He downed the other two 'venoms' back to back, this time only able to hold off the chaser a few seconds before his tongue yelled for respite and he drained the tankard of rose cactus as well. Vibrant colors exploded across his line of sight as the powerful drink saturated him, his senses dulled, his mind slowly numbing to a place of mild contentment. That was the curse of his life, ever since he had died and felt the harsh licks of the Forever Flames his mind was no longer his own, constantly badgered by the haunting 's of his agonies his death. Not only that, but his spirit or soul had been damaged by it as well, it wasn't something he could explain, but it was something he definitely knew for truth, although he appeared in the form of a man, he knew he was something else too. What that something else was being an utter mystery to him, even after all these centuries of living, or more fitting, existing.

Once he had realized he had drawn the attentions of the northern Queens he had gone into hiding, living alone in the Scorch with only his Keetones. He would spend his days searching for Shamans of the Scorch, gaining whatever useful knowledge he could of blood magics, but this far south there was not much information, or many who knew of its practices. He had only learned of it from his mother, and her memories of it had been sketchy at best, Queen Lesna had kept her knowledge and her intents secret to all the Dukes and Duchesses of that time. So, he had searched not only the Scorch, but also southern Nazra along the border between the sands and tree-lands for anyone, or thing with knowledge of this dark, yet powerful art. In the days of Lesna it was a budding practice, one that the Queen herself seeming to be its only practitioner. As other's life time's came and went he would pick up rumors of others using it, but never able to validate another's use of it, or find anyone to explain how the Queen had seized such knowledge and gained such power to bring all of Nazra's most feared predators to their knees.

He had gotten a promising lead a few centuries past that took him deeper into the northern lands than he would've like, to a small hamlet just south of the city of Link, the place named Cool Springs, known for its fresh water springs running through the villages small town square. His mood darkened once more as he thought back to that day, and the horrors that he had seen there. Upon riding into the town on a borrowed horse he had found nothing, but death, horses, cattle, dogs, cats, men, women, and children decimated, violated and torn to bloody shredded pulps. Buildings were burning, no house had a door on it anymore, all doors splintered, ripped from their rigging, there had been no place to run and hide from such a slaughter. He had sniffed at the air, hoping to perhaps glean a clue as to what had caused such destruction. It was this one deep breath that had saved his life, catching the creatures scent a moment before it hit him.

It really wasn't the creatures scent, but rather that of its victims, the monstrosity perfumed with the drippings of this damned village. It was night time with the full moon just touching the nights skies, the creature moving as fast as the fleeting shadows of dim torches. He was still mounted when the beast massive claws struck, severing his horses head, he rolled as the beast toppled to avoid being pinned beneath it. He rolled to his feet drawing his sword, knowing that his small blade would be no match for this titan. The beast was big, at least that was his thought, but he couldn't tell how big, the monster seemed to be manipulating the shadows, preventing even his keen vision from focusing on the beast and getting a true feel for what he was up against. He looked down and realized that when the monster had ripped his horses head off that it had gotten him too, his sword hand sticky and dripping blood. Panicked, he searched the shadows for the beast, but to no avail, the beast beyond his eye sight. He couldn't swear it, but he thought he could hear the beast laughing at him. With his eyes failing him, he did what he had done so many years ago, reaching out with his mind, frantic to find something, anything...and he did.

He linked with the creature just as it attacked, what he felt of the beast was pure, sinister hatred, what he had felt in his death the first time in the incinerating flames of the Forever Fires was flung at him again, except this time with a stinging, freezing cold that engulfed his entire mind. A darkness so complete, and excruciating he was sure he would once again being sent to the Forever Flames. He reeled as consciousness became more of an idea, than an actual thing, like a phantom or ghost the dragon-wolf like fangs and teeth of the monsters came through the wall of the building he was standing next to. Just as it seemed beast was about to consume him it shrieked so loud it nearly turned his bones to jelly. The beast that was moments ago moving through the wall like an apparition was once again in the physical world and stuck in the wall. The beast, although unable to attack him physically pummeled him through the mind link. He remembered little after that, waking up bloodied and alone in the hot mid-days sun.

The bar maid put two more shots and a chaser down on the table, "Not sure where your mind is rider, but by look on that handsome face of yours, you need these."

