《Of Things Man Made [A Dark, Dystopian, Scifi/Fantasy Series]》 Episode 1: Camp Keldarn ¡°Please!¡± A shrill voice cried out in the distance. Welsh had barely laid down when the plea hit his ears, causing his adrenaline to immediately surge. He swung open the door to the sounds of desperate whimpering. He looked to the left. Then sharply to the right. It wasn¡¯t uncommon¡ªjust one of many distressing noises that carried through the camp. These cries, however, were familiar, and the distant screams made Welsh¡¯s nerves rattle with frustration. He hurried between the decaying log buildings of the camp. Like the other camps of the empire, Camp Keldarn was enclosed beneath a large purple dome that shimmered high above. But in its own way, this camp was different. Above the dome, the sky was perpetually dark and streaked with flashes of yellow and red lightning. This gave the dome a much darker, blood-red hue compared to the others. As Welsh drew closer to the noise, he noticed they were high-pitched and gravelly, occasionally breaking into sharp squeals followed by pitiful whimpering. He huffed in frustration, his blood pumping fiercely throughout his body. He had recognized the source of the sounds¡ªsomeone was using Lonnek as a ball again. Lonnek was a lesser who worked the grounds of Camp Keldarn¡ªa pathetic little creature, even by lesser standards. Small and round, he barely stood two feet tall, with stubby arms and legs. This made him the perfect target for Rotundran soldiers and elites. In their downtime, they would regularly hunt him down and play ¡°Lonnek Ball¡± at his expense. Unfortunately, there was little he could do to defend himself from those who wanted to kick him around the camp, but he did have one thing going for him¡­ He was Welsh¡¯s friend. Often, those harassing Lonnek would walk away when Welsh approached, but he could now make out Lonnek¡¯s assailants, and Welsh realized this situation wouldn¡¯t be so simple. Standing in a triangle, a Rotundran elite and two soldiers were kicking the poor lesser back and forth. Lonnek¡¯s greatest gift was his ability to take a beating, but just because his body could absorb a kick didn¡¯t mean it didn¡¯t hurt just as much as it would for any other creature. ¡°Argh!¡± Lonnek wheezed as one of the soldiers punted him. He sailed clear over the head of his intended target and toward Welsh. Welsh lifted his hand into the air, catching Lonnek as gently as he could. ¡°Don¡¯t you have anything better to do, Ro¡¯Noke?¡± Welsh asked, setting Lonnek down close to his side. Ro¡¯Noke laughed and turned to face Welsh. Like many of the other elites, Ro¡¯Noke was a ruthless and vicious beast. He had a grotesque appearance, with a ghoul-like face and leathery green skin. His legs were relatively short, but his arms were long and muscular, nearly dragging the ground when he walked. ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t Welsh,¡± Ro¡¯Noke said, pressing his knuckles into the ground to make a quick turn. ¡°We were just having a bit of fun, weren''t we?¡± he added, directing his attention to the lesser. Lonnek, still stumbling from his most recent beating, remained quiet. ¡°Leave him be. I¡¯m sure Keldarn could use you somewhere else,¡± Welsh said, splitting his attention among the three Rotundrans. The two Rotundran soldiers, unwilling to test their strength against the elite, stepped aside submissively. Ro¡¯Noke, however, had no intention of backing down so easily. ¡°Your sympathy for these weak and feeble creatures will get you killed, Welsh,¡± Ro¡¯Noke said. ¡°Just like me, you were born to be an elite. You have an empire of entertainment at the tip of your claw. You can play with what you want. You can eat what you want. You can kill what you want.¡± He leaned back on his small legs and stretched his arms out wide in a display of power. Unimpressed, Welsh watched Ro¡¯Noke with contempt. ¡°Kill anything I want, huh?¡± Welsh took a large step forward. ¡°Maybe I should start with you.¡± Ro¡¯Noke immediately looked to his two companions, trying to gauge their reaction to the threat. Rotundran soldiers were strong, but they were smaller, less skilled, and less gifted than their elite counterparts. Occasionally, a soldier would be brought up from the soldier rank¡ªor rarely, from the lesser rank¡ªbut it didn¡¯t happen often. Having been born a lesser himself, Welsh was an exception to this rule. He had a reputation the soldiers didn¡¯t want to put to the test. Seeing that he would get no help from his allies, Ro¡¯Noke laughed, clearly uncomfortable. ¡°Welsh,¡± he began, flexing the muscles throughout his long, limber arms. ¡°I would squeeze you so hard, your bird beak would pop off.¡± Welsh answered immediately. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure you could,¡± he muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡± Ro¡¯Noke shook his head, still sporting a condescending smile. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for you, Welsh. Like you said, Overseer Keldarn probably needs me.¡± He turned and walked away, stepping between the two soldiers behind him. They fell in step behind their comrade, and Welsh could hear Ro¡¯Noke scold them for their lack of initiative. Lonnek had mostly regained his composure and sat down next to Welsh in the dark, ashy mulch. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Thank you again, Welsh. How many times is this now?¡± Welsh sighed. ¡°Too many to count. Are you hurt?¡± Lonnek shook his tiny head. ¡°No. No, I¡¯m okay. You just kind of get used to it. It¡¯s just a matter of time until one of these beasts kills me.¡± ¡°Not as long as I¡¯m around,¡± Welsh said reassuringly. Lonnek smiled. His chubby cheeks balled up on each side of his small face, but the smile soon faded. ¡°Hey, Welsh,¡± he began, ¡°Why are you so different from the others?¡± Welsh had spent most of his life pondering this question. It wasn¡¯t just his looks that set him apart. His temperament and treatment of others simply didn¡¯t match Rotundran doctrine. For one, he was a beetle eater, with a diet primarily focused on insects, and did not feed on the flesh of humans. But this alone didn¡¯t explain it. Other beetle eaters were among the ranks of the cruel and sadistic. Perhaps it was his mistreatment as a youngling that had given him something the others lacked: empathy. Welsh had always considered himself different from many of the other Rotundran Elites. As a youngling, he had been teased relentlessly for his appearance. While most Rotundran members had skin in various shades of green, Welsh¡¯s body was covered in rock-hard scales that shimmered with every color of the rainbow. Additionally, where most reptilians had a snout or a mouth, the lower half of Welsh¡¯s face was concealed behind a large, yellow beak. Welsh reached to his face and gently touched his beak. He used to hate it. While his multicolored scales certainly set him apart from other reptilians, it was his beak that truly made him stand out. It was well known that birds had once covered the planet and soared through the skies, but they hadn¡¯t been seen in centuries. He could vividly remember other young reptilians calling him names- his free hand clenching in frustration- and even threatening him. Fortunately, Welsh hadn¡¯t heard those insults in years. He may have been considered an oddity or a weakling in his youth, but not anymore. His once-meager yellow beak had grown into a lethal weapon, capable of severing limbs and impaling foes with ease. Welsh looked down at Lonnek who still waited for an answer. An answer he didn¡¯t have. He came from humble beginnings, but now, he lived among the Elites of the Rotundra. His living quarters were a rather large log cabin, which, by now, consisted primarily of wooden logs that had begun to rot. At times, he would run the tips of his claws over the darkened areas of the structure, only to watch the wood crumble into tiny particles, resembling dirt. He would then snort in disdain and shake his head. Why were the Rotundra, the most powerful organization in the world, so content to watch everything decay around them? Regardless, he wasn¡¯t well liked. Unlike many of the others, he had no taste for blood or brutality. As he wandered the grounds of Camp Keldarn, fellow Rotundran Elites would pass him, their minds filled with slurs and insults¡ªbut few dared to say them to his face. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Welsh responded. ¡°If you figure it out, will you please tell me?¡± Lonnek chuckled, his voice cracking with high-pitched gasps. