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Chapter 1
Darkness blanketed the brown, earthy desert. The eerie shapes of abandoned cars and other unidentified mechanical skeletons lurked in the distance. A high moon provided the only light, glittering softly off of the countless billion sand grains and swathes of cracked, red mud that made up the desolate landscape. A light breeze rustled the thin, dry branches of what little vegetation tried to eke out an existence in the parched land.

A pebble resting on a rock started vibrating gently, moving slowly from where it had been deposited by rainwater some decades ago. It's movement slowly increased as the vibrations picked up. A low rumble came over the horizon, growing louder and louder. Several sets of lights soon followed sending erratic shadows dancing across the still desert. Then the silence was shattered by crackles of high calibre gunfire and the roar of engines.

"Shiiiiit!" yelled Firebrand.
His huge paw-like hands clung to the trucks gun mount as it tipped suddenly, almost throwing him off the vehicle. Explosive rounds went off inches from his elongated hyena face. The short, ruddy red mane that ran from his head down the back of his spotted neck stood on end with fear.
Two highly modified buggies fitted with huge machine guns nicked at the heels of a monstrous armoured truck as it lurched at high speed along the rutted road. Their nimble, well sprung wheels dipping in and out of the wide trenches carved by the truck's knobbly tires. Sleek, rounded bodies hugging the ground closely, in contrast to the unstable, high and relatively box-like profile of the truck.

"Return fire!" bellowed Terrah, a female of the same ilk as Firebrand.

Her wide, brown eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying her best to avoid hidden ditches and potholes. Their lives were dependent on her driving ability right now. That was all right by her, she was the best damned driver her clan had and she knew it. She was just wishing she was back in her beloved Hornet fast attack car rather than this clunky, old Conrad 8-tonner. It manoeuvred like a wounded elephant and was twice as noisy.
She swerved to the side once more and once more heard Firebrand yell out in objection followed quickly by the deafening roar of the trucks 55 calibre auto-cannon. She gritted her sharp teeth and gripped the steering wheel harder with her gloved hand, claws digging in.

Fire erupted like a rare bloom into the night, luminescent tendrils reaching out from where a vehicle had once been. Flaming wreckage tumbled forward at high speed but rapidly slowing and scattering. Acrid smoke billowed into the night sky, partially blotting out the moon.
Firebrand's yells of triumph were quickly answered by vengeful rounds ricocheting off the nearby armour plating, narrowing missing him as he ducked down behinds his gun's faceplate.

"Get him! Get him now!" Terrah yelled as the remaining buggy pulled out in front of her, aiming its gun right at her.

Firebrand nodded and swung the gun round, squeezing the trigger too late. The buggy had swerved and swung round to the side of the truck, the rounds blowing holes in the road and causing the truck to bounce up onto two wheels for an unsteady moment before falling back down onto all wheels once more.

Once again Firebrand clung on to the copula as he was shaken about by the vehicles erratic movements, narrowly missing his gun as his head was thrown forward. After steadying himself and swearing profusely he grabbed the auto-cannon and swung it in a wild arc, searching out his target but to no effect.
There was then a sudden clang and screech as a crude grappling hook latched onto the roof. Seconds later a vicious bandit hauled himself up from the line attached to the hook, two daggers ready. A menacing grin lurked under the dark hood of his ragged cloak that covered his gangly body. Belts and straps were visible underneath, each with an instrument of unpleasantness attached to it.

