A/N: Hey y'all! Sorry for the intensely long hiatus. Well, not itensely persay. if you want an intense hiatus all I have to do is bring up my fan-fiction stuff. Anyways, as I've clarified in my other stuff I've been away from computers for a while so it's been hard to do some new songs, never mind one of my stories. Oh, and Revolver is definitely going to be longer than five chapters. So all I'll tell you is it'll end when it ends. Enjoy folks.

Revolver

Chapter Five:

On The Edge Of The Wastelands

When he entered the dome of cloth, his mind registered something wrong. Zeck did not pick up on it immediately, and nor did he care to. The food in the corner lulled him. Besides, he did not sense it was anything that could endanger him. If Kris was his enemy, he did an amazing job of concealing it. Zeck stumbled to the large basket of food and was shocked as the air grew colder around it. Cooked fish and meat were kept cool by this strange pocket. It was obviously magic, but he was not complaining. He fell upon the food like an animal, pausing only to breathe in between bites.

Eventually he discovered a large steel bucket of water, screwed into the bottom of the wagon. He drank greedily, and as he did so a question surfaced. Shaded had no mouth's, what use did he have for food? The thought frightened him, but only momentarily. The Shaded had no reason to harm him at all. He was a working man like himself. He probably had a reason for the food. Zeck thought he would ask him later. As this first question faded, another epiphany hit him. It was very bright inside this wagon, yet the outside was the darkest black. How could it be bright?

Now armed with two questions, Zeck Liotis stumbled to the front of the wagon. Kris glanced at him and Zeck again felt that odd mental smile formulate in the atmosphere from the Shaded. "Eat well?" The Shaded asked. Zeck nodded and sat down beside him. The wagon was bounced and jostled along the gravel road, but it was nonetheless a comfortable seat. The Shaded, he noted had a bottle of water beside him, and it was half empty. This seemed as good a time as any to ask him how exactly he ingested it. "Umm, Kris?"

"Yes friend Zeck?" The Shaded asked, as if nothing in the world mattered.

"How do you drink?"

Kris stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. That mental laugh had to have been the most pleasant noise he'd ever heard, and he didn't mind it being directed at him. "I'm sorry." Kris said as he finished. "But that must be a very good question on your end of things. We Shaded don't eat and drink as you humans do. See, every organism has Magirust. We survive by absorbing Magirust, and we absorb water through our skin to nourish our bodies."

Zeck paused. "Doesn't a human die if they run out of Magirust?"

"Yes, which is why we get our supply from vegetables and small animals. A human would contain a great amount for us, but there's really no use. It would just cause trouble and be remarkably immoral." Kris paused and picked up the water bottle. "I'll show you." He unscrewed the cork and proceeded to pour the water upon his bare arm. It began to disappear instantly, even though there seemed to be no pores on Kris' body. Zeck gaped, and Kris laughed again. "Don't think too hard, friend Zeck. For now, you should sleep a more refreshing sleep. A nap in the gravel hardly seemed comfortable."

"Thank you." Zeck got up and stumbled into the back of the caravan to the unnatural light and realized he had forgotten to ask his second question. He realized it didn't matter. He already knew. It was magic. Everything about the Shaded was magic. Kris Fyr had said it himself. They lived, breathed, and even ate Magirust. Why would they use anything else to suit their needs? Zeck was amazed, but more than that, he was tired. He slumped over a small cot that was positioned in the corner and sunk into rest, and dreams of the Silver Dragon...

Savle slunk along, his body on fire. His energy was still there, however, and he would preserve it. That voice inside his head ordered him to. If he didn't, he felt that such pure hate would be directed at him that it would surely destroy him. He pushed his great muscular body through the sun washed grasslands, keeping his destination, the ever-shifting yellow of the Othargian Wastelands. It drew closer all the time. On the far side of the desert he would reach the coast and that despicable white temple. He would destroy it, and everyone in it. This was his destiny, his final calling. His eyes gleamed with fever, insanity, and perhaps hope.

He was getting better. The water he had bathed in had given his incredible immune system a gigantic boost, and it was fighting the alien infection within him now. His body was agony, yes, and his mind a throbbing furnace, but he acknowledged his steady recovery, and thanked his Gods, abandoned him perhaps they had not. His eye would never heal, and even as he thought this, the hollow socket gave a sick convulsion and he gritted his fangs against a piercing scream of agony. He closed his remaining eye and began to pray to the beautiful dragoness of life, Medleose. He longed for her cool crimson gaze to save him from this living hell.

