"When do we hit 'em, boss?"

Boris looked expectantly across at Granth, the large ruffian picking his nose as he asked the question. The brutish fellow was more clever than he looked, but even the Bandit King had to admit his boorish behaviors were annoying.

"Not yet," answered Granth in a cool, level tone. He stared at the caravan from the treeline, watching it move through the bogs intently. "Not yet."

The caravan was made up of tribesmen from King's Valley, nomadic-looking folk who didn't appear too wealthily garbed, but whose wagons Granth knew had vast quantities of bog iron as well as religious objects and weapons from Gazablaak. It was in a good position to be attacked: that particular stretch of the road was flanked on either side by small hills that rose out of the swamp, hills upon which the thick boughs of dark trees grew, their branches tangled together in knots. It provided Granth the perfect cover from which to stage an assault. It was surprisingly good fortune that Granth had managed to stumble onto the caravan just as it was passing through perfect ambush terrain.

Unfortunately, Granth couldn't attack the caravan outright, since the rest of the Devils were gathering supplies and setting up a new camp. Besides himself, his only available assets were his fell steed and Boris. As tempting as their trade goods were, he knew he couldn't attack the dozen or so armed tribesmen and their two wagons alone.

"Something will give, and we'll know when it happens," the archer told his lackey calmly. "Ain't always going to be able to force an opportunity to happen. Sometimes, you've just got to wait for it to make itself."

"How're you sure it'll happen?" asked Boris with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Instinct," answered Granth, leveling his gaze with the younger bandit's. "Backtalk me again and I'll take your tongue."

Boris went quiet. Granth focused on the scene ahead. He motioned for his thug to follow and slipped through the marsh along the backs of the trees, hidden from the view of the watchful tribesmen.

Little did Granth know that he wasn't the only hunter stalking the caravan. He did not see the pack of black-furred, aberrant felines skulking on the opposite set of hills... nor did he know that an old friend was on scene as well. But at least Granth and Boris went undiscovered by both their competition and their prey.

Xalmann walked along the road, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. He knew the dangers of being on the road. There were monsters in these marshes. But what he was most concerned about were bandits. He knew how much trouble they could be, especially because he had been one for a short while.

He thought back to his time with Granth, or Mask, as he had called him for a majority of their time together. Calling him Mask still felt more right to him. They had parted ways on good terms. Xalmann, or Red as Granth had called him, had promised to assist him with anything they asked if they met again. Part of his repayment to the man that had saved his life, finding the dying Lizardfolk in the remains of his burnt down village and caring for his wounds. He wondered if he would see the man again soon. His instincts told him that he would.

His reminiscing was interrupted when he spotted a distant caravan on the road ahead. He immediately moved off of the road, not wanting to be seen. They might just be innocent merchants, but it was better for a lone traveler to avoid trouble. And if that caravan happened to be full of bandits instead, he would certainly be in trouble. He was confident in his fighting ability, especially now that his wounds had healed and he trained a bit with his newfound abilities, but he still didn't want to take chances.

As he moved around a small hill on the side of the road, he was very surprised to see a very familiar man in a hood and mask. He also noticed an unfamiliar man with his old friend. He cautiously walked toward the pair and greeted his friend from a far enough distance that the other man wouldn't be able to immediately attack him.

"It is Mask" he said with a hint of happiness in his normally emotionless voice before he turned to look at the stranger "And friend"

Granth had been a split second away from shooting whoever was sneaking up on him when they spoke up. As soon as he recognized that voice, his bowstring went slack as he relaxed his pull.

"Careful, Red," murmured the archer, glancing sideways toward the caravan on the road. "Almost got an arrow for your trouble. Glad you didn't."

"You know the lizard, boss?" asked the other bandit tentatively, lowering his morning star.

Granth scowled at his mook. He wasn't about to waste time stating the obvious, but his glare gave Boris confirmation enough... as well as another sign to shut up. The archer looked back across at Red.

