The Wizard Killer - Season Two

Episode 2

Reaching the top of a sand dune, I finally see the end of the eternal, white beach. About a hundred yards away, it changes to burnt, brown land but with a road. This feels better; roads are always good.

Putting my hands over my eyes to shield them from the sun, I spot a few big tents a ways down the road. They look like the type you'd set up and stay in for a while, maybe weeks.

Squinting at the landscape, I shake my head. The tents are colored; one looks blue, another red. Who the yig puts up a sign that says 'Hey, come over here'?

I snap my fingers. Traders would. Making my way, another thought hits me. Bandits would put up tents like that, too. A big old trap saying, 'Hey sucker, come over here and give us your goods.'

Hmm. Still, it's a bit of civilization. Rolling my aching shoulders, I grunt. If I walk away from this with some information, goods, or a bloody workout, I'll consider it a win.

Rubbing my parched throat, I squint up at the sun. "Mind not killing me off just yet? I've got some things I'd like to do."

Nothing.

The sun's a brutal friend and a worse enemy.

As I walk, the heat mirages keep messing with me, making me think I've found water. You're a real kinpak, sun, you know that?

I stop, my eyes shifting about. Kinpak? I scratch my cheek and look around, as if I'd find someone whispering words into my ear, but there's nothing. Maybe I'm just going crazy. That'd be a relief.

My body's hurting from head to toe as the last of the effects from the short sword's magic wear off. Thankfully the scavengers didn't know how to give a real beating, as my ribs aren't as bad as they could have been. Though, knowing my luck, someone's going to make up for the scavengers' shortcomings. Maybe I should shoot everyone I come across, just to be safe. Glancing at my pistol, I'm sure it agrees.

As I make my way, the wind picks up every now and then, throwing dust in my face. Several times I stop, certain I've heard something, but all I've got are the lonely, rolling hills staring back at me and a plume of smoke in the distance, westward.

I finally get close enough to make out that there are three tents, their flaps rippling in the wind. They look a bit worn from here.

The blue one's the smallest of the three, the dark red one's next, and then there's a large beige on on the far side. They're setup in a crescent, probably with a fire pit in the middle.

As I walk up, a shiver runs through me and my attention is stolen by the tent flaps. They're oddly shaped, uneven... actually, they only go a few feet up and, come to think of it, there's too many of them. A decent tent has one or two if they've got an open side, these... something's not right.

I straighten up and scan about, renewing my grip on my mana-pistol. If there were traders alive, they'd have sewn those tears up. It's bad for business to look like you're poor or desperate, or worse, been raided.

Taking a deep breath, I rub the stubble around my mouth. So what's going on?

Checking that nothing's behind me, I keep going.

As I cautiously approach, my eyes are drawn to dark spots around the torn flaps of the blue tent. About twenty feet out, it clicks in my head: They're blood stains. Looking over, the red tent's got them too.

Can't I find a place where people attack me with beer? There better not be ghouls here. I yigging hate ghouls.

I take a deep breath and try to feel around inside me. My chest feels normal, almost numb. I don't know if that means I have some mana stored up or not. I guess there's only one way to find out.