Epic Quest

This was my first real attempt to write a novel back when I was in college.  I actually had more than this written, but it's been lost.  I doubt I'll ever revisit this, but you may find it an interesting read none the less.


Part 1


Crenshaw
1

Thomas Thatcher woke up screaming as he shot upwards into a sitting position. His head jerked back and forth, frantically scanning the area. He was in his room again, alone. It was nothing more than a bad dream. Thomas couldn't remember what it was, but judging by his current state; Thomas ventured to guess that it was both vivid and horrifying. His sheets were soaked with sweat, his heart was racing, and each breath he took was only a quick short burst that didn't come close to filling up his lungs. Thomas took a moment to let his heartbeat slow down and decided not to give the dream anymore thought. It was too early and Thomas' head hurt too much to think about anything right now.

It was hard to tell what time it was. The room, which seemed to be spinning in every direction at once, was dimly lit by what little sunlight shone through his blinds. Thomas guessed it was probably late morning, still too early to be awake.

Raggal dak tomm baka

"Shut up, stupid frakking ghosts," Thomas said as he rubbed his temples. The language was ancient and long dead. As far as Thomas was concerned, it was just gibberish.

It was a phenomenon Thomas had become all too familiar with since he had moved out to Crenshaw a month ago. It was a side effect of living in such close proximity to the Deadlands. From what he had seen, Thomas was the only one who suffered from this particular side effect. It was either that, or everyone else did a much better job of covering up the discomforting feeling of having another person's voice inside his or her head.

Many nights were spent awake because Thomas couldn't tune out the voices. There were times when the voices were even accompanied by visions that bombarded him the second he closed his eyes. Always gory and macabre, the visions got so extreme that Thomas was sometimes unable to sleep for days afterwards.

Thomas took a minute to catch his breath and let his heart rate slow down. The voices persisted, something that didn't help with the headache he was sporting at the moment. Going back to sleep wasn't an option, but that didn't mean that he couldn't just lay here for a couple of hours.

The voices finally dissipated and granted Thomas silence. His head was still pounding, but at least one problem had resolved itself. Ironically, Thomas had always been skeptical when it came to the mystical nature of the Deadlands. In his mind, they were nothing more than tall tales, stories that parents told their kids at night before they put them to bed. The land itself was, of course, real and most undoubtedly perilous. Many who ventured out into the Deadlands never returned, that didn't mean that there was anything supernatural afoot. Aside from magic, which had been proven to exist through the existence of hundreds of mages, most supernatural concepts seemed ridiculous. The Deadlands were certainly not cursed; that was nonsense.

Some, on the other hand, took the legends quite seriously. A few days after Thomas had moved in, an old man with ragged clothes and a beard that hung down to his waist approached Thomas. The stranger introduced himself as Saul and claimed to be Thomas' new neighbor. Saul had dozens of stories about the Deadlands. Most of them were stories that Thomas had already heard, while others were completely new. All of them, old and new alike, were written off by Thomas as senile ranting. Having experienced their effects first hand, Thomas had reconsidered his position. There was, most definitely, something wrong about the Deadlands.

It took awhile, a long while in fact, but Thomas mustered up the strength to crawl out of bed. He overestimated the stability of the floor, which had now slowed from a rapid spin to a state of mild wobbliness. The strength in his legs had also been given more credit than they deserved. The combination resulted in Thomas' attempt to stand ending in total failure. Thomas made it to his feet, only to feel his legs give out. He fell backwards as he let out a "whoa".

After a thorough eye rubbing and a few seconds of shaking his head back and forth, Thomas' eyes focused, making everything in the room clear up. Granted, all he could see was the ceiling, but it was no longer blurry and clearly visible now. Not only that, but the room had finally come to a complete stop. Thomas knew from experience that the effect always wore off given enough time, but it still pleased him. He made another attempt to stand and climbed to his feet, success! He didn't fall down this time. Now he was ready to start the day.