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll do that.¡± Just as Lonnek finished his sentence, the duo heard tiny footsteps tapping through the rich, black earth. They both turned in unison to see a tiny Rotundran elite heading their way. ¡°Great,¡± Welsh said, keeping his eyes locked on the creature. ¡°It¡¯s Soralees.¡± Soralees wasn¡¯t your normal elite. Where many elites were large, muscular beasts, Soralees was neither of those things. He was a tiny little creature, not much taller than lessers like Lonnek. However, there was a reason he was an elite. Size had nothing to do with what made him such a dangerous foe. Unlike the others, he didn¡¯t rely on his strength. Instead, he used blinding speed and razor-sharp claws to deal his damage. Only a few creatures in the empire could rival his dexterity. In addition to being obscenely fast, he had the unique ability to squeal at a pitch that would render most creatures completely incapacitated. It was during these intermittent squeals that he would dart in and out of close range, ripping and shredding his opponents piece by piece. ¡°Welsh,¡± Soralees said quietly, nearly in a whisper. ¡°You¡¯re wanted by the Overseer. He has a job for you.¡± Soralees¡¯ voice was deceptively quiet. His beady eyes, which bulged from the sides of his head, twitched and shivered whenever he spoke, a side effect of his powerful voice. He struggled to maintain the volume needed to carry on a conversation. Welsh regularly took small groups of human slaves on expeditions to gather timber. From the blackened earth, disfigured trees grew randomly throughout the camp. These trees¡ªcalled deadrot¡ªwere at the center of Camp Keldarn¡¯s economic well-being. They had multiple trunks that sprang from the ground, leading to limbs that were devoid of leaves year-round. Like the earth around them, the deadrot trees were black and appeared perpetually in a state of dying. After thinking for a moment about his instructions, Welsh nodded and asked Soralees if the chopping site was close. The elite shook his head. ¡°Not so much,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s in The Orchard.¡± Lonnek gasped, whipping his head up to see Welsh¡¯s reaction. Welsh did nothing. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked in the direction of the slaves¡¯ barracks. ¡°And why are we venturing back into the orchard?¡± he asked. ¡°I hear it has been overrun by Korvis. Have they been dealt with?¡± ¡°No,¡± Soralees replied bluntly. Welsh clenched his fists in frustration but mostly maintained his outward composure. There were many dangers lurking in the world, even for Elites like himself. Groups like the Kil¡¯torie had become more daring as of late, especially in the tunnels throughout the southeast quadrant of the empire. In his quadrant, however, the Korvis were among the gravest threats. Unlike the Kil¡¯torie, who were intelligent and cultured, the Korvis were primitive and savage. While most reptilians fed on humans, there were others who fed on beetles or special forms of vegetation. The Korvis were neither of these things. They were cannibals who fed on other reptilians. They were mostly small and weak, but they were relentless and would gladly sacrifice dozens of their tribe to take down one large elite: it would feed their tribe for months. Korvis attacks were rare, but there had been reports of sightings around the orchard. It was a threat that shouldn¡¯t be dismissed out of hand. ¡°Why is the Overseer so interested in deadrot from the Orchard? There¡¯s other timber that needs to be harvested¡ªtimber that doesn¡¯t involve potentially fighting your way through a Korvis horde.¡± Soralees turned and began walking away. He was always short on words, not wanting to maintain the focus needed for a reasonable volume. ¡°Ask him yourself,¡± Soralees muttered quietly as he returned in his previous direction. Lonnek, who had remained quiet throughout the conversation, looked at Welsh with concern. ¡°It¡¯s been a few months since Tonnik went missing. We may be firmly within their hunting window. Are you going to go?¡± Welsh crossed his arms, still watching Soralees creep away. ¡°Orders are orders,¡± he said before looking down at his friend. ¡°So, of course I am.¡± He paused for a moment, then added, ¡°And you¡¯re coming with me.¡± Lonnek was startled. ¡°I am?!¡± ¡°I need you. You can sense the Korvis can¡¯t you?¡± Welsh reasoned. ¡°Besides, would you rather stay here with Ro¡¯Noke and the others?¡± Lonnek sighed, paused to weigh his options, then responded, ¡°...I¡¯ll go prepare,¡± he said grudgingly. Episode 2: The Overseers Hall Welsh stood still, gazing solemnly at the most elaborate building in the camp. It was a long, wooden structure adorned with carvings along the trusses, representing the king of Keldarn¡¯s camp, to whom he was loyal. Welsh reached back and rubbed his neck in an attempt to relieve stress. There was a good reason to fear the Overseer; he was among the most powerful beings in the world. Welsh would need to choose his words wisely. He ran through his options in his head. Why would the Overseer be sending him into the Orchard? The fact that the Rotundra didn¡¯t do much to protect those subservient to them was well documented, but they weren¡¯t wasteful. There had to be a reason he was being sent¡ªone that Welsh couldn¡¯t quite wrap his head around. After a moment¡¯s thought, he forced his right foot forward and approached the door. Before opening it, he paused, leaning close to listen. Footsteps were clearly making their way toward the door. Welsh took a large step back to make room. The metal hinges were rusted and produced a nasty hiss as the door opened inward. A roaring fire pit in the center of the hall emitted smothering heat that rolled out of the room and into the evening air. The creature who exited was not who Welsh had expected. A tall, slender, snake-like female came through the door and immediately noticed Welsh¡¯s presence. She stopped. ¡°Hmmm.¡± She cocked her head to the side in curiosity. ¡°Large yellow beak. Glimmering, multi-hued scales... You must be Welsh.¡± While it may have taken her a moment to discover his identity, he had no such trouble. She was well known throughout the empire. ¡°Overseer Lyssindra. It¡¯s an honor,¡± Welsh stammered, trying to sound as formal as possible. Lyssindra smiled, her eyes narrowing. ¡°I¡¯ve heard about you. It¡¯s quite the rarity to see a lesser youngling rise to elite status. How does it feel? The power. The respect. I would imagine you take great pleasure in your new position.¡± Welsh had never spoken to her before. It was unusual to see an Overseer from another camp roaming around. He noticed she had the unique ability to sound as if she were telling the truth and lying at the same time. ¡°Sure,¡± he said, knowing that was the answer she was looking for. ¡°It certainly has its perks.¡± Lyssindra stepped around him and walked down the steps of the porch they stood on. She took a deep breath before sending her slithering tongue from her mouth. It flicked and waved in the air in front of her before returning. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m sure it does. It¡¯s a shame my business with Keldarn concluded so soon. I¡¯ve always enjoyed the scent of this camp. The deadrot mixes well with the sweat and blood of humans,¡± she said before turning to leave. Welsh watched her disappear up the path behind one of the distant log cabins. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder why she was there. Was it related to why the Overseer had summoned him? Did she have something to do with why he was being asked to venture into the orchard? It didn¡¯t matter, he thought. No use speculating on matters he couldn¡¯t control. He finally turned and opened the door, stepping into the Overseer¡¯s hall. Inside, a wooden floor was lined with pew-like benches leading to the end of the hall, where a raised platform hosted an elaborate chair. It was covered in silks and filled with the soft feathers of animals that hadn¡¯t been seen in hundreds of years. Keldarn stood at the edge of his platform, just before his chair. He looked down on him with glowing yellow eyes. Keldarn was a sand-brown creature who, for the most part, stood with the posture of a human. He had horns sprouting from random places along his body, and his thick hide made it appear almost as if he were wearing plated armor. