The wind blew out of the East into The Del on this night, and it brought with it a stranger. The blue light of Sicon’s larger moon combined with its smaller yellow satellite gave the land below an eerie pale green hue. Layol, a thin muscular man, sat next to his small fire atop a hill overlooking the small village below. The forceful breeze whipped his long graying brown hair and the thin tan sleeves of his tunic like pennants. A searing pain radiated from his left forearm. It seemed to the mage as if his inner torment was beginning to manifest itself through his skin.
Layol found it difficult to cope with the death of his only sibling, Kristos -- his little sister. Especially, since he was the very person responsible for her demise. The mage kept trying to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault – and to a point, he was correct. How was he to know that this strange virus had mutated his kid sister into some horrid creature?
Again the pain radiated from the large gash in the outer flesh of the mage’s left forearm. The searing laceration forced him to recount the occurrences of the previous night which would be forever burned into his memory.
He had been in another small village then. The mage was in to visit with his sister. She had taken ill with an unknown virus. The whole village had for that matter. Layol didn’t know much for certain about this illness that had befallen her or her neighbors. Save the fact that whatever it was – this virus was unlike any he had ever seen in his years of study in virology. He knew that it started out as a fever… then progressed in pitch to the extreme of boiling its host’s mind. This place was no different from the other cities across Sicon. People wailing from their beds and homes, and some in the streets – the orbs in their eye sockets blackened. What he found when he got to Kristos’ farmhouse would resonate in his recurrent nightmares.
Layol had approached the front door of the house with his long staff-like weapon in hand. He pressed the end with the blade of an axe on it against the cracked wooden door.
“Kristos. Kristie?” he had shouted into the abandoned house.
The front room was in shambles, and she or her family were nowhere to be seen. He made his way into the empty room. The green light of the moons washed through the side window across the wooden floor boards and overturned furniture. No sooner had the mage up righted a small stool when he was frightened out of his tan outfit by a high pitched shriek. When he turned, he found the source of the painful scream. On the other side of the front room stood a creature as tall as the doorway he entered through. Clear streamers of mucus maneuvered their way down the beast’s sleek black hide. Layol followed them like rivers to their sources, and was met with a mouth full of razor-sharp incisors shouting in challenge again. The mage gripped his impaler and tried to look his adversary in the eyes. The trouble was it had no eyes. The monster’s face was like a clear polished dark stone that wrapped around its head.
“Kristie – kids?! Get out of the house, now!”
The beast charged the mage’s position. In one swift motion, it swiped its huge slender handful of blades at Layol’s head. The mage ducked the attack and swung his wooden staff-like weapon at the monster’s left kneecap. A loud crack was followed by another cry from the creature. It staggered backward a step, but quickly retaliated with an open-handed slap that connected with Layol’s temple. The force of the blow spun him on his stomach and threw him three feet across the floor. The mage could hear the heavy steps of the monster as each one splintered the flooring beneath its massive feet. The monster shrieked once more before lifting a thick muscular leg above the mage’s spine. As Layol rolled out of the way, the monster thrust its paw through the floor. The mage jumped up and swung the axe end of his impaler at the head of the beast. He could feel the tendons in the side of the monster’s neck give way as the blade sunk in. A gush of black mist erupted from the wound in the beast’s hide. The acrid foul vapor forced Layol to cover his nose and mouth with his arms.
That gave the monster the opening in his defenses that it needed. The towering terror swiped its massive hand again. This time, a long dark claw tore a gash into the flesh of the mage’s forearm. Layol cried out in pain. This sensation was unlike any other wound the mage had felt before… like a blade that paralyzed the very tissue that it raked in half. Layol fought through the pain gathering his bearings, and took in a deep breath. As the creature lifted one of its hands to feel the crevasse in its neckline, Layol swung the bladed end of his impaler again at the monster’s wound. He only felt the brief resistance of the beast’s spine before his weapon severed its head. The Nightcrawler’s lifeless body fell with a thump to the dusty floor. Its head was sent bounding out the front door and into the high grass. The mist radiating from its neck died out and faded into nothing, clearing the air in the small dust-covered room. Then, right in front of him, the beast began to shrivel until it resembled the decapitated body of a petite female. Layol, confused by what he was seeing, followed its head out into the grass. He fell to his knees when he saw the long blonde hair and her frozen expression of shear fear and torment.