First things first, those damn blinds needed to be closed. The light, while dim, was not something that Thomas was ready to deal with quite yet. It was odd, he mused; despite the appearance, ale had absolutely nothing to do with his current state. Or did it? Thomas couldn't remember and, quite frankly, the details weren't important. What was important was the dry feeling Thomas had in his throat. This would not do at all. Thomas started to stagger towards the door, knocking aside the piles of clothing that lay scattered all over the floor.

Thomas pushed the door open. Past it lay more of the same mess that lay in the room behind him. The only difference was that, in place of clothing, garbage covered the floor in the hallway. The mess, at this point, was beyond his ability to clean. For a long time, he had managed to maneuver through the house without having his bare feet come into contact with any of the garbage. Now, it was impossible. Thomas was beyond the point of caring.

Thomas made his way to the kitchen. It had the same signature decorative style as the bedroom and the hallway. The sink was filled to the brim with plates and glasses that had pieces of food stuck to them. He walked over to the sink and gagged from the stench coming from it. He reached in and pulled out a glass. It had spots on it, but it was probably the only glass that didn't have some strange unidentifiable substance caked onto the bottom of it. Thomas pulled on the faucet's knob and poured himself a glass of water, nice brown water.

By the standards that Thomas was used to, the water was pretty good. It was brown, but the texture was right. There were several instances where the water looked more like sap then water. Thomas only left the faucet on for a moment before he turned the knob back. The glass wasn't even half full, but it would be enough to quench his thirst for now. He raised his glass in a silent toast before he tilted his head back and started to drink. Brown water was nothing new for Thomas, but it still took a lot of will power to swallow without gagging. He tried not to think about it and just get it down, but it wasn't easy. Small pieces of dirt were palpable as the liquid went down his throat. Thomas still managed to drink it with little fuss.

There was a faint knocking noise. Thomas thought that whoever was out there must've just tapped on the door with his or her finger. He paused to see if the noise continued, silence. It was probably just his mind playing tricks on him. The theory was proven wrong when the tapping sound resumed, louder this time. It was clearly audible. Thomas put the glass in the sink and headed for the door.

He opened it to find nobody there, just an empty porch and eerie silence. Thomas looked down to see a small piece of paper on the ground. It didn't look like garbage, on the contrary, it was neatly folded and had Thomas' name written in big block letters on the front. Thomas bent down and picked it up. It was then that Thomas realized that he was still in his sleepwear. He shot back up and closed the door.

Thomas took a brief look at the piece of paper before he tossed it onto the small table that sat along the wall near the door. There was no hurry to read it. Thomas figured that if it was really important, the stranger would've talked to him in person rather than resorting to leaving bizarre notes. If not that, then the person would've at least labeled it as "Urgent".

"Eh? What the?" Thomas said.

He picked up the note and unfolded it. The handwriting was very plain and unusually legible. The handwriting style was the same as it was on the front of the note, only in plain print. It read,

Dear Thomas,

I have some business that I must discuss with you as soon as possible. Please come to Harold's Tavern at nightfall.

A Friend

"Well, that's not too cryptic," Thomas muttered to himself as he crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it on the floor; where it was assimilated into the large pile of garbage that was already on the floor.

It was hours before nightfall. Thomas wasn't sure if he was going to meet this so called friend. Though Thomas had never actually been to Harold's, he was well aware of its reputation as a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Only the lowest of the low went there to drown their sorrows with potent ales and herbs, legal or otherwise. Thomas knew that if he went, he would stick out like a sore thumb. On the other hand, it would be rude just to stand the person up without hearing them out first. If it was some psychopath, they could have just broken in and killed him. The note was superfluous. There was a better chance of it being some secret admirer, and even that was a stretch.

Thomas thought it over before giving himself the answer. "Sure, why not?" He said.

Thomas rubbed his eyes and headed back to his room. He walked in and nudged the door behind him. The door swung closed. It didn't click completely, but it was enough. With that taken care of, Thomas took two quick steps to get a running start before he took a swan dive onto his bed. In seconds, Thomas was asleep.




Part 2



2
Strange dreams haunted Thomas in that brief nap. Not really dreams, they were more like a series of quick flashes, random images and scenes that lasted only a few seconds. The first was a group of small children, each with bright blond hair and blue eyes that almost seemed to glow. There was another image of a strange figure in a black cloak. Other images came and went but they passed by too quickly for Thomas to discern them.