Firebrand ducked into the roof hatch just as the vicious daggers closed on him, nicking one of his ears. The gnoll let out a cry of pain but managed to dodge out of the way as the would-be killer went for another strike. He lost his footing in the confusion and fell backwards, down into the truck cabin, hitting his head on the way down. He winced for a moment, grimacing at the sudden white hot pain putting daggers into his brain from the back of his head. He was quickly brought back to the here and now when he spotted the gaunt face of the black hooded figure through the roof hatch. He launched himself in after Firebrand, a vicious grin on that white, almost skeletal face.
"Gun! Gun!" Firebrand shouted as he tried to beat back the bandit who had leaped on top of him.
Terrah whipped her head round to see the struggling tangle of man and gnoll just behind her.
"-the hell you bring him in for?" shouted Terrah as she scrabbled for the heavy pistol in her thigh holster with one hand, the other grasping the steering wheel.
"It's not like I invited him. Oh hello Mr. Bad Guy. Please come in, sit down. Would you like some biscuits before you kill us? That's- Gah!"
One of the vicious blades cut deep into his arm spilling red onto his tan, spotted fur.
Terrah tossed the gun behind her, but Firebrand fumbled the catch and it slid down into a crevice between bits of equipment. He swore colourfully.
"Hey, you! Stop or I'll gut your pal like a fish!" snarled the hooded figure as he made another desperate strike for Firebrand's neck.
"Even if she does you'll just skin us alive and sell our pelts with the rest of the loot!" he retorted, reaching out for the gun. It was just outside his grasp. He stretched, willing his arm to reach further as he held back the knife wielding bandit with the other arm.
"What the hell am I doing?" He said
The gnoll reached behind him and whipped open the door of the gun cabinet he just realised he was leaning against. He checked on the bandit, who was still trying to yell at Terrah and grabbed a rifle.
"Hey! Don't ignore me!" the bandit yelled at the back of Terrah's head.
He turned back to check on his quarry. The unfortunate intruder found the business end of a heavy assault rifle in his face.
"I think you should leave." muttered Firebrand, looking into the suddenly wide eyes of the attacker. If it were possible his face became even whiter. Firebrand turned his head away and pulled the trigger.
The two knives clattered to the floor with a loud metallic clang as the body slumped the rest of the way into the truck. Firebrand slid out of the way, untangling himself from the now messy corpse.
"Get rid of that thing," commanded Terrah without looking round. "And get that last buggy. It's still following us."
After giving the body a quick strip down of any useful equipment, he dragged it over to the side door and unceremoniously dumped it out. He tossed the knives out with it, one ricocheting off a passing rock and embedding itself in the pursuing car's windscreen. The body tumbled along the ground and was flung under the wheels of the pursuers. The remaining buggy, its crew suitably unnerved quickly dropped off  and turned back. Exhausted and injured, Firebrand threw himself down into the seat next to Terrah.
"That's it. I'm done. Can I sleep yet?"
"No," she replied. "Gotta put some more distance between them and us. We'll drive for another few hours. You should get back on the auto-cannon, in case more come after us."
Firebrand whined softly. "Can't you just wake me if we are under attack? I'm tired of standing around up there and being shot at."
He began moving back towards the gun mount, knowing that his feeble arguments would never win.
"Brandy, you're a gnoll. When you're tired of being shot at, you are tired of life!" Terrah replied, a light cackle escaping her throat.
Firebrand grimaced, he hated that name.
* * * *
Randal King stood looking over the valley before him, a fat, stumpy cigar clenched in his yellowing teeth. Arranged behind him were a horrible collection of motorized weapons, spikes and jagged edges gleaming in the late evening light. The blood red sun squatted low on the horizon, throwing out long shadows perpendicular to the valley that was a deep scar in the elevated plateau, plunging it into darkness.
King was head of one of the largest and most powerful motor gangs in the Massiwali plains. They, along with most other desert bandit groups, made a living by picking off the caravans that passed through the hostile wastes between settlements. If the defences were weak enough and their numbers great enough, they would even attack and raid some of the smaller, outlying settlements. Those too far from anywhere that would deem them useful enough to protect.
Almost everything in the gang's possession including the vehicles and weapons they did their raiding with were once part of a convoy or unfortunate village. The rest were salvaged from the wastes. The parched, dry sand and mud that made up the majority of the interior lands surface occasionally shifted, exposing the decaying remains of the once mighty human civilisation that spanned the globe. These desolate remains sometimes held technological or scientific treasures that were highly prized to the right people.
King and his posse however were a special commission and hadn't had a decent fight in over a month. There was a gnoll supply convoy making the rounds at the local settlements. King thought that they would end up heading towards Carthage, the largest city in the region. Everyone on logistics runs did eventually. And the pass he and his gang now occupied was the most direct route for miles.
It was a risky plan to try and hit them here, they would be on full alert in an ambush ready location like this. But he knew that if he could divide them somehow, the two lesser forces would be easier to handle.

"Sir, the charges have been set."

King was taken out of his thoughts by a short, broad gang member sidling up to him.
He sucked forcefully on his cigar, the end lighting up like a flare before turning round.