"Looks like my lucky day, Red. You got here just in time to help me with another job," mused Granth as he turned back to watch the caravan. "Got about a dozen tribals milling about down there, give or take. King's Valley types; human. They're carrying a lot of valuables, and I think it's only polite they share. So, here's the plan. We-"

Granth's strategizing was interrupted by a sudden series of roars coming from across the way. Out from the marsh darted black shapes, long and lean and low to the ground, with writhing tentacles trailing behind them. They were headed straight for the caravan with murderous intent. A couple teleported to the horse leading the first wagon and simply tore it apart before any of the tribesmen could do anything about it.

"Lunala's pit! What in the Hells are those?!" whispered Boris, unable to tear his eyes away from the terrible scene.

"Displacers," muttered Granth, assessing the situation. "Might work out in our favor. They're smart critters, but they ain't here for the goods, just the meat. We can let them do our work for us and loot the caravan so long as they don't notice-"

Granth's was interrupted yet again, this time by a displacer beast teleporting directly above him and crashing down on his chest with its claws. The creature's sharp digits sunk into his shoulders, and Granth snarled in anger and surprise. It was about to bite his head off when a spiked mace swung into its side, sending the beast crashing away.

Boris had done his job. Granth reminded himself to give him a bonus. Forcing himself up to a knee, Granth held his bow sideways and took aim at the panther-like monstrosity as it shook itself and recovered, then let fly his arrow right in between its eyes. The creature's head was pinned to the tree behind it.

"New plan," Granth grunted, staggering up onto his feet. "We are killing every last one of those monster cats. We're not leaving until we've got a half dozen black pelts!"

Suffice it to say Granth was angry.

At Granth's words, Xalmann turned to run toward the fight, ready to take down the beasts and assist his old friend. He was surprised though, when he suddenly felt a presence behind him. After witnessing what had just happened to Granth, he threw himself to the side and swung with his tail. He felt an impact and heard an angry roar of pain from behind, but he also felt the stinging pain of the beasts claws raking across his side. The cuts were shallow, thankfully, just damaging the scales and not the flesh beneath them.

These displacers were strong and their teleporting ability was going to be trouble. He turned to look at the displacer that had attacked him and saw its jaw dislocated. His tail had hit it hard in the face. It looked furious at him. Xalmann pulled out his dagger and battle axe from the sheathes on his belt. His red scales started to glow as if they were made of hot metal and the area around him became noticeably warmer.

He charged at the angry beast and swung his battle axe for its next. The beast dodged his attack, leaping to the side before swinging another claw at his side. Xalmann threw himself to the side again, dodging it by a hair's width. In that moment, a slight triumphant smile peaked through his stoicism.

The beast let out a pained roar, its paw burned from the heat of his scales, the smell of burnt fur in the air. It would have difficulty using that paw now, stripping it of some of its fearsome agilility thanks to the painful burns. It kept the paw off the ground, unable to put its weight on it, and looked at the Lizard in front of it, more furious than ever.

---

Prehensile Tail
Heat Cloak

Once again, Boris came in with his morning star, catching the displacer beast Red was facing. The spikes dug into its flank, and the beast staggered away from the blow, clearly weakened.

"Red's got this one!" Granth snapped over at Boris, waving the thug after him. Boris obeyed, hefting his mace up and rushing after Granth.

The archer didn't go very far. He took up position just in front of the hill he was on, standing near the top behind a tree. There were four more displacer beasts down below. A couple of unlucky men had been killed, but the rest of the tribal merchants had retreated into their wagons and were trying to fend off the monsters with their daggers and staves. It wasn't working too well for them. The lead horses had already been slain, and if action wasn't taken, the other horses would go down as well.

Granth wasn't worried about saving everyone, of course. He was just fighting out of spite. Those displacer beasts attacked him first, and he didn't let slights go unpunished.

The archer loosed an arrow out at one of the beasts, then a second one in rapid succession. The first arrow struck the creature in the side, and as it turned toward the threat, the second slammed into its neck. It heaved out for breath, then collapsed onto the ground, dead.

Unfortunately, the other displacer beasts were not so easily slain. Two of the creatures began darting up toward Granth, and when he fired a third arrow, they simply teleported at that very moment, appearing behind him. Boris came in swinging again, but this time one of them distracted him from the front while the other darted around and snagged his leg with its teeth, biting down hard. The bandit fell and began to scream, and another displacer beast by the caravan took notice and started looking Granth's way.

