World Arcanum - Geography - The Vendigrith Wastes
ords cannot describe the terrors of this great desert, which has barred passage to old Tulla for thousands of years; the Vendigroth Wastes are more than the sum of their parts. It might be possible for ordinary men to endure the blinding heat, the waterless expanses which stretch on for miles, or the bleak spires of blasted rock that rise from the dunes like the masts of a great sunken ship; but needless to say, these things do not come alone. There are also savage desert orcs, great brutes which stand half a head taller than their lesser cousins in mountain and plain. There are siren spiders which call men out of their tents in the night, promising unspeakable pleasures in the very voice of irresistible allure; in the morning the footprints of the unhappy victim lead to an empty husk of skin and bone, withered and drained of life.
I have seen angry storms rise in the middle of a clear afternoon, towering magickal cyclones of heavy-grained sand which catch up a living horse and rider and whip away all hair, hide and flesh in a matter of instants. In the scream of a departing storm I have heard a lost man's desperate voice still calling out to me; I've seen the red bones of man and horse still running together, bound forever as outriders of the killing wind. It a dark and dreadful magick at work in that place, and the gods have devised a thousand ways for men to die…
On my second day in the Wastes, Fazil and I rode ahead to scout the way for the caravan, leading our water ponies behind us. Just as we crested a great dune, the sands shifted beneath our feet, rising as if the very bedrock beneath us were heaving up into the sky. The horses screamed in panic and Fazil gave a great shout, slapping leather and tearing down the hillside in a whirlwind of flying hooves. My water-pony, bred on the plains and uncertain of its footing, immediately sank in the rushing sand up to its haunches; the mount beneath me bolted in terror, forcing me to let go of the pony's lead or be torn bodily from the saddle. Fazil galloped pell-mell out into the open sands and my own panicked horse followed him, running wild; it was only when he finally reigned in that I was able to regain some control of the frantic beast.
Turning back I saw the dune, which we had been standing on only a moment before, tremble and then violently shake from side to side, shedding an avalanche of sand. My water pony tumbled down the slope, shrieking its terror. The poor beast tried, unsuccessfully, to regain its feet, but it was far too late; the old man and I watched in horror as Scorpions the size of hunting dogs boiled up out of the ground all around my helpless water pony, swarming over its withers and neck. Their nest disguised as a hill like any other, these monsters had waited for their prey; now the black stingers rose and fell, spearing my faithful pony in the belly as huge pincers closed mercifully around its neck, cutting short its desperate screams. Seeing a few of the monstrous creatures casting about for some other prey, Fazil quickly drew me away, and we did not look back again…
