Sulfur, the reeking stench of sulfur and seared flesh flooded his nostrils as the soldier inhaled deeply. His senses extended and absorbed the minutia of details that littered the plains of battle. The song of steel clashed against steel roared viciously in his eardrums. Men cried out in agony as bellies were slashed open in the onslaught and steaming innards spilled out upon the bloodied grass. Every blade of grass within the man’s view from upon an overlooking knoll was stained with the fallen essence of life. As he gazed downward his vision blurred and struggled to take in the horror that lay before him. Soldiers clad in crimson mail marched in strict, disciplined formations towards an ominous horde of strange warriors clad in blackened steel armor. Shields rattled as swords beat upon them and war horns sounded loudly. They bellowed and resonated across the battlefield. His ears rang in agony as they threatened to begin to drip blood in response to those sonorous cries.

Even as he squinted the warrior still could not clearly make out the features of those locked in the great melee below. He wondered, “Were those engaged man or beast?” The man blinked and in an instant they seemed to transform before his very eyes. The horde became a pack of monstrous, mangy, wolves. Each beast seemed to grin fiendishly and snapped their collective jaws as spittle flew forth. Their rabid jaws were lined with rows of uneven, jagged teeth as sharp as daggers that threatened to slice open soft flesh with a mere glance. The formation of soldiers clad in crimson extended their flanks like a bull’s curved horns, but to the warrior they seemed to shift into a pair of vast, leathery wings attached to a sinewy, coiled serpent. Flames danced white-blue around its form as if an aura of energy emitted from the dragon. It’s mandibles split open, wide as a cavernous maw and a low, guttural roar exploded across the horde of encroaching wolves.

White-blue flame followed in short order. It leapt forth and singed fur black. The wolves yelped as flesh melted and fell from their backs in blackened strips. Many scattered with bone, tendon, and ligament all exposed to the arcs of flame that leashed out repeatedly upon them. It was as if a bull whip cracked across bloodied and burnt backs until the wounds were cauterized and stretched taut ghastly across the wolves’ forms. As the beasts fled into the nearby woods the warrior slowly raised his calloused hands to his face and vigorously rubbed his weary eyes in dismay. His vision blurred once again and the fleeing horde shifted into coal black warriors with icy blue eyes and long, curled horns. Their inhuman shrieks of terror bled through the darkening sky as drops of heavy rain began to fall upon the bloodied plains.

As blood was washed away from the blades of grass and scattered stone a second roar echoed through the basin. The bellow was deep and it cracked like thunder. The crimson clad soldiers froze in place as if entrapped in pillars of ice. Thousands of eyes shifted their gaze toward the sky and voices cried out in terror, shocked by the sight of a blood red moon that hung low and large in the evening night. The silhouette of massive, winged figure appeared against the backdrop of the moon and the warrior upon the knoll squinted harshly in a struggle to identify it. An icy chill ran up his spine as its features became evident in the crimson light. Despite it still being far off in the distance he could see the creature’s large, bullish head. An iron septum piercing that ended in a pair of spikes stuck out from this wide nose. Three horns stood forth from each temple with a second, longer pair on each side of its sloped forehead. A curtain of black-blue fur ran from the crease of the beast’s brows to the small of its muscled back. A pair of leathery wings extended wide across the darkened sky, perhaps as far as twenty feet from tip to tip, and they flapped almost lazily as the demonic beast approached the battlefield.

The demon was clad in dark-blue plate armor. Each pauldron was cast in the shape of a hog’s head and great razor sharp tusks jutted forth from their jaws. A thick iron chain hung around its neck and several humanoid skulls rattled against one another as the beast flew towards the fray. In its massive, muscular right hand it wielded a great battle-axe, one far beyond the capability of any mere soldier to wield effectively. The thick calloused fingers of its left hand were wrapped firmly around the haft of a ten foot long spear that ended in a foot long triangular blade that burned with an ice-blue fury.

