Darkness cometh

Across the fire, a hulking, maned rodentman loomed, his tribal forehead crest casting shadows on his weathered face. Leather armor clung to his massive frame, and his twitching rabbit ears added an unsettling edge to his presence. Behind him, the shadowy figures of his kin stared with unblinking, beastly eyes, their gaze reflecting the flickering firelight like countless malevolent stars.

An oppressive silence hung in the air, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant howls of unseen creatures. The atmosphere was thick with dread, as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable clash between the two groups. Mesui could feel the weight of impending violence pressing down on her, a haunting reminder of what she had provoked.

Chief Tulag cleared his throat and spoke, breaking the uneasy silence.

"Please accept our apologies, chieftain Gargag, for this is not a provocation nor do we wish to fight your people."

Almost simultaneously, a goblin that spoke the squeaking but deep tongues of Rodentmen began to speak.

"Zicuhgpa, Gargag Hegha, egfno gerg, efno lucgh."

Gargag, the maned rabbit, grunted and bore his fangs. As he uttered rodentmen words, all Mesui focused on was Gargag's interpreter, a younger rodentman, scarred by the two eyes, looking more like a squirrel, arched body, and wearing a distinguished bandana with a One-eyed sigil on his forehead. He supported himself with a rudimentary wooden staff with rhino bone on top and the same one-eyed sigil on the bandana painted red.

"We make pact, greenskin, many moons ago," the interpreter said, "you respect our mountains, we respect your grassland."

Gargag hit the ground with his fist in anger before continuing, the eerie interpreter following close.

"Pact sealed in blood, Tulag, blood of kin! Greenskins care not about blood of kin?"

"Both our peoples shed blood in that war, Gargag," Tulag said, frowning and bearing his fangs as he gritted his teeth, "Don't you dare call us oathbreakers, for we cherish the blood of our kin as much as you do!"

Gargag crossed his arms, grinning sarcastically, "House of Tulag not in order, daughter breached pact, disrespected our word, hunted on rodentmen land... how will Tulag fix this if house not in order?"

The other rodentmen cackled. Mesui sensed her father would look her way, furious. Yet the stoic goblin chief remained idle, unaffected by mockery.

"Daughter disrespected blood of kin, spilled here, in grasslands," Gargag leaned forward menacingly, unsheathing his bone knife on the side, "Daughter must die."

The rodentmen cheered and roared. Mesui could feel their bloodlust spilling and thickening the air. She stopped feeling the icy winds of the night, and everything felt nauseous as she felt her neck twisted by an invisible force and her stomach twirled and pressed against her. Mesui's eyes crossed with the young rodent interpreter, looking at her with a desire that sent a shiver down her spine.

"How long has he been staring at me?" she thought.

As the rodentmen screamed battle cries and demands for sacrifice in a language too obscure for any goblin to understand, the interpreter smiled and licked his razor-sharp teeth. He looked hungry for flesh, ravenous.

Tulag rose slowly but determined, and as his hulking shape towered over the rest of his kin the rodentmen began to quiet down, not in fear, but in an uneasy expectation. Gargag sat unaffected, his knife still bare, and pointed at the goblins.

"No rodent blood was spilled this day, Gargag," He argued, "If my daughter had come and murdered one of your own, I would have personally presented her corpse before you. Your punishment is way too severe for trespassing with no tragic kills."

Gargag growled.

"If what you want is blood spilled, then so be it, but your people and I shall spill blood once more on our sacred homelands," He took his spear, ornamented in collars of previous chieftains, centuries of legacy, "this time, we will not relent until your lineage and mine lie beneath the ground, consumed by maggots." 

Tulag's interpreter cleared his sweat as he uttered the last words in his translation. Mesui could tell he was not feeling as regal and bold as the chieftain. 

Mesui felt how her recent disdain for her father had begun to wane, letting respect and love grow instead.

"Father," she mumbled, feeling half-reassured, half-guilty for putting him in this situation.

Gargag's eyes widened, shocked to hear his equal's resolve. His knife and ears hesitated, and his nose sniffed as he sought a proper answer.

"Or we could find a less violent solution," Tulag said, "Perhaps a one-time, sizable tribute to your house, and the means to feed your families."

"Tribute?" the interpreter said without permission, his smile long gone at the proposal.

Tulag looked at him. 