Many of the scenes were of a macabre nature. In one, Thomas was impaled; another one showed a man Thomas didn't recognize being eaten by some creatures that were clearly not human. The unknown man screamed in agony as he was overwhelmed by the strange humanoids. Thomas was forced to watch as the man was disemboweled and consumed.

There was a bright flash and Thomas suddenly found himself in a desert, sitting in front of a small campfire. Across from him, another man sat with his legs crossed. The man appeared to be deep in thought. He was middle aged with a neatly groomed beard and mustache that was starting to turn grey. The man's eyes were bright blue. Unlike the children's, the man's eyes were not unnerving. On the contrary, they were comforting and conveyed a sense of wisdom.

"Hello," the man said amiably.

"Hi," Thomas replied as he raised his hand in a half hearted wave. "Do I know you?"

"You will, but when that time comes, I certainly won't look like this," the man said with a chuckle.

"When that time comes, care to be more specific?" Thomas asked.

"Nothing doing."

"Why?"

"Why not?" the man asked, raising his right eyebrow.

Thomas shook his head in confusion and paused. He got the feeling that this man, whoever he was, wasn't going to give him a straight answer anytime soon.

"You see? Chaos is the key to victory," the man said.

"Victory to what?"

"You'll know in due time. When that time does come, you must remember what I told you," the man replied.

"Chaos is key to victory; got it. I have no idea what we're talking about, but it seems like an easy enough thing to remember."

The man tapped on his temple with his right index finger twice and then pointed to Thomas with a grin.

"I know that you're lost, but I assure you, all will reveal itself in time. Right now though, you need to wake up," the man concluded.

There was another flash and Thomas woke up, falling off the bed in the process. Thomas got up and
quickly brushed himself off. He took a quick look around and played it off as if he fell on purpose. It was on odd measure, as there was no one around.

Light was still shining through the window, which meant that Thomas hadn't slept through his rendezvous at the tavern with the mysterious note writer. Thomas walked over to his closet and swung the door open. Despite being filled to capacity with boxes and other items, there were no clothes. It wasn't a major problem; it just meant that he had to go into his clothes bin and recycle something.

Most of the shirts that Thomas dug up had conspicuous stains on them. It took a couple of minutes, but Thomas finally found a shirt that was passable. It had the logo of a band called "The Moody Vampire Boys". Strange, he didn't remember buying that shirt. Stranger still was the fact that he never listened to their music. Despite this, Thomas threw the shirt on along with an old pair of slacks. He grabbed the first two shoes he could find and headed out towards the tavern.




Part 3


3
The streets of Crenshaw were eerily quiet. The various houses and markets that lined the streets were empty. The makeshift stands that normally filled the sidewalks, giving the populace easy access to cheap trinkets, were nowhere to be found. Even the elves had vanished and they were notorious for constantly wandering the streets to peddle their cookies. The skies were completely desolate, no sign of any birds or avians flying around. There wasn't a sound, everything had gone dead silent. If Thomas didn't know better, he would've said that Crenshaw was completely empty, a ghost town. Could it have been evacuated for some reason? No, that couldn't be it. Thomas knew that he was reclusive, but even he would've known if something of that magnitude had occurred. Even if evacuation were the case, it wouldn't have explained the absence of life in the sky. Birds, after all, were not known to adhere to evacuation laws.

The voices struck again. Thomas didn't bother trying to discern what they were saying. He just did his best to tune them out and ignore it. As far as he was concerned, it was just incoherent gibberish anyways.

As Thomas got closer to the tavern, he started to hear noise again. Nothing supernatural this time, actual living beings. The sound was faint at first, but it was comforting to know that Crenshaw wasn't completely abandoned. As he passed the local archive, the noise elevated from faint sounds to clearly audible incoherent mumbling and drunken attempts to sing.

