Editor’s Note: Continued from Bindle Zine Autumn 2024. Previously posted parts can be found at https://bindlezine.com/coterminous
Our party forms a circle, back to back, and poised for the approaching threats. The animals that engage us all seem to be a genetic composite of lupine and feline, a common physical aspect they share with their leader Shriven. These freaks must have predated the chimera, ancient and unique in every right but with distinguished variances across each of them.
Despite their monstrously bizarre appearance, they all tread with an undeniable regality, upholding a standard of predatory beauty that is unmatched by any other being on this world. Still, these characteristics are outweighed by the grotesque air they bring with them. The largest of them lumbers through the brush, pulverizing the vegetation beneath them. The more noticeable of these two is a bipedal giant. In a show of dominance, it uproots a tree with its bare hands and snaps it like a twig. Its fur is dark and matted from the dried fluids of the rotting corpses that adorn its body. The cadavers are strapped snugly to his body by an elaborate harness made from thick hangman’s rope, the nooses still tied to the necks of his. It appears he has fashioned a fauld of tanned hides, dried flesh, and other body parts in various stages of decomposition. Atop his head he wears a gruesome skull helmet of a creature of his own cranial structure, the eye sockets acting as holes for his massive horns. What ever this thing is, he is going to be a problem.
The giant’s equally large companion walks on all fours, preceded by his constant guttural mumblings and whispers, all of which are either too incoherent or inane to make out. Although similar in musculature, this one is not nearly as bulky compared to his friend. But he has a good two feet on us at the shoulder. Long in body, its narrower than the front and pitched lower to the ground. This spinal abnormality is compensated by a long burly tail, lending itself to his snake like posture and movement. A powerful elongated neck riddled in mange and scars extends from sinewy shoulders, topped with a head possessing a battered countenance, the features of his face deformed by previous encounters. I hope to add to them, or maybe cut off those long furry ears that jut out from the side of its weird head. But between those ears is an exposed portion of his skull, reinforced bone that is obviously a weaponized feature that can prove to be a complication.
The others creep through the woods after their larger brethren, all of average size and build but no less menacing. One of them is no bigger than a mastiff, lean and light of foot, fur a twilight blue with a magnificent mane and tail to match. The ears are cropped and coat trim, her vanity more apparent with every graceful step as she approaches, preening like a runway model. Upon closer inspection, we can see her ribcage is fully exposed. In fact her entire undercarriage is inside out. In place of vital organs is a mass of glowing body fluid in the form of a smoldering membrane. She suddenly flexes her shoulders and sprouts six pairs of small wings, each a three foot span. A flyer is it? Could be troublesome.
Three more adversaries emerge now, all identical in appearance, crawling toward us in perfect unison. Two of the triplets move to Shriven’s side, the other taking a place in front of him. They are full of smiles and teeth, sloth like in build but stronger and much larger, with mutated canine heads or some kind of demented derivative thereof. They move with arachnid precision, licking their lips and snapping their jaws, digging their claws into the earth in aggravated posture. One would be manageable I am sure, but three is an issue.
This battle is brewing, I feel it in my blood as it starts to boil. A tingling sensation rushes through my veins, electric and violent. It precipitates my chronic headache and I flinch, rubbing my temples in frustration.
“Where did you go?” Crozley asks, tapping my shoulder with his crosier.
I pop a pill into my mouth and chew, “I am back now.”
“Good to know. We don’t need you mentally meandering off now, of all times.”
Meresinea runs her hand down my arm and ends at my lower back. “Now this is what I was looking for,” she whispers, “You guys sure know how to show a tourist the right sights.”
“Just keep those sights on target, and your hands pointed in their direction.”
She gives my ass a hard squeeze, “After this is done, these hands are going right back here.”
Tala cocks the shotgun, “So what is the plan?”
I gently remove the gun from her hands, “For starters, be less excited. This thing is bigger than you, and its kick will send you flying. What I need you to do keep moving and go feral. Don’t let the flyer get off the ground. Clip her wings, all of them. Meresinea, use whatever you have at your disposal. This isn’t going to be a fair fight. Seven of them, five of us minus one because Vespine is literally an insect.”
“I can do my part, Seirath!” Vespine squeals from Crozley’s shoulder, drawing a tiny curved saber.
“With what, that needle? You going to sew the holes in our clothes after the fight? You can go after those little birds of his then. Crozley, I have a feeling you are more than just a mouth, so pick one or two of them and have at it.”
“And how do you plan on approaching this unfavorable situation?”
“I am going for their chatty leader. He goes down, they all fall back.”
“A bold assumption. And his three bodyguards?”
“I’m thinking I will just plow through them. If you all cause enough commotion we can use the chaos to our advantage.”
“Are you forgetting those two?” Crozley points to the big ones, “The Harrowed are one thing, but giant Harrowed are another.”
“You all talk too much,” Shriven sneers, “We much prefer the sounds of squelching flesh.”
Crozley turns and addresses him, “We are merely discussing terms of surrender, for it is quite obvious we are outnumbered and we hope to parlay instead.”
“We don’t parlay.”
“Then may I confess something?”
Shriven and his retinue laugh, “You may humor me.”
“I confess that I am a swindler, a cheater, a lecher, and above all: a liar. We were not discussing our surrender but a battle plan to divide your small band while my friend here heroically rushes through the fracas to deliver a killing blow. To you, that is.”