Hundreds of soldiers hazed upwards in horror as the daemonic beast approached, flanked by elements of its now rallied horde of fiendish, horned warriors. These despicable creatures leered viciously in apparent joy at the appearance of their lord and many wounded themselves in what appeared to the man to be a successful attempt to enter a vicious blood frenzy. Even as their cries barely began to escape their lips the once disciplined soldiers turned and began to flee, but their haste to escape lacked the necessary speed to avoid the coming assault. The beast’s cloven hooves crashed into the now damp earth with tremendous force as it landed a mere few feet from the retreating soldiers. As it unleashed a blood-curdling roar its arms began to flail wildly. Its ice-blue great axe swept in a great arc and cut effortlessly through armor, flesh, and bone. A pair of heads fell upon the bloodied earth and rolled to a slow stop at the beast’s cloven hooves. A grimace of terrific pain was etched upon each lifeless face. Their comrades continued to flee, but several were engulfed in the icy aura unleashed by the demon’s first slash. These poor souls became chilled and their movements became slow and deliberate until, at last, they froze into place as solid, debilitating ice.

The demon leered in triumph, its nostrils widened and inhaled the joyous stench of freely flowing, life’s blood. It raised both weapons high overhead and with great exertion and flexing of it’s heavily muscled back and legs slammed both blades ferociously into the ground. The blow sundered the earth and cracks danced forth from the epicenter. They gleefully snaked across the land until each tributary encroached upon the pitiful frozen soldiers. One by one, each of the entrapped soldiers shattered spectacularly into thousands of shards of gleaming ice. Like glass they reflected the eerie light of the blood red moon. Rays of crimson hue illuminated in all its horror as these shards spun around wildly before they fell, still upon the sundered plains.

Upon the knoll the man’s jaw had grown slack and he uttered a single wordless curse. Fear and rage gripped his bones and ignited every nerve until each limb twisted and trembled in fury. Blood dripped slowly, but in great droplets from each hand as his sharp nails dug deeper and deeper into the palm of each clenched fist. A heavy hand suddenly gripped his left hand and spun around the raging soldier. Before the man’s fiery eyes stood a shadowy figure, its only decipherable feature a mouth flecked by long and jagged scars. The figure spoke, or at least appeared to close, but no discernible words were emitted from its lips. Again it turned the soldier and forced him to gaze upon the daemonic reaver as it slaughtered helpless soldiers with sadistic glee. The beasts eye burned with a cold fury, no pupil or iris were visible, they simply glowed with a dark blue, icy hatred for the cowards that fled before its wrath.

The shadow punched a solitary, pointed finger towards the dread beast and spoke again, this time in a deep voice that resonated clearly against the violent backdrop of cries for mercy and fiendish, cackling laughter. “Now!” roared the apparition, “You must turn the tide! Strike now!” and it unsheathed a white, glowing blade from a scabbard behind its back. The white light emitted a glow with such power that it nearly blinded the man. With a hand raised to cover his eyes he turned swiftly away from the shadow, but not before noting the ethereal glow of its viridian eyes. “Take the sword,” hissed the shadow as it thrust the leather bound hand and a half hilt into the soldier’s empty hands. “Strike the beast down. Now!” said the apparition and with those finals words it reverted again to shadow. As an unidentifiable mass of darkness it vanished into the stormy night.

Still stunned by this utterly bizarre occurrence and in fear of the impending massacre the soldier struggled to regain his senses, but was still able to note the warmth of the sword he grasped. The heat ran from the tips of his still trembling fingers up his arms and across his broad chest until it wrapped around his overactive, fear laden heart. As he gazed down upon his crimson cuirass it seemed as if a white light glowed from deep within his chest and somehow escaped through the pores, cracks, and crevices in order to illuminate the path before him. His trembling limbs stilled and the sense of terror that had gripped his spine so fiercely evaporated, replaced now by a sense of calm and warmth. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The soldier was serene, the path before him clear of all distractions, be it fear or self-doubt. An old adage slipped in to his brain, the words of a long forgotten king, “I have become as the arrow sprung from the bow. My path is clear.” Now that he was filled with this strange sense of calm the soldier’s heart slowed from the rapid pitter patter of utter terror and anxiety to the steady drumroll of an imperial march.