Thomas finally came to the door to hear the sound of a glass shattering and something large hitting the wall. It was perfect timing, mere seconds before he opens the door to walk in, a brawl breaks out. As Thomas pushed the door open, he saw that the brawl in question was still small and contained in the far corner of the bar. Rather than the massive dog pile that Thomas had envisioned in his head, the fight in question consisted of nothing more than a large man pinning another against the wall and punching him repeatedly in the stomach.

The more immediate issue, something Thomas discovered upon entering the building, was how he was going to endure the horrid stench that permeated the dimly lit room. Thomas couldn't place it exactly, his house had smells, but this put even the worst odor his kitchen could concoct to shame. The best guess he could come up with was that the smell was a combination of alcohol, body odor, vomit and death.

It was abundantly clear that Thomas didn't fit in here. Every patron had massive forearms as large as, if not larger than, Thomas' head. Tattoos and scars covered their forearms, necks and faces that were clearly visible, even from a distance. Thomas snuck over to a nearby booth and sat down, doing his best not to be noticed. All he could do now was hope that the mystery person showed up quickly.

A middle aged waitress came by and asked if Thomas wanted anything to drink. The job had clearly taken its toll on her. Her face was ragged and bags were growing underneath her eyes. The expression on her face hinted at a surliness that she was trying very hard to keep suppressed. Her hair was up in a net, but that didn't stop it from being disheveled.

Thomas replied, saying that he was fine with just water. She walked away, mumbling something that Thomas couldn't make out. It sounded obscene. Thomas waited, staring at the table intently. He made sure not to make eye contact with anyone. A limerick was carved into the table, but he didn't bother to read it.

It hadn't been long, but Thomas already found himself glancing up repeatedly at the clock that hung on the wall behind the bartender. The hand had barely moved; this was going to be a long night.

The waitress came back and put a glass of water on the table and left without saying a word. The water was brown, though much lighter than the water that Thomas got at home. The cleaner state of the water was negated by the large insect that sat floating on top of the water just below the rim of the glass.

"Great," Thomas muttered to himself as he pushed the glass away.

Twenty minutes passed before Thomas saw somebody he recognized walk in the door. With the mangled hair and beard that hung down to his waist, Thomas immediately recognized the man as his neighbor, Saul. Two people followed behind him. Thomas wasn't sure who they were or what they had to do with whatever was going on. Both were extremely muscular. One had long blond hair and was slightly taller than the other, who had shaved his head and had several scars covering his face and arms. Thomas guessed that similar scars covered the man's body as well.

The trio saw Thomas and approached him. The blond sat next to Thomas, forcing him to scoot over as the other two sat down on the other side of the table. Saul sat across from Thomas and the bald man sat across from the blond.

"Good afternoon, Thomas. I am glad that you showed up," Saul said as a smile appeared on his face.

At that moment, something clicked in Thomas' head. He had seen that grin before, but not on Saul. It couldn't have been though. The eyes, yes the eyes were very similar to the ones that the man Thomas spoke to in his dream had.

"What's the matter boy? You look like you've seen a ghost," said Saul.

Thomas snapped back into reality. "What?"

"I said I was glad that you showed up and you just sat there with a blank look on your face. You did not even breathe; it looked like something spooked you."

"Oh, right. I've been kinda out of it lately. I've been zoning out left and right. It's fine though, me coming I mean. I didn't really have anything else on my plate and I was curious as to what the note was about," Thomas replied. "Who are these guys?"

Neither of the two seemed to be paying much attention. The blond man simply stared at the table while the scarred man sat back and rested his hands behind his head. His eyes wandered from the ceiling to the waitress who served Thomas. The fact that she wasn't all that attractive didn't seem to matter.

"These, my boy, are your compatriots. They will accompany you on an epic quest," Saul answered concisely, still with that bizarre grin on his face. "The man who sits next to you is known as Karok, a great warrior and a master swordsman. The man seated to my right is a former soldier, Sergeant Steve Lewis; though he goes by Sarge."

The man Saul referred to as Sarge grunted in supposed agreement. Karok remained focused on the table as Saul continued his explanation.

"I have selected you, along with this pair to embark on a journey to stop the mad wizard Kul," said Saul. The smile left his face and the tone in his voice became graver.

Thomas' eyes widened in shock. Of all the things he was expecting to hear, this was the last on his list.

