The night was cool against his sweat-soaked skin as Kend-Krid loped across the field alongside his fellow warriors, all who knew they had made a terrible mistake. The only thing that might spare them was distance between them and the incident that would change everything. One of the scouts appeared on the ridge ahead and signaled a water source to their southeast. The man leading veered off and a score of men followed, with only the sound of footsteps and their heavy breathing disturbing the evening's silence. Soon a pond came into view and the warriors gathered at the edge waiting for a verdict as the Chief sampled it. Once proclaimed safe men knelt to drink and quench their thirst. After a few minutes had passed everyone was ready to continue, and the entire troupe departed without a single word having been spoken. There was no time to waste. They would run all night every night until they made it back to the clan. The night shielded their movements, the darkness was their ally.
The League had beat them there. The camp was destroyed and there were dead sprawled about everywhere. All of Kend’s kinsmen who were not on the raid were with the ancestors, the clan’s future was dead. The Nightfangs had paid for their rashness. Two weeks before the war party of sixty had set out to avenge one of their own, killed by a Technic sorcerer. In their minds they believed that the time had come to show the League that they had no true power over the tribes. But in their rashness they ambushed the enemy’s camp the same night they came across it. There was not one, but four of the League there, and the metal men who did their bidding. The battle was vicious, and though the Nightfangs overcame the guards, one of the sorcerers escaped. While they attacked they had tried to hide their clan affiliation but it seemed the magicians had mystical means to identify them. After the dead were gifted to the funeral pyres the Chief called for everyone to gather, there were important matters to discuss. Kend as young as he was kept out of the ensuing debate, the senior warriors were torn. All wanted vengeance, most knew that the survivors didn’t have the power to even inconvenience the League, and a few did not care. But Kend observed as the Chief talked sense into his fellow clansmen and the plans for retribution were cut down one by one with the Chiefs wisdom and logic. Eventually the Chief stood before all the remaining Nightfangs and spoke; “We all grieve for our fallen brethren, we all want to strike down those who are responsible for their deaths, and we all know we do not have the strength. Here in these lands the League holds too much power, so we must go abroad. We will find the strength we need in weapons, allies, and artifacts and build our power so that we can punish the League for what they have done. Ten winters from now we will gather here with all the might we have acquired and then challenge the sorcerers that think they have already won. Brothers, embrace the darkness’s shelter and let the night grant you strength.”
The Nightfangs went separate ways, towards each of the compass points. Kend joined the warriors heading south into the River Kingdoms, but upon crossing the border set off alone. Just like all the rest, he vowed to grow stronger and come back with all he could. After two years of roaming, working as a going from job to job, the realization came that the tedium of a job could not bring about the rewards he sought. Stories he had heard in taverns implied there were great hoards of treasure and magic items just waiting for adventurer’s to take scattered everywhere about the world, if they could overcome the hazards. The closest known place, Dragon’s Delve, promised to be a challenge. For if the monsters and hazards were still there, then so might be a reward worth his time.