As one displacer began mauling Boris with its tentacles and paws, the other nearby cast its hungry gaze on Granth. But the bandit glared right back at the creature, fury in his eyes, and the beast actually cowered.¹ It backed away, clearly starting to feel doubt about its course of action.

Granth raised his bow, preparing to shoot again. He really hoped Red's fighting skills were as good as he suspected they were.

---

Abilities Used: 1. Banner Lord

The severely weakened displacer beast was easy to finish off with a chop of Xalmann's battle axe to its neck. He was almost a little disappointed that Mask's friend had interfered with his battle. He had wanted to show off a little bit. Show Mask just how much he had grown as a warrior since he had last seen his friend. Though, the pain in his side reminded him he still had a long way to go. This was no time to brood over something so insignificant though, he thought to himself as he turned again to the battle that was still going on nearby.

He saw Mask's friend on the ground, being mauled by one of the remaining displacer beasts, the other standing close to it and glaring at Mask. The fallen man was probably a goner, but he decided to try his best to save the friend of his friend. He charged toward the fallen man. He was careful not to pass too close to his Mask as he passed him and burn his friend.

However, once again he felt a chill down his spine as a third beast suddenly appeared behind him. He turned around, swinging his tail reflexively, but this beast managed to avoid it. He punched out with his axe hand toward the beast, it moved back just out of the range of his fist. However, it didn't expect the burning heat radiating from the Lizard to make its breathing difficult, slowing it down. It also didn't expect the sudden chop sideways of the axe in his hand. The axe buried itself into the side of its head and it fell to the ground, dead.

Xalmann immediately pulled the axe free of the beast's skull and flung it at the beast that was still ripping into the large man on the ground. Blood flew off of the blade as it spun in the air, sailing straight into the beast's forehead. It stopped tearing the man apart and fell down on top of him, dead.

The din of battle reached a crescendo. Beasts screamed and roared, Boris yelled for help, and the sound of sizzling flesh and an axe doing its bloody work broke the evening air. Granth's bow was raised to let loose another shot, but Xalmann came onto the scene with a vengeance, smashing and chopping through three displacer beasts in rapid, brutal succession.

Granth glanced behind him. The creature that he'd spied moving after him was gone. The fighting down by the caravan came to a stop. The bandit king frowned. That couldn't be the end of the fighting. There were more beasts lurking, repositioning. That much was certain.

Nevertheless, there was a lull in the combat, however brief it was going to be. Xalmann probably needed a breather, and Boris needed medical attention immediately. Letting him die would be wasteful.

"Keep watch, Red," Granth commanded, stepping over toward his fallen goon. He removed his hip flask from his belt, pipping the cork off and eyeing Boris's wounds. They were pretty bad, but not the worst Granth had seen. He'd seen men up and fighting with worse... men like Red, actually.

Still, Boris had done his job, and Granth repaid loyalty in kind. He wiped away with a wet cloth at the wounds, then used a little of his brandy to try and cleanse them. Boris yelped in pain as the booze burned over the slices across his body, but Granth paid the pained noises no heed. He knew what he had to do.

"Ain't someone always bleeding out when we talk?" Granth joked, flicking a brief glance over at Xalmann. He chuckled, then focused his eyes on the lizard beneath him. "You got better at fighting since we talked. Wish you'd taken me up on that offer, but I don't plan to tell nobody how they're supposed to get revenge."

Granth finished cleansing Boris's wounds, then applied a basic pain-numbing salve to the wounds. It wasn't miracle medicine or anything, but hopefully it would get the big man back on his feet. Then he just started bandaging the man in a hasty fashion, more worried about being quick than being thorough. After all, there were displacers nearby.

"Get the feeling we're being hunted now," Granth added quietly as he helped Boris to his feet. "Only saw one more of those things, but I'd reckon there's probably another two or three we didn't spot. These magic panthers are damned sneaky."

Xalmann wanted to retrieve his axe from the head of the dead beast and help the fallen man, but the battle was not over. He knew this was only a momentary lull in the action. He had to keep his guard up. Had to keep his scales hot. He could not approach the injured man without just causing more harm to him. He kept a slight distance from the two, not wanting them to be affected by the heat that he was radiating.

