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The morning sky was clear as the three travelers made their way toward the spot where A’tiami and his friend had seen the bones. After less than an hour’s ride, they were making their way down a dried-out riverbed and moving steadily east.
Thurk rode beside A’tiami as they went, keeping his eyes peeled, always scanning the horizon. If there were some manner of beast around, the orc had no intention of allowing the thing to sneak up on them.
A’tiami stopped suddenly, and Bluebell kept plodding on for a few moments before Thurk pulled up on her reins. “What is it?”
A’tiami pointed ahead to a bend in the riverbed. “It is just beyond that bend. The place you are seeking.”
Thurk sniffed the air and, sure enough, the scent of death floated upon it.
Slowly, he reached behind himself and pulled out his rifle. He checked to ensure it was loaded and worked the hammer back.
“Okay, let’s ride on, boys.”
As they rounded the bend, Thurk held back a gasp. The floor of the riverbed was entirely covered in bones. The ground itself had been stained brown with old blood.
There were hundreds of bones here, some bleached white by the sun, while others had been scorched black by flames. Many seemed to be animal bones, while others were clearly humanoid in nature. The sight of bones far too small to belong to even a halfling twisted Thurk’s stomach.
The scent of rot hung in the air, and big black flies buzzed among the corpses. From behind the orc, Galmar retched loudly.
“Gah! By Grammon’s Forge, what could do such a thing?”
Thurk shook his head. “A minotaur, perhaps... They can use fire... Or, perhaps a drake of some kind?”
The orc ranger slid out of his saddle, rifle still in hand. The dry riverbed crackled beneath his boots. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of the boneyard and crouched down.
Picking up what appeared to have once been someone’s tibia, he held it close to his face. There were tooth-marks on the surface of the bone. Whatever it was had scraped the flesh off with its teeth... it seemed.
Placing the bone back carefully, Thurk reached for a nearby rib, but his hand hovered just above it. There on the bone was a deep slash. No beast’s teeth or claws had made that mark. Not even a minotaur’s horn could leave such a wound.
“A blade made this gash,” Thurk said, running his hand over the deep mar in the bone.
“Ogre?” Galmar asked.
“Rare in these parts,” Thurk turned to A’tiami. “You have lived here for a long time, A’tiami. Have you ever seen anything like this?”
The Na’anti boy shook his head, “No, never. Few of our native creatures survived your peoples’ arrival here. And ogres always eat near to their dens—there is no suitable place nearby for such a beast to live.”
Studying the bones around him, Thurk found more of the same. Many of them had been scored by some manner of sharp blade.
“We must go to Gaynesville at once. Can you take us there?”
“I can,” A’tiami said. “The place is close to here.”
Thurk remounted and followed after A’tiami as he led his horse up and out of the riverbed. They trekked across the open for a while, following no path, before a few small buildings grew on the horizon.
That must have been Gaynesville, Thurk knew. It was the only true settlement in Gayne county and housed only a few dozen people in the town proper.
Thurk pulled up on Bluebell’s reins and slowed to a stop. “Thank you for your help, A’tiami. You may turn back now, if you wish, and go back to your people. And you as well, Galmar. I feel as though this mission may prove more dangerous than I had previously imagined.”
Neither of Thurk’s companions made any move to leave. Both looked back at him strangely.
“I ain’t turnin’ back now, orc. I’ve come this far,” Galmar said.
“I, too, will stay on,” A’tiami said. “This is my land, and it is time to stop running from danger like a coward.”
Thurk mulled it over for a moment. He considered sending the two men off anyway, but he knew that chances would be he could use the help soon.
“Alright then, let’s go on into town.”
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GAYNESVILLE WAS A SMALL town, made up of perhaps two dozen buildings. At one end was a saloon, and at the other was the sheriff’s office. No people milled about on the street, but a few trails of smoke rose from chimneys about the town.
“Let’s stick together—at least until we figure out what’s going on here,” Thurk said.
His companions nodded. A’tiami, especially, seemed rather nervous and shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.
“Something does not seem right about this place, Ranger.”
Galmar, too, spoke, “I agree with the boy. Somethin’ ain’t right.”
