No Pain for Fiends

[Strazio Rockwell]

Deep within the same forest a man sat crouched over a clawed footprint. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and was covered in a grey cloak. A gloved hand palmed at the dirt, taking up a handful of moist earth. The man held the dirt to his nostrils and inhaled deeply. He was heading in the right direction. It took him a few moments to stand, his ancient flesh uncooperative with the command. His mouth was dry, yet he had no need to food or water. His mouth was always dry. He smacked his lips and spit out a glob of almost-dry mucus. He would do as he always did and trundled in the direction he believed his target to be. Werewolfs were hard to track, their day-night cycle keeping them constantly in motion. It was an erratic path that shifted between flight and outright chaos.

After several minutes of walking the scent of burnt wood filled his nose. A forest fire? He couldn’t remember the last time that there had been a fire in these woods. Given how often the Pale Moors rained and how the earth seemed to always keep a dampness about it, a natural forest fire seemed rather unlikely. The man trudged towards the scent of ash and smoke. Something foul was afoot. His joints creaked with every step, but he did not mind them. A pale grimace was painted upon his creased face. He could hear the faint crackling of embers. Smoke called to him through a thicket of thorns. With some difficulty he managed to stomp through the thornbush. On the other side he found a large trench carved through the forest. He sniffed the air and it smelled of magick. Perhaps a warlock was nearby.

Beneath his cloak he retrieved four blue beads, each of them about the size of a ping-pong ball. The man whispered arcane words into each of them and then plopped them on the ground. The orbs began to vibrate and emanated a ruddy light from their core. Spindle-thin legs made of bronze sprouted from the orbs. He smiled. The spider constructs shuffled back and forth, testing out their new limbs. Another string of words set them to their task. His brood tracked the residual energy left by Strazio’s outburst. They were sharper than any bloodhound and could sense his presence miles away. They scampered away and he stood still. In the back of his mind he could feel each spider, skittering through the underbrush. It was only a matter of time before they found their mark.