“No! Kristos! What have I done?”
The heat under his skin felt like it was about to melt the tattoos right off his forearm. The mage, wiping back a few tears, took a small stick and stirred the contents of the little brass pot simmering over his open flame. The wind was picking up even stronger now, tossing his mane of hair and his small fire about in its wrath. A storm was eminent – that the mage knew for certain. Whether or not it was going to rain on him tonight, he hadn’t a clue. Layol fished out one of the thin strips of cloth from the pot and began to wrap it around his wound.
“Arghh!! Damn that virus!” he yelled.
Layol unwrapped the steaming cloth from his wound. The laceration was gone, and the tattoos on the outer face of his forearm were mended.
“Not perfect, but it’ll have to suffice for now,” the mage critiqued.
The wind blew hard again. This time it was coupled with a rumble of thunder that nearly blew the small kettle off its perch. Layol peered out across the mountaintops on the other side of the valley. There was a sheet of precipitation moving in fast on the small town… Rain, it would.
“It seems as though I’ll be forced into town sooner than expected,” he said.
The mage poured out the remaining contents of the kettle on the fire causing it to sizzle, but the flame still lingered. He gathered up his belongings in the pack, tossed it over his shoulder and leaned on his weapon as he departed for The Del.
The breeze was forcing its way through the high grass on the hillside and brought with it the fragrant scent of the fresh rain still some miles off yet.
“Almost forgot,” he said.
Layol turned to face his fire and held out both hands. A low guttural hum grew inside the mage’s chest and throat. Within moments, a gust of light-blue tinted wind flowed from the mage. It vanquished the flame, and escorted its terrestrial remains over the hillside into the darkness. He turned back toward the town and made his way down from his perch.
As he drew nearer to the town, a stench grew stronger in his nostrils. He recognized the vaporous gasses of the swamp reaching like tendrils through the damp twilight air right away. There was another odor that twisted the mage’s brow, though. He had smelt this odor before… in fact it had been right after his sister’s death. An arctic prickle traveled up his spine. The mage wrapped his hooded cloak closer to him. Layol knew his troubles were only beginning.
The mage reached a small embankment next to a fence stretching out toward the horizon. He pulled out a thin clear strip from his side pouch and stretched it out on the plush fragrant grass at his feet. Layol then pressed the green triangle in the lower right corner and the map lit up showing three blinking red circles in the center of town. He scanned the rest of the map looking for a way around the Nightcrawlers.
“No, no. The streets won’t do,” he said.
Layol pressed a blue square in the lower left of the map, and it changed to show a maze of pipes and holes. A blue circle was flashing very near to his current position.
“Ah, underground it is, then.”
He looked to his left and discovered what his map was trying to show him. There was a large culvert some fifty feet away that led to the water system below. The three circles were now fanning out through the streets of The Del. He didn’t have to speak their language to know what they were up to. The creatures were searching… seeking out the very same object that he was here to make sure they didn’t find… a portalstone. There were two known portalstones in Siconian history. They were rare gems that had been altered to act as links between this world and another.
After his sister’s death, Layol had trailed these monstrosities for months trying to understand the virus. In his encounters and observations, the mage had developed a few theories. The first theory being that the virus was the cause and the Crawlers were the effect. Furthermore, these creatures weren’t out to maim people; they were searching for something. Layol noticed that every time a new one appeared, the Crawler immediately began digging and tearing through things. It had no interest in people… unless the people got in their way. Finally, the mage observed that these monsters were mainly ravaging gem shops and rare stone brokers.
The mage placed his finger on the topographical representation of a building to the northwest. A name appeared on his map where his finger had been that read “Falath’s Stones”. He then traced the pipe work like he used to trace the solutions to maze games as a child on his map. A light yellow line trailed behind his weathered index finger.
“That route will have to do,” he said.
The rain now fell upon The Del. A sprinkle at first and not too soon after, the downpour commenced. Layol rolled up his map and crept along the embankment toward the culvert trying to stay as low to the ground as possible. The opening to the water maze was guarded by a rusty set of iron teeth. He closed his eyes and fell into a meditative state. Layol stretched out his appendage as if he was searching for the knob of a door. Seconds later, the mage placed his right hand on one of the bars, and instantly the bar and the bars adjacent to it melted into a molten puddle in the stagnant pool of water below. He waited for no invitation, but slid through the gap and into the decomposing grip of the sewers.
