"A Boy Lost in the Pattern"
22 Ash 122
The Atraxian Expanse
Roughly 100 miles Southeast of Solunarium Proper
Principalus Val'Camillus Æden had led a successful, albeit monotonously routine, patrol mission along the southerly borders of the Atraxian Expanse where the sands ran into the grasslands of lower Ecith. Serving as decanus over a contubernium of eight men (One Sunborn, one moonborn and six Vastians), they had assembled for their pre-mission briefing at the Wyvern ærie that stabled Sandworm and the other mounts. Sad-eyes, gargantuan cyclopes were toiling under the command of a master mason who was overseeing an expansion to the basilisk paddocks. Renovations were much needed subsequent to the season's recent boom in both basilisk and wyvern hatchlings. 22 Ash 122
The Atraxian Expanse
Roughly 100 miles Southeast of Solunarium Proper
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From the capital, Æden and company had flown a familiar, southerly course and found nothing out of the ordinary. It might have been disappointing to embark on a mission fraught with danger, only to find that it was less eventful than the prior week when Æden had been charged with guarding a diplomatic envoy. At least there, he'd gotten to see a dragon and a cadre of their ancient Orkish enemies. At least then there had been tension for a few hours, but this had been days of soaring over empty sands, scanning for dangers to the ream that never presented themselves.
As they made their way back toward the capital, the plan had been to camp for their final night at one of the modest forts upheld by their branch of the military throughout the desert. Over the years, most of these sentry points had drawn Vastian settlers to build villages, trading posts or waypoints- lured by the safety suggested by a regular presence of præventores in their midst. They might have wound up in such a place, but for the cries of one of the humans in their number who had taken ill and struggled to keep his mount upon the wyvern.
So it was, that they made camp near a rocky outcropping in the otherwise open desert. Æden would wake with a jolt in the dead of night. He could hear the whispers of the two standing sentry outside the tent, but they weren't loud enough to understand, and he was sure that hadn't been what woke him. Then he heard it... a low, clicking sound and a strange roiling of the sands. His training clicked in his sleep-bleary brain and he realised the probably source of the strange phenomenon. But he hadn't time to act, before the screams of his comrades outside the tent pierced the Atraxian night.
As the others in Æden's tent woke, and started to process the din without, the Sandlion- a massive, burrowing arthropod with thick, black chitin armour had begun to tear into one of the sentries with its chittering mandables, as it stabbed the other with a spear-like leg. The wyverns wailed as another of the creatures burst forth to strike at the mounts.