I took long drag from a ghostleaf cigarette. Let it burn on down, then let it out.

  The woman beside me took it up, the cherry flaring as she inhaled deep. Marry held the smoke, then watched the blue-grey dance in evening's light.

  We were covered in a little blood. A lotta sweat and dirt.

  It had been hard work making them slavers disappear. My pig only had the stomach for two and more. The rest got given to the bigger drakes.

  Weren't supposed to feed animals man-meat. It was illegal. But so was bushwakin’, banditry and so much else that had darkened that day.

  "You did good," she said, "thank you."

  She offered me a smile.

  "I shoulda done better. Sorry again about your brother."

  "Don't be. It was a good death. Defending his home and kin. He'll go with the Raven Mother in the North," her eyes grew misty and a tear fell, "the Strix always did have a fondness for him."

  A sob broke her stoic facade and I wrapped her in a one armed hug. My other arm had already begun to slowly knit, the tendril fibers weaving together, but it would take a time and some rest before I was whole.

  "It's a shame that any good man should die," she whispered, "but that's the way of it. And he went with an axe in his hand," she pulled away and clawed the tears from her cheeks.

  "That is the way," I agreed, "I dug him deep. Ain't no dogs going to get to him. Might come back up as a revenant though."

  She knew that. Expected it. It old Northman tradition to bury the dead. The fact that they had a habit of coming back as mana hungry monsters was seen as a blessin’, not a curse. A draugr could protect home and hall if you knew how to wrangle them. Could save your grandbabies when raiders come, if you honored them right.

  My daddy's people, they burned the dead.

  Almost seemed like a waste to me.

  "I'll build a little cairn, over his hole. Live here long enough, and maybe one day it'll become my line's own hold," she said, "it's a good place, even with the Magistrates."

  Yeah. For all the chaos and strife it did seem like there was good folk around.

  We hadn't done the work alone. Many hands, weathered by work and sun, they had helped me and Marry bury her brother. Cut up the other dead men.

  And when the guards came?

  Those old farmers didn't even flinch as they lied.

  "They ran off after Mister Roche scarred them," said the deep-voiced man.

  "Just shot up the place, no warnin'" lied another.

  "Yeah, he was just tryin' to protect us. You should be rewardin' him," said a woman, "not arrestin' the poor lad. You go fuck right off a'fore we get real mad. Real mad."

  It was a beautiful thing to see.

  Salt of the earth, root of all that's good in man.

  Community. That was the secret to everything that made living worth a damn.

  Least in my humble estimation.

  "Moving on at sunrise," I said as I took the last drag, then put the butt out in my gloved palm, "hopefully my pig will carry me. But if not, I'm on foot."

  "Sunrise?"

  "Yep. I need to kill that last man. Hartwell, so I heard. Then I'm on to my job."

  She nodded and gave a long, sad sigh.

  "Shame you've got a prick. I coulda found a use for you here. Maybe a position on our farm."

  "Nah, I'd make a terrible farmwife. Got too much viper in me. You'd just end up sad."

  She smiled a little, "Yeah. I know the type."

  A tense moment passed between us.

  Marry smacked her legs and tidied her dress as she stood.

  "Well," she offered a hand to me.

  "Well," I echoed as I was hauled to stand.

  "Thank you again. We won't forget this. Ever," she said, and I believed her, "you're always welcome here. You still owe me gold though. I'll need it to keep the business goin'."

  I laughed and nodded, "Yeah. I'll be back once I get paid. Three gold?"

  She tisked, "It was four. But two now. I can sell the gear those cunts were wearing. Should cover for the next month. After that, I'll be prayin' to the Raven that you make it back."

  I put my back to the sun and tipped my hat. With my new arm slowly knitting and the weight of guilt heavy on my shoulders, I turned away.

  By the next dawn I led my dune boar on out.

  The sow was calm, didn't even fuss when I threw on her saddle and lead. I think... I think she knew I was the one that killed those men. There was more intelligence in those small eyes than I had ever given the beast credit for.

  She bucked a little, likely out of pride, but settled down quick. She didn’t need to resist this partnership. She could tell, there’d be more blood to come, more wicked men to make gone.

  In the full light I was awed by her size.

