3 DREAD

Leto scrambled for his clothes as he and Raona wrestled to figure out whose shirt was whose. He couldn't find his in the end and instead just threw on the first thing he found before pulling on the sash he covered his lower body with and moving toward the clearing. When the light displayed Raona he saw she had managed to find her hide top and was fastening the last strap now.

However she had lost her skirt, instead wearing Leto's shirt with the wide collar around her thin waist. He would have laughed if the smell of smoke wasn't just now reaching the satyrs. Glancing down, Leto saw he had grabbed Raona's skirt and tossed it over his shoulders making it some kind of improvised shawl. He felt silly but put that thought aside as he jumped other scrambling Satyrs and tents. He found the tent he had shared with two other goatmen until the last battle and rushed inside. Their things were already gone, cleared away by their family he assumed, and he grabbed the spear laid on the ground next to is bedding. The haft was thicker than average but fit more comfortably in his large hands, while the tip was longer and sharpened along the side to let him more easily cut as well as stab.

He threw open the flap of his tent and leaped out. By this time all the other satyrs were running around in the first semblance of order. Another few minutes and their clearing would be empty as they ran for the Keep. Leto started running, several other satyrs moving next to him but few truly keeping up. He may not have been the most handsome, graceful, or confident... but Leto was fast. In a straight run not many could outpace him and he was proud of that. He bounded through the woods doing his best to keep his course straight while the others spread out in case another armed force of humans had managed to sneak through the wood and this was a bigger fight than expected. Leto didn't think about that. He thought about the Lord. The "Dread" Lord as the humans called him.

For the Satyrs he was Melbore. The one who saved them from dying out.

There had never been an abundance of satyrs, they always kept to the woods and vales and had little to do with humans past the odd encounter. Oh sure a satyr may play a tune for some travelers or join a caravan for a night but for many they were creatures of myth. The satyrs were comfortable with that and enjoyed seeing the wonder when some villager saw them for the first time... their surprise when a young noble began to hunt them for sport could only be matched by their rage and mourning. Where it started was hard to say but the nobility of Humans and Dwarves started taking to trapping satyrs and cutting off their horns as trophies. This was all well before Leto's time but he remembered seeing the haunted stare in the eyes of his elders. The satyrs took to fighting back against the hunters and defending themselves which only brought the ire of the nobility. The satyrs went from fighting off bands of hunters to running from soldiers as they set fire to their forests. The satyrs of many tribes began migrating to the Blackwoods, a forest of thick trees that had never been burned in their history. It was more than luck but an act of some old magic, at least according to the shamans of the tribes, that kept the woods safe from flame and true harm.

The humans built a fort at the edge of the Blackwood to keep the satyrs and other creatures trapped at the edge of the world. For a time an unsteady peace became norm and the satyrs began rebuilding their lives. Then came the sickness. It affected everyone but was hardest on children and pregnant women. In just a generation the satyrs lost so many that they feared being wiped out, with only the old and feeble left to sing their songs. Then came Melbore.

Melbore was an outcast, a cursed elf exiled by his own kind. How or why he was cursed Leto didn't know but it left his skin black as a starless night sky and his hair white as unsullied snow. The dark elf came to the Blackwood and spoke to the elders of the tribes. Where they had seen sickness Melbore saw magic at work. It was not a natural illness but one set upon them by the humans in their keep. Using his knowledge of the arcane, the dark elf pushed back the magic and turned it against those in the keep. In return for this favor he only asked that the satyrs answer his call, for he planned to fight for all the races hated by men. The satyrs couldn't turn down their savoir and honored their deal. Leto grew up healthy and strong, knowing that one day he would join Melbore's war for the outcast races. When he first marched into the fray he was surprised to see his allies and even more shocked to hear them called the Dread army. They'd been named by the terrified nations of men and adopted the name openly to encourage their fear.

Now... the war was nearly over. At least that was what Leto had believed. After crushing one army after another, the last one to attack them had been the weakest most pathetically armed yet. The last dregs of man struggling in vain. But if they were truly defeated then why was the Dread Lord's keep burning. Why had it happened right then when Raona was finally looking at him. He gripped his spear tighter and pushed on until he cleared the Blackwood and started crossing the open field between the wood and the keep. From the wood other satyrs could be seen running as well along with a few large wolves carrying the small hunched form of goblins. Leto hadn't known any of them were staying in the Blackwood but put that thought aside. The goblin's wargs might be the only beast fast enough to catch up with the satyrs in a dead sprint, but the ones Leto saw were weighted down with weapons and barding. He would still beat them to the keep.