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Welsh! You¡¯ve finally made it,¡± he said, seemingly excited to see him. The Overseer was an interesting character. His outward persona could fool those who didn¡¯t know him. He seemed welcoming, even friendly at times, but this couldn¡¯t have been further from the truth. Keldarn¡¯s interests were the same as the other Overseers: he would do whatever it took to please the King, even if it meant sacrificing those loyal to him. Being a Rotundran elite had always been a test of morality for Welsh. On one hand, he lived a relatively comfortable life, as most elites did. On the other, he had committed some rather horrendous acts while following the orders of his Overseer. He had to remind himself that he, too, had been the victim of mistreatment and that he had worked hard to make it this far. Sometimes, this helped him sleep at night. ¡°Overseer Keldarn. You sent for me?¡± he asked, trying to sound courteous. ¡°Yes,¡± Keldarn replied, hopping down from his stage. ¡°I¡¯m looking for a brave soul. I imagine you saw Overseer Lyssindra leaving my hall.¡± ¡°I did,¡± Welsh said bluntly. Keldarn strode deliberately toward Welsh, stopping inches from him. Keldarn¡¯s eyes always glowed with a translucent yellow color, but when he stood close, the truth of his eyes revealed itself. Behind the yellow hue, where most creatures would find the white of their eyes, Keldarn¡¯s sclera was perpetually covered in scarlet red blood. ¡°Overseer Lyssindra has requested a favor from our camp. She needs deadrot and has specifically requested timber from the Orchard,¡± Keldarn said, his gaze locked on Welsh. ¡°This is a difficult job. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard the rumors.¡± Welsh nodded. ¡°I have,¡± he said ambiguously, not wanting to overstep by sharing too much information. Keldarn¡¯s eyes squinted, causing the glow between his eyelids to intensify. ¡°The Orchard now seems to be part of the Korvis¡¯ hunting grounds, and we are in need of deadrot from that region.¡± Curiosity made the question Welsh had been mulling over press itself against his beak. He wanted to ask why. Why was the deadrot from that region so important? Typically, when the Korvis changed their hunting practices, the harvesting locations were shifted. He didn¡¯t ask. ¡°And you need me to take a group of choppers into the Orchard?¡± Welsh responded. Keldarn smiled, likely happy the elite didn¡¯t ask questions. Not that it would have mattered. ¡°Exactly. We need an elite capable of harvesting the deadrot while dealing with the potential threat of the Korvis. Do you think you¡¯re up to the task?¡± Welsh knew the question was rhetorical. He didn¡¯t have a choice. In his head, he considered the threat. He had never personally dealt with the Korvis before, but he had heard the stories. He knew how tenacious they could be. ¡°How many deadrot trees will we be harvesting?¡± Welsh asked, knowing the length of the trip would ultimately dictate the odds of a Korvis attack. Welsh was taken aback. A typical deadrot harvest was eight to ten logs. Why was this trip so special? If they were only after one log, it had to mean the harvest was for reasons beyond their typical uses. ¡°One, my Lord?¡± Welsh asked, confused. Keldarn turned and began walking away, explaining as he made his way back to his chair. ¡°Yes. One deadrot from the Orchard. That¡¯s all we need.¡± Welsh paused for a moment, hoping the Overseer would give him a reason why, but it didn¡¯t come. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Welsh replied submissively. ¡°I¡¯ll gather a small group of choppers and leave for the Orchard at first light tomorrow.¡± Keldarn nodded in acknowledgement but then added, ¡°You will not travel alone. I want you to take Soralees with you.¡± It was customary for elites to travel alone with their slaves. Most considered traveling with another elite an insult. Not only did different elites discipline their slaves differently, but it also insinuated that the elite wasn¡¯t capable of handling the job alone. Traveling with Soralees presented a host of potential problems. For one, he, like many other Rotundran elites, was cruel and relentless in his treatment of slaves. Welsh would need to bite his tongue when witnessing the mistreatment of slaves. Additionally, Soralees was considered the ¡°lead chopper¡± and would serve essentially as a spy, more than willing to report the events exactly as they happened back to the Overseer. However, Soralees¡¯ addition to the expedition certainly improved Welsh¡¯s odds of survival. The Korvis had little interest in attacking Soralees. His small stature offered very little in the way of meat, and killing him would be a difficult task. This didn¡¯t even take into account the fact that Soralees'' screech was perfect for dispersing hordes of reptilians. Welsh would tolerate it. As for how Soralees would take it, he wasn¡¯t so sure. Keldarn had a way of focusing his gaze so that you knew when he was being serious, and this was one of those times. ¡°Each of you will take two choppers and head past the Ruined Fields into the Orchard. Once there, harvest the first deadrot you find and return,¡± he said. With that, Welsh bowed his head and turned to walk out the door. Episode 3: The Weight of the Past Lonnek dipped his head in despair. ¡°He¡¯s sending Soralees? You know he sometimes screeches in my ear just to torment me, right?¡± Welsh sighed and rolled his eyes. ¡°Relax. He¡¯ll do nothing of the sort while I¡¯m around.¡± Welsh looked around his quarters. His cabin was modest and was mostly bare apart from a bed and a small wooden table, but it was a castle compared to the meager living quarters most lessers called home. This had been the case growing up. More often than not, Welsh and his mother slept in random rooms found throughout the tunnels that ran below camp Keldarn. The tunnels themselves weren¡¯t exactly safe, but they were secluded and isolated from the Rotundran soldiers who would harass them. Additionally, the tunnels were home to large beetles that could sometimes be found rummaging about: perfect for a bug-loving reptile. This was Welsh¡¯s life until his mother became sick and died. Her death forced Welsh from the tunnels and into the camp where he had to learn how to fight. He had learned well. Lonnek inhaled deeply and sighed, his chubby cheeks shaking as he exhaled, ¡°Did the Overseer say anything else about the expedition? Like how many trees we are expected to harvest?¡± Welsh, seeing the perfect opportunity to mess with his friend, hung his head in shame. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°He did, unfortunately.. Listen, Lonnek, I¡¯m sorry I got you involved in this.¡± He could see the look of terror building in Lonnek¡¯s eyes as he seemingly shrunk back against the wall. Welsh continued, ¡°¡­He has asked us to harvest thirty deadrot trunks.¡± The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Lonnek exploded, ¡°Thirty!?! That will take forever!¡± He wheezed as he spoke. ¡°The Korvis will find us for sure!¡± Welsh laughed, ¡°Relax. We are only harvesting one.¡± Lonnek reached up, placing his tiny hands against his face. ¡°Oh, good.¡± He was relieved but confused. ¡°¡­But only one? They¡¯re sending two elites and a host of slaves to harvest only one tree?¡± Welsh nodded, ¡°Trust me. I¡¯m just as confused as you are.¡± Lonnek stood from the corner of the room, shook violently as if he were trying to dry off, and walked over to the door, ¡°Should I gather the slaves at first light?¡± He asked. Welsh shook his head, ¡°No,¡± he replied curtly, ¡°Soralees will need to be involved. Just wait for us at the barracks.