"Kul's dead. He died out in the Deadlands after that big battle 7 years ago," Thomas replied.

"No my boy, Kul lives. You have most certainly read the texts about it. Kul and his brother Eros battled an army of the best mages the guild had. The duo nearly won. Eros was killed in that battle. Kul destroyed the few remaining wizards in blind rage and fled into the Deadlands. Many believed that he perished out there, a fair assumption as those lands are perilous, even for a warlock of Kul's caliber. No one heard from him since, so everyone figured he died. I have, however, sensed a great and dark energy coming from far beyond those cursed lands. I am certain that it's Kul," Saul said.

Thomas was speechless. He sat there for what felt like an eternity.

Something stunk, both literally and figuratively. Thomas couldn't place it, but something about this whole setup seemed off. Still, a rush of adrenaline was surging through his body. His heart was racing. Thomas took a deep breath.

"Alright, assuming Kul is still alive, what's he planning?" Thomas asked.

"Alas, that I do not know, but it is imperative that you go there and stop him. From what I have sensed, you would have to cross not only the Deadlands, but travel through the Jungle of Perdition and enter into the Chasm of the Damned. It is in the caverns of the aforesaid chasm, that I believe Kul is hiding," said Saul.

"Sounds fun," Thomas replied. "Wait a minute, no disrespect to your colleagues or anything like that, but a hundred of the best wizards this kingdom had couldn't take this guy down. How exactly do you expect the three of us to do it?"

It took a hundred to battle the two of them. You need only face one, the weaker of the two I might add. I assure you that these are no ordinary men. They are the best of the best. I have provided the muscle, now all they need is you," said Saul.

"Why?"

"Let's just say that you have a certain something...an I don't know what," Saul answered.

Something didn't feel right about this. The whole operation seemed harebrained. Still, it was a fascinating idea and Thomas was rather curious.

"There's got to be someone better fit for this than me. I can't hold a job and I'm an academy dropout. I appreciate the offer, but I have to pass," Thomas said.

Thomas started to slide over to leave. He looked at Karok, expecting him to move. The warrior sat still. Thomas' only option was to slide under the table.

Before Thomas could make his way down, Saul continued talking. "You sell yourself short Thomas. The things you list as shortcomings are fickle in the long run. If you continue to think in those terms, you will become what you fear most. I'm offering you a chance to prove both society and yourself wrong, a chance to ascend to something most people only dream of, something you never thought possible."

Thomas stopped and looked at Saul. "And that is?"

"Legend, Mr. Thatcher."

Thomas' concentration was broken as the brawl, which evidently was still going, hit new heights. Thomas had completely forgotten about it. The conversation at the table was far more interesting. Still, it bought him some time to think. No amount of time would be enough to process what he had just heard, but more was still better than none. On the one hand, the mission was suicide and there was the chance that Kul wasn't even out there. Then again, if it was true, and Kul was still alive, then Saul was right in his assertion that Thomas would become a legend.

Thomas looked at Saul, whose eyebrows had risen in eager anticipation of Thomas' reply.

'You know, for a crazy old man, you sure do drive a hard bargain," Thomas said.

Saul smirked. "It's a gift. So does this mean you're in?"

"A trip through hell and back to stop an all powerful warlock, sure what the hell? Count me in," Thomas finally said.

"Excellent!" Saul exclaimed as he clapped his hands together. "We will rendezvous here tomorrow; the
three of you will take Lewis' airship to the border of the Deadlands and proceed from there on foot."

"Wait, we have an airship? Why don't we just fly there and save ourselves time, which I'm guessing we don't have a lot of." Thomas asked.

"What're you crazy kid? You want us to die before we even get started? Ships don't work out there. The instruments go all screwy, the engines die and you crash. I don't know why it happens, but trust me, it does. We have to go through on foot." Sarge answered as his attention snapped back from the waitresses to the conversation at the table. "Though you are right about us not having a lot of time. We're gonna have to haul ass if we're going to stop that freak."

"Precisely," Saul chimed in. "So everything is settled. We will meet here tomorrow at dawn and the three of you will embark on your journey. In the meantime, I suggest you go home and rest. You will want to bring supplies and weapons as well."