Xalmann glanced at Mask as they treated the fallen man's wounds. He kept an eye out on their surroundings, wary of more beasts suddenly appearing. He looked at the wagon that the beasts had attacked. He saw many people cowering inside it, clearly terrified of the beasts.

One of them made eye contact with him and let out a yelp of fear before retreating farther back, behind some of the others. Perhaps they were more afraid of him now than of the beasts. His tail brushed across the ground, making a sizzling sound. Some of the people in the wagon whimpered and retreated farther in. He decided to ignore them for now, turning his attention back to watching for the beasts.

"Yes. I have grown since we parted ways" He said before putting on a slight smile. "I see you have replaced me. But they are not as strong a warrior as me" he said, the joking tone in his voice barely audible. "And now you save their life. I am jealous" he said with a hiss-like laugh. "My axe" He said, pointing a claw toward the axe that was still embedded in the dead beast's forehead and holding his hand out.

"Replaced you?" repeated Granth with a scoff, shaking his head as he picked his bow up and nocked an arrow. "Not in the least. My offer still stands, and will stand. Ain't too often talent like yours crops up."

Boris, meanwhile, managed to tug the axe out of the beastly corpse next to him. It splintered the monster's bone as he dislodged it, and the maceman grimaced before holding the bloody axe out to the Last Bloody Axe.

Granth, meanwhile, returned to scanning the surroundings for traces of the beasts. Their teleportation abilities and their keen intellect made them particularly dangerous. Catching them by surprise was difficult. The group was forced to react... Granth frowned.

The marksman tugged his mask down and brought his fingers to his lips. He whistled sharply, then tugged his mask back up.

"Help's on the way," Granth muttered to his companions. "Let's find and finish off the-"

Without warning, a pair of displacer beasts appeared behind Xalmann, clearly ready to punish him for slaying their kin. Granth's reflexes were quick, however. He launched an arrow right into the side of one as it leapt for the lizardman, sending it tumbling but not slaying it. The other, however, he couldn't react to in time. It dropped right down at the lizardman with a fierce roar.

Granth would've tried to shoot the beast anyway if a third didn't pounce him from behind.

The archer fell face-first onto the ground, his quiver's contents spilling out into the mud. Boris was too busy crushing the life out of the wounded displacer beast and avoiding its lashing tentacles to help his leader. Granth could feel claws raking against his back and hot saliva dripping against his ear. He grabbed an arrow off the ground, and then-

And then he heard a crunch as black hooves cracked the skull of the displacer beast open like a melon. The beast's weight slipped off of him, and Granth looked up to see his loyal, fiery-maned steed pounding the monster to death with its fiery hooves.

The displacer beast dropped directly onto the surprised Lizardfolk, crushing him beneath its massive frame. It stood there, a look of triumph for having avenged its fallen allies before it suddenly let out a pained roar and jumped away. Its entire underside was horrifically burnt, its injured legs struggling to support it. The smell of burnt fur and flesh was thick in the air.

Xalmann rose with a pained groan. His body ached from the sudden compression, but it was nothing compared to the pain he had experienced before. He stood up and faced the displacer beast, axe and dagger in his hands. He was a angry and more than a little embarrassed that they had caught him so off guard. He should have been focusing on his surroundings instead of cracking jokes with his pal.

He glanced back at Mask, seeing they were safe thanks to the flaming steed. He saw the hoof-shaped scorch marks leading back the way the horse had come and looked down at his own trail of scorch marks in the dirt. He smiled a little as he noticed the similarity, but quickly became serious again as he turned his attention back to the beast in front of him.

He charged at the beast, swinging his axe. However, the beast suddenly vanished. He looked around for it rapidly and spotted it behind Mask's friend, about to pounce on the unsuspecting man. He threw his dagger at the beast while charging toward it. The dagger sank into the back of the beast, making it cry out. Boris, now aware of the threat behind him, turned and smashed his mace into the beast's face. It collapsed, its life clearly ended.

The very last of the displacer beasts was crushed. Granth panted, catching his breath as he regarded the carnage around him. The fight was finally over.

Granth took a moment to retrieve his fallen arrows before standing up. Carefully, the archer stepped over the bodies of the displacers, counting each one and then double checking to be certain. There were eight of the beasts in total. Some were badly damaged, and others... others he could make a tidy profit skinning. There'd be a little money to be made out of the mess to be sure.

