“Absolutely not!” the fat merchant snapped. His large rounded cheeks quivering with suppressed anger. The plump man glanced around and then leaned forward lowering his voice. “Good priest, I have hired you to help guard us against threats that neither steel nor shot can stand against.” His expression reminded the priest of a petulant puppy being denied a treat. “I did not hire you to spread fear and panic among my people.” Alexander the priest fixed the older merchant with a stern gaze. Eyes that were normally gentle hardened with stubbornness before he sighed and held up his hands. Then he stood and bowed formally to the trader.

“Forgive me, Sir Bittermiser, I did not mean to upset you,” Alexander said. His voice was firm and proud with the unmistakable air of one born into the nobility. Otto Bittermiser sat back and grumbled for a moment as he stroked at the beard that vainly tried to hide the double chin of the Southlands merchant. Finally he gave a resigned sigh.

“I appreciate your caution, but we cannot delay this shipment any more than it already has been. The Northland’s keep needs these goods and they need them soon. We cannot delay any longer.” For a moment, Otto glanced at something behind Alexander then he was looking back up at the priest. “Neither I, nor my business partners, can afford to have any,” he paused for a moment considering his words, “any undue attention. You understand?” With an obvious look over his shoulder Alexander nodded. He looked back at the merchant and bowed again.

“Then I will not trouble you further my lord merchant. A good evening to you,” Alexander said. He nodded to the men around the fire, then turned on his heel with military precision and left. Just as he was leaving earshot, he heard the captain of Bittermiser’s personal guard whisper his name. Oh well, Alexander thought. He would simply have to deal with that trouble if it appeared. The worries of tomorrow would keep until tomorrow he reminded himself. With a smile, he patted the leather bound tome that hung at his hip. Once again noticing where both he and the trader had looked, he turned and made his way to the cook’s fire.

Alexander was tall, roughly a head taller than most men of the realm. He was lean but well suited to the role of a wandering priest. Every step seemed to have a purpose behind it and he walked with his head high and eyes forward and alert. They were eyes filled with a keen gentleness. His hair was shaved to stubble, and a neatly trimmed beard adorned his strong jaw. Alexander’s face had a look of the aristocracy to it. His features were fine and strong with a proud chin and nose. Unlike, most of the priests his attire was quite plain.

His simple, unadorned robe stood out next to Bittermiser’s gaudy tunic, trousers, and tabard. Whereas his clothes were of fine silks, embroidered with gold and silver and dyed a deep crimson, Alexander’s robe was of simple linen lacking any color. There was nothing on his clothing to announce what god or goddess he worshiped. There was no symbol or heraldry, not even an amulet around his neck. All the priest carried was a tome of scriptures bound at his side with a chain and a well-used warhammer on the other hip. Under, his robe the chainmail shirt jingled softly as he walked. 

“Good evenin Herr priest.” A jovial man greeted Alexander as he stepped up to the large cauldron bubbling with stew. The cook was an older man, missing one eye with a rough face and skin hardened by the elements. But his smile was broad, showing off several missing and blackened teeth. “Come for another round of Old Herbert’s stew eh?” Alexander flashed him a grin. From the moment he had joined this caravan, he and the old cook had hit it off.

“Yes, but not for me.” Herbert raised his brow with unashamed curiosity. Alexander motioned with his head over his shoulder. Behind him, was a wagon parked away from the others. Next to that was a lone figure sitting facing out into the darkness of the mountain woods around them. “I don’t think she’s had a bite all day.” Herbert rubbed his apron nervously for a moment eyeing the lone figure with suspicion. Then, with a sheepish expression he reached for his ladle.

“If you don’t mind me saying, she’s gotta be the oddest lot out of this bunch. Herr Bittermiser may have stepped in it this time.” Herbert suddenly flushed as if he had said too much and quickly filled a wooden bowl with a healthy portion of stew. Alexander bowed his head and then carried the food towards the solitary figure.

As he walked, Alexander once again took in the collection of men that Bittermiser had hired for this excursion to the north. He was a merchant, so by nature of his professions he had to make trades. This was a dangerous path known for being a home to bandits and raiders of both men and monsters. It was also a place where mutants and cultists fled. Despite the dangers, however, it was a vital trade route that normally would have been well patrolled. But in these times, many men were called to fight to repel incursions by the forces of the Dark Gods, roaming bands of monsters, or a fellow lord who had aspirations towards greater territory.

Bittermiser had hired pikemen, handgunners, bowmen and infantry to complement his own personal guard. There were even a few dwarf mercenaries among their numbers who had come not just for the gold, but for the chance at a good fight. There were many ancestral enemies of the dwarven people in these mountains. All in all, the number of men was that of a small army. It was quite the expense for transporting what were just supposed to be common trade goods. 

