Laughter in the Flames

What you hear is cackling laughter from within the flames, the laugh itself is mildly familiar to you. An overwhelming scent floods your nostrils and all but overruns your sense of smell. A thick acrid vapor fills the air, it is not simple smoke but rather a foul miasma which carries many foreign odors within it. Just beyond you the malformed silhouettes of the fiends shuffle to and fro, attempting to escape the flames. Their efforts are in vain, however, as the waxing inferno engulfs them in its searing combustion. The creatures that are caught in the flames tendrils are instantaneously reduced to wisps of smoldering ashes, writhing for but an instant before succumbing to the fire. Two of the creatures narrowly escape a wave of flame and flee from the conflagrant onslaught. Your hunting instincts take over and you chase them down easily, their clumsy locomotion is both unsightly and ineffective. One of your tusk-blades severs cleanly through the midsection of the first fiend, slinging a dense and viscous trail of ink-like blood splattering across the ground. The wound does not seem to hinder the creature in the slightest, it does not break its blundering stride. Instead the top half of the dichotomized monstrosity lurches forward on a few of its limbs as though it were entirely undamaged, meanwhile the lower half continues its frantic pace unhindered even as it drags what you assume are its entrails behind it. Your single strike had also connected with a solitary sickly tree, cutting a deep gash into it. You would have thought nothing of this had it not been for the pulsating organs which spilled out of the gaping wound in this tree like the yolk gushing out of a cracked egg.

Before you resume your pursuit you notice a third fiend, a short distance away from you, crouched over the sprawling corpse of a fallen Ardri. You of course had expected that these creatures would be feeding upon your ranks, it was only natural to you, but your expectations are insignificant here. The slimy, wriggling, obsidian-colored tendrils of the creature probe and search the human body before it, scrutinizing every detail meticulously. Once it is satisfied with its findings, it produces several sets of blade-like mandibles, and extends a number of small and retractable bone-like hooks from the tips of the longer and stouter tendrils that branch off of the arm-like appendages on its upper half. Although you expect creature to tear hungrily into your fallen kinsman, you could not possibly have predicted its next actions. The creature makes an impressively clean and straight incision around the circumference of the skull using a pair of its extended mandibles and then, with the use of its sharp hooklike barbs, it peels back the skin which reveals the bloodied white skullcap of the cadaver. With impressive speed and even more impressive dexterity, several thin and pin-like appendages burrow a number of shallow holes in the skull along the line of the previous incision. Then a wide proboscis, tipped with two sharp pincers, extends from what you assume is its head and slices through the skullcap with an audible crunch, which is then separated from the rest of the corpses head via several hooked tentacles. The creature quickly peels away the thick membrane which protects the brain itself and immediately begins to probe and prod away at it with its prying pin-like protuberances, while a set of the scissor-like mandibles begins to carve out small chunks of flesh from the temporal and frontal lobes. While it has been doing this several groups of appendages have been busily modifying other parts of the body. The left side for example, had already made a large "Y" shaped cut into the torso of the human carcass, extending from both shoulders down to the pubic bone, and spread the skin wide with many hooked appendages which offered a clear view of the abominable operation. Dozens of palps were writhing about inside the corpses chest, rearranging the organs while two or three scissor-like mandibles snip away at the innards, removing chunks of flesh and whole organs here and there. All of this came to pass within seconds, the precision of it was almost mechanical. You had been witness to the ruthless predation of your fellow humans by other species countless times, but never before had you seen such a vulgar misuse of a corpse. The creature seemed content to reposition and transmogrify the remains right up until its own merciful immolation.

Rather than waste your time by dwelling on what you had seen, you return your focus to the hunt and are about to strike your next target when a fiery roar sounds from behind you, forcing you to dexterously avoid a burst of flame as it shoots past you and devours your prey. The intense withering heat undulates around you, as the firestorm continues to expand. For a brief moment the plumes of swirling fire part just slightly, giving you a clear view into the center of the conflagration. At last you see the source of both the laughter and the flames, deep within the inferno is the grimacing face of Hjalund the Grim. A broad and terrifying smile stretches wide over his bony face, while a cackling and almost hysterical laughter issues forth from his open mouth. The flames wind and coil around him, clinging to him here and there, and yet they cause him no harm. Suddenly his head snaps sideways and faces you directly, glaring at you ghoulishly, with a look of near infinite glee in his eyes. With another sardonic laugh he raises his hand and aims it at you. The flames follow his direction precisely and surge forward to swallow you, but you jump backward forcefully, thus escaping their reach momentarily.