"Panagh!" growled.

Panagh submissively bowed his head.

"What kind of tribute?" the rodent chief asked.

"A complete herd of our livestock, twenty of our precious giant sheep, my very own flock," Tulag said without hesitation.

Gargag, and everyone else mumbled in astonishment. 

"Father, no," Mesui said.

"Chief Gargag," Tulag continued, "that is how much I value the blood of my kin, and yours so that future generations don't have to see ours spilled in battle. This tribute will be given to you right now. The herd is waiting a few kilometers away from us. Their shepherds will give you the means to lead them to the mountains."

The squirrel-like interpreter looked at his chief, his scarred white eyes begging him to choose violence instead. Gargag stood up and growled at one of his warriors to run to the hills. The scout hopped and leaped with primal speed.

Mesui could feel the air was so tense one single word, a quick complaint or even noise, would unsettle everyone.

The scout howled at Gargag, and the rodent chief humphed, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Gargag Hephga," the interpreter called, his tone and eyes advising him not to.

Gargag placed his hand on his squirrel subordinate, muttering words to reassure him. The squirrel nodded and sighed, yet as Gargag turned to the goblin chief to give his answer, the interpreter's expression frowned, his eyes now dead with a sinister determination.

"Mughshva!" he declared.

"He accepts," the interpreter said, rejoiced, but also confused.

"I got that," Chief Tulag commented, placing his spear back in its place. Both rodents and goblins cheered at the peaceful resolution. 

Mesui's heart relaxed, but then she noticed her father was now looking at her, his eyes were sorrowful, disillusioned, and strangely mixed with gladness.

The goblin princess shuddered, as that look pierced her and affected her deeply. Coupled with the vivid images of Arsec falling into the crater... his smile... their last moments...

"Stop... please..." she begged within herself. 

The winds were gone, she was not feeling anything at all.

"This was a mistake... Arsec... Father.... forgive me..."

******

Gargag, on the other hand, exuded a menacing triumph as he followed closely. His clan had long valued bloodthirsty combat, as their rituals to the ancient ones had demanded, yet his ambitions ran wild on the prospect of having his own herd. Rodentmen, unlike the more humanoid races of the steppe, had not mastered the secrets of husbandry. Cattle was a concept many of his kin attributed to magic, and their herders treated as beast tamers like legendary shamans.

With the concept of herding great sheep within his grasp, Gargag could feel it: the one step ahead needed to surpass the goblins. This one scuffle with Chief Tulag had given him the edge, and even if herding was something the ancient ones forbid the rodentmen from ever performing, the great sheep would then serve their usual rodentmen purpose: food reserves.

Gargag pondered on his pups, growing on a conquered steppe. In the worst-case scenario, his pups's pups would be conquering the lands, accessing rich creeks and rivers, large new hunting grounds with plenty of large and small beasts, the prospect of even besieging the fabled oni cities on the shoreline of the great sea...

His contemplations shattered as he approached a desolate rocky hill, a sinister gorge yawning beyond its rugged cliffs. The once-visible grass vanished into an abyss of ink-black shadow, chilling the marrow of his bones. Instinctively, he motioned for his warriors to halt, their senses on edge. With the air thickening with an ominous dread, the darkness engulfed the rock formation and its environs, suffusing the very air with a malevolent aura that sent shivers racing down the spines of the rodent warriors. What could cast a shadow in the dark? 

Gargag knew this was not normal. Yet before he could signal his warriors to check their surroundings, the darkness swooped by like a passing cloud, directing the rodent chief's eyes to the sky.

There, blotting part of Gaia's moon, a bulbous, mycoid object hovered close enough from the ground to be spotted by onlookers, yet far enough to be unreachable by even the most daring flying creatures. A strange, black smoke steamed from unusual sides, and it floated by without making sounds or any sign of movement. No, it just passed by like an unnatural juxtaposed decoration in the sky.

"Cyclogh!"

Gargag turned to see the interpreter lifting his hands in worship to said object, acknowledging it as if he had already seen it before—as if he knew it well.

"Panagh?" Gargag said unsettled, calling out his subordinate.

Panagh looked at him, now with a disrespectful, proud look. Something had changed in him as if the presence of that object had reassured him of something foreboding. 

He began to cackle, and the black steam oozing from the object distilled on him like a waterfall until he was fully covered. 