The Orcs were already at the keep, not a surprise considering they stayed the closest to the structure, and were currently trying to throw buckets of water and mud on the flames to smother them. Fire roared in the main doors of the keep. Leto skid to a stop and looked around trying to decide what he could do to help. In a flash a line of red hair caught his vision as Raona and two others ran out of the wood and toward the Keep without slowing. The three began bounding over the heads of others and then fired several arrows into the side of the keep. The arrows had lines attached and in seconds the satyrs were climbing the walls and jumping through one of the few windows now pouring out smoke. Leto only starred in awe for a second or two before rushing after them. He leaped up the wall and grabbed one of the ropes tight in his hand, feeling the strands burn as he slid down a bit before catching in his grip. He ignored the pain in his hand and quickly followed Raona's route up the side and through the open window.

Climbing in, his metal cuffed hoof clomped loudly on the stone window sill, Leto glanced quickly at the corridor trying to find Raona. She was no where to be seen. He started moving along the carpet running down the center of the corridor, his eyes darting between open doorways. Each room he passed seem mostly deserted save for collections of odd items. One room held a stand in its center with an assortment of jars sitting atop it. Another room held nothing but broken swords mounted in rows along the walls. The satyr ignored these as he kept forward, the corridor turning sharply. As he rounded the corner he heard the sound of metal striking metal up ahead and began running down the hall. Soon he found a stairway leading up and made the climb in two long jumps. Standing at the top of the stairs Leto saw two satyrs on the ground and Raona standing strong opposite some human. A woman had blond hair and heavy clothes looking like their something like a faith speaker's. The woman held a single long dagger in her hand.

In a flash the human threw the dagger just as Raona pulled back the string of her bow. Leto knew how good the satyress' aim was and started running forward. Raona would likely hit her target but they might not die right away. Best if Leto ran her through with his spear once the arrow hit. The woman saw Leto join the fray and threw a second dagger at him as well, a twirl of his spear knocked the weapon aside just as the twang of Raona's bow reached his ear. The arrow went wide, striking against the ceiling and missing its mark completely. The mysterious human turned and ran around the corner of the hall, Leto could catch her easily if he just jumped against the walls to turn the corner without losing speed. Instead he stopped and looked back at Raona. She was laying on the ground... a shallow wound on her arm. Panic started rising in Leto's chest as he rushed over to her and turned her over. Her pallor looked all wrong and her eyes were unfocused.

When Leto looked at the dagger he had batted away he saw it coated in something wet. Raona tried to say something but started to violently shake and twitch.

"No no no no no no no no" Leto said, holding her tight to try and keep her from convulsing.

When she finally stopped there was a slight foam at her mouth. She was still warm but Leto could tell she had soiled herself before going completely limp. No movement from her chest and her eyes looked bloodshot and scared. He kept holding her tight, so tight it would have left bruises... would have. Couldn't anymore. Leto cried out, his mournful wail trailing out into a bleat. If it were another Satyr maybe they'd have chased after the woman in a rage. Leto didn't have that fire in him. Rather he felt numb as if he were wading through a cold mud that sapped all the warmth and strength from him. His hands moved through Raona's hair as he cried, somehow hoping that if he didn't let her go she couldn't never truly leave. But she was gone. Leto slowly sat her body down to the ground as if she were made of glass before closing her eyes with his hand and pressing his forehead against hers. His ear twitched but he ignored the motion.

He just kept looking at Raona.

The fire haired Raona.

The beautiful fierce Raona.

The dead Raona.

Leto was moving before he realized it. His clomping hooves on the stone and his eyes looking around with a dull drift. He didn't have his spear with him but he kept walking anyway. Rooms all around him but none of them had anything he wanted. He didn't know what he wanted but it wasn't in the rooms. He kept walking up higher and higher until he was near the top of the keep. Until he was standing before Malbore.

The Dread Lord looked at Leto with a sorrowful gaze as he coughed up blood.