Thomas wasn't even sure he had any weapons. He just nodded, trying to make it seem like he was ready. He hoped that the other two were armed well enough to make up for his lack of armament. Although, what good would weapons do against a warlock of Kul's caliber?

The trio got up and made their way to the door. The fight appeared to be settled. Thomas watched as the three left the tavern. He waited a moment, and then followed suit. If he never had to go into Harold's Tavern again, Thomas was sure that he could die a happy man. It was an eerie thought to have given the circumstances he was now in.



Part 4



4
The walk home was slow. Although the idea of such an adventure and becoming a legend seemed exciting at the time, the weight of what he had just agreed to was finally starting to sink in. Thomas suddenly wished he had ordered something stronger than water back at the tavern, a nice potent ale perhaps. It was too late now, and there was certainly no way he was going to turn around and go back.

The eerie silence that haunted the streets when Thomas was walking was still present. He didn't mind it so much now. It gave him the luxury of zoning out without worrying about bumping into other people.

Despite walking as slow as possible in order to give himself time to think, Thomas eventually made it past the abandoned buildings and markets to his house. He stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath to put himself in the right state of mind.

Just walking into his house was a fool's errand. The smell was overwhelming when you first entered, even to Thomas. He opened the door to find a large insect come out of hiding and scurry past his foot.

Thomas ignored it; he needed to go back to sleep. Thomas stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind him. He drudged over to the couch and with one sweep of his arm, cleaned the garbage off the couch. He plopped down on the couch and managed to doze off within a few seconds.

It was a short-lived nap, much to Thomas' dismay. It wasn't the voices, as it had been so many times before. As easy as it would've been to blame them, Thomas woke up simply because he fell off of the couch. The ensuing thud of his body hitting the floor was enough to jolt him back into consciousness.

"Go figure," Thomas muttered.

It was probably for the best, he did have to pack. He lurched over to the closet and nudged the door open. Some papers, along with a small box, fell out. It took a minute of rummaging for Thomas to find his travel bag. It wasn't very large, but it would serve his purposes just fine.

Bag? Check, clothing? Thomas thought about it for a second, deciding whether or not he should bring extras. He was going to be travelling through a desert and a jungle. The clothes he was wearing should be fine. They were loose and light. Food and drink were the higher priority; extra clothes would just weigh him down. Thomas grabbed the bag and headed towards the kitchen.

Finding food supplies was easy enough. Thomas needed only to clear out his pantry for that. Most of it was canned goods; finally being too stubborn to cook for himself had paid off. He grabbed several cans randomly and tossed them into the empty bag. There wasn't any logic to it when Thomas did stop. He was sure to leave room for drinks. Water was just as important as food, given the climate of the Deadlands, probably more so.

Thomas put the bag down on the floor and walked over to the cooling unit. He opened it, thinking that there would be something to keep him hydrated. There wasn't much. He was down to nothing but some old milk and a bottle of ale. It didn't matter; Thomas could buy water from one of the local merchants for cheap.

With that, Thomas closed the bag, picked it up, and headed out to the foyer. There was only one more thing that needed to be taken care of, finding a weapon. If used creatively, Thomas knew that anything could be used as a weapon. The problem lay in the fact that nothing he had would do any good against someone like Kul.

Thomas rummaged through his house for over an hour. The only thing he had found was an old slingshot. It wasn't even a very good one, a cheap toy he had received as a child. It was a Y-shaped stick with a piece of elastic stretching across the top with a small pouch where the shooter placed the stone. It certainly wasn't much, but it was all he had and it was better than nothing. Thomas' aim was never spectacular, but he would have to make due. As a fallback, Thomas went back into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest butcher knife he could find.

He had everything he needed, except water. That could be gotten later. Thomas went over to the travel bag and put the knife and sling inside. He went through a mental checklist. Outside of water and some stones for his sling, both of which could be acquired en route to the airship, he had everything he needed. That meant just one thing; it was time for a nap.

