Chapter 1 - Tariq

For the first time in his life, Tariq took a step outside the protective stone walls of Ismailia. One step after another, his feet marched in time with the rest of the column. The air was filled with the sound of jangling chainmail and the clomp of heavy boots. A cool spring wind blew through the open gates, sending a chill up his spine. At least, Tariq told himself it was just the cold and not fear. He reached up and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, pushing a strand of his coiled, dark brown hair out of his eyes. He kept his left hand glued to his hip, squeezing the pommel of his arming sword so tightly, the edges dug into the newly forming calluses in his hand.

Finally, I get to walk in the Hinterlands. For years I've dreamed of this, and it's finally coming true. But I have to stay alert, anything could happen out here.

Tariq adjusted the weight of his shield as he marched, the leather strap biting into a shoulder still growing accustomed to carrying the weight of steel. He was young, barely past his twentieth year, and though his training had hardened him, his body remained lean rather than broad, the bulk yet to match his frame. He stood slightly taller than most of the Farmers, and he kept his pace measured and precise, determined not to look as inexperienced as he felt.

Tariq continued marching with the column, passing out of the shadow of the gatehouse and into the warm spring light. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off his burnished coat of chainmail. Marching as one, the Farmers followed the weathered Cythrian road, until Tariq got his first glimpse of the fields. Rows and rows of furrowed ground stretched out until it met the wooden palisade which marked the edge of Ismailia's lands. The sight of the fields brought a smile to Tariq's face. This is what he'd trained for. Two whole years of constant study in lifelore and earthlore. Tariq had loved every moment of it, but that had been the easy part of training to be a Farmer. Most of his time spent training was spent learning formations, marching, and mastering the sword, shield, and spear. Tariq wasn't just a simple farmer from the days before the Sundering, he was Ismailia's first line of defense against the hordes of monsters that waited outside the walls. A soft rap on the back of his helm broke Tariq from his thoughts.

“Farmer Tariq, what are you smilin' about? This is the Hinterlands! There's nothing to be smilin' about here," Commander Falin barked.

Commander Falin was a middle-aged man with a thick, salt and pepper beard. Like Tariq, he wore a coat of chainmail, a steel cap, and carried a wooden shield and spear. Despite his age, he still rippled with muscle and was a renowned warrior. Commander Falin led the Farmers from the front whenever possible.

"Sorry, sir," Tariq said, his smile fading into a stone cold stare straight into the back of Sekar's helm in front of him. "I was just enjoying the nice weather."

Several Farmers in the column snickered, and Tariq felt his face starting to flush.

"Enjoying the weather?" Commander Falin laughed cynically, and then turned an icy glare towards Tariq as he kept astride with the column.

"Farmer Tariq, this is not a stroll through some meadow of flowers with your girlfriend like in a children’s storybook. I don't know if you've noticed, but we're outside those big stone walls, and that means monsters. I can guarantee you the goblins, urq, centaurs, and who knows what else are just waiting for us to do our planting. So if you don't want to be carried back through those walls on a shield, I suggest you get your head out of your arse and get focused," Commander Falin shouted, spittle flying.

Tariq stared straight forward, boring a hole in Sekar's back as Commander Falin marched up to the front of the column.

Ahead of Tariq, Sekar whispered, "Falin is always like that on the first day of spring. If it wasn't you, he would've picked some other greenhorn. But he's right, you need to be ready."

"Thanks, Sekar. I won't let you down."

After marching for a few more minutes, the column slowly came to a halt. Tariq kept his mind and eyes focused straight ahead, the model Farmer, not wanting to risk drawing any more of Commander Falin's ire.

"Farmers, face." Commander Falin's voice echoed across the fields.

With the precision born of hours and hours of practice, Tariq and the entire column snapped to face the fields in unison. Tariq took only a moment to gawk at the beauty of the freshly plowed field in front of him, of the neat, orderly rows, of his row.

"Unsheath." Tariq reached up to his back and slung the bag of seeds around to the front. Two hundred of the other Farmers did the same in time with him.

"Seed!"

As a unit, the Farmers marched out into the field, each planting seeds in their assigned row. They moved together in perfect unison. Tariq pressed each bundle of seeds into the ground with care, whispering soft words of encouragement.

"Grow strong, little ones. We need you."

It was almost a prayer to Kalaran, but Tariq knew the gods were long gone. No one was listening to prayers any more. Still, he felt a surge of energy with each bundle of seeds pressed into the ground.

Tariq's unit planted three consecutive fields in rapid succession and just as they were starting on their fourth, two quick blasts of a horn split the air. Fear shot through Tariq's entire body. As if moving through thick mud, Tariq turned towards the sound of the horn. Two Tinkers were already halfway across the fields, moving towards the gate at a dead sprint, their brown cloaks billowing in the wind behind them.

Please let Kiran be safe. Protect-

"Farmers, form ranks. Shield formation!" Commander Falin shouted.

Despite all his training, Tariq's mind froze. A flurry of images burst into his mind of all the terrible monsters out in the Wilds. Dragons, ogres, and centaurs flashed through his thoughts, but it lasted for only a moment. As if he was controlled by some other person, Tariq's training kicked in, and he felt himself fall into ranks behind Sekar and Palla. Shield formation was a simple formation, and the one they had spent most of their time drilling. Palla held the first rank, shield raised and locked into place with the Farmers next to her. Her spear bristled out towards the enemy. Sekar moved forward, drawing his sword and raising his shield over Palla to cover her head.

