PROLOGUE – BROTHERS
“The winds are sharper than usual tonight, brother.” The comment was not out of place; the large barbarian could only squint his eyes as a cold, bitter breeze flecked grains of sand into them. In the Great Waste, all was sand or stone, winds were dry and arid; for every day that passed, only four hours were spent bathed in sunlight. The people were bred into large, voluminous builds out of a survival necessity, and despite their lack of daytime, all were quite dark to protect them from the scorch that followed every short sunrise. “Perhaps it is, but I think only in your mind, Kromm.” The reply came from the even larger brother, a specimen nearing seven feet in height. “Perhaps… still, I find myself uneasy. The winds blow eastward, an omen if there ever was one. Airs are colder, and it is quieter than usual. I say we set camp soon.” The larger one let a deep rumble of a laugh, as his feet continued to stride forward through the sand. “I thought I was king of our people, and yet here I am freely given direction by my kin. Fine, we shall stop soon and rest. It will be light in three passings, we can march on then.”
It was not long before they found a small cavern with which to stow themselves away, stacking their loot in the back-most area behind them, producing wood for flame. As the larger man began clacking rocks together to attempt giving them a fire, the smaller one shook his head. “There is no need, Hrognarr.” Drawing a small blade across his thumb, blood trickled onto the wood; quickly afterword, it was being licked by flame, an orange glow overaking the opening. Hrognarr gave his brother a look of disapproval. “I know of your love for magics, brother—but it is forbidden; even if I am king of the Hunntik, I cannot change that.” Kromm slunked back, bemused. “You could if you wanted. You simply don’t.” Hrognarr shook his head, a small feint of a sigh escaping his lips. “You’re correct. I do not.”
Not wanting to push his luck, Kromm came fully to the floor, and turned over to sleep. “Wake me when it’s your turn,” he ordered, yawn escaping his lips. Hrognarr scratched his chin stubble and grunted with approval. He turned attention to his axe, which he began to sharpen after retrieving the proper stones to do so from his leather sack. Some time passed while Hrognarr worked, the sound of refined iron scraping on stone echoed throughout the makeshift chamber, fluttering up into the desert atmosphere.
Kromm awoke with a start, light from the sun beaming into the slits of his eyes. He should’ve been awake quite some time ago, and his beloved brother was nowhere to be seen. “Hrognarr? HROGNARR!” Air burst from his lungs as he bellowed his beloved brother’s name. Sprinting outwards into the sand, Kromm struggled against the shifting grains beneath him as he began desperately darting his eyes from horizon to horizon; it did not take long for him to spot what he feared—an ominous circle of green, not far in the distance. Rushing towards it, sword gripped tight in hand, the figures came closer and closer into view.
Four figures were standing, surrounding the body of a large, raven haired man; they were clad in toxic green cloaks, with large buggish glassy eyes, black leathery faces, and a hose-like tube where their mouth should be. These things were what most Hunntik people feared. “SAND WALKERS!” Screaming without a care, the warrior leapt towards one of them, sword plunging deep into its strange skull as red ichor burst from the wound. The other three stumbled backwards in fear, trying to run. They were light, lighter than he, and quite easily able to run atop the dunes—Kromm cared not. Throwing his blade with great force, it sunk itself into one of the running offender’s backs, dropping it. The other two continued to get further away. Retrieving a dagger from the sheath on his thigh, Kromm slapped the blade into his palm, creating a gushing wound.
Blood began seeping into the grains before his feet; soon, a bolt of red streaked across the surface of the desert towards the other two, as if it was a wolf on the hunt. A giant red hand burst forth from the earth and grabbed the Sand Walkers, as it began to drag them below the surface. They tried desperately to crawl themselves out of the situation, but to little avail. Soon they were enveloped, devoured by the desert like so many others.
The barbarian slid across the ground, legs burning bright before stopping before Hrognarr. His normally dark, olive skin was a cold, pale color, and his lips were as blue as the sky above. “Brother… I’m sorry… I did not… I could not…” The words continued to escape Kromm, for the moment. For now, he lifted the corpse of his kin into his arms, softly weeping as the sun began to set once again.