Yet this presence in his mind, the voice... It was not his Gods. He knew them well, felt he could spot even their envoys. This voice was dragon yes, but it was no God. He didn't care. It spoke with assurance and intelligence. Cruelty as well, but it was a powerful cruelty that Savle would not ignore. After all, it was the only purpose he had within his body, what could it hurt? He lurched forward again, and his weakened legs gave out. He collapsed to the grass with a groan of agony and decided he would lay there for a moment. He had the time; a little more, at least. He felt the human drawing closer, like a dark angel of vengeance. Oh why didn't the pitiful human simply desist? Didn't he know he stood no chance against the mighty dragon?

The being in his mind told him he would destroy the man when the time was right, but until then, he must move as fast as his fevered body would carry him. Despite being ravaged by infection, Savle could move with disgusting speed. He endured most of the pain anyways, out of fear for the mysterious entity in his head, not out of determination. All he wanted was to complete the monsters task so that it would leave him in peace, to live out his own fantasies, not those of another...

When Zeck awoke, he was under the impression that it was dawn. Had he slept through the night? When he looked out the flap, he knew it wasn't so. The sun was low in the sky, and with a sinking heart he noticed the crossroads approaching. He could make out the sign very well. It said Samda was to the East. This was where he and the Shaded wagon-boy would part, and Zeck was hit with a pang of sadness. Even as he thought this, Kris called out. "Friend Zeck, the crossroad approaches!"

"So I see..." Zeck muttered, and pulled himself to the front of the wagon. Kris eyed him and then draped an arm over his shoulder. "It has been a pleasure to know you, my friend." The wagon slowed to a stop at the sign. Another wagon passed before them, undoubtedly heading for Morturi on the coast. It's inhabitants, gold dragonmen, waved to them as they moved on and the Shaded and the man returned the greeting. Zeck sighed and hopped down. Kris looked at him, and he could now feel a mental sadness in the Shaded, that was as depressing as his mental smile was uplifting.

"Please..." Zeck managed a smile. "I'll be fine, my friend. Don't be dispirited, it may spread."

A wan mind-smile appeared through Kris' emotions and it instantly uplifted Zeck. "There you go." The human smiled. "That's all I need."

Kris laughed. "Well Zeck, there are no towns from here to the wastelands, but there may be some houses and even an inn or two. There is a small wood as well, that you should use only as a last resort for shelter, but be forewarned, this area is part of old Terras, and the nature is vengeful. Keep your gun cocked, and your mind ready."

"As always on this beastly wander..." Zeck muttered, recalling the shambling nightmare of the night before.

Kris nodded. "So I guess there's no point in a prolonged farewell." He gave Zeck a salute and the horses began to move. The banked to the right and the carriage followed. The black cloth shimmered mysteriously in the twilight and soon it was swiftly rolling away. Zeck watched it for a while, before he drew his revolver, and loaded the chambers. Then he headed north.

He walked for a while until the light dwindled into dark blue, and even then he continued. He didn't feel too tired, and he took comfort in the fact that Kris was not wrong about the few houses. They were spaced apart at least a few miles each, but they were there. He saw children playing in some of the yards of the rambling houses, and they stopped their merry-making to observe him as the farmer strode by, revolver tucked into his belt, with no attempt made to hide it. It occurred to him that most people had no idea what the revolver even was. He was lucky to even know what it was himself; it was only through Dorian Melad that he had been exposed to the deadly weapon.

He must have been walking well into the night, for before he knew it, the mist and the moon had consumed all around him. Occasionally, through the mist he could see the lights of houses, but still he procrastinated staying the night anywhere, knowing that he must push on. He didn't stop until he realized the fog had led him into a deadly snare. He had blindly stridden down the road, unable to see anything beyond, and now he was in the wood that the Shaded had vaguely warned him about. It had to be, what other wood could be found this close to the wastelands?