Alexander suspected the merchant was dealing in things that would bring the attention of the sort few men wished to deal with, the Vigilant. A fine and overzealous lot they were, Alexander knew from experience. They would not look kindly to any man of the Southern Empire hiring a heathen priest, a hedge witch, and an orc. It was that very orc whom he was bringing the food to. As he got closer one of her pointed ears flicked causing the pair of golden rings near the sharp tip to jingle.

“What do you want, man thing?” Shay the orcess asked without turning to face him. Her voice was deep, powerful and rough. A moment later she was sniffing the air and turned her head towards him. A harsh face with sweeping brows glowered at him. Twin scars ran down one side of her face from her check to throat. Her head was bare, save for a long topknot of hair. Bright blue eyes as hard as steel bore into him. They darted down to the bowl of stew then back to him. Her face softened, a little, and she snorted before turning back to continue gazing into the dark forest around them.

Not having been told to leave, Alexander sat down on the log next to her, and held the bowl of stew out to her. She let out a low growl and then grabbed the wooden bowl. Without pausing, she raised it to her lips and drank it. Whole chunks of meat and vegetables vanished in audible gulps as he watched with amused astonishment. She finished the stew with a satisfied grunt and then handed him the empty bowl back without a word. Shay kept her eyes fixed on the forest the entire time. Alexander ignored the empty bowl and took a moment to study her.

Orcs were a common sight everywhere in the world. From far across the Great Ocean to the East to the harsh desert lands of the West her people were known as little more than monstrous raiders who lived for nothing more than to pillage and fight their way across the lands of men, dwarf and elf alike. Alexander didn’t want to think about what happened to women, and some men, who were taken captive by the brutes. Shay appeared to be an exception to her people. A primal and savage vitality radiated from her, but so did a steel-like grip on it. It was as if her will was set to deny the dark gods who made her people the very thing she had been made for.

Like all her kind, she was taller than a man. Sitting down she was still taller than he was and stood about twice the height of the average man. Her shoulders and chest were broad. Sandy green skinned rippled with powerful muscles all along her body. Tusks that had been filed to needle sharp points jutted from her lower jaw. In, the firelight her golden hair was cast in an orange radiance making it appear to glow like a forge. There was a blunt beauty to her Alexander had to admit.

The armor which Shay wore looked as if someone had taken a courtesan’s under garments and remade it from metal instead of cloth. She was covered from chest to foot in solid, well-forged metal. Her breastplate was shaped to protect her chest while her belly was left exposed. Leather straps connected to her belt and her leg armor left her entire crotch exposed save for the hide bottom which protected her modesty. As for how a priest knew things such as what a whore might wear, Alexander was not a priest that was ignorant to the ways to the things of the world. He looked out into the forest and clasped his hands while resting his arms on his thighs.

“You one of those priests that worships pain?” Shay asked him. Alexander looked at her surprised by the unexpected question. Her blue eyes, hard but intelligent, were looking at his hands. Starting at his wrists, were spots of skin that looked as if they had been burned. With a sad smile, he rolled up one sleeve to show that the curling, winding path of scars went up to his elbow and even beyond. The other arm was much the same. A pattern of burn scars wound up his arms as if someone had wrapped them in the firethorn vines.

“My God frowns on such actions,” Alexander said with a sad heaviness to his voice. He looked at the scars on his arm as the fire caused a dull ache within them. Rolling his sleeves down he clasped his hands again and rested his chin on them. “When I was a child, I learned how cruel other men could be, especially, spiteful children.” Shay just grunted. Alexander was the bastard son of Lord Arthur Havok, a provincial lord of no small standing. His mother had been nothing more than a chambermaid. Lord Havok had never mistreated him, or his mother. In fact, once he had known about Alexander, he fully recognized him as a rightful son. However, that wasn’t enough to prevent the cruel spite that wore his mother into the grave. Or the malice of his siblings who held him down while winding the firethorn vines around his arms. The pain and fever from that nearly killed him.

“What did you say to the fat man?” Shay asked, her gruff voice interrupting his memories. Alexander shook his head.

“The man is playing with things he doesn’t understand, and is going to get people killed,” he said. Shay broke her vigil of the forest to look at him, one sweeping brow raised with curiosity. He rubbed his hands together looking from her to the forest. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness out there. He heard the clink of gold rings as her ear flicked, and for just a moment he thought he saw movement. His eyes narrowed, and he unclasped his hands, and lowered one to his hammer.

“I’ve been unsettled since this journey began. All of this manpower for what is supposed to be a routine delivery of goods?” Shay grunted.