Layol pulled out his map again. As he walked forward the pipe on the map moved forward with him. After about two hundred feet, he came to a crossing. He didn’t need to consult with his map to see which way to turn. The magorgathcites, small slugs that fed on the minerals in crystals, illuminated the cobblestone corridor to the right with their blue radiance.
“Thank you, my friends. Where there are crystals, there’s usually a gem keeper,” the mage said.
He checked his map again on the way through the cobblestone passage. One of the blinking red circles was right on top of his current position. He quickened up his pace down the corridor until he came to a small iron ladder leading upward. Again Layol checked his diagram and saw that Falath’s Stones was right above him. He slid his impaler into its sheath on his back and climbed the stairs back toward the city streets. The mage gingerly opened the lid on the manhole and tried to look through the pelting showers for signs of the Nightcrawlers. The creatures weren’t in sight, but they were within earshot. There were sounds of loud pleas and shattering glass erupting from the building.
“No time like the present,” the mage said.
He made a dash for the back door to the gem shop. When he arrived there, the mage unsheathed his weapon and smashed its security grid placed to the left of the entrance. Layol slowly opened the back door and looked inside. The monster was now gone, but the shop was in shambles. He wasted no time in searching the showcases himself to see if the portalstone was in fact there. His search was interrupted by a scuffling off just behind the main counter. The mage crept in near silence toward the noise, his weapon ready for strike.
Falath lay huddled on the floor praying that the footsteps weren’t the creature changing its mind and deciding it needed a snack after all. His train of thought was halted when a long-haired stranger leaped around the end of the counter wielding a long staff-like weapon with its axe blade poised for a swat at his neck.
“No, no… please don’t take me!” the shop keeper pleaded.
“One false move, and I’ll send that plump extremity of yours rolling into the streets for the Crawlers to gnaw on,” the old man said.
“Monsters! Th-they ransacked my shop!”
“Yes, so I see. Tell me, did they take anything?”
“I don’t believe so…” Falath said.
“Beliefs won’t do. Do you or do you not have in your possession a portalstone?”
“Of course not!” the keeper said.
“But you publicized that did you not?”
“I know – it’s a fake. You know, to attract sight-seers,” Falath said.
“I see,” the mage said. “Which way were they last moving?”
“I –I don’t know. I’ve been behind this counter the whole time,” Falath explained.
The mage strode to the front doorway and peered out into the rain to see if he could spot the party. A clash of steel on steel rang out from the veil of the stormy evening. Layol tossed the hood of his cloak up over his head and ran out into the driving torrents to chase down his next opportunity at a live sample of the virus.
The mage rounded the corner of the street to come face to face with another Crawler in a melee with a tall muscular stranger wielding a large broadsword. The beast had the man backed up against a large oak. The mage darted into the skirmish, and swung his weapon at the neck of the creature. At that instant, the Crawler bent down to grip the throat of its adversary on the ground. The blade of the impaler glanced the tree and tore through the empty air. The monster looked up from its prey to see where the attack had come from. In an instant, it backhanded the mage knocking him into a muddy puddle of water five feet away. In this window of opportunity, the stranger crawled through the Crawler’s large legs and stood up behind it. The stranger prepared to swing his weapon at the beast.
“No! Wait!” Layol cried through a gasp for air. “Don’t break the skin!”
The stranger turned his head to make a defiant remark, and when he did, the monster raked the armor on his chest with one of its claws.
“Damn it, man! If you’re not going to help – leave me be!” he yelled.
“I am! If you cut their hides…” Layol began, but he was too late.
The stranger swung his blade and struck the slimy flesh of the Nightcrawler. A cloud of dark vapor started to seep out of the beast’s wounded shoulder. The angry teeth of the monster gleamed in a flash of lightening.
“Cover your mouth and nose!” Layol shouted. “Don’t inhale the vapor!”
“Then how am I supposed to..?”
The monster grabbed him by the face and flung him through a low hanging branch on the oak tree. The mage rushed over and stabbed the blunt end of his weapon at the creature’s shin. The monster’s leg warped and buckled causing it to slump to the wet grass. Layol flipped his weapon around in a blur and swung the blade at the creature’s neck. Its head popped off and rolled into the nearby bushes.
