No one knew where the Greygrass came from, but everyone knew that it was there a hell of a lot longer than they could be asked to think about, especially given the current state of the world. What's a patch of funny coloured grass in the middle of buttfeck nowhere compared to the biggest war ever fought. Bastard certainly thought so. He lived there, in the Greygrass, had a bedroll and a tent and everything a man ostracised from society needs, though sometimes he wished he didn't need all this. Clad entirely in grey, aside from his face which was solid and sharp (and unusually brown given how far north he was), he was invisible from far off, which was useful in his line of work. Bastard was a scavenger, and a good one as well.
His eyes glazed lazily over the grass, a shroud would have made it almost impossible to see, which was why he chose not to wear it unlike the other scavengers who roamed the greygrass, but even then it was difficult to see past the monotony of staring at the most boring colour in the world until the dull grey turned into a shiny grey that he could sell in Ardorf. He would have thought that by now the metals would have all been found by the many scavengers of the grasslands, but somehow, there were always more, only Illum knew where it came from. Every few months he'd return to an old spot and find something new there, though no one in their right frame of mind was dropping anything nowadays when they could sell it. Ardorf had always been a town of wood and steel, it had constructed some of the finest machines and contraptions ever made, the Iron City's Mechanical Antelopes included, but now its creative heartbeat served another purpose: war.
Shit his back hurt, but Bastard supposed that staring at the ground every day for hours on end would do that to you. He sighed. Only 29 and already back problems, what would his mother have thought. Probably would have said something funny, because she always did. Often he wished he was funny. His mouth ticked up at the thought of his mother, and then down again at the knowledge that by now he'd probably outlived her.
Sitting down for a rest, he pulled a tin of sick coloured soup out of his bag and began to drink; "Not too bad," he grimaced. He was lying, but it was a lie that helped for now.
Ardorf was visible, if barely, from the hill he was sitting on, as was a small circle of trees about the midpoint of the journey back to Ardorf. He could make camp there, wait till daylight rose again, and finally return after 2 years away. Bastard wondered if anything had changed; most likely, the world had become hostile and cruel recently. He doubted the people would appreciate him there, so he would have to practise his best hunchback walk to sell his goods and hope no one noticed an apparent cripple standing at their head height. No matter how bad the world got, you could always count on the Northerners to be nosy twats that poked their fecking noses where they didn't belong.
Anyways, it was time to get going, so he stood and began the long trudge to the outcrop of trees. Frozen greygrass crunched and crumpled under his feet; winter was coming into full swing, which was both good and bad for Bastard. Good for the bears going into slumber, but it was impossible to ignore the deep bone-chill waking from it. The winter had always been bad up north, but it was getting worse. The winters were becoming longer and colder, and people were enlisting in the army just to get away from the cries of dead-children's mothers, and that had been last winters song, he had heard the new song from an Omen from the Temple of Holt that this winter would be worse still. He hadn't been inclined to believe it as a man of science, even though he hadn't the foggiest about what science entailed, but this was a bad sign if Omens were coming true.
Bastards eyes darted to the left. Something had moved, and worse, made a noise. The sky was turning to a great blackness from its usual slate grey, but even now, the presence was clear. Highwaymen? Common thieves? Who was it? Silence was mandatory in the greygrass, especially at night, and the animals knew this, the ones that didn't had long since been pacified. The sound travelled far here for reasons unknown, so whoever had made the sound had been noticed by others. He needed to move quickly, but first... he pulled out a pair of padded gloves from his belt and slowly sank to the ground. Hands first, he lay them down cautiously, feeling for twigs that would announce his position. Legs next, he lightly ran them across the ground to check for the same before before he was satisfied. His frame crept through the grass up the slope where the noise had been heard, again running his hands over the area in front of him each time to check for sticks. Finally reaching the top of the slope, he looked over.
A boy, no more than 10, standing in the grass and looking out. Why was he there? Ardorf was close by now, so he could guess where he was from, but what led a boy to run into the greygrass at night? He must have heard the stories, Bastard certainly had, and whilst that had not stopped him from running into the greygrass, he was a particular kind of brave that less bordered on stupid than invaded it. More movement, south, 200 metres, rapidly approaching, large, many legs, and silent. A hunter used to the greygrass. The boy had clearly seen it, he was staring at the thing, but he wasn't moving, just stood there, peaceful and unaffected. Closer now, 50 metres, run child, should he help? No, he shouldn't, it would only draw attention, which he couldn't have so close to Ardorf, it would only bring the others near. Shit. Closer now. Too bad for the boy. Wait. He had turned his head. Looked at Bastard. Looked with eyes like pools of gold.
Bastard moved. A huge, nearly 7 foot figure leapt into the air... and with long inky fingers outstretched, a giant shadowy spider burst into a bright flame. Bastard stood in front of him with a stoic look on his face, picked up the boy, and ran towards Ardorf.