The caravan, of course, still had to be dealt with. Granth hopped up onto the saddle of his dread steed, then looked to his companions.

"Let's have a chat with the merchants down there," the archer said coolly. Then he turned his wicked-looking steed toward the wagons down on the road and approached them with his bow in hand.

Granth's appearance inspired more fear than it did trust, but the bandit king didn't care. The cowled, masked brigand regarded the faces staring out at him from the wagons, hands clutching their weapons tightly as they stared at his fiery steed. The bandit snorted, then called out to the nomads in a firm tone.

"Is this how you thank your saviors?" the bandit demanded, throwing his hand up as he regarded the merchants. "I would have thought tribesmen from the valley would show a little more gratitude for good deeds!"

The caravanners shifted uncomfortably. It was true; they had just been rescued. But they didn't feel comfortable admitting such to a villain. Still, one of them spoke up.

"We can offer little as reward," the woman began to argue.

"Don't lie to me," the bandit replied sharply, narrowing his eyes. "You're merchants if I've ever seen 'em. Willing to bet you've got some goods out of Gazablaak to offer as a thank you. Or is the honor of the tribes just a myth?"

Making it a matter of honor had exactly the effect Granth expected it would: it made the tribesmen indignant. They were a people bound by their superstitions and their codes of honor, wrapped up in tradition more than pragmatism. Still, the woman stood her ground despite the mutterings of her kin, and she answered Granth firmly:

"We can only offer little as reward," repeated the woman, "because my husband, the caravan master, was taken by those beasts. It is his decision to dole out recompense for good deeds."

The bandit frowned behind his mask. What he'd thought was going to be a simple enough task became more annoying by the second.

"Alright," Granth muttered to himself. He raised his voice once more and demanded, "Where did the see the creatures take him, then?"

"East and south, off the road," answered the woman, gesturing with her hand toward the darkest parts of the Black Bog.

Granth frowned deeply, then looked over at Xalmann and Boris.

"Pile up the bodies," he told them both. "We'll have the tribesmen watch over our kills while we fetch the woman's husband."

Xalmann pulled the dagger from the back of the dead beast while Mask spoke with the merchants. The fight was over now. He let the heat fade, his scales returning to their normal red hue. The air around his skin stopped rippling from the heat. He faced the man he had decided to refer to as "Mace". He sized the man up. They were one of Mask's allies, just as he was. He wanted to be on friendly terms with the man whose life he had saved twice in such a short time. Still though, he thought Mask had higher standards. Perhaps this man was just like the Goblin from back then. Just here to serve a purpose. Perhaps he had been the same before he had proven his strength, his value. He was not good at idle conversation. He didn't know what to say to Mace, so he just stood there silently.

He turned to Mask and nodded when he heard him order them to pile up the bodies of the dead beasts. He walked around the dead displacer beast he had been standing over and grabbed it by the hind legs. The beast was far too heavy for him to move on his own, even if he was fairly strong. He looked at Mace, waiting for the man to grab the other side and assist him in moving the beast. The two moved the bodies into a pile, close to the wagon. Once that was done, he walked over to Mask and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Mace is badly injured. He will not fight well. He should stay. We will go" he said to him. "Like before" he added with a slight smile.

"He's roughed," Granth mused, nodding in agreement. "No point in wasting good men. The beasts went in the same general direction as my camp. We'll leave him here, grab another fighting lad or two, then get back on the trail of the beasts and collect our payday."

There was another reason that Granth wanted to return to the camp. If they were going to go after the displacer beasts, they were going to need to track them down somehow, and they weren't going to be half as easy to find as merchants on the road or a lost goblin in the swamp. No, they were going to need a proper tracker... and Granth had just the tracker in mind, the perfect beast to catch a beast.

Boris, for his part, was grateful to have a break. He was badly wounded, but he'd survived and proven his worth. He'd recover, too.

"I'll make sure these hicks don't try running off on you, boss," the maceman said quietly.

Granth nodded in answer. He didn't need to speak. Boris had figured out how to be useful despite his injuries. There was no point in directing him further.

Without another word, the archer started riding his dark horse away, keeping at a pace which Red could easily follow.