The very trees seemed strangled. Eks, willows, esterls and plumes seemed to be contorted into gnarled corpses, and Zeck narrowed his eyes in mistrust at the spaces between the trees. Surely the fog concealed more than bush in a place like this. The fear that he felt while being pursued by the formless horror was nothing to this building terror. It wasn't actually fear, Zeck noted, but knowledge. Knowledge that hostile eyes observed his motions through this place-this darkness. He instantly regretted his decision not to stop, for the second time on the journey. Could he not learn from his mistakes? This time he may not be so lucky.

He supposed it was his determination that drove him this far through danger, but it might have been something else... Some outside force lulling him into security. He made up his mind then and there to get the blood out of this place and stop in the first place he found. He drew his revolver, and checked the chambers, even though he had reloaded it unnecessarily earlier. At the first sign of danger he would unload it into whatever stood in his way. He stepped tentatively forward, and the last thing he expected to see appeared.

Lights clawed through the fog, and at first Zeck thought it was an approaching wagon, but they were too far off the road. As he drew nearer, he noticed a trellis on the side of the road. The lights were of a house. He approached the trellis and noted a sign hanging down from above it. "The Sleeping Dragon, Inn and Pub" Zeck blinked in fascination. He literally could not believe his luck. In the middle of this hellhole... But was this place really so bad? The gun-slinging farmer looked around. The trees were silent, but perfectly normal. Had he imagined everything? Zeck thought he might have. He searched the windows of the beaten up wooden building and was not surprised to read 'Vacancy.'

On a hunch, Zeck holstered the revolver and hid it with his jacket. Without further ado, Zeck stepped in. He noted there was nobody in the drinking area, but a scrawny bartender was behind the counter, mopping up something. He brightened when Zeck came in, a smile lighting up his pale and wasted features. The man seemed very old. "Welcome!" He practically howled, and Zeck stepped back. "Please, take a seat. You're our only patron tonight, get ready for a feast, good sir!" Zeck blinked back surprise and smilingly obliged.

The bartender hastily placed the mop against a wall behind the bar and scurried over to the table at which Zeck sat. Zeck took the time to observe the small tavern. Near the back and the bar was a flight of stairs, which undoubtedly led to the rooms. The pub consisted of four large tables, and some stools at the bar. Zeck had chosen the one closest to the door. Not to make the barkeep work, but because he had been stunned into his seat. He supposed he was still in shock from finding such a homey place in this forest.

"What suits your fancy to drink, tonight Sir...?" The bartender inquired.

"Zeck Liotis, friend. That and nothing more." He studied the menu: a scrap of parchment fastened to the table. "I'll only have shot of Zeideran's finest, if you carry it."

The bartender nodded and scurried away with agility that was almost spider-like, and left Zeck with his gun and his thoughts. His shock was beginning to die down, and he wondered vaguely how such an out-of-the-way place managed to stay afloat. They certainly didn't get much business. Only monks and paladin's went to the wastelands anymore, simply to get to the Citadel on the other side. It was a shrine to the hero Otharg, and considered quite holy.

The bartender came back again and Zeck accepted the whisky with a smile. "Friend, you know my name but I don't know yours. May I ask?"

"Brodin." The bartender smiled. "Brodin Terit. I live here with my family. We don't get much company up here. The largest group we've had came in the other day. Two dragonmen and some goblins, if you can believe it. Quite a crew. Going to the Citadel." Zeck became mildly irritated. He'd asked the man's name, not his god-bloody life story. Nonetheless, he said nothing. He was certainly not an ungrateful man. "I warned them about the Armoroka, but they said they didn't fear the beasts."

"Armorokas?" Zeck wondered aloud. He'd thought they were legends, simply fodder for children's tales.

"Oh yes." Brodin nodded gravely. "Twenty feet tall, most of 'em. Teeth like razors and hide like diamond. I've met a few."

"Met?!" Zeck's eyes were wide now. "How did you survive?"

Now Brodin laughed. "Oh, Mr. Liotis, you have little knowledge of the world. Armoroka are like any other race, only bigger, and with the ability to kill you with one hand. I've seen a few come by. The only thing you need to fear them for is their territorial nature. Step onto Armoroka ground, and you know it in five seconds or less."

"Interesting." Zeck frowned. Legend distorted many things, so it seemed. Suddenly, a set of doors on the left side of the tavern swung open and a gaunt woman came out, holding a large platter of potatoes and vegetables. Zeck raised his hands in protest. "Please, I have not the money for so much!"