Thurk nodded, his hand hovering subconsciously over the big iron on his hip. “Let’s check in with the sheriff. He’s the one who contacted the Rangers in the first place. He is sure to help us.”
They rode down the center of the street, three abreast, and headed for the sheriff’s office. There was a hitching post out front, and all three tied their horses to it.
Thurk climbed the steps up onto the office’s front porch and strode to the door. His two companions followed closely behind.
Rapping on the door with two knuckles, the ranger called out, “Sheriff O’Toole, it’s Thurk Gutarg, with the Albara Rangers. May I come in?”
A few moments passed before the reply came, “Come on in.”
Thurk pushed the heavy oak door open with a creak. The interior of the sheriff’s office was rather dark, lit only by a single oil lantern on the sheriff's desk. The windows had been covered by wooden boards.
The lawman himself sat behind that desk, the flickering light casting a dim glow over his face. The old man seemed tired. He was a human, with a white mustache even bushier than Thurk’s own.
Beside the lantern on O’Toole’s desk sat a tin of chewing tobacco. The old man looked to working over a bit of the stuff in his mouth at that very moment, in fact. Thurk found himself remembering the smell of tobacco on the femur which he had discovered by the mother bear’s den.
“Howdy, Ranger,” The sheriff said. “To be honest, I was not expecting an Albara Ranger with tusks.” He looked past Thurk to his companions, “Or that his companions would be equally... interesting.”
Thurk crossed to the sheriff’s desk and reached out a hand. The older man hesitated a few seconds before reaching out and returning his handshake. The lawman’s grip was surprisingly strong.
“I hate to tell you, Ranger, but you’re a bit late. We’ve got no issues here now—got it all figured out,” O’Toole said. “Sorry that you had to come all the way out here for nothing.”
“Well, Sheriff, me and my friends just came from a riverbed a little ways from here and it seems to me like something strange is still going on,” Thurk said. “We found a lot of bones out there, Sheriff—some fresh. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
O’Toole looked up at Thurk with a blank look, the shadows under his eyes were deep and dark, “What exactly are you accusing me of, Mister Gutarg?”
Thurk took a step back, “Nothing, Mister O’Toole, just trying to get a handle on what exactly is going on here.”
Sheriff O’Toole stood slowly, one hand resting on the revolver on his belt. “Listen here, Ranger, I suggest you get on out of my office and head out of town immediately. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll follow that advice.”
Thurk backed away slowly, keeping his two companions behind him while moving toward the door. He raised both hands with palms facing forward, “Calm now, O’Toole. We don’t mean you any harm.”
The sheriff just grunted and gestured to the door with his gun. The three travelers obliged, stepping out of the office and back to their horses.
“So that’s it, then?” A’tiami asked.
“No,” Thurk shook his head. “I’m not leaving this town until we figure out what the hell is going on here. Let’s head over to the saloon. Might be someone there willing to talk.”
Again, they headed through town, this time leading their mounts along on foot. As they passed by the general store, Thurk noticed a small face watching them from the apartment above. As soon as he looked, though, the face disappeared with the swish of a curtain.
“Strange, no one’s comin’ outside,” Galmar said. “Like they’re ‘fraid of somethin’.”
As they arrived at the saloon, the travelers again hitched their horses and headed up the steps. The door swung open readily when Thurk pushed it, and they stepped inside.
One man sat at the bar with his back to them; he did not turn at their arrival. Behind the bar stood a middle-aged woman with black hair and red lipstick. She looked up and smiled at Thurk and his companions as they entered.
The smell of cigarette smoke hung heavily in the room. The black-haired bartender held a slender cigarette in one hand and took a long drag from it as she studied the three newcomers.
“Ah, visitors! Haven’t gotten many of you lately!” The woman beamed. “Please, come have a seat at the bar.”
“Ye best not embarrass me asking fer that durned elf’s piss, orc,” Galmar nudged Thurk, before turning to A’tiami. “No offense to any present company.”
Together they moved across the room and each took a stool by the bar. The lone man stood and walked silently away.
“Oh, don’t mind that sorry old sot. People around here aren’t too open-minded, if you know what I mean,” the black-haired woman said, smiling widely. “Where are ya’ll from?”