¡± Lonnek turned slowly toward the door with a look that suggested he had forgotten that Soralees would be accompanying them. He then walked out the door and into the night. Silence engulfed the room. It was a sound Welsh was used to. He looked around to his meager surroundings. Aside from his bed and a small table in the center of the room, only a few empty cupboards, shelves, and cabinets took up any space. Most Rotundran soldiers cared little for material possessions. Some collected trinkets, and a few had even started wearing clothes, but it was far from the norm. Many saw clothing, especially armor, as a form of weakness¡ª if you¡¯re hide wasn¡¯t strong enough, you didn¡¯t deserve to win a fight. However, the cabins and other living quarters found throughout the camps weren¡¯t always this bare. At one point, a typically ¡°house¡± would have had a variety of electronic devices found throughout, though no one alive today really knew what they had been used for. The Four Kings had deemed these devices a threat to the empire, calling them ¡°detrimental¡± to Rotundran advancement. As a result, they were rounded up and destroyed. This happened before Welsh¡¯s time, but nonetheless, the inhabitants remembered. Because of this, those who did have an interest in items- trinkets, mementos, heirlooms, etc., often kept them hidden out of fear of losing them. Welsh was no different. He stood from his chair and walked across the room to an old cabinet. It was old, with two doors and intricately carved wooden knobs. He pulled open the right door then slid out a board that served as the bottom revealing a small hidden compartment that he had carved out himself. Inside was Welsh¡¯s only and most prized possession: an ornament handed down to him from his mother. The ornament was only a couple of inches long and was, oddly enough, in the shape of a human. It was silver and covered in a dingy tarnish. The human depicted had long hair that fell in waves across its shoulders and it wore a long flowing gown that stopped at the ankles, revealing only its feet. Additionally, it had large, feather-covered wings that spread out gloriously from its back. Most impressive of all though, was a small, marble-size gem held in the human¡¯s hands which were cupped out in front of it. This gem glowed bright purple and had random waves of white that would streak and swirl within it. Welsh lifted it from the cabinet, and for a moment, he could almost hear his mother¡¯s voice, see her kind eyes watching over him. He ran a claw gently over the surface. It was a practice he did every night before drifting off to sleep. Tomorrow would be difficult. Episode 4: The Predator Among Them An ominous red glare cast itself over the top of the stables, painting the wooden roof. Welsh stood outside, thinking about the sleeping slaves. In a few moments, they would be roused from slumber and mobilized for the expedition. He had gathered them in this same fashion dozens of times, but this time would be different¡ªhe would have to deal with Soralees. Welsh made it a point to treat the slaves decently. Unlike virtually every other Rotundran, he didn¡¯t eat human flesh and had little reason to mistreat them. For others, even those who fed on beetles or rats, projecting power was everything. They would regularly beat slaves for any reason they could find, and more often than not, the reason was fabricated. He knew Soralees did not share his views. It was practically guaranteed that at least one human wouldn¡¯t make it back. Instead, they would end up as Soralees¡¯s dinner. Welsh disliked the idea of eating humans, but he understood it¡ªit was simply the order of things. But the pointless torture and mutilation of perfectly good slaves for entertainment¡¯s sake? That was what he found senseless. Lonnek stood at his side, barely reaching Welsh¡¯s knee. His eyes were closed, and his tiny hands were clasped together in front of him. ¡°Is he near?¡± Welsh asked, looking down at his small friend. Lonnek shook his head. ¡°No. I can¡¯t feel anything.¡± Welsh exhaled sharply. Of course, Soralees was late. As if this assignment wasn¡¯t frustrating enough. While he waited, his thoughts drifted back to Lyssindra¡¯s visit. Why would she need deadrot? A better question: why would she need one specific deadrot? Aren¡¯t they all the same? The Orchard produced the most valuable timber, sure, but in no way¡ªat least in Welsh¡¯s opinion¡ªwas it worth the extra trouble and the threat of the Korvis. Just as he became lost in thought, Lonnek¡¯s eyes shot open. He reached over, tapping Welsh on the knee. ¡°He¡¯s coming.¡± Welsh crossed his arms and looked toward Soralees¡¯s quarters. It wasn¡¯t long before he could make out the tiny elite¡¯s frame emerging from the mist. Welsh glanced down at Lonnek, who seemed to shrink even smaller than usual, hiding behind his leg. Aside from his small size, Soralees had a distinctive gait that set him apart from the others in Camp Keldarn. With each step, his head dipped low to the side, almost as if he had a bad limp. He also almost always moved at the same slow, monotonous pace¡ªa far cry from the speed he was actually capable of. Soralees was deceptively deadly. He had to be only a couple of steps away before Welsh and Lonnek could hear his soft whispers. ¡°When I was sent to retrieve you, I wasn¡¯t aware I would be going as well. What¡¯s wrong, Welsh? Can¡¯t handle a single deadrot by yourself?¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Welsh could feel his face burn. He knew Soralees would spin it as though he were the savior and that Welsh was the weak link. As usual, Welsh decided the argument was a waste of time. ¡°Just gather your slaves and let¡¯s get this over with. If we leave now, we should be able to make it back within a couple of days.¡± Soralees never smiled. He always wore that same obnoxious scowl, burned across his face. He leaned over, taking a look at Lonnek, who still cowered behind Welsh. ¡°You¡¯re taking the lesser with you? Ro¡¯Noke won¡¯t be happy when he hears you¡¯ve stolen his favorite toy.¡± Welsh took a small step to the right, shielding Lonnek behind him. ¡°Yes, Lonnek is coming along as well.¡± Soralees shook his head in disapproval. ¡°Whatever,¡± he said curtly. ¡°If nothing else, he¡¯ll make a nice snack for the Korvis.¡± Stepping around them, Soralees made his way to the door of the barracks. He was eye level with the handle, reaching up and turning it with his small, webbed hand. Welsh looked down at Lonnek, nodded reassuringly, and followed. Inside, the slaves scrambled to their feet. The sounds of rustling hay and heavy breathing filled the room as nearly a dozen slaves attempted to make themselves presentable. Many had likely dealt with Soralees before and knew exactly what kind of day they were in for. For the most part, it only took the group a few seconds to stand at attention. A hush fell over the room as each slave waited for orders. It was hot inside the barracks, and the light that made its way through the cracks in the walls reflected off the domes of their bald heads. Each of them was shirtless, wearing only a thin pair of brown trousers. Their skin color and facial features were eerily similar¡ªa deliberate breeding tactic meant to discourage individuality. Soralees paced methodically around the room, pausing in front of each slave before moving on. The slaves, utterly terrified of being chosen, avoided his gaze, staring at anything other than him. After having his fun, Soralees stopped in front of a random slave, pointed a sharp claw at him, and said, ¡°You.¡± The slave quivered but showed no sign of resistance. Without hesitation, he turned to gather his tools¡ªa small hatchet and a set of metal pegs used for climbing high into the branches of deadrot trees. Soralees repeated this process, choosing five more slaves before stopping at his final selection. The last slave stood with one knee slightly bent. His lips quivered, and dread was written across his face. He was injured. Soralees pointed at him. ¡°You.¡± Defeated, the slave turned, clearly trying his best to hide his injury, and began gathering his things. He knew what was happening. Everyone did. An elite could get into trouble for eating an able-bodied slave, but an injured one? That was a perfect dinner. Soralees walked past Welsh, looking up at him briefly before creeping out the door. Welsh watched the injured slave. His jaw was tense, his face shaking with pain as he struggled to gather his tools. Welsh wondered what kind of injury it was¡ªa fracture, a torn muscle, or worse. It didn¡¯t really matter. All that mattered was that his right leg was badly damaged, and it was slowing him down. Welsh sighed, feeling sorry for the poor soul. But this was simply the order of things¡­ wasn¡¯t it? Humans were slaves¡ªfood and labor for the Rotundra. It¡¯s just how things were. Lonnek still stood close, reluctant to leave the safety of Welsh¡¯s side. As Welsh turned to leave, something caught his eye. One of the chosen slaves stood clutching his axe and pegs. Unlike the others, who avoided drawing attention to themselves, this one was watching his injured comrade intently. Welsh narrowed his eyes. That was odd. Slaves never spoke to one another. Most weren¡¯t even capable, and to the best of his knowledge, the ones who could ignored each other. With a small nudge, Welsh gestured for Lonnek to move toward the door. The two of them walked out, leaving the remaining slaves in silence. Just as Welsh shut the door behind him, he caught one last glimpse of the strange slave, still gazing at his comrade¡¯s injured leg. Episode 5: Soralees Known as Deadrot Row, the region had deep black soil with no vegetation