His eyes grew steely as they once again fell upon the daemonic reaver as it slaughtered more and more of his fellow soldiers are they failed again and again the escape the deadly reach of its spear and axe. Dozens of dead, most beheaded or gutted, lay in the beast’s vicinity and their pitiful corpses marked its approach to the grassy knoll. “Enough,” whispered the soldier upon the knoll in the calm voice of a man confident in his sword arm, but the intonation of the words was strangely foreign to his ears. It was as if another had spoken his thoughts for him. “Perhaps the sword?” he wondered, before he quickly dismissed this thought in order to address his approaching foe. His right foot lifted to step forward and the very moment it landed upon the first inch of decline of the downward slope of the knoll he was suddenly and instantly teleported across the battlefield directly into the path of the demon’s next brutal blow. With his mind devoid of all thought and emotion he swiftly caught the blade of the massive great axe against his burning white sword. The clash of steel resonated loudly across the plains of battle and both assailants’ arms trembled upon impact.

A slight grunt escaped the demon’s jowls and the cold fury in its’ eyes seemed to burn brighter than before as its muscles flexed in a futile attempt to drive back the small fool that dared to challenge its supremacy. The emboldened warrior did not so much as flinch as he met the fiend’s gaze with a fiery state of his own. Despite its’ great exertion the demonic reaver could not drive the warrior back a single, solitary inch. As it roared ferociously the demon pulled back its’ great-axe and swung again with a mighty blow meant to hew the fool in two from head to toe, but before the blade could so much as loose a hair from the warrior’s naked head the great-axe froze in midair. For the first time since its’ initial appearance on the field of battle the demon’s eyes grew dim, their vicious fury replaced with shock and fear for the warrior had stopped the blade’s approach barehanded and now it remained locked in his unyielding grasp. A white-blue flame encircled the warrior’s forearm and climbed to the tips of his fingers. As he clenched firmly against the axe the flames grew stronger and began to lick angrily against its’ steel edge. Metal corroded and melted underneath this onslaught and even as the beast strained, all tensed muscles and popped veins, it could not free its’ weapon from the warrior’s grip. It thrusted the spear towards the warrior’s chest, but before the tip could penetrate his armor the world grew dark and silent and cold.

Beneath a pair of eye sockets bruised black and blue eyelids flickered, blinked, and slowly opened. They revealed a pair of bright red pupils surrounded by a web of crimson veins. The man blinked against, still groggy from the sudden interruption of his dreams for no apparent reason. He sniffed and inhaled the cool night air deeply as mucus encrusted nostrils stretched and cracked. Great globs of snot were vacuumed down his nasal cavity and burned the back of his throat with their acidic touch. With a cough he rolled onto his left side, inhaled deeply and ejaculated the disgusting mass several feet away from the pile of rags upon which he lay. As he did so a white light flickered in the corner of his eyes and he twisted his head around to gaze upon its source. His red eyes widened and glowed as they reflected the flickering light. Again, he blinked as he struggled to process the peculiar sight before him. Still in a half-asleep haze he barely noted that his left arm and felt paradoxically both warm and cold.

As his eyes finally shifted into focus he realized, to his shock, that a gauntlet of a white-blue flame had surrounded his left forearm and hand. A shrill shriek escaped his parched lips and up he leapt. His red eyes danced madly in their dark sockets as they searched for a method to snuff out the flame. Seconds of futile effort passed as beads of sweat rolled in ever increasing intensity and mass down his limbs and back as they quivered violently. “I’ll be fething burned alive,” he growled in a low voice marked by only the faintest inkling of desperation. After what seemed to be many long minutes the man cast himself upon the ground and simultaneously rolled furiously from the side to side while he thrust sand and dust upon the flame. The gauntlet gave one final flicker of life before it vanished completely from his arm. Both the sensations of warmth and coolness it had unleashed faded soon after.