He looked up at her, nodding his thanks before quickly drinking them too, this time ignoring the chaser, in hopes of escaping the haunts of his past. His mouth was now ablaze from the 'venom', but his mind was drifting into welcomed oblivion. His chest now burned, not from the drink, but from the scar left behind by the beast that night. It was the only wound he had ever gotten that had scarred, four large claw marks ripped across his chest and right arm, the skin puckered and numb to the touch. He had never gone back to check on the beast he had left in Cool Springs, knowing he had been beyond lucky to have survived his run in with the monster, whatever it was. Cool Springs was now a memory long past, a story northern mothers told their children to scare them and keep them in line, a north man's version of the 'Sand Reaper', but far, far, far deadlier. That had been his last excursion into the tree lands, he now stayed in the Scorch, trying to avoid prying eyes and gain any information he could from northerners traveling the Scorch. Eyes closed, he leaned his head back against the wall, the 'venom' eating away his last dark thoughts, will-o-the-wisps. Settling in more he let the now twilight breeze envelope him, his mind now gently dancing with the potent desert drink, almost...almost causing him to smile.

The soft approach of a predator's light footsteps drew him from his revelry, he kept his eyes closed.

"I've been tracking you a long-time rider, you're not an easy man to find." Came the soft, but confident female's voice.

He waited a moment before responding, still not opening an eye, "Beat it mutt, you've got the wrong guy."

If his barb had hit, the woman betrayed no signs of it in her voice, "Oh, I'm sure I have the right guy, I can smell the fire on you."

"And I can still smell the shit scrapings beneath your tail from the last time you plopped one, but I'm not tracking you all over the Scorch. Like I said before, fuck off dog!" He finished his last words through clenched teeth, still with eyes closed.

The she-wolf remained calm, he could smell her nervous sweat however, and he found it nearly as intoxicating as the 'venom' he'd been drinking.

"There are twenty-five Fetch-Men sitting on the out skirts of this town waiting for you, so if you'd like help getting out of this place you might want to try using better manners." She said, as if she truly were offering him something of value.

He snarled a look of distaste at her, shaking his head, "If you truly know who I am then you know I don't need you or your mangy help to get out of this town." He could smell six other... no, the seven other werewolves outside, this got his attention. A she-wolf traveling with seven wardens meant only one thing, a royal messenger. He now lifted his head and opened his eyes, penetrating orbs of blue now took in his prey, the she-wolf sensing this shifted nervously, "And know this Cur, if not for the Rani Rule, the sands would be drinking you and your friends vile blood as soon as I caught your rotten stench enter town. So, don't assume you can check my manners!" He kept his voice low, not wishing to draw attention to his dark little corner.

The she-wolf now visibly unsettled, her eyes shifting and darting, looking for a way of escape in case he was to attack her. The scent of the fear now filling her was deafening, he took in the maddening aroma, licking his lips.

"I...I...we..." She stammered, unable to get control of her tongue.

He squinted, predatory, taking in his prey. She was smaller than he expected, not very tall and almost too slim. Most of her was concealed in cloth, a headscarf covered all but a small section of hair that hung down onto her forehead, and the bottom half of her face was still concealed behind yet another piece of fabric. Although she may be lesser than first thought, he was still facing another predator, making her fear even more exquisite to his heightened senses. She wasn't dressed for battle, her billowing dress wouldn't offer much room for moving, let alone Changing if need be. She'd been banking on him observing and respecting the Rani Rule. Her eyes were the only physical characteristic that he could clearly see, a shade of green so light that they were almost transparent with a black ring around her iris, and full of resentment mixed in with terror, a luscious combination for any apex predator.

The Rani Rule prohibited violence, in all of its forms, occurring within the boundaries of a village or settlement on the Scorch. Violators had previously been tracked across the entire Scorch and brought back to face Rani Justice, it was a no tolerance policy punishable by death, and none were allowed to escape. It was hard enough for most to survive the harshness of the desert, let alone to build towns or anything similar there, and disruption of peace or damage of property were unforgivable sins. So, if you wanted to fight someone you took it out to the sands of the Scorch, which often times led to no fights at all, both combatants would usually 'cool down' by the time they thought it a suitable spot to fight out of camp.

"The Maharani wishes an audience with you." She nervously said, her words coming out fast and running together.

Maharani?

The Cursed Queen, momma mutt herself, the Werewolf Queen? He sneered to himself, he had killed a handful of Maharanis in his lifetime, but this current Maharani was inviting him in? This was like letting the wolf in with the chickens, but this time the wolves were the chickens! The 'venom' was making him loopy, he focused back on the woman.

"What would the Cur Bitch want of me?"

These words chased some of the fear from her, the she-wolfs jaw clenching down and grinding, hearing her queen insulted in the most offensive of ways. He couldn't see her face through the veil, but he could feel her flaring her nostrils at him. Rage and hatred now filled his nostrils, his sweet prey beginning to show some fight? She was truly intoxicating now.

"The Maharani didn't let one such as I know her wishes. She only said to tell the 'Verheiin' that she holds knowledge to that which he seeks."

He looked at her even harder, his mind clearing more and more with each passing second. How would the dog queen know of his quest, or what he was seeking? This was a waste of his time, and of a good buzz, the flea bag was ruining his night.

