Howl Of The Carrion King

Mischance

Chapter 3

My face hits the sandy ground for what must be the fourth time in the past hour, a loud curse escaping from my mouth. Tentatively, I push myself up, looking around to try and find the object that caused me to fall. Unfortunately, the ground is frustratingly barren except for the sand strewn across the surface of the desert floor. Firon turns around ahead of me, a smirk playing across his face. “Having some trouble again with our balance today, Aesur Sandwalker?”

He had been poking fun at my ever increasing mishaps on our journey to find the being that might not exist. The cleric hadn’t fallen once, but my feet apparently didn’t feel like cooperating together in order to walk today. Maybe it was the heat.

I usually hunt during the night, for obvious reasons. Temperatures during the day were stifling hot in the areas around Katapesh, and without cover one could easily suffer from sunburn within minutes. But wrapping one’s self up in protective clothes just tends to make the heat more unbearable.

With a small sigh, I reach out and pull myself up, ignoring Firon’s jab at my sinking ego. The other man had asked to pursue the pugwampi in the dark, but Dashki had insisted that the beast would be much easier to pursue in the daytime. And it would; even my knowledge about tracking wouldn’t be sufficient enough to find one of the beasts in the dark.

Of course, it seemed awfully convenient that the gnoll expert had leave of duty, the order issued by Almah herself on account of his fears. I may not agree with Firon on some points, but I do agree with him on the worrying subject of Almah’s over-trusting nature towards Dashki.

“Tripping’s... nothing I can’t handle.” Dusting myself off, I try to avoid eye contact with Firon and continue on, following the trail of small footprints. The prints look like tiny puppy paws, but the nature of the creature is most definitely different than an average canine. The tracks had led us three into hill country, along with another set of tracks, these the hesitant tread of what appears to be a goat. Seemingly pulled away against its will.

“Well, it’s not the first time you’ve tripped over your own feet. Do you always lumber around like that?”

Shaking my head, I stop and turn around, an edge placed onto my voice. “I’m a self-sustaining hunter. Do you really think I’m clumsy?”

Firon holds up his hands in mock defensiveness, and I realize too late he was joking. “Hey, hey, no need to get angry. And you shouldn’t be getting so mad at me, because I’m the one keeping an eye on you.” The cleric runs a hand through his short, but wellkept, dirty-blonde hair. “Almah might change her mind about the whole execution thing if I give her a bad report.”
T
hat shut me up. Slowly but surely, Firon is getting on my nerves with his attitude. It only figures that he’s the one that holds my fate in his hands. “I’m sorry… it won’t happen again.” Once more, my inbred passiveness kicks in. It’s not so bad sometimes, when it happens when I really need it.

An exasperated smile creeps across the cleric’s face. “Aesur, I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t do that to someone, I don’t think-“

Before I get a chance to angrily retort, both of us freeze, a heavy tension settling over the immediate area. It’s as if the natural stress in the environment skyrocketed all of a sudden. I find myself expecting something terrible to ensue even though nothing obvious around me has changed in the slightest. It appears Firon feels the same way, his features obviously worried and anxious.

A brief cry comes out from behind the crest of a hill ahead, not unlike the scream of a child. Firon seems to be thoroughly spooked, but I know better. It may sound like a human, but the cry actually came from a young goat. Which would match the tracks that I found earlier. But why would a pugwampi want a goat?

“I know what you’re thinking Firon. But... that howl was from a goat, not a person.”

He looks visibly calmer. “So whatever kidnapped the animal is up ahead?”

All I can do is nod in affirmation. Moving quickly, I reach the top of the hill in a rush, worried for the well being of the baby goat. Stretched out before me, and Firon after he succeeds in arriving at the hilltop as well, is a large field of cacti. The spiny plants are surprisingly tall, and one could almost call the grouping of fauna a small, but legitimate forest.

“Wow.” The cleric’s words echo my own thoughts, but then a flash of gray fur and another bleat snaps my attention back in focus. This time, the shout had a timbre of pain to it. Without another word, Firon begins to sprint down the dusty, rocky hill and into the cacti forest, disappearing from view.

I follow, but am careful not to trip and fall on any of the rocks around me. The aura of unease still hangs in the air, and suddenly the information that pugwampis are supposedly unlucky creatures chooses to resurface within my mind. If I was only falling on the ground earlier, and if this odd feeling in the air is their ‘unlucky aura’, who knows what could happen.

As to exemplify my point, a yell of frustration, definitely human, comes from within the cacti. Dashing into the conglomeration of plants, I try to be as careful as I can in maneuvering through the cacti. It doesn’t quite work. As cautious as I am, numerous scrapes and scratches line my face and hands, the pain infuriatingly distracting.

I reach a small clearing in the forest, where an angry looking Firon and a small goat tied to a scrub brush are located as well. On the other side of the clearing, there is a sharp drop off to a deep ravine. I don’t even want to get close to the edge, not with the pugwampi in the close vicinity.