"All right Mug. Tell the lads to buckle up and load anti-personnel rounds. We wanna take their goods, not burn it"

The gang member cringed back at King's words before taking off to deliver the message.
"And don't forget about the special package!" he bellowed after the man.
King gazed over at the huge rock they had shifted to the cliff edge for the divide and conquer plan. As the sun slid behind the horizon he could see lights and dust clouds appearing far off in the distance.
Borken watched the gnoll opposite him go through a weapon assembly and disassembly drill. His stubby, clawed fingers were nimbly working away on the large assault rifle that passed as standard issue. Although each gnoll was provided a weapon built from a standard design left over from the days when the race were no more than foot soldiers for a globally dominant super power. Each weapon was adapted over years, or decades, of use. With repairs made with make-shift parts, modifications added to suit the user and the odd decoration to mark an achievement, each weapon, vehicle or piece of equipment was made unique in its own right.
With practised efficiency the gnoll took the scattering of parts on the small table in front of him and built the weapon up once more. This one had a highly decorated carved wooden stock, grenade launcher and a few long fangs hanging like totems from the barrel. The swaying of the vehicle had apparently little effect on his progress.

Borken tried to ignore the light nausea that lurked inside, threatening to take him over. The windowless insides of the APC jolted and swayed to his dismay as it travelled onwards. He was a scholar by trade and a sauren by birth. He was a data miner, one of those odd people whose occupation was a hybrid of archaeology, hacking and potholing. Their jobs were invaluable.
The old world had made many breakthroughs in science and technology, as well as many records on anything from ancient texts to satellite imagery, all of which would be invaluable to those striving to improve life in the now barren, irradiated wastes. Such stores of information mostly came in the form of data centres, rows and rows of server stacks in specially constructed rooms. Most of which were kept in the basement levels of buildings and as such, were shielded from the worse of the bombs that has scarred the landscape above. Decades of neglect does take its effect though. Sometimes water would seep in and ruin low lying equipment. Sometimes the damaged roof gave up and collapsed thousands of tonnes of masonry onto the rooms. Sometimes there would be a gem, usually found glistening in the shattered and makeshift remains of the old international telecommunications network, the backup power still running to the abandoned hardware. One tiny signal of life flashing on an obscure IP in a long-thought disconnected or non-existent network.
Borken would not normally travel in such conditions. Normally he would not have been so impatient as to forego one of the regular passenger trade trucks that travelled the roads from the various towns to Carthage, the capital of the region. Normally he wouldn't have been this excited however. Normally he would not have much of interest to report from his work. Most importantly, he was not normally carrying anything away from his excavations that he hadn't brought in with him.
He took another pill from one of many pockets of his long coat and swallowed it down hard, hoping to suppress his travel sickness at least until he was in a more convenient location to expel his dignity away quietly.

The find was a great one. A wonderful and dangerous piece of technology found in the bowels of a long forgotten research facility. He'd have to write up the paper the night before the conference, he couldn't concentrate in this contraption. Too much noise and-
He had to brace himself as a wave of nausea rose over him once more.
He looked desperately round of a bag or something to use. He closed his eyes and tried to think calm, relaxing and steady thoughts. It gradually faded, to his relief, but Borken became aware of eyes upon him. Apparently his internal battle didn't go unnoticed.
"Get the passenger a bucket or something. He doesn't look a healthy shade of green."
There was sniggering and a small, plastic bucket was produced from somewhere and passed to him. He took it sheepishly.
The sauren species had bifurcated sometime in the past into two races. One native to the wetter, more vegetation rich areas of the world and one became adept at living in the more arid regions. This had given rise to the tan sauren, who were normally a sandy brown, sometimes with darker stripes across their back and upper parts of their limbs, and the green sauren who were just that, green. Borken was, of course, of the latter creed.