Before moving into his position, Tariq glanced at the palisade, and his heart skipped a beat. Already a full warband of urq had climbed the palisade and were forming up. The urq were human-like, but no one would mistake an urq for a human. Their skin was a pale, almost ashen grey. Their bodies were stretched with thick muscles and razor sharp tusks jutted up from the bottom of their mouths. This band of urq had painted their tusks completely black, giving their faces an even more sinister look. The urq bore a mishmash of armor, picking up whatever they were able to scavenge together. Each was covered in bits of chainmail, scale mail, rotting leather, and even some rusted pieces of plate armor. Their weapons were similar, though many just carried large clubs or woodcutting axes. Many of the urq carried crude wooden shields with a black fang painted on them.

Tariq stared at the urq with fear and fascination as the sounds of the coming battle rose to a cacophony around him: the wooden thud of shields locking together in the shield formation, the jingling of chainmail, Commander Falin and his sergeants screaming orders. But it was all drowned out by the roar of the urq as they charged.

"Tariq, get into position!" Sekar shouted, pulling Tariq out of his fear-induced haze.

Tariq pushed forward, drew his arming sword, and planted his feet behind Sekar. As the rear rank, Tariq's job was to act as an anchor, keeping Palla and Sekar from being pushed back. If either of them fell, he was to step up and take their position.

How can we stand against these monsters?

As the urq neared, Tariq could make out the guttural battle chants they bellowed as they went into battle. The ground rumbled from their heavy footfalls. Tariq took one quick glance back to the walls of Ismailia, and took heart to see them crowded with defenders. He heard the twang of bowstrings and then the whistle of arrows flying overhead. Tariq watched them arc down and slam into wood and urq flesh. The urq chanted even louder, while others roared in pain or anger. The Carpenters loosed another volley of arrows, and more urq fell, but still they kept coming.

The urq slammed into the shield formation with the force of a great hammer. Tariq was thrown backward and landed hard on his back. He scrambled up to his feet, adrenaline pumping, just in time to see a large urq jump over the entire formation. The creature crashed into Tariq, knocking him sideways and coming down directly behind Sekar. Before Tariq could even react, it slammed its greataxe into the back of Sekar’s neck. Blood spurted, and Sekar fell to the ground, his head still attached only by a thin piece of flesh.

Rage engulfed Tariq.

Why? Why did they have to fight tooth and nail just to survive? Hadn't they suffered enough? Why did Sekar have to die? Why did any Ismailian? What did they do to deserve this unrelenting nightmare?

The urq hefted its axe, turning towards Palla. With a scream of defiant rage, Tariq charged forward. The urq raised its axe, but the stroke never fell. Tariq swung his blade, slicing through the urq's unarmored arm. The severed arm dropped to the ground, and thick black blood gushed from the wound. The urq spun to face Tariq and swung with its other fist, cracking Tariq in the jaw. Blood filled his mouth, and his vision dimmed. Tariq stumbled back, then countered with a wild downward slash. The urq took the strike in the thigh and then wrapped its remaining arm around him in a tight bear hug. Tariq struggled as the creature pulled him slowly towards those razor sharp, black-stained tusks. Unable to resist, the urq's tusks pushed and then broke through Tariq's chainmail, sending rings flying. The tusks tore into Tariq's chest, sending a wrack of sharp pain through his body, and Tariq knew he was going to die. Blackness started to take his vision as he felt his body go numb. As if in another world, he felt a thud slam into the urq, and then they were falling. Tariq lost consciousness before they hit the ground.

---

Tariq dreamt of a forest, where trees bore leaves of an unnaturally verdant green. Trees towered a hundred feet in the air, and underneath, flowers of every color bloomed. Brilliant pinks, blues, reds, and yellows. The beauty of the forest took Tariq’s breath away. Aimlessly, he wandered along a winding dirt path, admiring the greenery around him.

This is what the world could be. A paradise for all of us to live in. Green, vibrant, and full of crisp open air. I can see it. My friends and family around me and a little patch of earth to grow whatever I desire. Is that too much to ask?

He wandered down the path until he came to an open clearing with a stone building in the middle of it. Carvings ran along the outline of the large stone door, but in the haze of the dream, he couldn't make them out.

Behind him, from way off in the distance, he heard a voice echoing faintly through the forest.

"Tariq, where are you?"

He turned around, and, slightly louder, the voice called out to him again.

"I'm here," he shouted back.

"I can't find you," the voice answered.

Through the fog of his brain, Tariq recognized his friend’s voice. It was Kiran.

"I'm here, Kiran!" he shouted, his words echoing through the trees as the forest faded to black.

---

Tariq woke to find himself staring up at an impossibly blue sky, broken only by a scattering of fluffy white clouds. For a moment, he just lay there, drinking in the beauty. Over time, he came to notice the heavy weight which sat on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He tried to move, but he didn’t have the strength to fight against the crushing weight. He tried to call out, but he could only draw in enough air to manage a groan.