The buildings of the Drangok village were constructed of adobe. The size of the village shocked the companions when they were escorted through it. There were at least a thousand people living there, and yet it did not seem crowded or unsustainable at all. Most of the houses were constructed partway underground to protect the inhabitants from sandstorms and to stay warm in the winter and cool in the desert summer. What confounded them the most was the large statue of Cheimon, god of beasts and the hunt, in the center of the village. The statue depicted the minotaur god holding a sword into the air, with moss hanging from his horns and scars criss-crossing his beastly features.

"Your people...they worship Cheimon?" Lorthrendel hesitantly asked. Leravacha glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Indeed. We are his children, his unworthy children. Though even the minotaurs of I'lik Gund call my people friends, we must never think that we are worthy of Cheimon's love and blessings," said the chieftain. "Does that surprise you? Your people call us savages and barbarians, and our men rapists and our women foolish. My people are abominations to the majority of Dalyntarth, who hate us simply because they've heard false rumors.

"We never hurt anybody. We only go to war if one of the other tribes provoke us. Is it too much to ask that we are left to perform our ancient customs without interference and judgment from the other races? If I remember correctly, the majority of Sylvanaar are cannibals, and nobody ever bothers them because of that," she added with a glance at Aerysdren.

"Don't bring my people into this!" Aerysdren's eyes widened. "We shun the outside world. I have not even ever heard of the Tyranic Plains before! We all have it bad, lady. It's not just your people. It's all of us."

"I am simply stating a fact, young one. I meant no disrespect." Leravacha dismissed the whole topic with a wave of her hand. "My sister, Hakrynsif, is our tribe's High Priestess," she continued. "Recently, her prayers have fallen silent, and her clerical abilities have ceased to work. Our people are falling ill and we cannot cure them.

"I have been watching them die in agony for the past three weeks, and there is nothing I can do to help them. But now, my beloved, Rilvuldrasyn, has also become deathly ill. Her health is failing, and her strength hangs by a feather." She turned around to the face the companions, pain and sadness reflecting in her eyes. "I hope you understand that I will do anything it takes to save her. If you are here to stop the evil at Tribesmen's Bay, then you will also help us figure out why our god has abandoned us. If I lose Rilvuldra, I lose everything."

"W-we will try, chieftain," Isendir stuttered, caught off guard. His brows wrinkled. "However-"

"Speak no more, Highlander." Leravacha turned back around and raised her hand into the air for silence. "We are nearly there. You will speak then."

Isendir cast worried glances at the rest of the companions. Ragnus only shook his head at him before continuing to stomp along in the sand, harshly muttering to himself in dwarven.

It was then that they noticed how silent the village was. The quietude that laced the air in that place was unnatural; even the dogs made not a sound, and very few people could be seen. Even for winter, there would still be more signs of life. The sand that they walked in seemed louder than the village.

In the distance, they could hear a woman weeping over the body of her dead child.

Leravacha led them to a much larger, longer house, with banners hanging from its walls that gently flapped in the wind. At the chieftain's approach, two warriors standing guard at the door bowed from the waist down and opened the door for her.

A small staircase with only four steps led down into a large room. A long stone table sat in the center of the room, right across from a roaring, crackling fire in the hearth that kept the cold at bay. Bead curtains separated other rooms and more, finely woven banners depicting symbols and art of the Drangok Tribe hung from the adobe walls. Pale, white light streamed down into the room from the high windows.

"Sit," Leravacha ordered the companions. They reluctantly obeyed her.

"Sister! You have returned!" A woman shrouded in white robes quickly approached the chieftain, her brown eyes sparkling with joy. "When the runner you sent told of outlanders, I became worried." She looked at the seated companions. "Are these them?"

"Indeed." Leravacha nodded. She lowered her voice and switched to their native tongue. "How is Rilvuldra, Hakrynsif? Is she awake?"

"She is...awake, sister, but she is not really here," Hakrynsif said slowly, reluctantly. She twisted her ring around her finger, her eyes darting around. "When she first opened her eyes, she asked where you were, and to take her to you. She is still conscious, but she is looking...beyond this world...She sees things that are not really there, things not of this plane. She told me that she wanted to go home, and that she saw her grandfather in the room with her. Her grandfather has been dead for over fifteen years."

