[u][b]Central Wastes, about a week before present time[/b][/u]

Night had fallen over the sands. The rays of the sun, which might once have been a welcome sight on Nabushan, but were now a scorching bane to travellers and settlers alike, had at last abated, and multiple distant, soothingly cool stars had replaced the smouldering orb which had until but some three hours before hung high in the mercilessly clear heavens. Arsat inhaled the tepid, comparatively clean air for what must have been the twentieth time, his relief still undiminished. It was like this every evening. After a day in the wastes, you would not care if your dwelling were a palace or a tent sewn together from old rags, or if you would dine on some well-seasoned exotic viand or the fistful of desiccated roots you could barely scrape together from the bottom of your pack - no, all you would think of was that the refreshing darkness would come. Such a life taught one to appreciate even the simplest things (which was just as well, seeing they were nearly all one had), and Arsat truly did not mind it. Of course, everyone had some dream or ambition - to settle down in an oasis-city was by far the most common of them - but, for the overwhelming majority of wastelanders such as them, these would remain just that for a very long time in the best of cases. For the moment, they had to learn to let what there was suffice.

Truth be told, Arsat himself had apparently not altogether learned that lesson, if one was to judge by his present condition. For he was now far from the settlement which had seen him born, and, instead of returning to his hut after a day's scouring the wastes for something useful, was standing guard at the edge of the camp his party had set up in a comparatively even spot surrounded by sloping dunes. It had all begun a month ago - some wandering traders had brought rumours of a far-off oasis somewhere in the south-east, allegedly unclaimed by any city-state or raider gang, surrounded by various marvels such as "snow", or soft solidified water. While these tales were clearly exaggerated, and the mention of snow was obviously derived from some text on ancient history or the likes, reports of the sighting of unknown oases were not at all common, and Arsat's brothers had concluded there ought to have been at least some truth in the matter. Over the following week, they had persuaded the rest of their family, as well some others, to venture out into the wastes in search of this fabled inland sea. Their main argument had been that, in either case, they would have lost nothing, as the location of their home was neither especially advantageous nor comfortable; and Arsat had to admit it seemed to him a rather valid point indeed. Thus, after over two weeks of travel, here he was, keeping watch over the confines of their cluster of tents and vehicles and occasionally exchanging signs with Iosik when the latter's rounds brought him near his own position.

For lack of any better occupation, he began to ponder the effective usefulness of his activity. If their aftermarket map was in the least reliable, and they had not been mistaken too greatly in estimating their position, this region should have been safe enough for all of them to be able to have a proper night's rest. They were too far from any of the major cities to be concerned with any of them, and their soldiers probably slept like most decent people, while raiders were rare in the night-time, and, in any case, usually made enough noise to wake an army as they approached. One could, of course, mention the machine-men who walked everywhere all year round, but, frankly, Arsat was too old to believe in bogeymen, and there already were enough real dangers in the wastes for there to be the need to invent more. He understood the others wished to know themselves safe, but, in truth, he could not see-

Lost in his thoughts, Arsat did not notice the soft creaking which briefly came from his left, and was only startled out of his meditations when a muffled yelp and a somewhat disquieting [i]piercing[/i] sound arising from behind the battered van he had been leaning upon. Clutching his rifle, he carefully began to edge around the vehicle, moving towards its front as he brought himself into position to cast a rapid glance over its engine-bonnet. "Iosik?" he called out quietly. No response came, except for - this time he heard it - a faint creaking, as though someone, or something, heavy were attempting to move stealthily over the sand. Vague yet horrid images swirling in his mind, Arsat, gathering his courage, peered over the frontal part of the van, and gazed into the many pitch-black eyes of a nightmare.

As Arsat watched, frozen in terror, the creature’s head seemed to split into four parts as there erupted from it a horrific roar which sent him reeling backwards, his rifle – what could a rifle do against this thing? – falling uselessly from his numb hands. Stumbling over something, he fell onto his back, and, scrambling wildly, turned about to flee. In the moonlight, he saw that the wastes were not as he had always seen them – not as they should be. There were shadows on the dunes; angular, inhuman shapes rapidly flitting on the whitely lit sand, streaming down towards the encampment. From behind him there came screams, bursts of gunfire and various sounds which his mind would not identify. He struggled to stand up again, the sand seeping away under his grasp; then something heavy landed onto his back, and he felt a painful sharpness boring its way into his neck; then, nothing.

[hr]

Norrog watched as his brethren sifted through the belongings of the slaughtered humans, gathering what few useful items they could find – mostly ammunition, somewhat weathered weapons, an apparently treasured stash of medical supplies – before setting to work upon the vehicles’ fuel tanks. Soon, the camp would become a great bonfire, crackling out a song in praise of Yre-Keltha. The god would be pleased – the hunt had been most successful, and, though these wanderers had not been much of challenge, they had served their part in bearing the brunt of the sacred might. Their deaths had been honourable. Walking back to where he had left his mount, Norrog cast a glance at some of the ash locusts the outriders had brought with them, engaged upon what was now only barely recognisable as the corpse of a sentry who had attempted to crawl away from the scene. It was well. Strength became flesh, and flesh became strength; thus the circle was complete.

As he was about to vault onto his dunecrawler’s back with a single powerful motion, Norrog was approached by one of his companions – a masked human who, he recalled, had left the party some hours before to search the environs for any solitary stragglers. “Brother Disciple” the scout addressed him in hurried tones, “There is something not far which I can swear I have never seen hereabouts before. It might have been a building, but it is unlikely; more than anything, it looks like a hulk.” Norrog squinted with about a third of his eyes. There had been strong storms in the zone of late, and, unlikely as it was, it was fully possible one of them might have uncovered… “Let us rally the others” he growled, turning back towards the camp, from which wisps of smoke had now begun to rise into the nightly air, “The hunt is finished. For now.” The scout’s discovery deserved investigation. It was likely the elders would wish to hear of this.