"CYCLOGH—!" he called, his voice drowned in the encroaching dark gas.

Gargag and his warriors stepped back, clubs, axes, and obsidian swords now nervously ready. The rodent chief followed the trail of black smoke, which connected like a tendril to the object, pumping down whatever it was doing to... 

GROWL...

He looked back at where Panagh stood. The steam was dissipating, and in its place loomed a creature that was not rodentman.

In the eerie glow of the moonless night, the creature's limbs stretched impossibly, contorting into grotesque appendages reminiscent of a spider's legs. Its once-timid squirrel ears now lay sunken and transformed into sinister hollows, devoid of life or purpose. Gargag's unease deepened as he beheld the creature's visage, marred by an inky stain that seemed to seep from the very depths of the abyss. Fangs, elongated and razor-sharp, protruded menacingly from its gaping maw, multiplying in a macabre display of unnatural growth. The scars that once adorned its eyes, symbols of resilience and strength, now melted like molten wax, forever sealing the creature's gaze behind lids of eternal darkness. Atop its brow, a single eye gleamed with an otherworldly intensity, its black sclera and luminous white iris casting a haunting allure that sent shivers down Gargag's spine.

"Praise Cyclogh!" the monster uttered, laughing as he marveled at the sigh of his horrid new form, "You shall not be disappointed, o Dark One!"

Gargag was inarticulate, his mighty grip on his staff trembled, as shock and confusion dominated him. He had always spotted glimpses of strange mystical behavior from his loyal assistant... but this was too much for him, the small squirrel rodent he had known his whole life was now a hulking beast that spoke like the goblins.

"Panagh?" he called.

The beast looked at him and grinned.

"Panagh is gone, Gargag," it said, his words echoed by deep growls, "The master of the Dark Beyond has called me to his service... He embraced me with his holy mantle and named me... Voidmaw!"

Gargag understood little of the monster's boastful words but sensed it meant no good would come to him or his people if this abomination were left loose. He concluded that his friend had been corrupted by something that did not come from the ancient one rodentmen worshipped, and by the oral traditions of the clan, he would now put this strayed member of the pack to death.

"Aaagh!" he cried, and the warriors' ears lifted, slowly encouraged by the voice of their unrelenting leader. 

They then saw their chieftain raise his staff, aiming its sharp tip at the monster, hopping on each rock towards the monster, and they followed suit, roaring as they charged.

As Gargag braced himself to pierce his corrupted friend, one of Voidmaw's hands reached him and grabbed him by the chest, crashing him against the ground and then throwing the weakened rodentman against the rocky hill. Gargag's body arched and twitched as it fell to the ground. 

The chieftain could feel it, the mindless plunge had broken his ribs, piercing his innards. Blood spurt out of his mouth almost immediately as he tried to get up.

"Puny, the revered chieftain of the rodentmen, broken by the gesture of my hand!" the monster chortled. 

His one eye fixed itself on his once towering superior, reveling in the power and strength he had received, but his eye pierced the veil of Gargag's mind, and the chieftain ached and twisted its head as he felt the monster intruding on his mind.

"Poor creature, such an ambition, so many dreams!" Voidmaw said, melancholically, "To see the steppes conquered, and your kin ruling these lands... truly touching."

The rodentmen warriors hesitated, their ears lowering and their bodies cowering like fearful beasts. Voidmaw turned on them, apparently feeding and breathing on their fear. 

"Perish your concerns, old Gargag, I will fulfill your dream, these lands will be ripped from the goblins' hands, and the rodentmen will rule them all..." his eye glowed intensely, and the rodent warriors began to touch their heads as if trying to hold them in place, "only better."

The same dark steam that had embraced Panagh now emanated from the rodent warriors, their teeth grew abnormally, and their limbs enlarged. Their eyes lost any sign of consciousness, now pitch white, glowing with the same hideous light in Voidmaw's eye.

Gargag's eyes widened, seeing his people pay a price he had not. He stretched his hand towards his corrupted kin, hopeless.

"Know this, old Gargag," Voidmaw continued, as he walked amidst his new puppet monsters, "In this steppe of harsh winds and unrelenting seasons, only my rodentmen will remain."

Voidmaw sprinted, followed by the mutated rodents, aimed at the vague light of torches on the horizon.