The weight of your discoveries has finally begun to settle in your mind, though after the events you have endured in the past day alone, these revelations prove difficult to process. Was that truly Hjalund? What were those atrocious creatures? How could Hjalund be doing this? How could tonight be moonless when only two days ago the moon had been full? You did not have time to answer the multitude of questions as another tongue of flame lashed out at you, incinerating several misshapen trees as you narrowly avoid its advance. The sweltering heat was still only increasing in its intensity, and the blaze was unfaltering in its progress. Several pillars of fire shoot forward, two of them attempting to circle around you and entrap you in a wall of flames. You dart for the opening behind you before the two pillars can close the gap, but this time you are not quite fast enough. Your left leg is caught in a few errant tendrils of the blaze and is immediately scorched by the contact. The intense heat is enough to lick the skin and muscle from your calf, leaving behind a lump of charred and blackened flesh and bone, with large blisters swelling up your leg. Despite being taught all your life to mask and ignore your pain, and notwithstanding your more than considerable tolerance for it, you cannot ignore or entirely mask the practically unbearable pain of this wound. Although you were barely touched by the flames, the heat was immense enough to entirely vaporize about half of your foot. Immediately your body begins to heal itself, though the burned flesh heals more slowly than the wounds Gidul had given you did. With a moderate amount of difficulty you succeed in landing on your good foot and remain standing. The flames had entirely ignored the protection of your markings, and their movement was entirely too intuitive to be natural. It would appear Hjalund was controlling them and logic would dictate therefore that the flames had to be magical in nature. In the end it was the look in his eyes that confirmed the origin of this inferno. The conclusion you had arrived at was nothing less than highly implausible, if not impossible, but it was the only one that made any sense to you. Could this really be Hjalunds Riastrad?

With a deafening roar the conflagration crashes toward you in a billowing wave of heat, you attempt to outrun it but your leg has not yet fully regenerated all of the necessary muscles and tendons. You have doubts that you could have recovered yet from the earlier use of your Riastrad, but prepare to access it now in your time of need, when suddenly the flames halt a short distance from you. The laughter ceases immediately, and for a moment you hear the growling voice of what you assume to be Hjalund. "ENOUGH!" He says, "Haven't YOU shamed ME enough? I am in control here. LEAVE ME!" At his command the flames receded as if they were deprived of any and all fuel. The dwindling fire leaves behind smoldering embers and molten carbon in its wake, which rapidly cools as the chill breeze of the forest returns. In the midst of the ashen and superheated earth stands the broad form of Hjalund, unscathed by the flames. "You must try to understand young Ogma, I never wanted any of this. I had no other choice." He appears visibly dismayed, the deep lines of grief and worry show in place of his typically stoic expression. "Those creatures... they aren't natural... they wouldn't die... They needed to die. I had to leave the group, if I hadn't I might've doomed us all... There was no conceivable way that Inslod could have dealt with them. I didn't want to use it believe me I didn't... but I had to." He approaches you cautiously. This is by far the most emotional that you have seen him, although it is still not much. Your leg has not yet finished the process of healing, you decide to try to communicate with him before you act. "Was that a Riastrad?" You ask him. "Yes, and you have no idea what it has done to me, what it has taken from me." He responds.

"That power is a monstrosity." You tell him, letting your inborn aversion to fire rule you. "You think I don't know that? It took everything from me! The very first time I used it, it consumed my entire family! My mother and father, my brothers and sisters! I have lived with that burden, I have hated it, and myself for so long." "You never told anyone?" You say, his response is swift and passionate, "Of course not! Could you imagine what would happen if I had? I would have been hunted without mercy! Put down in my youth like some malformed beast! He that keeps his mouth, keeps his life, Ogma. This is the second time I have used it and even though I abhor it, I do not regret my use of it in the slightest. My actions were justified in my own eyes and that is enough for me." As he finishes you begin to scrutinize what you have seen and correlate it with what you've heard. Finally things make sense, why Hjalund never uses his Riastrad, why he rarely speaks, why he is so emotionless, and why he separates himself from the group in battle. His disdain for both himself and his power seem truly genuine, but with a Riastrad like his can you allow him to live? Your people had many reasons to hate fire. In nature fire was scarce, but wherever it went it left nothing behind, reducing everything before it to useless ashes. In the hands of men fire was a blasphemous weapon, it dulled mans senses, it weakened his body, and it filled him with unnatural desires. Fire emboldened mankind and cursed him with greed, goading him into taking the precious jewels and metals of the earth and hoarding them. It encouraged mankind to defy nature and allow the feeble to flourish in her absence, it did not strengthen mankind but merely served to hide its weakness. Fire enabled the weak to enslave the strong. Fire was a powerful and effective weapon, no matter how frail its user may be, this was its true crime. However, Hjalund was exceptionally strong even without it, he had to be. Since Hjalund had the least need for it, perhaps he would be best to wield it. A mighty weapon deserves to be carried by a mighty warrior. At least his apparent hatred of it would prevent him from using it carelessly, and besides, if you killed him now it would only serve to weaken your forces further as well as strain your control over the Forest Clans. Your leg has nearly finished healing by the time you make your choice. You decide to let him live, but not without your conditions. "I have chosen not kill you Hjalund the Grim, not now. This, of course, is not a promise that I will not crush you without hesitation if the need arises. You will continue to refrain from using that appalling Riastrad unless it is ABSOLUTELY necessary, and will continue to show the utmost degree of discretion that you are capable of. Do this, and you shall live a much longer life." At the conclusion of your colloquy, you look him directly in his dark eyes, searching for any sign of irresolution in him. "I am no fool, young Ogma. I will stay as I am, and bear my secret to the grave as I have always intended." He says, returning to his ascetic demeanor. For a moment his somber attitude almost pains you, it saddens you just a little to know that there is a predator out there like him, with **** but to keep himself restrained. This doesn't bother you for long however as you return your attention to the task at hand. "Come Hjalund, let us return to our people." You say, he nods in agreement, and you both set off toward the distant sound of human speech and marching feet.