Suddenly the radio croaked into life. The dry, rasping voice of the gnoll clans matriarch and commander spoke. "We are going on high alert. We'll be passing into the valley imminently so gunners, get to your positions. Be on the watch for anything suspicious."
Borken gulped.
The convoy began to enter the valley, their weapon systems coming online. Grimacing hyena heads, looking absurd with their goggles down, rose from hatches. Gloved hands gripped mounted guns. Ears swivelled, noses twitched.
The bandits waited back, eager with the anticipation of the fight ahead. Not all of them would make it through, but that was ok. There would be a bigger share of the loot for the rest of them. They gripped their ropes and guns, ready to get down the steep valley edge and into the fray as soon as possible. Others took up posts behind craggy outcroppings with long rifles and complicated looking scopes.
King peered over the edge, invisible in the fading light of the evening.
"Almost, almost..." he thought, waiting for the lead vehicle to reach the target point. The palms of his massive hands were sweating, his heart pumping hard. No matter how many times he did it he was always found a tough fight exhilarating. Being caught in a life or death battle, killing men with his own hands, watching the life drain from their eyes.
He observed the vehicles passing below, bristling with guns that were pointing in every direction. Surprise was the key, with surprise you take anyone, no matter the size or number of his guns. In fact, the bigger guns were better; it took time for them to be put in position, and if you were fast and your enemy nervous, you could get them to kill a few of their mates for you.
King smirked with malice, raising his radio to talk.
"There right on the mark. Hit them, now!" he yelled into the small box clasped in his hand.
Somewhere a button was pushed. But nothing happened.
"Hit it! What are you waiting for?"
But there was still nothing. Something was wrong.
"Sir, one of the wires came loose. We are trying to fix it," came a nervous voice through the radio.
He swore violently, watching his precious loot drive by below him and his plan crumble. That special something they were being paid to get too. They had better get it, no matter anything else. There were few things in the world that frightened King, but that figure in the cloak... It seemed the very air around him froze when it spoke. The tavern he was in seemed to fade away into the background. The brawl that has been taking over half the place was so much muffled silence. Failing someone... something like that did not bare thinking about. He shuddered.
"There was a slight problem with the explosives sir, but that has been fixed now"
King was brought back to the here and now by the voice. He looked round.
"Mug! Why are you telling me that? If its fixed I want the bastard rock rolling now!" He bellowed.
The squat man lent back, as if he was physically being assaulted with the words before scrambling off.
There was an almighty explosion. The huge boulder began to roll down the side of the valley.
Soon loose debris freed by the explosion and the falling boulder had formed a sizeable landslide alongside it. The massive tonnage of rocks, dust, and sand slammed heavily into the line of vehicles passing bellow. Gunfire, cries and the horrid screech of metal twisting out of shape rang up from the valley floor, but it was muffled by the great roar of moving earth.
Panic took hold bellow causing havoc among the vehicles of the convoy, that was now sliced in two. Some were crushed outright and others crashed into each other, swerving to avoid the chaos.
Before the dust had even settled a volley of gunfire erupted between the convoy and raiders on the valley edge. Machine gunners shot blindly up, peppering the raiders with lead. Snipers tried to take out those manning the vehicle guns.
"Mounted squad! Get after those escaping us!" King bellowed into his radio, barely audible above the din of gunfire. "You might have a few more to deal with than you thought. I want ALL of them stopped. "
Suddenly a violent boom sent the bandit leader crashing to the ground and lumps of rock and men skywards. The tanks had finally managed to sort themselves out and were aiming at key targets. Surprise had given the bandits an edge, but now it was time to press it home, and into the necks of their enemy.
He threw himself to his feet and bellowed, "Assault the convoy! Remember, we want the loot intact and I'll personally scalp ANY man that so much as scratches the tank engines!"
In a world where most technology was scrounged together from bits of scrap and century old machinery, the gas-turbine engines of the gnoll tanks were worth much more than their weight in gold.
The settling dust was whipped up into choking cloud as men ran about, getting into their squads.
"Go, go, go!" someone yelled.
A surge of men rushed forwards, latching ropes onto prepared anchor points and hurled themselves over the valley edge, abseiling down it at speed. Others latched onto the ropes as soon as enough was free and followed. A wall of men propelled themselves down the steep rock face. Snipers and those yet to climb down covered the assault, providing a hail of randomised and precise shooting. Confusion reigned over the stalled convoy.
The battle progressed with heavy casualties on both sides. There was no way of telling how well the running vehicle battle was going with the other half of the convoy that had made it though the land slide. King had confidence in his men, he would get them to report in after he had finished here.
The valley floor was lit up with fires and gunshots. The assault was going well and the bandits were gradually wearing down the gnolls. King smiled, now it was his turn for some fun. He picked up a huge, evil looking machete and gripped it in his yellowing teeth. The blade was chipped and dirty but unsuspectingly sharp.  He then checked his revolver, eyeing down the sights of the sizeable weapon before holstering it in a grubby leather pouch on his hip. He then ran to the edge, grabbing a rope and swinging down into the chaos below.
Random shots ricochet off of the wall near him. Sharp, hot chips of stone bounced off of his pockmarked skin. A billow of dust was thrown up when his large, weathered but thick leather boots landed. His eyes narrowed on his target some 400 yards away. He looked around. This section of the valley had now been secured. There were bodies of men and gnolls scattered all around. More gnolls than men here though. The tank belched another round into the side of the valley, aiming for the snipers. King pushed through his men and advanced through the maze of parked, overturned and crashed vehicles.
He grabbed the machete in his left hand and took out his revolver with the right. He spotted a gnoll  leaning against a truck, opening fire at a group off to the left, the large assault riffle jerking in his grasp with automatic fire. His back was to the advancing bandit lord.  King smiled and swung the machete, hacking into the gnoll's thick neck and severing his spine. Simple. He advanced further.
Another emerged, running for cover. A revolver shot to the head sent her down. He loosed a few more rounds off towards  an SUV taking down the gunner and causing the others to duck for cover.
Holstering the gun, King approached the first tank. He yanked a hand-made gas grenade from his jacket.

