Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

The Weeping Woodlands was one long thicket of graveyard trees. It was the only scale of vegetation, natural, in the Badlands. The other plantations were of course [Ambiance Pouches] owned by those who could afford it—and even then it didn't show on the maps.

This made it harder for Deathlies to locate and Rob the dwellers. It further drove home the treasurable property of maps to Bonelanders. It was rumored a [Highland map] existed: a tablet of pure conviction that exposed all territories of the wilderness, even the artificial ones. As soon as it was manifested, it appeared as a new dot on this parchment.

Like Israfel's Andorran Hammer, this map was said to be one of the relics of the Old world. It was all tale, no one had wielded it. But in a kingdom of robbers and woodmen, the far-fetched is the most guaranteed to be believed.

The more unimaginable the treasure, the better.

Pirates and thieves tripped to taverns popular for wine and whores, but also for the stories. Stories of gold that could buy the east, and loot a thousand leagues under the sea. Stories that would just about send them to their deaths. As for this [Highland map], it was like a master key of sorts, to unlocking the terrain of the desert. Any Skullrider who would own it would exceed the Triumvirate; would know exactly the moment any new camp orificed in the stretch, and could trail the travel of any merchant caravan on the silk roads—and all this by staring comfortably in his own tent.

However, since this map was as available as the last [Utopian Survivor], Zaftig and Grone—who had sought this treasure map ferociously—had no chance to become despots. The three Skullriders governed their territories in tolerated peace.

"So this is the only forest in the Badlands?" Rafel shifted in the litter high on the camel's back as Ravenna unfolded from his body to offer back to their Guide. They had just broken through the first spangle of rustbrown trees. Her voice echoed up the sparse canopy. No birds in sight. "—and it's called the weeping woodlands?"

The Guide, on his own camel at their left, rested his head downward, saying nothing as they continued onward. The woodlands got thicker the deeper into the cacti forest they went. It smelled of aloe vera and myrrh. The only response Ravenna got was from Khalifa, whose own ride: a mutant hybrid of giraffe and ox, stubbed at the scorched earth next to the lumbering camels.

Dementa's female bodyguard didn't need to come this far. But she did. Rafel wondered why. Cora had an inkling. Aya Naamah knew for sure.

Khalifa didn't loosen her Hijab veils as she said, "in case you haven't noticed, the Bonelanders are very backward in name-giving. They are only inventive in despoiling carriages to roadkill machines and turning bikes in corrupt, bloodthirsty shit."

"Oh, I noticed." Ravenna laughed. "I mean, who calls their child Grone!"

More laughter rumbled into the air.

Now, thinking of it, Rafel mused. . .

Zaftig? Dementa? Visha! The Crone? Even their gods had terrible names. In Titans Landing, their gods had real sexy names like Deliliah, Zephyr, Parvati, Ilona, Phillipa, Andreas, fucking class! Here, their names just sounded either like cannibal growls or syllabus hard enough to inspire fear.

All the previous information on the [Highland map] had come from Khalifa, who was gracious enough to provide. Aside from the list of horrible names, she was the only one who had an actual fucking name. And it was quite a lovely one.

"Khalifa."

It sounded like sun splashing a nice beach.

Without thinking, he voiced out aloud what he was contemplating, as their throng threaded by a square of short baobabs.

"Why are you with Dementa?"

Khalifa sat straighter in her mutated ox. It was a move that almost went unnoticed. Almost.

"Why?" she asked.

"Yeah. Why?" Rafel reached for Aya's midriff and pulled her closer on his chest. "All through our travel, even before the Seat and the Vestal mother, you have seemed apathetic to the Badlands, and the general crudeness of the people here. You live amongst barbarians and outlaws that would sooner torch a person than gold, but you exhibit none of their mannerisms. You are strange..." He halted a second, then passed his hand over softly in the air, "and then there's the issue of your name: Khalifa. . .it doesn't sound like the kind of hardcore name typical Bonelanders bear. In fact, it sounds quite the opposite.

So let me rephrase: why, Khalifa, are you with Dementa when you could be anywhere else on the Continent. It's clear as fuck you were not born here. You have no rings, scalp-trophies, and neither are you an exile; you have no heretic tattoos."

Rafel admired her lithe body long to cement his spiff that she did in fact have no ink on her.

Khalifa turned her body away. "Maybe it's in a place where you can't see."