outside of young or useless deadrot. The area had long been harvested, and any useful trees were gone, leaving behind only small, insignificant shrub-like trees. Welsh walked at the front of the line, with Lonnek sticking close to his side. At nearly seven feet tall, he towered over the line of humans that followed. In the back of the line, Soralees eagerly watched the injured slave who limped along at the rear. The blackened soil was perpetually moist from a small drizzle of rain that seeped through the dome above, and the poor man¡¯s feet sometimes sank into the dirt, becoming stuck. He grimaced and groaned in pain as he attempted to free himself. Soralees¡¯s mouth watered more and more with every sign of weakness. He was patient, however. He would wait until the following morning. By that point, the poor slave would be, quite literally, on his last leg, and he would have even more merit to devour him. ¡°Meals¡± were often chosen by the Overseer. They were typically older slaves whose usefulness had run its course, but injured slaves were also frequently on the menu. For most elites, the tender meat of young slaves was the preference, and it wasn¡¯t uncommon for elites to fight among themselves for the rights to seriously injured slaves. As for the healthy slaves, they were treated very poorly by most elites and were given small rations of rat meat sparingly. Welsh was the exception to this rule. He enjoyed the look on a slave¡¯s face when he was given a double portion of meat¡ªsomething that simply did not happen in Camp Keldarn. With Soralees tagging along, he would not get the satisfaction of charity. ¡°Have you ever been to the Orchard?¡± Welsh asked Lonnek. Lonnek shook his head sheepishly. ¡°No. If I¡¯m being honest, I kind of wish it would have stayed that way.¡± Welsh snickered. ¡°Sorry, friend. I needed you.¡± Lonnek sighed. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know,¡± he said, turning his attention to his fat belly, which shook and jiggled with every step. ¡°You know, even if I sense them coming, I¡¯ll only buy you a few minutes. The Korvis move fast once they attack.¡± ¡°It¡¯s better than nothing,¡± Welsh said, keeping his eyes peeled. Having Lonnek next to him certainly helped calm his nerves a bit. His uncanny ability to feel movements in the earth would prove very useful. A Korvis horde would undoubtedly stir up quite the commotion. Just as Welsh had begun to relax a bit, a loud screech filled the air. Soralees had become irritated with a few of the slaves for not walking as fast as he thought they should. The entire line, including Lonnek, threw their hands over their heads and doubled over in pain. Welsh, whose senses weren¡¯t as keen as the others, grimaced but managed to keep his footing. He honestly wanted to rip Soralees¡¯s head off. As far as he was concerned, the screech was unnecessary. It was a fight, however, that he didn¡¯t want to pick lightly. Soralees would not be so easy to take down. The slaves quickly gathered themselves and quickened their pace, forcing Welsh to quicken his in the process. Soralees had no trouble carrying his tiny body extreme distances. The others weren¡¯t so lucky. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. The group had been walking in silence for over an hour, constantly having to force their feet from the dark depths of soil beneath them. Leaving Lonnek to lead the line, Welsh stepped off to the side to assess the slaves and their condition. He could tell they were tired, but the poor injured slave in the back shouldered most of the burden. His limp had worsened, and his hurt leg was now nearly useless. He dragged it behind him, sometimes having to lean down and pull himself free of the dirt with his hands. Normally, most elites would scold their slaves for their weakness, but not Soralees. He enjoyed watching the poor man struggle and knew that every step carried the slave closer to his death. He couldn¡¯t wait. Having spent his entire adult life as a member of the Rotundra, Welsh had seen his fair share of humans slaughtered. As a matter of fact, he had killed a few himself. Orders were orders. But there was something about Soralees¡¯s sadistic grin and the bright red trickle of blood that poured from the slave¡¯s ear that Welsh couldn¡¯t stomach. ¡°Halt!¡± Welsh said, still standing off to the side of the line. The slaves stopped immediately, and Soralees¡¯s head whipped in Welsh¡¯s direction. He had a disgruntled look on his face. Welsh continued, ¡°It¡¯s growing late, and we are nearing the Ruined Fields. The Korvis have been known to hunt those grounds. We will want to cross them quickly. It¡¯s important we have our strength.¡± Soralees immediately began walking toward Welsh, shoving the poor slave in front of him to the ground as he passed. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing, Welsh?¡± he said, trying to maintain a whisper. Every couple of words, he would lose control of his voice, and a loud screech would pop through, causing the line to grimace. ¡°I just told you. It¡¯s time to rest. Besides, you¡¯ve had your fun¡­¡± Soralees turned and looked at the slave, who was struggling to get back to his feet. ¡°With all of this walking¡­ and stretching¡­ he will be nice and tender, don¡¯t you think?¡± The slave was out of earshot, but a few near the front had to have heard him. Not that they were going to do anything about it. If anything, they welcomed it. If someone else became dinner, they themselves would be spared. ¡°I don¡¯t care, Soralees,¡± Welsh said, turning his attention to Lonnek. ¡°Feed the humans.¡± He then turned and walked away, leaving Soralees fuming. One by one, the slaves sat down, sinking into the soil with their weight. It would be a very restless night, as the perpetually moist soil would offer very little in the way of comfort. Lonnek did as Welsh had instructed. He pulled a few skewers from a large sack. Each had a number of large dead rats impaled across its length. At the very least, the meat had been previously cooked. This had nothing to do with the preferences of the slaves. Instead, it was because the Rotundra had learned the hard way that feeding raw rat meat to humans often led to rampant disease. Who wants to lose an entire horde of livestock? Each slave ate eagerly, knowing this would be the only meat they would see, possibly, for the entire journey. Welsh and Lonnek dined on a couple of plump beetles¡ªtheir food of choice¡ªand Soralees sat leaning against a young deadrot tree. His gaze never left the injured slave, who sat quietly eating his rat. Soralees couldn¡¯t wait for morning; it was when he preferred to feed. As the evening ¡°meal¡± was finished, the slaves turned in for the night. Most of them had the same idea¡ªcurl up in the dirt to preserve as much heat as possible. Luckily, the nighttime air was rather warm. Welsh, who had finished eating as well, watched as Lonnek finished up his last few bites of beetle. ¡°We haven¡¯t yet entered Korvis hunting grounds, but we have to remain vigilant. Will you take first watch?¡± Lonnek nodded. ¡°Of course. Get some sleep, Welsh. I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ll let you know if I feel anything.¡± Welsh patted Lonnek on the top of the head. ¡°Thanks, buddy.¡± He could hear Soralees let out a disgusted snort from the deadrot tree he rested against. ¡°And what about you?¡± Welsh asked. ¡°Will you be sleeping?¡± Soralees didn¡¯t answer the question. Instead, he smirked. ¡°Welsh, this is the only time I¡¯ll warn you¡ªdon¡¯t get between me and my meal again.