Borken's world had exploded. There was a lot of chatter on the radio. Shouting and surprise seemed to be charging over the airwaves and it had spread to everyone around him. An order was barked by a large, commanding figure of a gnoll and everyone around him had been spurred into action. Rifles were cocked, magazines checked. Then the big door at the back of the compartment started to fold down with mechanical inevitability. Around it, the dying light of the evening entered, along with choking dust and a wall of sound from the outside. Borken had not even realised the vehicle had come to a halt. He sat in a state of shock while the whirlwind of action went on around him.
He looked at his own pistol, small and harmless compared to the weapons bristling around him. Putting it back in its holster he began to question the wisdom of his hasty choice of transport. He could have taken the land train north, via Megentown to Weilder Oasis. Then hitched a lift on one of the regular caravans down to Carthage. But then he would have missed the conference.
At least he'd be alive though. Damn it!
Then they were all gone. Gone into the dusty, noisy, screaming maelstrom of the outside. A sudden, massive vibration shook the reptile out of his stupor as the vehicle's machine gun burst into life. The hollow tinkle of a rain of brass made him look round. He then felt himself dragged sideways, towards the door of the vehicle. He whipped his head round to see what was going on. A gnoll, the one that handed him the bucket was hauling him bodily outside, yelling at him.
"What are you doing? You have to leave, this ain't a safe place for you."
Borken blinked, he was outside, and then was quickly dragged behind one of the 4 wheeled cross-country cars they used for shouting and speedy transport. It was overturned. Shots occasionally ricocheted off of its thinly armoured hide.
"You have a weapon right?" the gnoll barked. It seemed more on an observation than a question. Borken did have a leather holster on his side.
"Uhh, yes." He pulled out the gun. It was scratched and a little rusty around the edges. It had seen more use as a handy hammer, leaver, grappling hook and holder of small quantities of rapidly burning powder that was very useful in Borken's line of work, which generally involved having to break through, or explode locks. The amount of times he had actually used as a weapon was low. And even when it was used, in the confined environments that he crawled around in led to it being used more as a bludgeoning instrument. That way, there was not so much whizzing, out of control bits of metal bouncing off the walls that way.
"Knight isn't it?" Borken asked stupidly. He wasn't very good at remembering names and all these gnolls looked somewhat similar to him.
"No, I'm Juno. Knight was the one sitting the other side of you."
"Oh yes, now I remember," he lied.
"Right. I've got to look after you. That's my orders. You stick close to me and do exactly what I tell you to."
Borken nodded enthusiastically. He wasn't planning on disobeying instructions from someone so well armed and was luckily assigned to his protection.
"Ok, I'm going to lay down some covering fire, you run to that boulder over there." He pointed to a large, lump of rock that was resting a few tens of yards away.
"I am going to try and get you out of the valley, or at least out of immediate danger."
"That's fine by me," Borken stammered. A nearby explosion somewhat deafened him, he saw the gnoll yell something but couldn't make it out until he started gesturing wildly for him to run to the spot indicated a moment ago.
Stumbling his first few steps, the reptile ran, while crouching low in a straight line. As if he needed further motivation he heard a few rounds whistle past him, inches away. He ran as fast as he could, not daring to lift himself higher. The rock seemed such a long distance away, the idea of running out into the open seemed so stupid now, but that all felt like it was a decade ago, all there was now was running. Running and bullets and dust and explosions and shouts.
Then suddenly he was there, diving for cover behind the large, solid and bullet-proof rock. Safe. He lay panting for a few minutes, his heart pounding in his throat. However, before he was fully recovered he noticed Juno gesturing again. Gesturing for him to come out of the safety of the nice, big rock and lay down covering fire for him.
"How do I get myself into these situations?" he though. Then he stood up, aimed roughly in the direction of the enemy and pulled the trigger until it stopped firing.
"Get down!" Juno yelled, as he pulled Broken back down behind cover. Bullets whizzed and whipped overhead.
"It's a good idea to not stand around when you aren't shooting anyone," Juno suggested sarcastically. Broken didn't look at him, he just reloaded clumsily. His hands were shaking with the abject terror brought on by open warfare.
"We are going to the next point of cover now, that truck over there. I'll run with you this time, I don't think your little pea shooter is up to providing covering fire. Ok, on my word we will go. If I get hit, just keep going. Ok... Go!"