"I can see through clothes." Rafel said bluntly.

This made her turn. "What?"

Her almond eyes leveled with him and went almost milk. She told him. "TMI. Gods! You could've kept that to yourself."

"Ohh hush, girlie." Cora puffed, causing the sentinel to pout. "You had to know he could see through them."

Khalifa's veils hid the pink splashing up her neck.

"I think the Hijab is a nice touch." Rafel offered.

The wind picked up on the woodland and Khalifa's headscarf parted. She quickly restructured it, but not before Rafel caught the glimpse of a long, red running scar that split down her left eye. It was sickle-shaped. It made her look, dangerous. "You still haven't answered my question. I hate asking for shit twice." Rafel told her. "Dementa... WHY?"

Khalifa shrugged. "Why the hell not?"

Rafel was just about the grab this girl sentinel by the waist with his [Titan Grasp], hold her high up the thicket and shake truth out of her, when the soft voice of his succubus [Bond] turned his gaze down to her. And he met even softer purple eyes. For a moment, Naamah reminded him of Lilith—and he was scared shitless. She whispered up to his leopard eyes. "Let her be, m'lord. She won't remain tight-lipped for long. Our travel through this desert is long."

Gently, she trailed a phallus sign right next to the potent spot that housed the organ of his [mana core]. And she winked too.

Rafel got the message.

One of these days, he was going to loose the sentinel's lips. . .with his cock.

The little band of beautiful misfits continued forward in the woodland. They were a good distance in and the light entering the mild forest had begun to dim. Hooting noises came from all corners. It wasn't eerie as much as it was interesting. This place they tracked was the one verdant creation in all of the Badlands; birds had colonized the shit out of it.

If you were trusted enough, an orange-tailed cockatoo escorted you to the edge of the thicket.

In their case, only Ravenna had been chosen by a flock of small pigeon doves who followed her, twittering from behind. Rafel smiled at this, but said nothing. He instantly thought of something and said, "ehm, why is it called the weeping woods? I have heard not even bleating of deer. Whence shall the moaning start?"

He intended to joke.

Khalifa looked back and plucked off a dry twig from a tall, hanging branch they passed. She tossed it back fast. Rafel's hand went up at the past second, catching the stick expertly.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"What's this now?"

"Strike a tree." She said.

Rafel looked unsure for a bit, but turned. And he struck a tree.

It vibrated, making a rattling sobbing sound.

"What the fuck!"

He reared back and struck out again.

This time he caught another tree by a withering branch he had intentionally chosen. It was on a spot above the main shoot. He watched in disbelief as the graft shivered like a flogged person, and then wailed—again like one. The sound echoed long. And if Rafel wasn't in the present domicile of the happening, then he would've certainly said it was a child moaning on the other side of the forest.

Only it wasn't.

"Gods be damned! The fuckin' trees cry?" Ravenna intercepted.

"That they do." Khalifa licked her bottom lip.

"How much weirder is this place gonna get?"

The words were just departing the lips of Corazón when. . .

Skrraaatttt!

The earth ripped out from under them, in the front, about ten paces off. Khalifa was the most forward of the group and fastly pulled on eye reins of her gigantic ox. The animal reared up with a loud bray like a horse abruptly smacked on its ass. It stomped the ground and stopped moving, causing the other camels behind to do the same. Her reflexes were sharp.

Skrat! Skrattt!

The prickling noise persisted as more holes opened in the ground. The first thing to pop out of one was a head. Unmistakably, it belonged to a male. A human male. Humanoid, more like.

It was bald, but no from razors. Misshapen, but not from injury. Elongated. Red, and not from blood. Long limbs followed the big skulls out of the holes. Then came fingers and feet that were webbed into each other. And eyes total milk. They did not see shit.

These alien-adapted men were born this way. This awful, masochistic way. The parts of their bodies meant to be incorporated for survival on the surface had been changed: stretched, bent, spangled, to cater, rather, for survival beneath.

"Is it just me or do those men look like huge moles?" Ravenna clutched Cora's left hand.

Four of the reddish creatures stood, bent forward like cavemen—but with sharper teeth.

Their milk eyes were going nowhere.

Rafel took one look at the oblong heads and jumped off the camel like it was but a steed. He landed so coolly it was like he'd rehearsed it. Without looking back to Khalifa or their Guide, he said gently,

"The Mole-men, I presume?"