¡± Without another word, he turned and walked away, pacing some distance before sitting down in the blackened earth. Welsh, his fists balled in anticipation, slowly relaxed. He had very little to gain by killing Soralees¡ªassuming he even could. Lying down in the dirt, he shut his eyes for the night. Episode 6: The Ruined Fields The night had been bitterly dark, which was unusual for the camp. The constant storms that raged overhead, high above the dome, usually lit up the area with glorious flashes. For once, however, things were calm. Sunlight crept through the dome, lighting up the area and revealing the purple energy above, which ebbed and flowed. Welsh rose from his slumber, stood up, and wiped away the dirt that had now dried across his back. He took a moment to take in the purple spectacle above. It was a sight he didn¡¯t get to see very often due to the perpetual storming overhead. The only audible noise rustling through the area was the sound of the slaves who had begun to wake and obediently rise to their feet. Welsh hadn¡¯t asked them to, and Soralees was nowhere in sight. No, they did it due to a lifetime of conditioning. As he watched the slaves come to their senses, the memory of the injured slave and his curious companion came to mind. The previous day had been long and arduous. He was convinced that Soralees¡¯s target would now be so sore he might be unable to move at all. He turned his attention to the back of the line where the injured slave had spent the night, and to his surprise, the man was not only on his feet but showed little to no sign of injury whatsoever. He stood facing forward in line with his hatchet held loosely in his right hand, just like the other slaves. He had seen some slaves heal quickly before, but never within one night. Just one day prior, this man could barely walk, and a gentle stream of blood had trickled from his ears. And now? Now he stood stoically. No grimacing, no groaning, no limp. Welsh was confused and amazed, but above all else, he was amused. Soralees, whenever he returned from wherever he had crept off to, would be beyond mad¡ªhe would be furious. There were creatures in the world who could get away with killing and eating perfectly fit slaves, but he wasn¡¯t one of them. Looks like he would have to settle for a rat. ¡°Poor Soralees,¡± Welsh thought with a chuckle. Lonnek had also risen from his slumber and waddled over to Welsh¡¯s side. ¡°Look,¡± Welsh said, nodding toward the slave, ¡°Did you notice him yesterday?¡± Through sleepy eyes, Lonnek squinted toward the slave. ¡°Yes¡­ I did. He was being groomed by Soralees.¡± Welsh nodded. ¡°And he was in pretty rough shape, right?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ he was¡­ how is that¡­¡± Lonnek began. ¡°Possible? No idea,¡± Welsh muttered, still glaring at the slave, who had now noticed he was being watched and was focusing intently on avoiding their gaze. Lonnek jerked suddenly, placing both hands across his stomach. ¡°Someone is coming.¡± Welsh looked in all directions, fearing a Korvis attack. ¡°How many?¡± Lonnek closed his eyes and tightened his grip on his abdomen. ¡°It¡¯s only one. It must be Soralees.¡± Welsh exhaled in relief. ¡°Damn you, Lonnek.¡± ¡°Sorry, Welsh! Sometimes it takes a minute to figure it out.¡± It wasn¡¯t long before Soralees made his way back to the group. Welsh had no idea where he had been, and he felt no need to ask. Soralees looked at the line from front to back and nodded. ¡°Ready to begin?¡± he whispered. He had no idea that his morning was about to be ruined. ¡°Yes,¡± Welsh said, pointing in the direction they would continue. ¡°The Ruined Fields aren¡¯t far. We will need to be fast. The Korvis have been seen on those grounds. Once across the fields, we will only need to enter the edge of the Orchard to harvest the deadrot.¡± Soralees waved his hand dismissively toward Welsh. ¡°I don¡¯t need the lecture. I know where we are going,¡± he said, ¡°besides¡­ I have more¡­ entertaining business to attend to.¡± Step by step, he sauntered his way to the back of the line. Lonnek and Welsh could feel his eagerness. He stopped by the formerly injured slave and, for the first time, made his intentions clear. ¡°How¡¯s¡­ that leg of yours?¡± he said, looking up and into the eyes of the man. Welsh wasn¡¯t sure if the slave was a mute¡ªmany were¡ªbut if he wasn¡¯t, he chose to remain silent and kept his gaze forward. Soralees then cocked his head sideways and leaned down. He inched his face forward, getting mere inches away from the slave¡¯s leg. It was then that he noticed what had happened. The slave was no longer injured. He jerked his face back and stared in bewilderment. ¡°What¡¯s happening here?¡± he screamed. The sudden pop of his insanely loud voice forced the entire line to cover their ears. ¡°How is this possible?¡± The other slaves were too preoccupied with their own hearing to care about what he was talking about. A savage, primal rage spread across Soralees¡¯s face, and his razor-sharp claws popped loose from the tips of his hands. A few drops of saliva had gathered at the corners of his mouth and dropped toward the ground. He had no intention of changing his dinner reservations. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The slave stood frozen in front of him, still staring forward. He was slightly shaking, and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. For a moment, Welsh considered intervening, but he knew that interrupting Soralees would cause a host of problems, potentially even jeopardizing the mission. He waited for the attack that was sure to come. He knew that, at any moment, Soralees would be atop his target, ripping and tearing. But it didn¡¯t come. Soralees looked in Welsh¡¯s direction and, assuming Welsh would tell the overseer that he had eaten a healthy slave, came to his senses and retracted his claws. He let out one last squeal of frustration, which caused the line to jump, before walking away. Welsh laughed silently to himself before motioning to the slaves to get moving. His interest soon changed, however, as he noticed the previously curious slave walking with a slight, very familiar limp. Welsh wasn¡¯t sure how the curious slave and his previously injured companion were connected, but clearly, something had happened during the night. Welsh just wasn¡¯t sure what that was. Together, he and Lonnek led the group onward, stepping through the last row of small deadrot trees and into the Ruined Fields. Even without the Korvis threat, the Ruined Fields were a danger in and of themselves. The constant storms that raged overhead were, for whatever reason, much worse in this area. The Seekers, reptilian intellectuals who worked for the Overseers, had so far been unable to determine why the lightning was able to penetrate the shields in this section. This barrage of lightning was what gave the fields their name. Unlike the vast majority of Camp Keldarn, the fields were stripped of all deadrot, including young or small trees. The ground was not covered in deep black soil like the surrounding area. Instead, the fields consisted of several miles of hardened earth, blotted with the scars of lightning strikes. For the most part, the fields were avoided as much as possible; even the strongest among the Rotundra would not be able to survive a direct hit from the unforgiving storms. Unfortunately, the fields offered the only path toward the Orchard, and crossing them was necessary. Welsh took his first step past a single, small deadrot and found himself standing on hardened dirt. He had taken his first steps onto the Ruined Fields. Luckily for the group, the storms that were normally raging overhead were relatively tame. On typical days, deep red lightning bolts would streak across the sky, and ground-shaking thunder would reverberate across the area, but Welsh was happy to see that only faint flashes of heat lightning currently occupied the airspace. Lonnek looked enthusiastically up at the sky. ¡°The fields are tame today,¡± he said. ¡°We are in luck,¡± Welsh responded. ¡°We won¡¯t need to run, but we will need to make haste. Who knows when the storms will regain their strength?¡± Lonnek nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll stay vigilant.¡± ¡°Please. The Korvis may be more active in this calm weather.¡± As the duo spoke about their situation, the slaves waited behind them. Soralees, however, was not as patient. He came walking from the back, intentionally bumping into a few slaves along the way and knocking them off balance. ¡°Let¡¯s move!¡± he said in the loudest ¡°whisper¡± he could muster. ¡°What¡¯s the holdup?¡± ¡°Relax,¡± Welsh said. ¡°We are just preparing ourselves for the crossing.¡± A growl made its way from the bottom of Soralees¡¯s gut. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to prepare for. Get moving,¡± he said, turning and walking back to the end of the line. He seemed to like lingering in the back; it was clear he hoped one of the slaves would overexert themselves. Welsh rolled his eyes. ¡°You ready?¡± Lonnek grudgingly nodded, and together, they began walking across the fields. The first few steps across were always tense. The fields themselves weren¡¯t actually that large, but the absolute lack of any recognizable structure or vegetation made them incredibly desolate. In some ways, walking across the fields felt like walking on the surface of another planet. Looking across, a faint haze in the distance signaled the beginning of the Orchard, but it was a very long trek. It would take them a couple of hours if they walked with haste. Everyone in the party, aside from Soralees¡ªwho seemingly cared for nothing aside from finding his next meal¡ªhoped the storms would hold off until they had managed to cross. ¡°Any movement?