Ducking under the swinging barrel at the turret rotated, King hauled himself up onto the tank hull and reached for the hatch to deposit his deadly grenade.
"What the-" his progress was checked by something grabbing his ankle tightly, very tightly.
He looked down, just as another tightening grip around his wrist caused him to drop the grenade. Thick, prickled vines emerging from the dirt grasped him, he saw more going for him and others too. The air seemed misty at the corners of his eyes and there was a high pitched ringing in his eats, just at the cusp of audible detection. Magic was happening here. There had only ever been a few times he had encountered it. A weird and intangible force that made his skin crawl. He has seen it do horrible and unreal things to people and things alike.
Elves were its true master, if those eldritch forces could have a master, but even they used it sparingly. Using it to assist natural forces, like using a stick as a leaver to tip a heavy rock, rather than exert it in a full, pure form where is would likely throw the rock a thousand metres and turn it to a sticky liquid.
Looking around desperately, he searched for the source.
Then he saw her. Pure white fur, interspersed with scarred and painted marks of esoteric and mystical significance. One paw-like hand grasped a gnarled staffs that was rooted in the ground with vast roots undulating from its base. The eyes were half closed and glowing eerily and her mouth moved subtly, but rapidly as if she were whispering a chant.
Oh yes, gnolls had magic users too. There was something about the artificial nature of their genetic makeup that made some of them unstable and susceptible to influence from magical forces. They were usually albino, or had other distinguishing marks that were a by-product of their difference.
He scrambled for his revolver urgently with his unbound hand, took aim and fired.
With a quick twist and a movement with the free hand a thick wall of vines and vegetation was thrown up in the path of the bullet.
He fired a second and third time, each time the wall grew thicker. Then, growling with rage at his own stupidity he shot at the vines binding him. They recoiled violently like wounded snakes.
He ran, ran and dived behind an over turned 4x4,  panting hard. This fight was going to be fun after all.
"Artillery! Where are you?" King screamed into the handset he kept on his chest.
He knew they were just damned unlucky. The chances of coming upon a clan with one of... them, with that sort of power were very low.
"Yeah, what is it?" came the crackly reply over the radio.
"Change of target, take out the witch!"
"Witch? They have a witch? I'll send the spotter immediately!"

The burning fire of fury and fear burned through her veins. Her mind felt scattered, unbalanced. This was a fierce attack and she was unsure she could hold it off. Another vine whipped up at her command and strangled the life from a man trying to take out unsuspecting gnolls from behind their lines. There were too many targets. She was good at dividing her attention; it was part of her power, being aware of how people and things moulded the lines of magic around them. But this was too much. She flicked her arm out and put a wall of twisted vines in the pathway of a volley of bullets heading towards another of her kind. But then she heard the agonised scream of one other that she had missed. The pain and feeling of life slipping away ran through her mind as sharply as if it were her own. No matter how many she saved, more died.
Tears edged her eyes but she fought through the sadness and pain. She had to see this through, repel the attacks and save as many of her people as she could. Experience wasn't on her side though. She was only 3 seasons out of training under the wise and powerful Tabather, arguably the most skilled of all the gnoll mystics. She had plenty of practice with healing medicine but this was the first time she had to truly use her powers in a conflict.
A bullet whistled past her ear, then she struck out at the shooter, tossing him into a car with neck breaking force.
"Concentrate!" she thought, "If you get killed you can't help anyone."