"What are you saying, sister?" Leravacha's eyes narrowed.

Hakrynsif was quiet a moment. She glanced behind her at the companions who sat the table before turning back to her older sister, grief in her brown eyes. "Talk to them first, chieftain," she whispered. "Afterwards, we will go to lady Rilvuldra."

A line appeared between Hakrynsif's brows. "Hakrynsif...." She let out a harsh sigh and slung her bow and arrows off of her shoulder, resting them against the wall. "Alright. We won't be long. Companions," Leravacha switched to Common and took a seat at the opposite side of the table, "this is my sister, Hakrynsif, High Priestess of our tribe. You will now tell me your names." The chieftain clasped both of her hands together, staring expectantly at the group of outlanders before her.

Hakrynsif remained standing, staring intently at the companions. She had never seen men with pointed ears before, or with red eyes. Not to mention that in Drangok culture, it was seen as shameful for a man to grow his hair long.

"I am Isendir Shatterstorm. My companions are Ragnus Frostjaw, Varenyl Jorona, Aerysdren Ravenshard, and Lorthrendel." Isendir nodded his head towards the others as he said their name. "I have been traveling with Ragnus for nearly seven years. I met the others in the burning ruins of Iksyn City, after it had been nearly destroyed by a dragon."

"Get to the point, Highlander," Leravacha snapped. "Tell me what the hell is going on, and why you five are here. I care not about the destruction of Dalyntarthic cities." She waved her hand. "If you can, comprise it all into fifty words or less."

Lorthrendel cast uncertain glances at his companions before saying, "The Dragon King is attempting to bring himself onto this world and destroy it. His dragon minions have already destroyed the elven capital of Lyrenbel. The gods have been cut off from the world, and no contact with them is able to be made. Clerics all over the world have lost their abilities. Thanks to a spell I cast, we were able to contact the god of murder, Fibius. The Ebony God informed us that Vadrioth is attempting to open up a rift in Tribesmen's Bay to come through, and thus that is where we are going."

The chieftain's brows knitted together. She covered her mouth with her hand, her fingers lightly drumming on the table. She glanced at Hakrynsif.

"If my sister did not currently have men and women barricading Tribesmen's Bay, fighting the monsters that are coming out of that nightmarish thing you call a 'rift', we would call the lot of you insane," said the High Priestess after a few more seconds of silence. She slowly approached the table. "But stories and legends about the power of the Horned One have been passed down from generation to generation by my people. What are you going to do to him? Taunt him? And taunt him a second time if he returns? I believe you, but-"

"The boy and the mage." Leravacha's brown eyes suddenly bored into Lorthrendel and Aerysdren. "You two know something that the others do not. Something important. I wonder what."

"You're a smart woman," Lorthrendel said with a smile, ignoring the stares of Isendir, Varenyl and Ragnus. He dug the heel of his boot into Aerysdren's foot to keep the Sylvanaar from shaking. "I admire smart women like you. But that is a discussion for me and my companions to have."

"And I admire men who find the time to groom hair that long." Leravacha abruptly stood up and turned their back to them. She raised her hand. "Warrior, take these outlanders to an empty house and make sure they cannot leave. Come with me, Hakrynsif. We will discuss what was said here later."

"What?" Ragnus tried to jump to his feet but promptly fell back. "You cannot keep us here, lassy!"

Leravacha cast the dwarf a sideways glance. "I can, and I will. Do not worry, dwarf master. This is only an overnight thing, while I can sort a few things out. You will be cared for, trust me. You've nothing to worry about." With that, she disappeared behind the bead curtain, Hakrynsif quickly following her.

***🐉***

hi yall♡ thank you so much for reading as always. i feel this chapter, like this whole book, could use lots of improvement, so please tell me any criticism or suggestions you have♡

this chapter is dedicated to RiverMecancy, who was my partner last month in the Wonder Writer's Book Club. she's extremely sweet and awesome, and id really appreciate it if you checked her account out♡

also, the first chapter of a Thief's Glory is published if you're interested

finally, for the people who read this and stick with me, thank you so much. i have to keep reminding myself that im young, and that i will get better eventually if i keep at it😂 it is just very easy for me to get discouraged. writing is my only passion in life. it's what i want to do in this world. and, hopefully, one day that dream will become a reality.

thank y'all again♡

until next time~