text: Hey guys, a second installment of the story. Once again, please let me know if you have any thoughts! Cheers, Lordchimp Marks’ boots squelched through the mud as he trudged through the campsite. The rain had been unrelenting since the thunder began, they’d had to set their tents up in the downpour which had made Birmillius a very sour man indeed. He was bad enough in Marks eye’s, but now he become a nightmare. He snapped at anyone who came near, even if they came to help or lend a hand. He ordered the men to set up his tent, then shouted and hissed at them for doing it wrong. One man had given him a mug of hot tea, but he had taken one sip and thrown it away cursing that it was too bitter. There was no pleasing this wretch of a man. Mark’s strode his way over to his men, who had set their small tents up next to the main campfire, which lay crackling in the center of them all. They were all sullen and grumpy, but not because of the fact they were on the road. These men might not have been frontline infantry soldiers, but they had at least experienced travelling life before. No, there reason for being miserable was caused by their employer. At some point all of them had been on the wrong side of his furious, petty wrath and it had taken a lot of persuading from Marks to stop them from beating him to death. He sat down on one of the logs that the group had pulled next to the fire, the men making space for him as he approached. “Hey Marks, want a brew?” One of the younger lads asked, holding a mug up for him to take. He smiled fondly at him and took the mug graciously, taking a sip and savouring the warm liquid. “Lovely stuff Lance, tastes perfect lad.” “The boss still being a girl?” “Aye. Soft fool’s never been out of his house before.” Marks said, spitting to his side. He’d gotten along with Birmillius well enough before, but now he didn’t trust himself to stay near him. They all ate in silence for a while, enjoying and savouring the stew. “Hey boss,” One of the older men piped up. “What do you think of the new guy, you know, the siphon?” Revan had been a hot topic for the men, as they knew almost nothing about him, or what he could do. Marks glanced over to the very fringes of the camp, where Revan sat in the darkness. Alone. He’d been a strange one alright, not communicating with the men at all, just sat in the shadows prepping his equipment. It was the same every night, the same practiced routine. He started with his shortbow, unstringing the weapon and oiling the wood, testing the curve for it’s spring. Then, he unsheathed his blades, four in total and laid them at his feet on a scrap of rag. He oiled them as well, so delicately, so gently, it was like watching a man caress his lover. There was always a faint high pitched ring from him drawing the knives across his whetstone, stopping only when they were sharp enough to cut the hairs on the back of his hand. Finally, he checked all of the straps and buckles on his pack and on his horse’s saddle. Making sure everything was tight and secure, with no loose parts that could get tangled or caught on the undergrowth. *He’s a strange one alright.* “As long as he keeps his distance, I’ve got no problem with him... Seems to have a bit of an obsession with his knives though.” The men all ate and talked through the night, the way soldiers often do. He looked over his men with a sense of contentment. *These are good, honest men.* He was broken out of his contemplation by the sudden sound of angry, manic cursing. It was coming from Birmillius’ tent. He came out from the canvas literally frothing at the mouth with rage, stumbling around caught in the tent flaps. “By the bloody gates...” Marks said, rising to his feet to deal with the giant child. “My bedding! My bedding is damp and has mud over it! It was one of your men wasn’t it? Think it’s funny to play a joke on me!” Birmillius bellowed, stomping over to their fire. “My lord, I’m sure it’s just because it’s not been wrapped up enough, if you’ll-” “You dare? You think I’m a simpleton who can’t wrap his own equipment?!” He roared again. Before either of them could say anything else, Revan appeared seemingly from nowhere, a concerned, irritated look on his eyes. “You should both keep your voices down. There are other things than men in these woods.” Both of them looked at him in disbelief, lost for words for a moment. Then they both unleashed. “You dare?! You dare order me? A lord?!” Birmillius bellowed. “The bloody cheek of you! My men are perfectly capable-” “You must be quiet now.” He attempted to talk over the top of them both. Bad idea. “I’ll have you whipped for your disrespect for your betters! Whipped I say!” “We ought to leave you in the bastard woods!” A sound interrupted them again, this time, not from the mysterious ranger. It was a horrible piercing screech, that cut straight through the night into their hearts. It was like a dog’s lonely howl, crossed with a babies angry wail. “Stay by the fires. Now!” Revan ordered, moving quickly back to his deserted tent in a stealthy, crouched run. “What did he say? Stay by the fire? Is he serious?” Birmillius asked, attempting to be harsh and vicious, but the worry in his quaking voice betrayed him. “I assure you Lord, it’s probably nothing. There’s noises in these woods all the time. Still, stay close to the fire until he’s back.” “Yes yes...very good. I’m going to have him flogged when he’s back, thinking he can order me about like a mere peasant!” He said, venom dripping from his words as he travelled to the fire by the men. The shrieks continued, only increasing in volume. Sounding almost like whatever was making the noise was getting closer...The men were huddled round the crackling flames, standing as close as they could before the heat became too intense. Most of them were stood unarmed, there was only one young lad who had a spear readied. The noises went louder still, reaching very worryingly loud levels, it was almost as if the elusive source was on the edges of the camp. “Don’t worry lads, it’s just the noises of the woods. It’s loud I’ll give you that, but there’s nothing dangerous out there! Put that spear down lad, you won’t need that.” The young one looked around skittishly, before resting his spear on his shoulder, leaving the point in the air. The men all gave a good-natured chuckle, seeing a new boy so nervous. It was about mid way through the laugh when there was a sudden hissing noise and something shot out of the darkness and tore open the side of the boy's face, sending him tumbling to the ground screaming. It took Marks a second or two to comprehend what exactly he had seen. It looked like a branch of a tree had stretched and thrust through the air. Only it looked too dark to be a tree branch and it was covered in barbs... *Vineskins.