Much to Thomas' delight (had he been conscious to experience it that is), the voices stayed quiet. For the first time in a long while, Thomas slept peacefully. He dreamt of returning to Crenshaw after the epic battle with Kul. King Arden had rewarded him with a cart full of gold coins and had a professional team hired to clean his house. The dream was cut short when Thomas fell off the couch. His head hit the hard wood floor with a thud. He screamed and cursed as he shot back into consciousness and held his head in a futile attempt to stop the throbbing.

It had gotten dark outside, but Thomas wasn't sure what time it was exactly. He assumed it was close enough to dawn that he might as well leave now. If he was early, he was early. As long as the tavern was empty, Thomas had nothing to fear. He got to his feet and grabbed the bag. Hard as it was to part with the pile of trash that was his house, Thomas managed to walk out the door with little fuss. As he closed the door, he took a quick scan of the area to see if he could find any stones. He was only able to find a small handful, but it would do for now. He picked them up and put them in his pocket.

The walk to the tavern had been a stark contrast to the one that Thomas had taken a few hours earlier. It was not even dawn yet, but merchants were already setting up their shops. Thomas saw a group of elves walking from house to house, leaving fresh samples of their cookies on the doorstep. It was a common tactic the little bakers used to get people to buy their goods. An elf waddled over to Thomas and handed him a cookie. He was waist high and wore all green. His brown hair was brushed to the side and a large smile covered the lower half of his face. Thomas accepted the cookie and thanked the elf. He couldn't help but chuckle as the elf let out a giddy yelp before starting to skip down the street to the next house.

Thomas looked at the cookie. It was wrapped in clear plastic and sealed with a large red bow. He pondered over whether he should eat it now or save it for later. Thomas unzipped his bag and slid the cookie under the flap before reclosing it. He wasn't starving. Besides, the cookie could come in handy later.

Even from a distance, Thomas could tell that he was not the first one to reach the tavern. Out in front of the tavern, in the middle of the road, sat a conspicuously large jet. Three people sat outside of it, leaning against the wall of the tavern.

When Thomas made it over, Karok and Sarge both stood up. Saul simply sat with his eyes closed. The old man was running his fingers through his beard as if in deep thought. All three of them looked at Saul, expecting him to get up. Saul didn't. Kark nodded an acknowledgment and even Sarge grunted.

"We're all set. You just gotta load your stuff on the plane and we can head out. Hope you got enough supplies, water especially. You'll need it trekking across the Deadlands," Sarge said.

"Water, crap, I knew I forgot something. Hold on one second I'll be right back," Thomas said as he bolted towards the nearest merchant.

Fortunately for Thomas, merchants were in abundance in this particular part of town. Thus, it was a quick run. Thomas reached into his pockets and grabbed all the money he had. He handed it to the clerk and asked for as much water as the money could buy. The man nodded and pulled out five large canteens. They were solid brown and equipped with straps for easy carrying. Thomas grabbed them, put his bag down and reopened it. He tossed the canteens in with his other supplies and reclosed the now crammed bag. He picked it up and ran to rejoin the others.

"You're off to a good start kid," Sarge joked.

Thomas didn't respond. Instead, he just went over to the cargo hold on the side of the plane and tossed his bag in. As Thomas looked in, he noticed there wasn't much. It was odd, given the length of the journey. Aside from his bag there were only three others. Each one was large and filled to capacity. In addition to those, a pair of swords lay in sheaths against the wall. Beside them, there was a large assortment of firearms. Thomas would've been ashamed, having only a slingshot, but he had seen this coming from the very beginning. The others hadn't seen his arsenal, so luckily he wouldn't have to take any grief for it yet.

Sarge came up and slammed the cargo door shut and made sure it was secure. The three of them walked onto the airship. The interior was quite impressive, larger then the outer hull led them to believe. Most airships appeared huge, only to have tiny cabins. The rest went to the engines, a thick hull, and weaponry should the owner wish to have it. Sarge's somehow went in the other direction. The seats were cushioned and there was plenty of legroom. Karok sat in the first seat on the left side of the ship and strapped himself in. Thomas took the seat across the aisle and did the same. Sarge's pilot seat was up closer to the nose of the plane and centered between the two chairs. Sarge started up the ship and they soon took off.