With only the sliver of a dying moon left to illuminate the night the man gazed upon his seemingly wounded arm. His brow furrowed with first frustration and then confusion as he inspected the limb. To his surprise there remained not a trace of the weird flame nor had it caused any apparent damage. The skin was still a dark shade of olive green, the same color and caste it had been since birth. Fingers flexed and loosened with ease, no loss of dexterity appeared to him on either arm. With a grunt of disgust he muttered a variety of curses under his breath ending with, “Fething spice dreams.” He continued to mutter his disgust over drug addled hallucinations as he rose from his fetal position upon the dusty ground and slowly stepped towards the pile of rags and knapsack he used as a makeshift bed.

The flood of adrenaline had now fled from his system and he crashed wearily into the putrid pile of cloth. Stars twinkled in the night sky, but their rays seemed to blur and stretch infinitely before his half closed eyes. With a restless sigh he sat up, steadied himself, and twisted around. His slender, calloused fingers began to rifle through the multitude of pouches and pockets sewn haphazardly onto the bag. After several moments of extensive searching, along with several choice vulgarities, he at least found his prize. With great delicacy he removed a small silken bag from a half hidden pouch and gently undid the twine string that held it closed. As his hands trembled ever so slightly he raised the open bag to a pair of expectant nostrils. They quivered with excitement as the sweet aroma of promised ecstasy began to fill them. His eyes rolled back momentarily as he recollected an untold number of moments of past euphoria.

Without warning, his thick eyebrows clenched together and his face darkened with rage. He cast the bag viciously onto the ground, several feet away, into the darkness of night. “No, no, no, no!” he exclaimed with increased fury and disgust to the point where fellow sleepers began to stir. With many days free from the drug that had nearly taken both his sight and mind the vagrant’s senses were far from being addled and he immediately took note of the disturbance he had begun to cause. In an instant he grew quiet and taciturn, but still his thoughts raced vicariously in his mind. The sweet aroma of the red spice that had filled his nostrils still hung there and every inhale of its alluring stench brought back a flood of memories. They came in rapid, incoherent fashion, it was impossible for him to tell when and where they had occurred or even worse, if they had ever occurred at all or were little more than jaded misinterpretations of the past, hallucinations confused with reality, or, what he believed, were hellish visions of a world encased in ice. Ice so cold that it burned the flesh and every inhalation of the frigid air stung the throat and nostrils to such a degree that the most minimal exertion left mortals stricken still by a cacophony of pain.

Worse yet were the thrice-cursed fevered dreams of his withdrawal. Dreams of an endless battle in which horned, otherworldly beings shifted from humanoid, yet demonic forms into monstrous wargs that slavered endlessly. They were all the same he despaired, full of images of unspeakable atrocities. Beasts fell upon nubile young women and ravaged their maidenheads before devouring their spoils, still alive and screaming. Still others slew the few men that dared to defy them and feasted on their half dead corpses. All of these wretched imaged came to him without fail, each and every time his eyes fell shut. The edges and faces remained blurred and obscured to his sight, but the rape and feast that followed occurred always in vivid relief.

Even now, as he trembled quietly in the moonlight, the growls of wolves and the snap of jaws assailed his senses. Shadows danced obscenely around the edges of the now abandoned market where a motley collection of vagrants, addicts, and thieve slumbered, sleeping off their sins of the day before. Many snored loudly, or grunted and mumbled incoherently as they were gripped by the demons of their own drug fueled nightmares. To the awakened sleeper these meaningless murmurs were akin to the fiendish howls that haunted his fevered visions. Tears flowed freely down his sunken cheeks as he whimpered softly to himself. With each breath he bemoaned and cursed both his existence and addiction. “I mustn’t,” he thought, “I must not touch the cursed stuff again. Feth it. Feth it all.” Even as he thought this he knew in the deepest recess of his heart that he could not, would not resist the drug’s allure and the relief it would certainly bring.