The goat is tied to a scrub brush by a hairy, knotted length of rope, and cactus quills cover the length of his body, blood oozing from numerous puncture wounds. The cleric bends down and tries to free the animal by untying the knots, but the goat responds in turn by squirming and bleating in terror. Firon falls backwards, and promptly begins to let out a long stream of curses directed towards the goat’s immediate family. Looks like this will be a little more difficult than we thought.

Still crying out in fear, the goat begins to run in panicked circles around Firon, entangling him in the knots. “No! Stop it you! Aesur, help me with this damned creature!” His robed arms are flailing in the air, trying to keep his balance. With a jolt, I realize he is dangerously close to the edge of the ravine. This isn’t good.

As fast as my legs can take me, I race to the remaining length of rope and unsheathe my dagger, the blade glinting in the midafternoon sunlight. It only takes one strike to slash through the rope, the metal of the blade cutting cleanly through the frayed spot I chose to target. Firon falls over onto the ground, and the goat speeds off back into the forest, disappearing from view once again.

I extend my hand out to Firon, and he grasps it and pulls himself up. His face is grateful, and something else I couldn’t quite read was present too. Was it appreciation? “Thanks Aesur. That was some pretty damn quick thinking on your part. Otherwise I’d probably be lying at the bottom of that cliff over there.” The cleric begins to laugh, but how he can look at the situation in a humorous light, I can’t quite understand.

Before I can answer, the rustling of cacti causes us to whirl around in surprise, and something small and quick darts out from the foliage. Firon backs up, careful not to fall in the ravine, but my trained eyes spot what the creature looks like before it gets too close. My body involuntarily shrinks away from what it sees. Like the world’s most revolting lapdog learned to move around on its back legs, the sickly canine creature darts forward carefully, filmy white eyes darting this way and that. It is clothed in filthy rags; the nasty little thing snarling and yelping as it spots Firon and me. Then it notices the goat missing, and brandishes the oversized dagger in its tiny hands with a vengeful bark.

“It’s a pugwampi.” Firon’s words once again echo my mind’s thoughts, and for a moment all three of us in the clearing only stare at each other. And then, with a shriek of rage, the pugwampi lifts a hand and points at my held dagger. In seconds, the weapon begins to shake and wobble, falling apart at the hilt and tumbling to the ground in useless pieces. I look up at Firon, and his incredulous expression mirrors mine. Things are getting worse every second.

In a practiced movement, I unstrap the bow attached to my back and hold it in front of me, drawing an arrow and nocking it in place. The pugwampi giggles in glee and retreats back into the forest, a dirty looking arrow careening over Firon’s head just seconds later. I notice he still is unarmed. “Firon? Don't you... well... have a weapon? Almah said you could take care of yourself in a fight.”

His sheepish expression surprised me, until he said, “I didn’t think I’d need them... I didn’t believe Dashki that this thing was real.”

Another arrow flew through the air, this time directed towards myself, promptly cutting off my remark. Now wasn’t the time to chitchat. Aiming at the place where the pugwampi had disappeared, I waited for another arrow to emerge. There! I duck as another arrow is fired from the brush and release my own at where the projectile had appeared, and hear a satisfying yelp. I don’t take pleasure in my kills, but I recognize that sometimes it has to be done.

Firon stands up, and begins to congratulate me. “Good work Aesur! You’re surprisingly skilled with that bow there… going to have to teach me a trick or two. I couldn’t handle one of those if my life depended on it!” His lighthearted laugh and attitude confused me again, but it was nice to see someone looking on the bright side of this situation for once. I suppose Firon wasn’t really so bad when you got to know him.

We brought the pugwampi back to the camp, and arrived at dusk. On the way back, Firon triumphantly found pieces of burned Harrow deck cards within the little monster’s rags, tying its involvement to the fire. At least now my name was cleared, and Dashki’s as well.

Almah had accepted the pugwampi with a smoldering yet satisfied look in her eyes, and I had understood that she was looking at her friend Eloais’s murderer. After a few moments she ordered Garavel to take care of the corpse, and turned towards Firon and me.

Almah’d thanked us for our work, and her tone was genuine. I could tell she no longer suspected my part in the crime and actually commended my actions to a certain degree. That much was clear when she asked me to join Firon on the task she had hired him for. She was planning to retake the village of Kelmarane, an order issued to her from the Pactmasters of Katapesh. Pactmasters are the governing body in the capital city of Katapesh, so one is both wise and honored to do exactly what they tell one to do.

Nearby is an abandoned monastery, and Almah wanted to have it serve the role of an attack base on Kelmarane. It was good thinking, and it definitely swayed my choice in her favor. Not to mention that I might get on the Pactmaster’s good side for participating in the whole scheme. The two hundred gold offered to each member of the party was a convincing sum as well.

In the end, I decided to stay with the caravan and help out with their assignment. It was better than just hunting and living off the land with no purpose other than for survival. And I had a chance to make the lives of others better, something that was a goal of mine ever since I had escaped my binds of slavery. Firon seemed happy enough; a grin a mile wide had been plastered onto his face. And Almah no longer possessed that scowl of hers when talking at me, in its place was a welcoming smile. As I look up at the twinkling stars from my bedroll beside the night fire, I can’t help but think how nice it is after so many years to have friends once again.