No one said anything for most of the flight. Karok stared out the window and Sarge focused on piloting the ship. Thomas followed Karok's lead, sitting quietly in his chair and staring out the window.

As the craft got closer to the Deadlands, the voices started up. It was only whispers, but Thomas still took it as a bad sign. Between the demonic voices and the quasi-omnipotent warlock that waited for them at the end of their trail, there seemed to be little to look forward to.

The ship began to shake. It started as mild turbulence, but soon grew more and more violent. Thomas was thankful that the ship's straps were as secure as they were. Even with those, the violent shaking was getting bad. A sharp jerk threw Thomas' head slamming into the wall.

"Ow! Son of a..." Thomas yelled as he grabbed his head and massaged it, trying to ease the throbbing pain.

"We can't stay in the air like this. I'm taking her down," Sarge yelled back to them.

Karok, oddly, wasn't fazed. He simply sat there with his eyes closed. His hands held on to the armrests, but he wasn't clutching at them the way he should've been.

Despite Sarge's best efforts to stabilize the landing, the shaking only got worse. When the ship did hit, it hit hard. Even Karok let out a grunt as they collided with the ground. The ship continued to skid while Sarge appeared to hit every button and pull every lever trying to slow them down. The endless sea of sand dunes that made up the Deadlands was visible through the front windows. They had, at least, made it out of Crenshaw.

The ship started to slow down, and eventually, came to a complete stop. Though the ship had stopped, it took several seconds for everything around Thomas to stop spinning.

"Nice landing," Thomas muttered.

"Bite me," Sarge snapped.

"We should go. We have a lot of ground to cover," Karok added out of nowhere.

Thomas' jaw dropped. After all this time, it turned out the warrior could talk. Sarge didn't seem to take in the significance of what had happened the same way Thomas did.

"He's right," Sarge said.

With that, the trio got up and de-boarded the wrecked ship. They walked around to the cargo hold and Sarge opened the door. The cargo seemed undamaged; it wasn't even displaced. Everyone grabbed their respective bags and gear. Thomas peeked into his bag just to make sure that the canteens hadn't leaked; they hadn't.

Sarge claimed two of the other bags, in addition to the pile of guns. Sarge had brought two revolvers, a machine gun, and another weapon that Thomas didn't recognize. It looked more advanced than any weapon Thomas had seen and much larger too. Sarge holstered the two revolvers. Like Karok's blades, the other two guns were equipped with straps. The machine gun hung off of Sarge's shoulder while the other unknown weapon hung behind the soldier's back.

"What is that thing?" Thomas asked.

"This? This is a laser pulse rifle. I built it myself. This baby can level a frakkin' house. I figured we could use all the firepower we could muster."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Thomas said perplexed.

"My own design, very cutting edge."

As Sarge and Thomas discussed firepower, Karok got his own things in order. He put the sheath straps to use and hung them off his back. The swords formed an X on his back with the sword handles sticking up behind his shoulders for easy access.

"Everyone ready?" Karok asked.

Both Thomas and Sarge looked at him and nodded. With that, the three began to walk towards the Deadlands.

It was a short trip from the crash site to the border of the Deadlands. The division between the normal land and Deadlands was obvious as it formed a perfectly straight line where fertile grass became dead, useless soil.

All that lay ahead of them was a never-ending plain of sand dunes. Off in the distance, Thomas saw something burst from the sand. It was only a silhouette, but the thing, whatever it was, was gigantic. The sun, hovering above the horizon, made it difficult to discern what it was. It seemed to be cylindrical in shape and wasn't interested in staying above the ground. Rather, it popped out, only to plunge back into the sand.

The process took a few minutes. Thomas the creature had to be at least a hundred feet long. Both Karok and Sarge joined Thomas in watching the tail of the creature disappear beneath the sand.

"What...what was that?" Thomas asked.

"That, is a creature called the sand worm. It's one of the many friendly inhabitants that we're likely to run into on this little stroll. Welcome to the Deadlands, kid," Sarge answered as the three looked on into the vast desert.