  Her shoulders were barely higher than the flanks of a quarter horse, and legs were thick and short. But she was wide, packed full of fat and muscle. Skin as thick as good leather, and covered in bristles that looked like a needlemouse's quills.

  I had a notion that she could take a hit from a rifle and just keep on trucking. Didn't want to put that to the test, but with me as her partner?

  Well, it might just come to that.

  I patted her thick flank and set a foot into the stirrup.

  I waited.

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  She didn't buck or swing to gore me with them barbed tusks.

  I swung over and settled on her back.

  It was, well, unpleasant in a very manly kind of way.

  I shifted. The back of a dune boar is mightily broad and probably better suited for taller, yet smaller, men.

  My brass balls were squashed up, but it was manageable, and I was ready to ride.

  "Okay girl," I said carefully taking hold of the reins, "let's go kill a slaver and get me paid. I'll let you eat him if'n you're good."

  She didn't respond. No pig was that smart.

  I tugged.

  She didn't move.

  "Oh come on. If wanted stubborn I'd have bought a bronto. Just get," I dug in the heels.

  Nothing but an angry grunt.

  "You can't get her going like that," came a distant burr, "you forgot something real important, Roche."

  Marry trotted up with a hefty bag and a wide smile.

  "Gotta give the lass a name."

  Oh. Right. I had forgotten that. I'd been so focused on getting her to trust me, that I hadn't taken time to learn her first. For all my thoughts of her smarts and dignity, I'd done her a disservice and a disrespect.

  "Well," I said with a shrug, "she's strong. And mean."

  A triumphant squeel came from her maw and she stamped the dirt.

  "She's also a glutton and probably a killer if she had the mind for it."

  Another stamp. Another chuff.

  "Reminds me of a girl I knew back when. Tough as nails, with a real mean streak. Moxie was her name."

  "Sounds hot," said Mary, with a wistful tone, "she was a lover?"

  "Oh no. Just friend. You two would get on better if you know what I mean."

  The Northwoman smiled and passed up the heavy bag. It stank of meat and blood.

  "Grounder offal. As a treat from the folks here. Take good care of Moxie."

  "I will."

  "And Roche," she said, taking a step closer, "make it slow. Make him fear, like he did all of us."

  A few folk emerged from fields and out of humble homes to give a holler or a nod. One of the old women even raised a hand and waved, her grandkids doing the same.

  "Alright, I don't much causing pain. But when pretty lady asks real nice," I dipped the brim of my hat, "I can't say no."

  I snapped the reigns and Moxie broke into a trot. The ground beneath her sharp feet seemed to solidify as she walked. I had wondered how a pig was suited to the desert, and as she broke into a canter, then a gallop, then full bore sprint, I knew.

  She was a monster.

  And there was magic in them tusks.

  As she ran she used so mana to mold the earth beneath her hooves. Sand was no longer a problem, not for us. When out onto the dunes, she didn't slow a hitch, instead she seemed to burst with speed, leaving the road behind and diving right into the hills of sand.

  We rode on until night fell just a few hours later, following the coast the whole way. We made camp at little rock outcroping and I lit the fire with the sinner's blessing.

  Moxie startled a little as they strange magic threatened to drive her away, but haunch of meat convinced her to lay down by the fire.

  "Its alright girl, that dark saint don't mean to make you run away. Its for all them out in the dust that'd do you harm," I said as I patted her head and fed her strips of grounder flesh.

  As she ate I cracked open my Rune Book to read what I knew would be there.

  Name: Lorcan Roche

  Patron: Kraken

  Path: Desperado

  Step: 1 (61%)

  Commune with your Patron to advance your Path.

  Uh huh. It was high time for a meeting with that old Bastard in the dream. I had a thing or two to say about his last blessing, damn ugly, squirming arms. They nearly got me killed, just about as often as they saved my sorry hide.

  "Sleep well Moxie. If'n you hear a scream, wake me up, and we'll put holes in it together."

  She grunted and crunched down on a human femur bone.

  What a girl.

  I sat my hat over my eyes and leaned against her warm flank. Feelin' her breath, and listenin' to the song of an unfamiliar night. It lulled me off to a place of dreams and dark.

  Before I knew it, I was sat in an old country bar. A familiar tune playing on an artifice piano.