The stranger picked himself up, and walked over to thank the old man. When he got to him, the mage had fallen limp to the soggy street.
Layol found it difficult to cope with the death of his only sibling, Kristos -- his little sister. Especially, since he was the very person responsible for her demise. The mage kept trying to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault – and to a point, he was correct. How was he to know that this strange virus had mutated his kid sister into some horrid creature?
Again the pain radiated from the large gash in the outer flesh of the mage’s left forearm. The searing laceration forced him to recount the occurrences of the previous night which would be forever burned into his memory.
He had been in another small village then. The mage was in to visit with his sister. She had taken ill with an unknown virus. The whole village had for that matter. Layol didn’t know much for certain about this illness that had befallen her or her neighbors. Save the fact that whatever it was – this virus was unlike any he had ever seen in his years of study in virology. He knew that it started out as a fever… then progressed in pitch to the extreme of boiling its host’s mind. This place was no different from the other cities across Sicon. People wailing from their beds and homes, and some in the streets – the orbs in their eye sockets blackened. What he found when he got to Kristos’ farmhouse would resonate in his recurrent nightmares.
Layol had approached the front door of the house with his long staff-like weapon in hand. He pressed the end with the blade of an axe on it against the cracked wooden door.
“Kristos. Kristie?” he had shouted into the abandoned house.
The front room was in shambles, and she or her family were nowhere to be seen. He made his way into the empty room. The green light of the moons washed through the side window across the wooden floor boards and overturned furniture. No sooner had the mage up righted a small stool when he was frightened out of his tan outfit by a high pitched shriek. When he turned, he found the source of the painful scream. On the other side of the front room stood a creature as tall as the doorway he entered through. Clear streamers of mucus maneuvered their way down the beast’s sleek black hide. Layol followed them like rivers to their sources, and was met with a mouth full of razor-sharp incisors shouting in challenge again. The mage gripped his impaler and tried to look his adversary in the eyes. The trouble was it had no eyes. The monster’s face was like a clear polished dark stone that wrapped around its head.
“Kristie – kids?! Get out of the house, now!”
The beast charged the mage’s position. In one swift motion, it swiped its huge slender handful of blades at Layol’s head. The mage ducked the attack and swung his wooden staff-like weapon at the monster’s left kneecap. A loud crack was followed by another cry from the creature. It staggered backward a step, but quickly retaliated with an open-handed slap that connected with Layol’s temple. The force of the blow spun him on his stomach and threw him three feet across the floor. The mage could hear the heavy steps of the monster as each one splintered the flooring beneath its massive feet. The monster shrieked once more before lifting a thick muscular leg above the mage’s spine. As Layol rolled out of the way, the monster thrust its paw through the floor. The mage jumped up and swung the axe end of his impaler at the head of the beast. He could feel the tendons in the side of the monster’s neck give way as the blade sunk in. A gush of black mist erupted from the wound in the beast’s hide. The acrid foul vapor forced Layol to cover his nose and mouth with his arms.
That gave the monster the opening in his defenses that it needed. The towering terror swiped its massive hand again. This time, a long dark claw tore a gash into the flesh of the mage’s forearm. Layol cried out in pain. This sensation was unlike any other wound the mage had felt before… like a blade that paralyzed the very tissue that it raked in half. Layol fought through the pain gathering his bearings, and took in a deep breath. As the creature lifted one of its hands to feel the crevasse in its neckline, Layol swung the bladed end of his impaler again at the monster’s wound. He only felt the brief resistance of the beast’s spine before his weapon severed its head. The Nightcrawler’s lifeless body fell with a thump to the dusty floor. Its head was sent bounding out the front door and into the high grass. The mist radiating from its neck died out and faded into nothing, clearing the air in the small dust-covered room. Then, right in front of him, the beast began to shrivel until it resembled the decapitated body of a petite female. Layol, confused by what he was seeing, followed its head out into the grass. He fell to his knees when he saw the long blonde hair and her frozen expression of shear fear and torment.
“No! Kristos! What have I done?”