¡± Welsh asked, looking down at Lonnek. He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t you think I would have told you?¡± Welsh just glowered downward at his friend. Lonnek noticed his stare boring through him and threw his arms out to the side. ¡°What? Obviously, if I feel something, I¡¯m going to¡­¡± He stopped mid-sentence, halting his walking in its tracks. Welsh only took a few more steps before stopping as well. ¡°What? What¡¯s wrong?¡± Welsh asked. Lonnek pointed into the distance. Something, or someone, was visible a few hundred feet from where they stood. ¡°What¡­ is that? It took only a moment for Welsh to spot it as well. He turned and held up his palm as a way of telling the slaves to stay put. Without saying a word to Soralees, he and Lonnek walked in the direction of the figure. As they got closer, the truth began to come to light. What had previously been a hazy figure was now clearly a Rotundran of some sort, lying out in the open. ¡°It¡¯s a Rotundran¡­¡± Lonnek muttered. ¡°Why is he out here?¡± Welsh remained quiet, unsure of the answer. When they finally made it to him, it was clear the reptilian had been dead for some time. His green flesh was pale, and his eyes were glazed over. Welsh leaned down, looking at him closer. He didn¡¯t recognize him. This Rotundran was likely not originally from Camp Keldarn. He was rather large¡ªover seven feet tall¡ªwith long, slender, webbed hands and feet. His head was thin, and he had an elongated snout. Most interesting, though, was the manner in which he died. ¡°These morons come from other camps, and they underestimate the lightning,¡± a voice whispered behind them. They turned to see Soralees standing with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the dead Rotundran. Welsh began examining the body once more. It wasn¡¯t common for lightning to kill reptilians on the fields, but it had been known to happen. The earth would always be blackened by the strike, and the victim was always left with evidence. The soles of their feet were often the most obvious sign, having often been melted from the current leaving the target¡¯s body. Their fingers and the tips of their tails, if they had them, would also be scorched. This creature had none of these signs. ¡°I don¡¯t think so¡­¡± Welsh said, pointing to the Rotundran¡¯s torso. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen wounds like this before.¡± Soralees and Lonnek both stepped closer to get a better look. The Rotundran had gashes, almost as if he had been slashed by a blade, seared and burnt across his body. Additionally, his throat had been cut, which had likely been the fatal blow. ¡°Korvis?¡± Lonnek asked. ¡°No. They would have taken the body,¡± Welsh replied. He then noticed something interesting: a black piece of stitched cloth clutched in the hand of the Rotundran. Welsh leaned down and picked it up. It was stretchy, but the material itself was incredibly durable. He didn¡¯t want to rip it, but actually questioned whether or not he could. Something was off. ¡°We need to get to the Orchard and get this over with,¡± Welsh said, aggressively turning and walking toward the waiting slaves. They left the fallen Rotundran lying in the fields. Episode 7: Into the Orchard The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Episode 8: Mercy Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Episode 9: The Harvest Welsh lifted his chin and looked high into the trees where the slaves worked. With a number of limbs now cut from the surrounding trees, the harvested deadrot was hanging on by a thread and in prime position to come tumbling down. "That''s enough," Welsh said to Lonnek. "Have them come down. We should be able to knock it down easily enough." Lonnek whistled loudly. The two slaves looked down to see him pointing toward the ground and got the message. Carefully, they made their way into the limbs of the surrounding trees and began their descent. An occasional high-pitched screech would come from the clearing in the distance. Soralees had fallen asleep after his meal and would sometimes let out loud squeals. The group would cringe for a moment before continuing their business. While Soralees''s uselessness and breathtaking screeches were problematic for a number of reasons, Welsh ultimately decided he would be better off letting him sleep. After all, they had nearly finished the harvest and would be beginning their trip back to camp soon. Now back on the ground, the slaves began delimbing the tree and cutting it into smaller, more manageable logs. On normal, larger harvests, a hand-drawn wagon would have been brought to transport the lumber. In this case, each slave would be carrying their own section in pairs of two. Stepping over to oversee their progress, Welsh couldn''t help but notice something particularly odd. During his time at Camp Keldarn, he had seen hundreds of deadrot harvested, and one trait that was always consistent was the color and texture of the tree''s sap, which was always a thin, runny green ooze that would run freely down the side of the tree. This deadrot didn''t fit that description at all. Instead of the usual watery substance Welsh was used to seeing, the liquids that made their way from the cuts were thick and purple. It even sometimes came creeping out in clumps. He looked around himself for those with answers, but Soralees still slept soundly, and he assumed Lonnek would be just as stumped as he was. He made a mental note that he would ask about the sap when they had returned to camp. A high-pitched squeal and growl bellowed from Soralees'' resting place, followed by light rummaging. The Elite was waking up. Lonnek cautiously leaned to the right and looked in the direction of Soralees. He then sighed. "It was peaceful while it lasted, huh?" Lonnek asked. Welsh nodded. "At least he won''t be screeching anymore. I was close to waking him up myself." Soralees sat off by himself, clearly trying to regain his senses. He paid little attention to the workers who continued to dismember the large deadrot. The workers grunted and tugged, tossing the limbs and twigs off to the side. Before long, each of them was covered in the oozing purple sap of the deadrot. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Soralees finally found his way to his feet and came creeping over to the workers. "What''s going on here? What did you do?" Soralees asked, directing his attention to Welsh. Welsh looked around, bewildered. "Me?" he asked, pointing to himself. "Yes, you!" Soralees squealed. "Why are they all purple?" "Oh, that," Welsh said with a sigh. "I was hoping maybe you could answer that. Look at the sap from the deadrot." At first, Soralees seemed skeptical. He, like Welsh, had seen multiple deadrot trees after harvesting. They had never seen anything like this. "I see," Soralees said. "Oh well. It''s only sap." Welsh was surprised by his dismissiveness. "Oh well? Are you not curious?" Soralees shook his head. "No," he replied, "because the Overseer knows what he''s doing, and I won''t be the one to question it." This sentiment, on the other hand, was not surprising. Soralees had always been Keldarn''s most subservient ally. Regardless, Soralees was right. Aside from being curious, there was little Welsh could do. Winds within the Orchard had begun to pick up, clearly coming from the direction of the Ruined Fields. It was unfortunate, Welsh thought. So far, the expedition had gone off without a hitch, but if the sky above the exposed portion of the dome had become active, the risk of shock and sandstorms would definitely cause problems on the return to camp. The slaves¡ªwhose bodies were covered in bruises and scratches¡ªhad now gathered around the fallen and pieced-out deadrot tree. They would sometimes look at the palms of their hands, which were now stained in a deep purple. Welsh noticed that they, too, were confused about the gooey, purple sap. Soralees walked the line, weaving his way in and out between the slaves on the left side of the fallen trunk. As he sulked, he would point out slaves two at a time and point to the section of tree they were to carry. Upon request, the slaves acquiesced immediately, taking their places and lifting their section. Their march across the Ruined Fields would be tedious. It would be slow. And as they towed their cargo, it would be dangerous. Not only for the slaves, but for their leaders as well. The storms found within were powerful and