Tales from Arlyss

A Deadly Enterprise

The rhythmic sound of axes biting deep into trees echoed across the moonlit hillside. But to the two watchers atop the hill, the cacophony of logging could scant be heard over the buzzing of the forest and the creaking of the ancient wood.
“How much, you reckon?” said the thin, greasy man named Thomas sitting on a fallen tree.
“That sounds an awful lot like a question, it does. And we’re paid not to ask questions.” Replied the gruff, bearded man named Argyle peering out into the forest.
“But you have got to be at least a little bit curious, right? Greatwood lumber like this. They say it’s got ma-gi-cal properties.” He emphasized each syllable of the word “magical” as if the word itself held some great power he wasn’t meant to hold.
“I said shut it, Tom. We’re meant to be watching out for knife-ears, not yacking about things what don’t need yacking about.” Said argyle.
A light breeze blew through the logging camp, and the loggers found welcome respite from the summer heat as the air cooled their bodies. The watchman named Tom sat up from his seat, stretched and yawned rather loudly. Argyle turned sharply towards him, and one could be excused for thinking that his gaze had turned to daggers at that moment. The breeze ended and a cloud came over the moon, obscuring what little light it provided the loggers. Argyle turned back towards the wood, trying to peer into the darkness but finding his limited human eyesight lacking.
“So-rry…” said Tom, his Arlenport accent making itself particularly apparent as he emphasized the “o” in the word.
Argyle continued to peer out into the darkness, not saying a word and moving little.
“See something?” asked Tom. “Argyle?”
At that moment tom’s heart began to race a little as Argyle failed to respond to him. He walked up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He could hear a faint, wet gargling sound coming from his companion. Argyle turned around, revealing the shaft of an arrow driven into his throat. Blood poured out from the wound, and he collapsed on the ground before Tom. Tom screeched, and the faint sound of the loggers stopped. He fumbled for his lantern and a match with trembling hands, dropping several before managing to light the thing and illuminate the hilltop.
As he turned to face the wood and pointed the lantern at the trees, he saw shadows in the treetops. The shadows stood unnaturally still, and he found his throat too dry to scream once more. Tom felt a sharp sting across his throat and the cold metal of a blade as his lifeforce poured out from him. He collapsed on the ground, and as darkness overcame him he saw the figure of his killer in the lantern light for a moment. Its thin, graceful humanoid form and long pointed ears were illuminated against the backdrop of the forest. Tom could see a pattern of scars carved into its face, and it wore various furs and leather that made it seem more beast than anything. The killer lifted its bloody curved knife into the air and the shadows in the trees immediately descended like wild cats, the lithe creatures seemingly gliding across the ground. The screaming of the loggers was the last thing Tom heard before death took him.

Monsters in the Mist

The panel shattered after the third hit, sparks and glass shards flying across the room. He tossed the metal chair aside, its purpose met. Harut walked along the avenue as the locking mechanisms keeping the doors secure opened, one by one. A screech came from behind, and he quickly turned to find a small winged creature aflame and careening into a nearby home. He quickened his pace, hoping to reach the next terminal in time.
The residents of the slave quarter slowly began to walk out from their homes, wary of breaking curfew despite the sounds of death and destruction throughout the city. At the sight of Harut, they quickly returned to their homes.
“Flee, you must flee! Doom is upon us. You need not pay for the folly of your masters!" Harut shouted, urging them from their homes.
He removed a small rod from his robes, and they recoiled. He felt the shame of his people at that moment, but as he pressed a small button on the side of the rod the collars clasped around the necks of the slaves came apart and fell to the ground. They looked around in confusion. One of them came forward and asked Harut
“What is happening, master?”
He shook his head as tears filled his eyes and he spoke. “Our folly has ruined us. Go into the tunnels beneath the city. Do not leave. And do not enter the mist. There are monsters in the mist…”
With these final words, Harut turned and left the slave quarter. As he walked the streets of the city, he could hear the screams of the dying as hideously deformed creatures ripped them apart. The mist seemed alive, moving across the city and spawning more monsters where it formed. Goat-men with bleeding pustules and an overwhelming stench. Demons of living shadow. Hairy, ape-like beasts and cackling hyena fiends. In the distance, Harut witnessed as a colossal two-headed creature with tentacled arms latched on to a departing astral vessel and slammed it into the tower of Chokma. Some made it into the skies, only to be ripped apart by winged monsters. He looked up into the sky, frozen in terror and despair. He thought he saw one vessel make it past them. One vessel that managed to dematerialize into the astral plane intact.
A glimmer of hope awoke within him. He looked down and saw the slaves escaping into the tunnels, then turned back with a smile on his face. But behind him, the mist has coalesced. A giant claw reached out and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him up as a pair of hands drove a black blade into his belly. As darkness overcame him, he saw the hordes of demons pouring forth from the mist as his civilization crumbled around him.