Cramps began to wrack his emaciated form and his hands shook violently while his forearms tensed to the point they felt as though his very bones would splinter and the pull of taut muscle and tendon. He struggled to clench his hands into fists and still the tremors. Momentary success was achieved, but soon it became all but impossible to undo the knots that his clenched hands had become. Beads and beads of sweat rolled down his face as it trembled, but the exertion was all for naught. It did nothing, save rupture even more veins in his already wounded eyes and they slowly filled with blinding blood. Steams of dark red blood from the deepest veins began to flee both nostrils. Blood pooled atop his upper lip and it grew in volume to the point where it ran down both sides of his chapped, flaky lips. This effect gave him a vampiric visage and the sight of which surely would have sent any drunk who stumbled upon it into instant terror.

His thoughts soon began to match the agony that wracked his physical form. “I’m dying,” he bemoaned, almost with a solemn joy as his hands tightened to the point where his jagged nails embedded themselves into what little flesh still clung to the palms of his skeletal hands. “I can’t die,” he whimpered, but even his lips scarcely moved in their now nearly catatonic state and the vocalization was far too silent to be heard. His tongue thickened and grew stiff and with his mouth as dry as the deadly Muzandri desert he gave into his addiction with the thought, “Spice! I must have spice!”

Despite being rendered all but immobile by the cramps and stiffened joints the dying vagrant began a desperate search for his misplaced bag of spice. Now that he was completely blinded by blood in his eyes he could do little but stumble and crawl on all fours. He was unable to so much as unclench his fists should he even find the bag amidst the other hundred piles of filth and debris. He crawled as a wretch and every tremoring movement drenched the earth below in copious amounts of sweat and blood. Every nerve in his screaming body felt as though it was engulfed in the fire of a thousand raging suns. Even his pores seemed to ooze the vital essence of life as he crawled and crawled growing ever more desperate in his quest for relief.

Luck, or perhaps fate, proved to be an ally in the end for at long last his clenched fists finally felt the soft, silken texture of his beloved bag. Thumb and forefinger spread apart slowly and with great effort, but no further than what was required to grasp the source of his redemption. He collapsed after this immense effort and rolled over onto his sweat soaked back with his prize still held firmly in tow. Despite the pain coursing through his veins a brief feeling of exhilaration filled him. A low growl emitted from his hollow stomach and echoed throughout his famished bowels. His hand continued to tremble as it inched towards his lips. As the bag neared this pair of cracked, bleeding, slender lips they began to part. The sweet aroma of the spice wafted upwards to his bloody nostrils and a single inhalation filled his lungs with their transformative fumes. Its effect was immediate. The rolling drops of sweat slowed, aching muscles loosened, and his mouth split wide as a ravenous maw, eager for the coming feast.

The first flakes of spice floated down towards the gluttonous tongue and landed as delicately as falling autumn leaves. They dissolved instantly upon impact into the pool of steaming saliva that floated precariously in the tongue’s bowl like basin. More spice followed and filled his belly and mind with the relief it so desperately craved. The vagrant, long starved of his beloved friend, had forgotten his tolerance had since declined. In seconds the bag was empty, but not once did the thought he had imbibed far too much cross his frenzied mind. Struck as if by the force of a vengeful typhoon the vagrant collapsed violently and he lay spread eagled upon the dusty earth and scattered rags. Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth and dripped earthward into the beginnings of a puddle that would surely grow with great expedience. His eyelids were spread open to the greatest possible extent and a pair of milky white eyes bulged forth. Limbs shook fitfully under the force of tremors that now wreaked havoc upon his stupefied form. The puddle of spittle continued to grow and he did not dream, he saw