“I’m Thurk. I’m an Albara Ranger,” Thurk said, tapping the star on his chest. “But when I’m not ranging, I have a small little place a good ways southeast of here.”
The woman nodded, turning to Galmar.
“Ye want the short answer, or the long one?”
“How’s about the short. I like them short...” The bartender took a slow pull of her cigarette and smirked at the dwarf.
Galmar blushed, his round cheeks turning cherry red. “Why, ma’am. I, well...”
“Spit it out, little one,” A’tiami said.
Galmar coughed. “Well, Forgemire, originally. Lately, though, I been workin’ the mine in Desert Rose. Name’s Galmar”
“And you?” She turned to A’tiami. “Where are you from?”
“Here,” He answered.
“Well, surely I would recognize you if you were from town.”
“No. Here,” A’tiami gestured to the air around them, “These were, are, my people’s lands.”
“Ah, I see. You are Na’anti,” The bartender answered. “Well, my name is Elizabeth, and this is my bar. I’ve been here for just about as long as there’s been a town here. What’re you boys doing in a little place like Gaynesville?”
“Reports were coming out of here a little while ago. People going missing. Know anything of it?” Thurk said.
Elizabeth’s features darkened as her smile faltered for the first time. “I do... My own daughter was one of the ones lost.”
Thurk tipped his hat in apology, “My condolences, Miss Elizabeth. I had no intention of bringing up bad memories.”
“No, it’s alright. I want to know. I need to know what happened to my daughter.”
Thurk looked to his companions, then back to the bartender. “Elizabeth, do you know of the dry riverbed near to town?”
She nodded.
“We just came from there... and... Well, there are bones there. Many of them humanoid, and many belonged to children.”
Elizabeth raised a hand to her mouth and stumbled backward as if she had been struck. “No...” Her eyes became glassy, tears pooling behind her dark eyelashes.
“Elizabeth,” said Thurk, eyeing the woman carefully as she stared down at the floor behind the bar—at nothing. “I need help figuring out what happened. Can you help me?”
The black-haired bartender nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I can.”
“The people who went missing, were they acting strange at all? How did it happen, during the night?”
“No, they acted normal, right up until they disappeared. And yes, during the night. I read little Aime a bedtime story just like every night, and in the morning she was gone.”
Thurk nodded. “The doors, the windows, any damage? Claw marks, busted locks?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, nothing like that. But up until everything started, nobody locked their doors around here. Now we all do—those that are left, anyway.”
“Would you mind if I took a look at your daughter’s room, just in case there are any clues you may have missed there?”
Elizabeth looked up quickly, “Oh no! I just can’t bear to go in there! Not now.”
“It is okay, I can go in alone-”
“No, please, Mister Thurk. Let my daughter rest in peace,” Elizabeth again seemed on the verge of tears.
“I am sorry again, Miss. Elizabeth, I know that this is hard for you,” Thurk said. “How many went missing in town?”
“Half a dozen in town, perhaps as many in the surrounding ranches.”
“Don’t make much sense, orc, there were a lot of bones in that pile,” Galmar said.
“You’re right, Galmar...” Thurk turned back to Elizabeth. “There was enough in that pile for ten times that number, and animals besides. And it looked as though many have been killed by some manner of blade.”
“Oh my, that is indeed terrifying.”
“Either this has been going on for a very long time, or whatever this thing is has been hunting in a wider range than we thought,” Thurk said. “Elizabeth,” he lowered his voice now, “what reason would the sheriff have to tell us that everything has been figured out?”
Elizabeth looked from side to side and leaned over the bar toward Thurk. “The sheriff is a strange man, Mister Thurk. He spends all his time in that office of his, even boarded up the windows. Won’t even come into the bar anymore. Stays far away from the people here.”
“He never comes out of the office?”
“Well, sometimes he does, but only at night. He heads off into the desert with a lantern in his hand—doesn’t come back till early morning. No one has any idea what he does out there.”
O’Toole had been the one to call upon the Rangers. Thurk had a hard time imagining that the man could be killing and eating his own townsfolk, but anything was possible out in this wild country.
“Is O’Toole’s office visible from any of the rooms you have available here?”
“Yes, the front room has a good view of the place, and no one has stayed in the saloon for quite a while.”
“We’ll take it.”