would routinely send down destructive bolts of lightning, which would char the land and turn the soot a deep shade of black. Luckily, the tree they were after had been found just inside the entrance to the Orchard. The slaves would have the bulk of their remaining energy to trudge across the field. Now, with their section of the harvest in tow, the slaves stood in a single-file line, preparing themselves to cross the Ruined Fields. Welsh considered the possibility of waiting out the storms; it wasn''t an option. The Korvis had, so far, been dormant or unaware of their presence, but this luck wouldn''t hold out forever. Dealing with random bolts of lightning was one thing, but dealing with the Korvis was something else entirely. Welsh stood at the front with Lonnek nearly a dozen feet off to the side. Soralees brought up the rear. Welsh would start the trek across the fields, and from there, Lonnek would send them in pairs, making sure to spread them out. After all, should the slaves be grouped too closely together, a stray lightning bolt might kill the better part of the unit. There was no need wasting perfectly good slaves. Welsh took a long look into the Ruined Fields and drew in a deep breath. The dark soot of the fields had been lifted by the wind and now swirled through the air in the distance, blackening the horizon. There would only be a moment of peace before the expedition met the storm. Welsh turned and did a final check, looking at the line behind him. The slaves stood in their pairs, clearly strained under the weight of the deadwood chunk which lay draped across their shoulders. He raised his hand in the air, to which all slaves immediately looked up. And with the thought of finally getting back to camp, he dropped his hand, pointing forward, and the line started their march. Episode 10: Into the Storm Within only a few minutes, the first signs of life from the storm began to emerge. A deep, monotonous hum sounded in the distance, and Welsh couldn''t help but notice the random pangs of pain that stung his eyes from the dirt displaced by the storm. Lonnek, who was clearly slightly panicked, walked off to the side of the group. Welsh couldn''t help but consider the fact that Lonnek was likely the least threatened by the storm. His shapeshifting body was impervious to nearly all forms of destruction. Additionally, Welsh couldn''t help but think of Soralees creeping in the back of the pack. There was no doubt that Soralees was secretly hoping to lose a slave or two to the storm. He would have no qualms lagging behind to consume the remains of lightning-baked humans. In the few minutes of calm he had, a few questions swirled in his head. It was no coincidence that Lyssindra had been seen slithering around the camp. It was no coincidence that this tree¡ªthe deadrot with the purple sap¡ªhad been specifically chosen for harvest. Momentarily, the storm would begin, and, as was the case with every crossing of the Ruined Fields, Welsh wondered if he would survive to see the other side. A few steps in the Ruined Fields could make all the difference. In one moment, the distant rumbling of the storm seemed as though it was an afterthought, and in the next, it would be among you. Loose, blackened earth found its way off the ground and swirled into the sky, and, within a heartbeat, the storm had found them. Welsh lifted his arm, placing his forearm in front of his face in an attempt to shield himself from the dirt and rocks displaced by the storm. With each step, its intensity grew stronger and stronger. Welsh was strong and was able to stay upright relatively easily, but he knew the slaves who lagged behind would undoubtedly struggle, given their smaller stature and the fact that they were carrying large sections of deadrot tree. He turned and looked at the line of slaves who followed. They had started their trek spread out, but the storm had only served to separate them even more. Behind him, Welsh could make out the first couple of slaves stumbling, staggering, and squinting in the wind. A loud crack of thunder boomed from overhead, and Lonnek made an audible squeal in the background. A section of blackened earth erupted from the ground, expelling itself in every direction as a bolt of lightning found its way to the back of the line. Screams from those in the back echoed across the plains, refusing to be drowned out by the thunder and wind. "We may have just lost a few," Welsh thought. He knew the screams would not be from those who were hit, but only those close enough to react. A direct hit from the storms would result in instantaneous death. Although he couldn''t see it, he could imagine the charred remains of slaves lying motionless in the dirt next to a swaying deadrot log. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It wasn''t long before the winds brought with them the smell of burning human flesh. He did pity them, but, more selfishly, he was concerned with those remaining and their ability to deliver the deadrot safely across the Fields. He didn''t need them all; he only needed one to satisfy the Overseer. The Fields had few landmarks to rely on in the way of navigation, but there was one in particular Welsh continued to search for¡ªthe body of the fallen Rotundran who still lay somewhere in the Fields. The way back wasn''t much of a concern¡ªhe knew where to go¡ªbut it would be a relief to see something he knew was so close to home. As the march continued, a few deep red bolts of lightning rained down on the scorched earth, but, luckily, each bolt struck far enough away to avoid injury and death. He knew that, at any point, the next bolt could be the one that ended his life, but the crossing was necessary for honor, pride, and duty. A brief lull in the action gave Welsh a chance to let his mind wander. He thought about life after this mission. Perhaps he was long overdue for a break. It had been some time since he had left Camp Keldarn, but a mission of such importance and risk was sure to bring with it some well-deserved time off. Perhaps he would travel to Rotundran. The Capital wasn''t short on entertainment, but it definitely had its drawbacks. It was where the most high-profile criminals were tried and put to death. Humans, Lessers, and even some "treasonous" Rotundran members were raised high into the sky and baked next to the shields. They called it the Piston, and Welsh wasn''t particularly fond of the screams coating the air of the Capital. Another option could be the fighting pits of Camp ______. Welsh was well known at the pits due to his own rise through the ranks, and, even though the air smelled of blood, it was a place he regularly felt welcome. Unfortunately, none of this would matter if he was on the receiving end of the ferocity of the storm. He had now reached a point where every step felt consequential. At any point now, the body of the fallen Rotundran should come into view, and Welsh could feel confident knowing they were relatively close. The storm began to pick up again. He walked a few more steps, stopped, and peered into the distance. Nothing. Where was it? It had to be close. It wasn''t always easy to determine how far they had traveled across the Fields, but he was typically pretty good at determining distance. And yet the body was nowhere to be seen. The line halted behind him. Lack of a body had now caused him to question his lead. Had he been leading them in circles? Their anxiety filled the air behind him, and he made the decision to carry on. It wasn''t the time to question himself. It had to be close. He now began scanning the horizon in different directions. Had he wandered too far to the east or west? Still, nothing could be found. His confusion began to boil over into frustration. Where was that damned body? As his mind swirled, a strong gust of wind lifted a swath of dirt, casting it across the party like shrapnel. Welsh winced but was immediately distracted by something the wind had brought with it¡ªa black piece of textured cloth which had caught itself across the tip of his claw. He stopped in his tracks and lifted the cloth. In an instant, he became aware of the situation. It''s not that he hadn''t found the body because he had gone the wrong direction¡ªhe hadn''t found it because it wasn''t there. "Welsh!" a panicked Lonnek screamed at the top of his breath above the wind. Welsh turned to see Lonnek gazing forward with horror stained deep within his eyes¡ªhis hands grasping each side of his gut. "The Korvis are here!" Welsh thought to himself. Episode 11: The Korvis Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.