“The mountain trade road is more dangerous now. Too many man-things fighting other battles,” she said. Her earrings jingled again as he nodded. Again, he thought he saw movement out among the deep shadows of the trees.

“That’s true, but it’s not just the number of men. A man like Bittermiser, is loath to bring down the eyes of the Vigilant down on him, and yet he hires a heathen priest, a hedge witch, and an orc. Whatever he’s actually transporting, he’s taking quite a risk with it.” Once again her earrings jingled and he frowned. There was no mistake about it, something was in the forest and it was moving all around them. Alexander pulled his warhammer free with a slight and easy motion. His eyes darted around the woods which encircled them.

“We’re surrounded.” No sooner had he spoken than Shay shoved him to the ground just seconds before an arrow would have lodged itself into his skull. Instead, it struck someone deeper in the camp who howled in pain and surprised. He wasn’t the only one. Cries of pain and panic broke out in the camp as Alexander quickly rose to his feet and looked out into the woods. From the edge of the firelight a dozen pairs of eyes glinted in a vast array of colors from the fire. An inhuman moan of rage and hatred issued from the forest as shadowy shapes surged forward.

They looked like men only twisted into unnatural shapes with unusual gaits. Many of them shuffled as if being pulled along by limbs not meant for solid ground. Others lopped along with odd, ungainly gaits, while others charged forward on all fours. Their bodies were bloated or covered in weeping sores. Many had tentacles for arms, or had extra arms, some had beaks for mouths and others were covered in hair. The mutants, those touched by the sinister ways of the Dark Gods, were upon them.

At his side, the orc bellowed a furious war cry in her harsh, guttural tongue and sprang forward like a predator finally catching her prey. With a two handed grip on her great sword, she waded into the oncoming mass of monstrosities like a thresher putting a scythe to wheat. Her sword moved in a wide arc mowing down two or three at a time. Her blade moved in a blur, the runic symbols glowing faintly as she slashed and chopped at the tide of horror. Alexander watched as she used the hilt to bash in the skull of a dog headed creature, before she stabbed her sword into the neck of another. As he watched, the fire of faith and battle began to burn in his chest as he tightened the grip on his hammer.

“To arms! On your guard!” he shouted before he too rushed into the oncoming horde of mutants. These people were once men and women who had been tainted by the touch of chaotic, wicked magic. For many, the change had just happened. For others, they had willingly sought the dark powers. Fury and mercy burned equally in his breast as a Litany of Battle touched his lips.

“Blessed are You, Mighty Lord, who makes my arm strong for battle and my heart willing to fight. Have mercy on the innocent, judge the wicked, by Thy will, lead me into war against Thy foes.” Then he was among them. The head of his hammer smashed into the skull of one mutant. Brains and foul ichor splattering as the head caved in like a rotting pumpkin. He turned the hammer and stabbed another mutant through the skull with the spiked end. Black blood spurted from the wound as he pulled it free. His hammer never stopped moving as it struck down one man after another. Ribs shattered, bones splinted and cracked under the heavy blows from his hammer. A song of battle rose in his chest and he sang aloud as he brought one foul form low after another.

Before Alexander knew it, he felt his back bump up against a tall, muscular one. He heard Shay snarl and move away from him. From the corner of his eye he watched her sword arc upwards, cleaving her target nearly in two before it was brought down in a violent slash that split her next opponent in down to its waist. As she wrenched the sword free, the lifeless body was lifted from the ground to smash into another mutant.

“Find your own fight, priest!” she snarled at him, turning to face him. Her sword came around in an arc level with the horizon. Alexander dodged under her swing as he felt a thick, oily fluid splatter against the back of his robe.

“This is my fight!” he replied as he stepped around her and stabbed upward with his hammer, taking a mutant through the jaw. He twisted his wrist making the creature stumble and fall as he yanked his hammer free and bashed another one directly in the chest. Even over the tumult of battle he heard the sick, wet crunch of bone as his arm rang from the impact. Shay growled as the two of them quickly fell in step with each other. While they were unfamiliar with how one another fought, both were seasoned enough to adapt to one another.

“Fine! Just keep the singing to yourself!” Shay said as her sword parted another head from its body.

“I will sing praises to my God, orc, your opinion be damned!” Alexander said as his hammer broke a knee cap before sending the mutant flying from the blow which struck the side of its snarling, insect like mouth. Powerful though each of them were, the weight of numbers was telling even to them. For every one he brought down, or for every two or three she did, there were always more.

