A great bird glided above the forest. Yellow eyes searched the ground below for prey. A slight kick from its rider reminded the beast of where she was going. Ahead was a lagged mountain range that rose from the earth like teeth. Situated somewhere in the middle was the village of Zantaric, home of the infamous Vharzyym.
It was this that had drawn Kerrigan here. All around since he had arrived on the strange continent he had heard whispers of an army, of an inevitable war, of the Vharzyym. If these men were indeed the ones to instigate a war, then he was going to become one of them. So, with thoughts of bloodshed filling his mind Kerrigan urged Scree onward. He was low in the saddle, his feet firmly planted in the grooves at the bottom and his hands gripping the thick feathers of her nape. His bare chest was comforted by the familiar feeling of sharp and soft beneath him.
Scree let out a cry, she had seen something ahead. Kerrigan searched out with his mind and saw it, as mall village right where it was meant to be. Zantaric. It seemed that the old man who had told him how to get here wasn’t lying after all, shame he killed the old fool, oh well. As they neared the village Scree took a few mighty wing beats and then angled herself towards the town. Her wings sliced through the air as the descended, Kerrigan leaning to one side to keep his balance. They circled above the village, deciding a place to land. He was tempted for a moment to have Scree pluck up a man in the street and devour him, just to make a point, but thought better of it. Instead he opted for a spot on the edge of town, just at the border of the woods.
Scree touched down lightly, tiny trees crunching under her weight. He dismounted and gazed about. No one had seen them it seemed, that was good. He opened up the slit in the side of the saddle for keeping a few items and produced a black hooded robe. He pulled it over his arms and pulled up the hood. It concealed his face and fell to an inch above the ground. With a motion he sent Scree to go wait in the forest, and she stalked off into the darkness of the trees. She disliked being separated from him; because of their bond she always was very protective. He could be as headstrong as a newborn chick trying to fly too early.
Kerrigan slipped between houses until he reached the main street. People were bustling about, trying to get in last minute chores before the sun gave out to darkness. The shadows were already becoming long and an orange sun cast an orange glow about the place. Kerrigan crossed his arms and ducked his head, completely shrouding himself. This would render any man blind, as the hood was draped low over his face, but Kerrigan’s ‘sight’ was not impeded by any such physical barriers. He was more than most could comprehend. He saw a man in his house counting his money, pilfered probably. He saw a child sneaking wine from his father’s cellar. He saw a pretty maiden taking a bath…hmmm. Everyone was naked to his gaze, stripped down to their very soul.
A man passed him in the street wearing some sort of uniform. A large V was emblazoned on his uniform, so Kerrigan stopped him and said, “I seek the Vharzyym, can you direct me to them?� The man only grunted and moved on. Resisting the urge to strike the insolent worm down where he stood Kerrigan moved onwards. He asked other people as he went, some ran away to whisper in others ears, some were struck by fear, and some whispered threats and warnings to leave. All of this was very odd, but he would not be deterred. So he walked down the street, presumably heading towards the town centre, asking all along his way.
