Hunt the Storm - Week 1 Best Bit

A pained hiss escaped parched lips. Blood slowly seeped from an open wound. A deafening roar from behind sent the injured human tumbling to the ground, scrambling for purchase against the shifting sand. He turned to look over his shoulder, and immediately regretted it.

A great beast, eyeless and with claws large enough to engulf a grown man's torso, was mere meters from him. And it was closing in fast. The man scrambled to his feet, desperate to get away from what would certainly be a grisly fate.

But he had already lost so much blood, the crimson ichor dripping to the sand below in slow, fat drops. Dizzy from the heat and the blood loss, the man was already starting to lose focus at the edges of his vision. He must be becoming more susceptible to the desert's tricky mirages, for he could swear he could see a figure approaching.

The beast behind him let out a pained, warbling howl. Daring to look back once more, the man found himself tumbling to the ground in surprise.

A woman, towering over him by a good three feet, slammed the side of her great golden shield against where the creature's eyes should be. Her red hair whipped around as she swung a mighty axe down atop the beast's head earning her the sickening sound of crunching bone and splitting flesh.

Hand far larger than his own wrapped around the man's shoulder, startling him. He yelped and attempted to scramble away. More women, their skin as red as their hair, joined the axe-wielding warrior with bows drawn and spears at the ready.

A warm hand touched his shoulder once more. The man flinched but did not move away as a soft voice made soothing noises at him. Red hair and red skin like her peers, the woman who knelt beside him watched him with gentle, sunset colored eyes. She said something in a language the man could not understand, tucking a strand of loose hair behind a pointed ear.

"What?" he uttered dumbly.

The woman seemed to understand, a long, deceptively delicate finger plucking a grain of sand from the desert and placed it on the tip of her tongue. There was a shift in the air and when the woman next spoke, it was in the Common Tongue.

"Do not be afraid," she assured him. "We are here to help."

"W-who are you?" the man demanded, flinching when she laid her hand upon his wound. A chill filled the man's bones as the pain slowly eased. Looking down, he could see his flesh stitching back together. "What are you doing?"

"We are the People of the Sand," the woman said, sunset eyes rising to meet earthy brown. There was mirth in her gaze, laughter at his questions as if he were a child demanding to know the most obvious of things. The woman shifted away, standing and stepping over him towards the battle as inky frost climbed up her arms.

"And this is magic."