A thick, slick tentacle wrapped around one of his arms. Hundreds of sharp teeth were biting through his robe into his skin. From the corner of his eye he saw Shay grappling with something small that had jumped on her chest, while two more of the dog-like creatures were trying to grab her legs to bring her down. Claws, teeth and talons bit deep on both of them drawing their blood. Just as he broke free from the tentacle around his arm with a mighty swing a mutant, nearly as tall as Shay, kicked him in the chest. Razor sharp talons on the bird-like foot dug into his body. The claws pierced through his chainmail shirt and left him sucking in air as pain wracked his body. Snarling, Alexander brought his hammer down, shattering the things kneecap as he struggled to sing the Litany of Battle through gritted teeth.

“FIRE!” The order sounded above the clamor of combat from behind them. Suddenly there was a thunderous boom as half a dozen flintlock pistols went off in near perfect unison. The shot ripped into the mutants splattering blood, brain and bone in all directions as the shot found easy marks in the seething tide of corrupted flesh. And then the rest of Bittermiser’s hired mercenaries were throwing themselves into the fray. Arrows thudded into soft flesh as spear, pike and sword drove the mutants back and thinned their numbers. The pair of dwarves bellowed with laughter as they ran a tally against each other for how many they slew. Neither Shay nor Alexander paused, however, and they turned to join the fight anew.

But by then, what remained of the mutants had fled back into the forest. They sank back into the darkness like a receding flood of corruption. Alexander stood side by side with the mighty orc panting. She barely seemed winded. It was only when she finally relaxed her guard, that he did his own. He bowed his head and offered a quiet prayer of thanks. Then the rush of battle left him, and the pain from his wounds found him. He let out a grunt of pain as he felt his chest. There was a trickle of blood where the rings of his chainmail had been crushed into his chest, but it had held. His body ached and throbbed from a score of cuts, gashes and bruises. An unexpected slap on the back from Shay nearly toppled him. He glared up at her, to find a wide, toothy grin on her face.

“You fight well for a priest, man-thing,” she said. He gave her a sardonic smile as he stood.

“My name is Alexander,” he said. She seemed to consider this for a moment, and then nodded. Shay turned, her blood smeared sword resting on her shoulder as she walked away.

“Come along man-thing, that fight made me thirsty and the fat man has beer.” He stared after her, a dumbstruck smile on his face. She strode from the battle, covered in gore and brains, her green skin spattered with blood, dozens of cuts and slashes could be seen along the parts of her body the armor didn’t protect. Alexander had met no one like her. There was something beautiful in that orc. The moment that thought came to him, he knew he would travel with her, if only for a time. Hooking his hammer back onto his belt, he followed.

Alexander spied the hedge witch watching them all. She was a withered old crone of a woman. When her gaze fell on him, Alexander could feel the searing hatred emanating from her. He shook his head, ignoring it. But some men were not so keen to leave her be.

“Here now, Grandma, why didn’t you use your spells and magic to help?” Alexander heard one man ask. 

“Help?” she asked in a raspy, time weathered voice.

“That’s right,” said another man, “weren’t you hired to guard us from things like that?” He heard her spit.

“I wasn’t hired to guard you, fool. Now away before I show you why I was hired.” There was a note of wicked glee in the old witch’s voice and the men quickly scurried away. Alexander looked at the dead and the wounded, and then to the cart which Bittermiser had ordered his men to surround.

“Just what were you hired to guard?” he thought. That was a worry for tomorrow, and he had enough to worry about right now. As they stepped into the camp proper, cheers met the pair. Shay ignored them and sat down near the cook.

“Beer, now,” she growled at Herbet, who turned pale even as he smiled at her. He turned for approval to Bittermiser, who nodded. Alexander sat down next to her and a pair of tankards were given to them. Alexander regards the drink thoughtfully. The orcess snorted.

“What’s the matter, priest, can’t drink?” she asked before gulping down her own beer in three deep gulps. He just sighed as he looked at the frothy, welcoming amber liquid.

“To pursue drunkenness is a sin,” he said. Shay sneered at him. Then her eyes widened as he drained his tankard. Not nearly as quickly as she did, but one steady swallow after another and he soon took a breath having drank to the last drop. 

“HA!” Shay grunted as she slapped him on the back. “Fine then, I will drink enough for us both.” With a wide, toothy grin, she ordered two more beers. After she had nearly drained an entire keg, mostly by herself, Shay had fallen asleep on the ground in front of the fire. Her sword was clutched in her hands as she snored. It sounded like a saw was being taken to logs. Alexander had drank, perhaps a bit more than he should have. He stood, wavered, and then staggered off to have his wounds looked at and then, he crawled into his bedroll. Through the alcoholic haze, his mind was still sharp enough to wonder what business Otto Bittermiser was involved with. He sighed and closed his eyes. Sleep quickly claimed him.