The heat under his skin felt like it was about to melt the tattoos right off his forearm. The mage, wiping back a few tears, took a small stick and stirred the contents of the little brass pot simmering over his open flame. The wind was picking up even stronger now, tossing his mane of hair and his small fire about in its wrath. A storm was eminent – that the mage knew for certain. Whether or not it was going to rain on him tonight, he hadn’t a clue. Layol fished out one of the thin strips of cloth from the pot and began to wrap it around his wound.
“Arghh!! Damn that virus!” he yelled.
Layol unwrapped the steaming cloth from his wound. The laceration was gone, and the tattoos on the outer face of his forearm were mended.
“Not perfect, but it’ll have to suffice for now,” the mage critiqued.
The wind blew hard again. This time it was coupled with a rumble of thunder that nearly blew the small kettle off its perch. Layol peered out across the mountaintops on the other side of the valley. There was a sheet of precipitation moving in fast on the small town… Rain, it would.
“It seems as though I’ll be forced into town sooner than expected,” he said.
The mage poured out the remaining contents of the kettle on the fire causing it to sizzle, but the flame still lingered. He gathered up his belongings in the pack, tossed it over his shoulder and leaned on his weapon as he departed for The Del.
The breeze was forcing its way through the high grass on the hillside and brought with it the fragrant scent of the fresh rain still some miles off yet.
“Almost forgot,” he said.
Layol turned to face his fire and held out both hands. A low guttural hum grew inside the mage’s chest and throat. Within moments, a gust of light-blue tinted wind flowed from the mage. It vanquished the flame, and escorted its terrestrial remains over the hillside into the darkness. He turned back toward the town and made his way down from his perch.
As he drew nearer to the town, a stench grew stronger in his nostrils. He recognized the vaporous gasses of the swamp reaching like tendrils through the damp twilight air right away. There was another odor that twisted the mage’s brow, though. He had smelt this odor before… in fact it had been right after his sister’s death. An arctic prickle traveled up his spine. The mage wrapped his hooded cloak closer to him. Layol knew his troubles were only beginning.
The mage reached a small embankment next to a fence stretching out toward the horizon. He pulled out a thin clear strip from his side pouch and stretched it out on the plush fragrant grass at his feet. Layol then pressed the green triangle in the lower right corner and the map lit up showing three blinking red circles in the center of town. He scanned the rest of the map looking for a way around the Nightcrawlers.
“No, no. The streets won’t do,” he said.
Layol pressed a blue square in the lower left of the map, and it changed to show a maze of pipes and holes. A blue circle was flashing very near to his current position.
“Ah, underground it is, then.”
He looked to his left and discovered what his map was trying to show him. There was a large culvert some fifty feet away that led to the water system below. The three circles were now fanning out through the streets of The Del. He didn’t have to speak their language to know what they were up to. The creatures were searching… seeking out the very same object that he was here to make sure they didn’t find… a portalstone. There were two known portalstones in Siconian history. They were rare gems that had been altered to act as links between this world and another.
After his sister’s death, Layol had trailed these monstrosities for months trying to understand the virus. In his encounters and observations, the mage had developed a few theories. The first theory being that the virus was the cause and the Crawlers were the effect. Furthermore, these creatures weren’t out to maim people; they were searching for something. Layol noticed that every time a new one appeared, the Crawler immediately began digging and tearing through things. It had no interest in people… unless the people got in their way. Finally, the mage observed that these monsters were mainly ravaging gem shops and rare stone brokers.
The mage placed his finger on the topographical representation of a building to the northwest. A name appeared on his map where his finger had been that read “Falath’s Stones”. He then traced the pipe work like he used to trace the solutions to maze games as a child on his map. A light yellow line trailed behind his weathered index finger.
“That route will have to do,” he said.
The rain now fell upon The Del. A sprinkle at first and not too soon after, the downpour commenced. Layol rolled up his map and crept along the embankment toward the culvert trying to stay as low to the ground as possible. The opening to the water maze was guarded by a rusty set of iron teeth. He closed his eyes and fell into a meditative state. Layol stretched out his appendage as if he was searching for the knob of a door. Seconds later, the mage placed his right hand on one of the bars, and instantly the bar and the bars adjacent to it melted into a molten puddle in the stagnant pool of water below. He waited for no invitation, but slid through the gap and into the decomposing grip of the sewers.