Throwing himself to the dusty floor Borken crawled with haste under the truck he and his handler had just sprinted to. The grunt and clatter above him told him that Juno had clambered over the flatbed of the truck. His feet landed ahead of Borken. A strong arm reached out and he grasped the proffered hand. Borken was pulled with surprising force up from under the truck and next to the panting gnoll. He then sat down, back against a sturdy wheel and began to reload his large rifle, tearing the top-loading magazine off and unhooking another from his belt. He ripped off the dust cap and rammed the magazine onto the weapon. All this was done in a few fluid movements.
Borken looked around; they were near the back of the convoy now. The few vehicles remained were light buggies, empty of their occupants who had joined the fight. He then glanced back to the fight, trying to keep his profile low.
"What the hell is that!" he yelled, spotting a series of dark green vines in the near distance. They were strangulating, whipping and otherwise lacerating bandits. Some shot and hacked at them but they would grow back as fast as they were severed.
Juno appeared beside him, sighting along his rifle for possible targets.
"That's Lycos. Our mystic. "
"Mystic?"
"A magic user. She does life magics. Don't understand it myself. I'll explain more when I get you out of here."
Borken watching in horror as a screaming man was torn in half by the vicious vines. There was a series of dull thudding booms, suddenly all the vines retracted, slithering back like a mass of startled snakes. A slightly domed disk rose from behind a damaged van. It was made of thick vines weaved tightly in an interlocking mass. A massive explosion followed. A couple more too in quick succession as artillery shells rained down.
The saurens eyes were fixed on the space under where the dome had been. As the dust cleared he saw that he ground had been shattered. The van had been blown aside and in the middle of the destruction stood, panting, a stark white furred gnoll. Unlike the others in their camouflaged combat gear she wore a few colourful and torn rags. A few totems and feathers hung from places and nearly all the exposed fur had swirling, spiral designs of paint and tattoos upon it. Blood was oozing from a dozen cuts and wounds. The vine shield was in disarray.
"She looks like she needs help." Borken commented to Juno.
He nodded but began moving away. "I'll go back to help her when you are safe", he said
"But we have to move, now. See that buggy over there? " He pointed to a compact looking vehicle, seemingly made up of steel poles and a huge engine. Four chunky wheels sat at each corner of the vehicle.
"Keep low, we are still targets for snipers."
Borken nodded. The gnoll and sauren moved in an odd crouch run out towards their destination.
"Get in!" Juno commanded. Borken scrambled into the driver's seat. Juno leaned over and pushed a button on the sparse dashboard. The engine roared into life sending sparks and the odd flame out of the truncated exhausts at the rear.
"You know how to drive right?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Go back out of the valley, then…"
Borken noticed a faint glint at the edge of his vision, high up on the side of the cliff face.
"… you should head out-"
There was a faint, wet thud.
Juno's eyes widened. He grasped his throat and tried to say something, all that came forth was gargles and blood. He staggered back and collapsed on the front of the buggy. Blood ran from somewhere on his thick neck and pooled on the bonnet. More horribly liquid sounds issued from the dying gnolls gaping maw.
There was another glint and a ricochet just inches from Borken's head as a bullet hit the frame of the buggy. He screamed and slammed the vehicle into reverse. Juno's still twitching body slid from the bonnet leaving a long smear of red. Another near miss pinged off of the bonnet.

Mr Brown's upper lip twitched at the corner as he watched the tiny buggy disappear off in the dimming light. The expression was akin to a full force cursing and perhaps the throwing of an object in anyone that didn't have the self-control and are of Mr Brown. He calmly disassembled his long, very sleek sniper rifle and put it in a battered, but very serviceable grey leather case. He carried it over to a modest looking 4x4 and placed it on the back seat. He then removed the tent-like desert cloak he was wearing and put it on top of the case. The cloak had been revealing the mountainous visage of Mr Brown. He was a well-built man of middle age and with a few minor scars on his square, weather-beaten face. An old, worn suite clung to the man's body. It wasn't well tailored to his wide frame, not much would be, and it gave the impression of a well-dressed gorilla. He adjusted his green tie in the mirror and clambered into the vehicle. He smoothed back his slightly greying, greased-back hair and drove off. The hunt was on.

