for yourself. That’s some wisdom I learned from a traveling old hedge wizard about four years ago. It has worked wonders for me.”

“Like how you renamed the big deep hole to Sewers of the Past?”

“Exactly like that! Not to brag, but I was able to increase the cost of my trips by two whole pieces of copper since I came up with that name.”

“Only two copper?”

“It was three copper until my competition caught wind of the strategy and renamed the big deep hole themselves. If you ever see a slimy little weasel named Boris Lariz, let me know so I can heave my great sword and lop his head off. Competition is bad for business,” grunted Azog.

The beetle clung sagely to the side of a pine tree, covered in a dusting of snow. The outward appearance of this pine matched that of all the other densely packed pine trees in the surrounding forest. This conifer was not special at first glance. At second glance, you’d notice the Black Crag Beetle and conclude that something about the tree must be special for such a beetle to crawl on this tree. Skeptics would say that this is happenstance and a beetle with such a tiny brain likely didn’t think about trees to begin with. But if the beetles had such tiny brains, then why do they watch?

And the beetles always watch. Very few know why they watch and fewer know what they’re thinking. Wanderers considered the bug an omen of sorts. A warning that something important is going to happen. It is important to note that the beetles do not distinguish between fortune and misfortune. All noteworthy events are seen. It is also important to note that the beetles are never wrong.

Hours passed. My legs began to burn as we faced another steep incline. By now the air had become thin, the wind colder, and the trees sparser. I wrapped my trembling fingers in my ragged coat, trying to keep them warm. The cold didn’t affect Azog and George the same way it affected me.

It started innocently enough, the distance that is. I felt comfortable walking behind them only one outstretched arm away. But soon one arm became two ,and two became three. I should’ve called, voiced my concern, possibly shouted. But we needed to make it to the Sewers before nightfall, so I kept my mouth shut.

I gripped my dagger extra tight as I heard a faint howl in the distance. I admit, I was nervous. George and Azog were a good twenty feet from me when I heard it. I quickened my pace, but I was already tired and nearing my physical limit.

As my head swiveled, I spotted a creature. There were animals and then there were abominations: hideous things as ugly as sin. This was the latter. Many sharp pointed teeth jutted out of the four-legged creature’s unhinged jaw. Large curled claws suggested the creature was designed to climb trees, yet the long muscular limbs suggested I wouldn’t make it to a tree anyway.

I peered into its yellow slitted eyes as I waited with my brandished dagger. Admittedly, I probably looked quite cool up until this point besides my sweating palms and nervous twitch.

“Help.” I wheezed, too out of breath to shout. Neither George nor Azog heard me.

I bent my knees and stood my ground. The creature seemed not to care whether my knees were or weren’t bent and slowly approached me. The low growl coming out of its mouth suggested I was dinner.

As it pounced, I rolled to the side narrowly avoiding it’s claws. I tumbled down the side of a steep hill until my back slammed into a pine tree stopping my descent. I groaned inwardly. My knees wobbled as I picked myself up, adrenaline pumping throughout my body.

I felt around for my dagger before realizing I had dropped it as I began my dodge roll. Admittedly, I now looked less cool without it, although I had larger concerns than how I looked. I looked up the hill and saw the creature sauntering down to collect its meal.

Sticks are not daggers, this much I knew. Yet I desperately hunted the floor for a branch I could brandish. I found a stick. It was not an impressive stick. In my mind, I wielded the stick the same way a martial art master wields a staff. In reality, I awkwardly held it in my hands, pointing it not so threateningly at the creature.

The creature pounced again. I lifted the stick up horizontally, shoving into the creature's mouth as it pinned me to the pine tree. I screamed when the creature's claws dug into my shoulders. I desperately pushed against the beast but the Apex predator would not budge so easily.

Real men don’t kick. That was a saying that I heard often from idiots who were never beaten so bad they couldn't walk the next morning. Honor isn't real. It's a fake platitude that weeds the dumb and gullible from the people who actually have a brain.

I had no problem not being a “real man”. I desperately kicked at the hind legs of the creature. I dislodged the beast's feet causing it to stumble. I didn’t wait around to see if the beast was ok, instead I ran up the hill like I was being chased by the devil.

The beast screeched in frustration as it realized its meal was getting away. In two leaps, the beast had knocked me to the floor. We were face to face. I watched in horror as the creature’s drool dripped onto my mouth and nose. I closed my eyes as I waited for my last breath. Luck, however, was on my side.

My salvation came in the form of a flying two handed great sword piercing the chest of the creature. The creature fell off me, wailing. I relaxed on the floor, as I watched my hero and a disgruntled zombie hurry over to me.

“You’re supposed to speak up when you gotta terror cat chasing you. I know they’re good eating, but you can’t go hogging it all for yourself.” reasoned Azog.

“That thing is not top of the food chain?” I asked.

“Nah, not in the slightest. Terror bunnies are at the top I’m afraid. I haven’t seen one of those in years. I reckon something is scaring them off. I’m surprised this is the first terror cat we’ve seen.”

Azog took a moment to retrieve his sword and wiped the blood and guts off of it against the pine tree.

“Looks like you’ll need more practice with that dagger of yours.” commented George.

“It doesn’t count if I didn’t even get a chance to use it. Next time, I’ll make sure to properly stab the terror cat,” I promised.

George looked unimpressed.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of struggling against your first terror cat. First time I fought one, I was only able to finish it off by choking it with my bare hands. It was a proper tussle.”

Azog's comment unsurprisingly didn’t make me feel any better. I checked my shoulders and confirmed that the injuries were only surface level. After I retrieved my dagger, I cut off a piece of my ragged cloak and wrapped them around my wounds.

Thankfully, we were close to the Sewers of the Past so it wasn’t long before we arrived. The Sewers were neither a collective of sewers nor simply a group of big deep holes. The site was the home of a cave system that expanded far beneath the ground. A perfect hideout for criminals trying to get away from the King I figured.

Scattered around the caves were signs of a past civilization. Moss ate away the rotting wood walls. Rusted metal tools lay in the ground forgotten and broken, fragments of what they had been. I squinted trying to make out what had been carved into the numerous eroded stone statues that had become no more than blobs. Maybe they had once been glorious statues of the gods, or perhaps local warlords, or legends.

As I leaned against the rocky exterior of the cave, I wondered where these people went and why they abandoned such a lovely place? Did they flee to other parts of the countryside or did they move downward into the depths of this cave?

Azog stood outside the cave like a cat in front of a body of water. He turned to George and me.

“This is as far as I go. I’ll wait for you for three days as per the usual rates. Good luck to both of you. May you find what you’re looking for.” Azog reached into his bag, and handed me a lantern.

“Come, Arthur. We must enter the cave. The great Dark One waits for us. The pact must be made, the item must be fetched.”

I let out a deep sigh as I watched George disappear as he walked into the dark cave. As I looked up at the grand cave I noticed a black beetle watching. I stepped forward into the cave.