Shriven laughs, “If it is absolution you are looking for, I am not that kind of Confessor. I deal only in punishment.”
“Fair enough, but one more thing! I must confess another lie. The real reason for our garrulous huddle was simply to stall until reinforcements arrived!” He points his staff to the trees behind Shriven and above the four legged Harrowed’s head, “And get the drop on your two most threatening allies!”
Brune is of a naturally prodigious size, mainly afforded by the thick layer of chitin scales that cover his mammalian hide. Such is the most common genetic trait for which the long-snouted, weasel-like Manis are most identified. Their sickle-like claws are made for climbing and supporting all that bulk, as well as shredding prey apart. Surprisingly silent, he creeps up one of the trees with his club strapped to his back. Upon Crozley’s cue he leaps from his perch onto the back of our four legged enemy and digs those bladed hands into its neck. It howls wildly in an attempt to buck Brune off. The sound is deafening and terrible, as though the thing is being tortured. Our scaled companion is able to steer him away from the group, but soon loses his grip and gets tossed to the ground. Frustrated from the surprise, the Harrowed beast rears onto its hind legs and slams down its front end in an attempt to crush Brune under its paws. Brune rolls into a fetal position and meets the full force of the attack with his armored skin. He remains huddled and unfazed by the reprisal. His opponent persists, trying to bite through the protective portion of Brune’s body armor. When Brune senses a moment of fatigue from his target, he quickly springs forward and swings his club upward, striking the creature under its lower mandible and dislocating its jaw entirely.
In sync with Brune, Vore has taken a spot in his own tree above the corpse wearing giant. Raw strength has carried him up, and he came down in kind, wrapping his massive arms around the thing’s neck and using the full momentum of his leap to bring him to the ground. Vore is the right choice for this one despite possessing a shorter stature. But they are pound for pound a match in terms of muscle. Vore is now on his feet waiting for the beast to regain its balance, snarling and licking his lips with that long reptilian tongue, beckoning his quarry with starving confidence. Rightly so, as the caravan’s cook, he was eager for not only his next meal but one that he could prepare for everyone in the troupe. As such his weapon of choice is an absurdly sized meat cleaver, meticulously honed and heavy, much like the one who wields it. The giant springs to his feet, ripping one of the corpses from his decomposing necklace and hurls it at Vore, who slices it clean in half in mid air before it can make contact. But the distraction is enough to allow the giant to tackle our friend and pin him against a nearby tree in an attempt to throttle him into submission. With an excited roar, Vore drives his cleaver into the corpse wearer’s side then grabs his face and digs his fingers into his eyes. The gargantuan Harrowed loosens his grip and falls back screaming in pain.
Shriven recoils to allow the triplets to engage me and Crozley. Proximity and time dictates that firearms will be useless. Based on their build they will be quicker on the draw anyway. I need them to get closer to bait an attack and dodge, giving myself a moment to open the distance and go for my sword. But they are also sizing me up, waiting for me to choose an option. I glance to one side and see Tala and Meresinea in their own fray with the female of the Harrowed group. The girls are working in tandem to prevent the latter from taking flight. With a few wild gestures Meresinea summons some localized pyrotechnics that burst in the air with a strong concussive blast that sends small shockwaves of flame in random directions. The ground ignites with every attack, and the bark of the surrounding trees began to catch fire. Meresinea is relentless in the spreading of her tiny wildfires, thankfully dousing the ones that will potentially rage out of control.
The Quintess’s attempts to harm the creature fail however as the female is deft in her movements. She avoids the attacks and takes to the air, an action I expected but preferred not to happen. Tala rushes for the flying Harrowed, using the rocks and trees as her means of vaulting herself up to a height relative to her objective. The sorceress raises her arms in coordination with Tala’s final leap, and a section of the ground dislodges itself from the earth and allows Tala one extra step to reach the flyer. They fall to the ground in a violent scuffle, clawing and biting, growling and screaming with such ferocity it begins to irritate the triplets. It wasn’t so much the distraction I was looking for, but it certainly showed the Harrowed we weren’t going to be pushovers.
Crozley has been at my side for the duration, easing back as the long limbed siblings challenge us. Shriven has perched himself on a fallen tree now, observing the clash from his elevated position with grinning relish.
“Three on two, you ready for this?” I ask.
“I prefer more even odds,” replies Crozley.
How I didn’t see him is impressive considering his enormous build, but Urcus’s arrival is welcomed nonetheless. He appears behind me, patting my shoulder with his huge hand and taking the lead ahead of me, cracking his knuckles under those hardened spiked caestus. The bear man grins and nods for me to step aside, flexing his muscles which causes the triplets to take a step back. Cane joins us next, his hood down, ears perked, and weapon drawn. It is a crudely fashioned sword carved from what looks like bone, with a wide and roughly hewn blade that is almost as tall as its user. It narrows closer to the point, retaining a jagged but sharply honed edge. The blade lacks a hilt entirely, the tang fully exposed and wrapped in layers of hide and long cloth for added ergonomics. The pommel is actually a large antler, perhaps plucked from whatever beast met with the receiving end of Cane’s sword. Maybe the entire weapon was forged from whatever once had that antler growing on its head.
“Consider them even,” Cane says as he drives his sword into the soil and leans on it, drink in hand.
Crozley laughs and brandishes his crosier, “We will take this lot. Seirath, go take our chattering friend’s confession, will you?”
Continued in our Summer 2025 issue!