Ksaindar

Harrick entered the nearly deserted town. A small battered sign hung from a post by one rusty nail. On it read "Ksaindar", presumably the name of the town. Ignoring it, Harrick moved through the massive stone gates into the center of the city. What once had been a prospersous village filled with thousands of souls was now a ghost town, with only a handful of people remaining. Harrick could only guess why this had happened as he looked about himself at the ruin that once had been a great city. Slowly, his eyes drinking in every detail, he continued down the worn and dusty path that might have passed for main street long ago. Later, he passed a small shrine to some unknown diety. A man, haggard and thin, was sitting on the steps, weeping quietly into his hands. When Harrick moved toward him, the man looked up with mad eyes, babbling incoherently. At lenght, the man seemed to run out of energy and sat back down on the steps, resuming his weeping. Harrick, shaken but determined, continued on the path. Meanwhile, in another part of this barren metropolis, Chalan woke up. Looking about himself, he sniffed the air hopefully. His diet had been scarce, since most of his food had gone. Exactly how was unclear to him, but he didn't really care. All that mattered was gathering something so that he could survive the night. Moving out into the open from under what might have been a dumpster, Chalan lifted his snout up and sniffed the air again, this time unsure. Had he smelled something different? Yes... yes! There was someone alive in this town- someone who was untainted! Saliva dripping from his grinning jaws, Chalan bent over and began running toward the source. By this time, Harrick had nearly walked the length of the town. Hearing a scuffling behind him, he whirled to confront a beast that seemed to have appeared directly from his worst nightmares. Chalan, standing now in his hind legs, stood ten feet tall. Covered with fur, and with eyes that glowed with a subtle green spark, he grinned through a mouthful of razors at his prey. Harrick moved back instinctively, which was the only thing that saved him from having Chalan wear his intestines as suspenders. Chalan's filthy claws came within an inch of where Harrick had been standing, cutting the air with an audible hiss. Harrick, while having been prepared for the unexpected, had not been this prepared. Again, acting more on instinct than any conscious thought, Harrick stepped back and brandished his staff like a sword. Chalan made a gargling noise that may have been a laugh, and stepped forward, intent on crushing Harrick's head. Harrick, praying that there was some power left in his staff, swung the oaken cane with all the strength he could muster. It connected with Chalan's skull, cracking it with a report that sounded like gunfire. Chalan lurched forward, fell to the ground, twitched, and moved no more. Hurriedly, Harrick regained his staff (he had dropped it from the shock of the impact) and walked toward the gates where he had entered the town. Halfway there, his courage finally collapsing, he broke into a run. He passed rapidly through the stone gates that had marked his entrance and did not stop running until Ksaindar was out of his sight, where it would stay for as long as he lived.

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