Brodin laughed. "Nonsense, Zeck. Our food is free to you. You look weary and in need of a meal!" The woman set the food in front of him and Brodin swept her into his arms. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Lizella. She does the cooking here, for I am lacking in that skill-set."

Zeck acknowledged her with a nod and then turned to Brodin. "I appreciate your offer highly, both of you, but I have eaten well already, and I only desire a safe place to sleep." He was taken aback as their faces fell in unison. Not just into disappointment, but in total sorrow and perhaps fear. "I'm sorry if you feel insulted, it's simply that I cannot possibly eat now." Zeck pressed on.

Brodin nodded. "Very well. Let me consult with my wife as to where you will sleep." He smiled and led his wife to the kitchen.

"Any room is fine..." Zeck protested, but they were already in the kitchen. He shook his head in disbelief and stared thoughtfully after them. He turned to the food in front of them and his stomach twinged at the very sight of more food. He hated to disrespect the people so, but if he ate, he would surely be sick.

"Excuse me..." A tiny voice asked him, and Zeck's eyes darted wildly around before they settled on a tiny little girl in a white nightgown. She looked at him with brown eyes and a very pale, thin complexion. "You should eat, sir." She said. "Or they won't let us eat."

"What?" Zeck asked, extremely confused. "Your parents won't feed you?"

"Not my parents, my Mere and Pere love me. It's the ghost man's fault. He won't let us eat unless we feed you." She was obviously becoming frustrated with him, and Zeck couldn't figure out why for the life of him.

"What in blood?!" He asked again.

"Ah, I see you've met Maeve!" Brodin smiled, much too widely for Zeck’s tastes, as he swept into the pub and picked up the little girl. "Very overactive imagination. Claims she has skeletons and zombie's in her closet." His smile looked very, very strained.

"Alright." Zeck accepted the logical explanation. Accepted, yes. Believed? Not entirely. He remembered his childhood fear of the darkness. It had always been shapeless. What was this business about the ghost-man? "Nonetheless he stood. "I would like my room?"

Brodin smiled. "Good, good, sir." He scurried towards the stairs and Zeck strode after him. The stairs creaked noisily and Brodin had to sweep many cobwebs out of their way with the arm that wasn't carrying Maeve. Zeck secretly applauded the little girl's name. Maeve was a simple yet beautiful name, one he would have given to his own daughter had not... He withdrew his breath sharply and Maeve eyed him over her father's shoulder.

"Whatsa matter, sir?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

"It's nothing, dear." He smiled, but she must have seen those tears building in his eyes. "Just the past."

She studied him closely before scaring the living daylight out of him. "Taisha doesn't want you to be sad. She wants you to keep moving."

Zeck stopped dead and stared at her. Brodin turned around, eyes wide. "What?" Zeck stammered. "How-?"

"Maeve is special, Zeck." Brodin said softly, as if to keep some secret. "We think she can speak with people who have passed on..."

Zeck grabbed the little girl by the shoulders. "What else does she say! Tell me what my love says!"

Maeve began to cry, but she spoke through her tears. "She wants you to remember who you are, and not be fooled by what you want to be!" Zeck stopped and withdrew, openly sobbing with the little girl. He fell unceremoniously into a heap at the foot of the steps. He was wracked with emotion for a while before he felt a small hand on his shoulder. "It's okay Mr. Liotis." Maeve whispered. "She's happy. And you should be too. You're a very brave man. In pain, but very brave."

"Thank you..." Zeck managed. He sat up, and smiled. "I guess that explains the ghost man." To his surprise, Maeve's eyes widened and she shook her head.

"Oh no! The ghost-man is real. His name is Valisi and he-"

"Is simply a product of her overactive imagination." Brodin smiled that creepy stretched smile again and picked her up. "Your room, Zeck. Wouldn't want to prolong your rest." Zeck nodded, unsure, and followed him. They entered the dank upstairs hall and arrived at a stop at a large ekwood door. "Here you are." Brodin unlocked the door and then made stalked towards the stairs.

"Keep your gun!" Maeve yelled. Zeck froze, and didn't hear Brodin scolding her on using nonsense words. He had heard what she said, and he let his hand rest on his revolver. Oh yes, he would keep it, until the dawn came again. Little did he know, he would never long for the daylight as badly as he would tonight.