Across the sands of time. A group of three travelers traveled in search of the fishing village of Morigan.
"We're close. There should be a border line on the inner limit of the Badlands coming up," said Tusk as he turned around to his following associates.
Our faces were distraught in fatigue and horrible monsters sights as we fumbled across the heavy weighted sandy dunes. Our thick boots filled with burning sand as our cloak-covered bodies dripped in sweat and pain. In front of us walked Tusk, his bigger older body and face was perfectly fine under his ripped black cloak and heavy armor. He was like a walking machine, mute, not caring for the sun, us, or the monsters in his path.
We eventually reached a dip in the flat sandy distance. A concaving indent reaching at least thirty feet deep and fifteen feet wide. Once getting to this sudden cavernous cliff Tusk pointed at a small rustic bridge a distance away connecting the two sides.
"We're really gonna cross that? Shouldn't we go to the actual entrance into Rend?" asked Ceauli as she sat back exhausted in the burning evening heat.
"That way is only for royalty. This is the fastest path to get to the fishing village of Morigan," explained Tusk as he unapologetically walked toward the bridge without a second of rest.
I followed as Ceauli sat back exhausted.
"Hmph..."
I turned back around to her defeated sigh and squatted down next to her in the sand.
"What's up?" I asked concerned as her fluffy brown hair dripped in a layer of glistening sweat.
"I don't know about going this way Hofen... I know we've been fighting monsters our whole way here but... There's something more powerful guarding the fishing village of Morigan and anyone who enters it... If we make the wrong step or make the wrong impression... We could die..."
"Die? I don't know about that, Tusk is tougher than most. He's probably stronger than an entire army," I replied.
"And so is the guardian of Morigan. The Hawk of death. The deity of the arrow. It will kill us..."
"Ok... But would you rather walk ten more miles to the entrance of the Outerlands?"
"No... But it's better than dying."
I held out my hand as Ceauli grabbed it.
I pulled her up while saying with a smile, "then we just don't have to die, right?"
"I guess so..." she replied back with a worried expression as I turned around and walked off.
The makeshift bridge was made out of scraps of metal and wood. It was hanging on long tight slightly swaying thick rope as its spaced-out planks were irregularly made with rough scrap wood and pointed scrap metal.
As we slowly walked across its creaking path I asked the question, "who made this bridge? It looks new yet old."
Ceauli who walked in front of me made a guess, "I'd say the government of Rend but they don't really come out this far into the Outerlands."
Tusk was the first of us to reach the other side of the crevasse.
He turned around and said, "no this was made by something else..." He looked down at the rough-made bridge and its sturdy yet wild craftsmanship, "something else..."
He looked at a small carved symbol in the bridge's staked end. It was the symbol of a curled-up hawk, its wings extended out like a guardian angel.
Tusk leaned forward to get a closer look, "it couldn't be..."
---
On the edge of the fishing village of Morigan. The red-clothed Bard with his lute strung across his back stepped out into the sandy desert distance. The old wrinkled man, a younger woman, and two small children stood on the edge between the sand and the village.
"I guess this is goodbye. It was a good six days," waved the Bard as he slowly backed up into the sunny distance.
"Don't forget sunny boy. Follow the guiding star until you reach the Kings Outpost."
"I got it!"
The Bard in his flapping loose pants, red jacket, and feathered hat, trotted off into the sandy desert. The two blonde-haired kids turned to their young skinny blonde-haired mother who stood in a stunning sun-lit dress. She then turned to her old father.
"I wish I could have heard him sing," she said.
The old father turned away with his wrinkled cracked back popping in and out with every step, "sweety, you wouldn't want to. The boys terrible."
One of the young eight-year-old kids ran up to their grandfather, and tugged on his ripped cloth pants, and asked, "but he must have had great stories? He must have had great travels? Right grandpa, right?"
The grandpa turned to his daughter and two grandchildren, "he did have this tale of a fisherman and a stopwatch... It reminded me of my own grandfather... But the boys singing still needs work."
The family walked across the long road that ran through the village. They passed by laughing and happy children, as they played with half-deflated balls and sticks. They passed by tough burly workmen who carried heavy loads of supplies across the village square. They passed the tall watchtower made out of old cracked wood that shadowed over the village. A young seventeen-year-old boy slammed out from the small tower door. He ran up and stopped in front of the old man.
"Cheif Jilmu!"
"Yes, my boy?"
"We have more visitors! Three... And they are armed!"
"Armed? With what?"
"Well..."
The old wrinkled man walked over to a bench on the side of the road and sat down. The lookout kid sat down next to him.
He explained, "two are about my age, but the third is a bigger man probably in his mid-to-late twenties. And he's carrying a sword."
"A sword? Is it concealed or in the open?"
"It is concealed slightly by his ripped cloak, but I'd say, Mr. Chief, that he's a target. What should we do Chief? Should we help them?"
The old Cheif Jilmu looked down nervous and sad as he stared at his wrinkled dark legs.
"No... We must wait for the Hawk's judgment. We can only pear into the human's outer layer, it is the inner layer that the Hawk can see. We have no right of judgment on these holy lands."
"But... Do you think the Hawk is going to let them pass?"
"The Hawk can be very forgiving, sunny boy... But..."
"But...?"
The Cheif leaned forward and placed his creaking old arms on his thin legs, "but that is only for those of no evil nature... Only those who possess no harm to us will ever be able to pass. But as you describe this man, he could be but another fool. Another man distraught in his own horrid regretful past, wielding weapons not in defense, but in attack... And that will get him killed."
---
On a sandy hill two hundred feet away from the village, a hooded figure in glinting silver-grey sat cross-legged with a black bow between their arms and their legs. The figure looked out into the distance. It then pulled out a small telescope and stared through it to get a better look at Tusk, Ceauli, and me.
The figure in the shiny intricate cloak pulled a singular arrow from the handcrafted basket, filled with food and water, and placed it firmly on the horsehair string of the bow. The figure then aimed steadily, pulled back on the string, and fired...
Thwunk!