Layol pulled out his map again. As he walked forward the pipe on the map moved forward with him. After about two hundred feet, he came to a crossing. He didn’t need to consult with his map to see which way to turn. The magorgathcites, small slugs that fed on the minerals in crystals, illuminated the cobblestone corridor to the right with their blue radiance.
“Thank you, my friends. Where there are crystals, there’s usually a gem keeper,” the mage said.
He checked his map again on the way through the cobblestone passage. One of the blinking red circles was right on top of his current position. He quickened up his pace down the corridor until he came to a small iron ladder leading upward. Again Layol checked his diagram and saw that Falath’s Stones was right above him. He slid his impaler into its sheath on his back and climbed the stairs back toward the city streets. The mage gingerly opened the lid on the manhole and tried to look through the pelting showers for signs of the Nightcrawlers. The creatures weren’t in sight, but they were within earshot. There were sounds of loud pleas and shattering glass erupting from the building.
“No time like the present,” the mage said.
He made a dash for the back door to the gem shop. When he arrived there, the mage unsheathed his weapon and smashed its security grid placed to the left of the entrance. Layol slowly opened the back door and looked inside. The monster was now gone, but the shop was in shambles. He wasted no time in searching the showcases himself to see if the portalstone was in fact there. His search was interrupted by a scuffling off just behind the main counter. The mage crept in near silence toward the noise, his weapon ready for strike.
Falath lay huddled on the floor praying that the footsteps weren’t the creature changing its mind and deciding it needed a snack after all. His train of thought was halted when a long-haired stranger leaped around the end of the counter wielding a long staff-like weapon with its axe blade poised for a swat at his neck.
“No, no… please don’t take me!” the shop keeper pleaded.
“One false move, and I’ll send that plump extremity of yours rolling into the streets for the Crawlers to gnaw on,” the old man said.
“Monsters! Th-they ransacked my shop!”
“Yes, so I see. Tell me, did they take anything?”
“I don’t believe so…” Falath said.
“Beliefs won’t do. Do you or do you not have in your possession a portalstone?”
“Of course not!” the keeper said.
“But you publicized that did you not?”
“I know – it’s a fake. You know, to attract sight-seers,” Falath said.
“I see,” the mage said. “Which way were they last moving?”
“I –I don’t know. I’ve been behind this counter the whole time,” Falath explained.
The mage strode to the front doorway and peered out into the rain to see if he could spot the party. A clash of steel on steel rang out from the veil of the stormy evening. Layol tossed the hood of his cloak up over his head and ran out into the driving torrents to chase down his next opportunity at a live sample of the virus.
The mage rounded the corner of the street to come face to face with another Crawler in a melee with a tall muscular stranger wielding a large broadsword. The beast had the man backed up against a large oak. The mage darted into the skirmish, and swung his weapon at the neck of the creature. At that instant, the Crawler bent down to grip the throat of its adversary on the ground. The blade of the impaler glanced the tree and tore through the empty air. The monster looked up from its prey to see where the attack had come from. In an instant, it backhanded the mage knocking him into a muddy puddle of water five feet away. In this window of opportunity, the stranger crawled through the Crawler’s large legs and stood up behind it. The stranger prepared to swing his weapon at the beast.
“No! Wait!” Layol cried through a gasp for air. “Don’t break the skin!”
The stranger turned his head to make a defiant remark, and when he did, the monster raked the armor on his chest with one of its claws.
“Damn it, man! If you’re not going to help – leave me be!” he yelled.
“I am! If you cut their hides…” Layol began, but he was too late.
The stranger swung his blade and struck the slimy flesh of the Nightcrawler. A cloud of dark vapor started to seep out of the beast’s wounded shoulder. The angry teeth of the monster gleamed in a flash of lightening.
“Cover your mouth and nose!” Layol shouted. “Don’t inhale the vapor!”
“Then how am I supposed to..?”
The monster grabbed him by the face and flung him through a low hanging branch on the oak tree. The mage rushed over and stabbed the blunt end of his weapon at the creature’s shin. The monster’s leg warped and buckled causing it to slump to the wet grass. Layol flipped his weapon around in a blur and swung the blade at the creature’s neck. Its head popped off and rolled into the nearby bushes.
The stranger picked himself up, and walked over to thank the old man. When he got to him, the mage had fallen limp to the soggy street.
