Lantern against his waist, Babe maneuvered through thick grass up to his waist.
It was silent, the moon was full, though he kept his flail at the ready slung over his shoulder. Aside from his footsteps there wasn't even a breath of the wind, and he'd been moving through the grass for over an hour.
Two days he'd passed by rickety bone walkers and giant corpses providing little more than target practice.
It was getting darker, shadows thickening round any light source, even the moon, but he'd come across nothing of any real danger. He almost considered turning back to search for the trails of the warbands, as there may have been a chance he could at least encounter Isaac.
Yet a light flickered ahead.
A small fire, one breeze from being a candle, within an opening among the brush.
A hundred meters away from it, a bowstring stretched behind him.
"At ease, Brute," Allison hissed.
He turned and she had a crooked smile, trying to hold in laughter.
"Go ahead," he said, lowering his flail, "I'd love to smother you to ribbons."
"Aww!" She said, lowering her bow. "I never knew you to be a romantic!"
Wolves howled, though too far away for any reason to be concerned. They kept howling as he joined Allison by the fire with her party of weary eyed maggots.
Two warriors, both wearing dark steel armor, and a priest who couldn't have been much older than twelve, maybe thirteen. One had a short sword strapped to his waist and a spear thrusted into the ground beside him, and the other had a long sword on the right side of her waist, a dagger on the other. She looked at him with wide eyes and a beating heart, but he hadn't done more than stare into the fire without uttering a word.
"He's not as haunting as he looks," Allison said, the bitch. "A bit dull actually."
"He slayed the Graves' champion," the spear lad said. "We could use all the help we could get, but this is some luck!"
"I work alone," Babe said, already tired of their company.
Spear boy frowned. "We could pay you, whatever your price is, name it."
He jingled the coin pouches against his waist, and all their eyes widened, save for the priest who shook his head.
"You're free to do as you choose my lord," choir boy said, examining him up and down, "however the Lords of Life have a purpose for you."
"Horseshit," Babe said, standing. "Best of luck to you lot, I'm not one to linger."
Allison yawned, "Best hold your breath, you won't get much farther than anyone else has."
He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged.
"Plenty of rangers, some from the guilds, have gone ahead and failed. Something about phantoms and ghosts. Not a single one of them made so much as a scratch."
"Phantoms? Ghosts?" He asked, growing a small grin.
Allison huffed. "Ya' know, you could at least introduce yourself. Least you could do after bumming off our fire."
Snarky little rat was breaking bread off him not long ago, and he cursed beneath his breath before telling them his name.
"Babe?" Allison asked, sitting up straight. "Like, baby?"
"Not baby, Babe!" He snapped, and both warriors jolted along with the priest.
Allsion stared at him for moment, then laughed within her palms. He stormed away from them, though she caught up, cautious to get too close.
"Where did you come to that conclusion?" She asked, clearing her voice, trying to hold in laughter.
He growled, "After killing Raz-Ruza-the grave champion!"
She grew a concerned look. "I see. It was a memory."
"Aye," he said, considering clouting her. "Some poor woman spoke to me, using some sort of sorcery. It's all I know."
"Who was she?"
"I don't know, and don't care. She was a mouthy little heifer, like you."
Allison folded her arms. "Must've been someone important."
"Not at all."
"Are you sure? Why else would she call you babe?"
"Because it's my name!" He snorted. "Or it was, or whatever the fuck it may have been."
She touched his flail arm. "I can tell you, as someone who as all the memories of their past life, in the world we came from, babe is a common term for lovers."
"Y-you have your memories?" He said, lowering his voice. "Must be wonderful."
She said nothing, and looked at him without a flinch, taking her hand off him before turning away.
"Sometimes, but not always," she said, a hand on her waist. "I was something of a law woman, in a large city. I defended people who couldn't defend themselves, then one day the subway derailed killing me and dozens others."
"You remember, how you died?" He asked, wondering what may have happened to himself.
She nodded. "It doesn't matter now, but, I'd wager all House Pyr's coin your real name isn't 'Babe'."
Much as he wanted to clout himself, there was some relief in knowing his name wasn't something as ridiculous as Babe, even if it was something he was proud to learn.
"If you ever want to know more about the world we're from," she said, walking back towards the fire, "feel free to ask. Arthur and Dannielle awakened in the same dungeon I did, and we've been travelling together ever since."
Arthur, the spear boy looked his way, as did the lass.
He pressed on through the grass, the fire becoming nothing more than a flicker within darkness. Another few hours passed, and in the mainlands it must've been sunrise. Howls echoed again, but not of wolves, and he kept his flail in a ready position, itching to break something.
Grass rustled on either side.
He swung, cutting down dozens of black grass blades at a time. Nothing followed for a moment, then howls roared again.
Heart pounding, so loud he believed it would thump his breastplate, he hurried back to where he came from. Or so he thought, as every turn he made led him back to where he'd swung down grass. North, south, east, west, it made no difference, and he cursed himself for not taking the time to at least learn reading a map. As though it would make no difference, for the air was thick, and the howls of the dead chilled his spine.
"You going to whine all night?" He shouted, stuttering with frosty lips.
Icicles hung on the bottom of his beard.
Leading with his flail, he swung as he charged, head on through the grass. It mattered not where he ended up, so long as he got out of void with blades high as any great oak.
Into a black woods he burst free, crooked trees with no branches appearing as leaning rotted towers. The moon was gold and full, which was odd considering it should've been a third or so dark.
Oooooooooooo!
"Bastards!" He gasped, howls rising around him.
OooooooooOOOOOOOoooooooOOOOO!
Bright smoke surrounded him. It crawled along the trees, rose from the ground, and bright red or blue eyes scowled him. Their mouths were full of fangs, noses sharp, a cloak covered their faces, and some wielded weapons. Swords, spears, axes, hammers, and a few wielded nothing, their fingers like the claws of a gargoyle.
Every swing of his flail passed right through them. He held his shield up, backing up towards the grass, but the smoke brightened, burning him to stumble forward.
A spirit hissed overhead, brightening like the smoke.
It swung a hammer atop his helm, ringing his ears to the point their howls became faint. He swung at the hammer wielding ghost, but his flail passed through. Another ghost brightened, wielding a great spear, thrusting at his back, though it only made him stumble. He spun around, hit nothing, then cursed while crouching behind his shield.
"All your strength," they hissed in unison, but their mouths didn't open. "What good does it do you now?"
Bright smoke flickered behind him.
Cold steel ran across his throat, splitting it open.
He croaked, blood drooling from his mouth, trying to hold up his shield. He dropped his flail, and his shield felt to be gaining hundreds of kilos every second. Again, cold steel took his throat, smoke brightening around him.
He collapsed in a pool of his own blood, shield slammed atop him.
They hissed and cursed, howling with laughter.
He caught glimpse of a yellow flare within the woods, withering away as everything faded black.