"Like I said Cur, fuck off." He waved her away.

Now she truly seemed affronted, he could feel her cheeks filling with color beneath the veil.

Gaining some nerve, she spoke, "The Maharani said if he refuses say these two words and he will come."

He looked at her suspicious and annoyed, "And what words does the Cur-queen think will make me go with her pack of fleas?" He said sarcastically.

The she-wolf paused a moment, making sure she said it correctly, "Lesna's Cres."

Lesna's Crest? What in red sands was she talkin... "What did you say?"

The woman sensed the shift in power, he could to.

"Lesna's Cres."

He clenched his teeth now, he slowly got to his feet standing next to the woman, "Grab my packs mutt, and keep up. We have to get Zorn and then decide what to do with twenty-five Fetch-Men...." He looked at her suspiciously once again, "Aren't you guys a pack of like the original "fetch-men"?"

The woman squinted at him angrily but said nothing, she then knelt down picking up his two large packs. He didn't wait to see if she fell in behind him, he knew she would, all of his best dogs had before. He walked from the bar into the cooling desert night, the she-wolf following at his heels.

Lesna's Cres?

Lesna's Cres.

How did this Werewolf Maharani know of his mother's name, not only that but also how did she know of his mother's connection to the Queen of Reckoning, Lesna? And to have her messenger say it like she had "Lesna's Cres", there was no mistaking the meaning in it. How could this Scorch mongrel know anything about him, or his mother? Through all his centuries he had almost forgotten the name bestowed upon her from the Known; Cres, short for Cressa. A name she had him forget once they reached the sands of the Scorch. His mother had told him that Queen Lesna had informed her and her young duke husband that she was to have a boy child. The young duke and duchess took it on faith in the queen that they were having a boy child and given him the name Nephi, one long since forgotten. But that had been so long ago, and what were names in a hundred lifetimes, tags to be pulled, only to open old wounds of losses, and broken hearts. So, this werewolf Maharani had chosen her words carefully, knowing precisely what to say that would make him come to her. But did she know his connection to her? For that matter, what did she know about him?

All these thoughts and more battered him as he walked down the paths between tents, with the seven wardens falling in behind their ward, he led the pack of dogs to the outskirts of the camp. His mood began to sour once again, pissed off to the fact he was walking with these Curs instead of killing them. He had just whistled for Zorn, having to wait only moments before the smooth, lumbering beast rose from the sands, the Scorches tiny teeth raining off his limbs and shell with each heavy step. He lumbered through the werewolves making his way to his master's side, snorting and puffing, blowing and gagging out sand from its long, pointed snout, and mouth.

"Yeah, I know boy," he said patting his beast thick head, "smells like all sorts of dog shit around here." He continued his walk, removing three more heavy saddle bags from Zorn's back dropping them unceremoniously to the sand, "Carry these too." Was all he said, regretting that he didn't have more heavy packs for the desert Cur to carry. Off in the distance he could hear a herd of Keetone bleating loudly as if distressed, or frenzied, he ignored them as he hopped into the saddle, "I don't see your twenty-five Fetch-Men, dog eyes." He said looking sternly at the she-wolf.

She raised her nose sniffing the air, catching only the faint hint of smoke and nothing more. "They're gone," She said, peering out into the night, "but I swear to you they were here."

He gave her a snide look, "Well, that means they got what they came for. Fetch-Men only leave once they've gotten whoever, or whatever they were after. It appears I wasn't their query after all, doesn't it?"

She gave him a doubtful glance, "They were pursuing you, I know it."

He now looked at her with doubt, and scorn, "You're off to a bad start Cur. I don't like being lied to."

"I didn't lie to you!" she shouted, "they were h..."

"Enough!" he shouted even louder, "Muzzle it and lead the way."

She looked about to argue, but then realized the futility of it, "This way." And then headed south, deeper into the Scorch, and its sweltering heat of intrigue.

---

A few roiling hills over and towards the north, another stranger was just finishing his work, the last of the Fetch-Men stared at him through tinted goggles as the last few seconds of his life slipped away. This stranger now kicked the man in the chest sliding the corpse from his blade, blood spattered his desert brown garb, he wiped the blood from his mouth smearing more blood on to his already red stained sleeves. He jumped onto his own Keetone, flaring his nostrils, picking up the scent of the werewolves and the Verheiin's. He thumped twice on the shell of the Keetone, the beast swung around to the right and slowly plodded after his rider's quarry. The beast claws leaving a few red spattered prints in the sands before it's natural body functions started absorbing it, and recycling it into life giving water, aqqway. The parched sands of the Scorch drank in the blood as well, twenty-five dead Fetch-Men, forever lost to the Scorch, and the predators within.