  A rot-mouthed old man with a beard that wriggled and danced looked me over with eyes a deep and terrible blue.

  "Hello boy," the Kraken rasped in a low, rumbling growl, "I see your still alive. Surprising, but not at all unwelcome."

  He lifted a bottle of clear liquor and poured me a glass.

  As the last time my effort to reach for it was slowed by the rules of this separate world. Didn't stop me though.

  "Hello dickhead. Thanks for the tentacle arms. They almost got me killed."

  He nodded and swirled his cup.

  "'Cause you're still learning to use them. Not my fault you barely practice with your own hands. You just deal or are you here to whine and bitch?"

  "Why not both?"

  "Fair enough," his laughter was the chittering of crabs and the rumbling of the earth, "I'll let you have that. I did play a black little trick with that first gift. But you keep at it, and I'll make it worth your while. In the meantime, let's see what else we can do for your little adventure."

  He reached under the bar and pulled up with a card deck. Shuffled it fast, so fast the light and air seemed to blur. Then he laid out three in front of me.

  "Pick one," he said, "and then you can drink and be on your way. You collected a good sum of mana this time. More than was strictly needed. Whenever you do that I can add a bonus to the lot."

  I nodded.

  "So, the longer I wait to take my power, the better it can be?" I asked looking down at the trio of Abilities.

  He shook his head, "There's a sweet spot. Wait until you're half to the next step. That'll give me enough mana to make some real changes. Any more than that and you're just wasting time."

  "Uh huh..." I muttered and read.

  Ice-Cold Blood: Your blood clots quick and you no longer need to fear the effects of bleeding out. You also heal slightly faster as a result.

  Iron Nerve: You are immune to fear. Mortal or supernatural, nothing shakes you.

  Sinner's Rush: Upon the death of a foe your reflexes, strength, and speed are greatly enhanced for brief moment.

  Now this was more like it. Three good, and seemingly, no hidden tricks.

  Ice-Cold Blood was immediately tempting. It hadn't cost me much, but my fight with the slaver gang had shown that one good wound could put me out. That'd be a solid pick. But Iron Nerve was good too.

  I didn't struggle much with fear and cowardice. Mama said I had a... misunderstandin’ with the world that, I couldn’t really grasp when I was fixin’ to really hurt, when old Strix was right before me, and an ending with her. A sickness in some men, but good for fightin' folk. Didn't mean that it was perfect. And I could imagine a time when it failed me.

  Then there was the rush. I'd heard of this. Northman, the pure kind, they got high off a kill. The smell of blood, the rush of violence and mana. It was like a drug to them. Indulge in it enough and you became a berserker. Peerless in war but, a little crazy in peace.

  "Can you tell me what effects on my hide each will have? Or do I have to guess? Again."

  He smiled, gold and black and rotten as a dying sea, "Good question boy. The blood will cool you. Literally. Make the desert heat a little less. The Nerve will harden you to the world around, armor for the soul. No need to fear heartbreak or rejection with that. And the Rush? Well it'll make you more Northman, more savage and bloodthirsty. I like 'em all, but none will be as drastic as your first."

  Good.

  No sprouting more tentacles or other such bullshit.

  I thought about it. I thought long and hard.

  "The Blood. I choose Ice-Cold Blood."

  He grinned wider and nodded, "Good choice. It will fit the rest of the Path perfectly. Now belly-up, and drink."

  The cup was heavy, and the movement to lift it slow and strained.

  Time stretched again, til power touched my parched lips.

  Bliss. Agony. Pure and unbridled change.

  I felt the mana course through me, chilling and cold as ice. Then, the mana left my veins and went back into the world around, leaving a sense of hollow loss.

  Then I awoke.

  A porcine chuff, a rumble in the dirt.

  Far off, but still too near, something rattled and shook.

  Moxie was on her feet, ready to run. Small eyes focused on a patch of raised sand just beyond the fire's dying light.

  Something shifted in the deep sand, as if a dune had decided to come alive. It rose and shook, sendin’ tremors through me, through Moxie, through everything.

  As a dim sun rose over a sandy sky all I could do was watch for a moment. Watch, my wits lost to awe, and only a single though rollin' around in my obviously empty head.

  Worm country.

  Fuck. Me.