A sharp whistling sound sounded to her left. Lycos turned and threw her arm out. A knot of vines left the disk above her and followed her arm. It was not enough though as the grenade launcher's explosion pushed her to the ground.
King grinned as he took another grenade from a fallen bandit and loaded it in the tube of the launcher. It seemed there was only so much power to go around. More small-arms fire was taken up, aimed in the direction of the white gnoll. More vines were detached from the upper shield and sent coiling outwards towards the incoming lead. Splinteres of plant matter were thrown into the air as bullets impacted. A twitch and spray of red indicated a hit but nothing more than a glancing blow. Then the artillery began again and everything slowed down.
The incoming shells whistled down through the air, King pulled the trigger and launched his grenade. The first shell hit the damaged and weakened shield sending Lycos back down to her knees. Another bullet hit her in the side and she let out a cry. The second artillery shell hit and she hastily reinforced the upper shield. Then she saw the incoming grenade, saw the lunatic grin on Kings face. The vines were hastily thrown in the way of the explosive, maybe too many. She never knew. The final artillery passed straight through the upper shield.

Description
Chapter 1
Darkness blanketed the brown, earthy desert. The eerie shapes of abandoned cars and other unidentified mechanical skeletons lurked in the distance. A high moon provided the only light, glittering softly off of the countless billion sand grains and swathes of cracked, red mud that made up the desolate landscape. A light breeze rustled the thin, dry branches of what little vegetation tried to eke out an existence in the parched land.

A pebble resting on a rock started vibrating gently, moving slowly from where it had been deposited by rainwater some decades ago. It's movement slowly increased as the vibrations picked up. A low rumble came over the horizon, growing louder and louder. Several sets of lights soon followed sending erratic shadows dancing across the still desert. Then the silence was shattered by crackles of high calibre gunfire and the roar of engines.

"Shiiiiit!" yelled Firebrand.
His huge paw-like hands clung to the trucks gun mount as it tipped suddenly, almost throwing him off the vehicle. Explosive rounds went off inches from his elongated hyena face. The short, ruddy red mane that ran from his head down the back of his spotted neck stood on end with fear.
Two highly modified buggies fitted with huge machine guns nicked at the heels of a monstrous armoured truck as it lurched at high speed along the rutted road. Their nimble, well sprung wheels dipping in and out of the wide trenches carved by the truck's knobbly tires. Sleek, rounded bodies hugging the ground closely, in contrast to the unstable, high and relatively box-like profile of the truck.

"Return fire!" bellowed Terrah, a female of the same ilk as Firebrand.

Her wide, brown eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying her best to avoid hidden ditches and potholes. Their lives were dependent on her driving ability right now. That was all right by her, she was the best damned driver her clan had and she knew it. She was just wishing she was back in her beloved Hornet fast attack car rather than this clunky, old Conrad 8-tonner. It manoeuvred like a wounded elephant and was twice as noisy.
She swerved to the side once more and once more heard Firebrand yell out in objection followed quickly by the deafening roar of the trucks 55 calibre auto-cannon. She gritted her sharp teeth and gripped the steering wheel harder with her gloved hand, claws digging in.

Fire erupted like a rare bloom into the night, luminescent tendrils reaching out from where a vehicle had once been. Flaming wreckage tumbled forward at high speed but rapidly slowing and scattering. Acrid smoke billowed into the night sky, partially blotting out the moon.
Firebrand's yells of triumph were quickly answered by vengeful rounds ricocheting off the nearby armour plating, narrowing missing him as he ducked down behinds his gun's faceplate.

"Get him! Get him now!" Terrah yelled as the remaining buggy pulled out in front of her, aiming its gun right at her.

Firebrand nodded and swung the gun round, squeezing the trigger too late. The buggy had swerved and swung round to the side of the truck, the rounds blowing holes in the road and causing the truck to bounce up onto two wheels for an unsteady moment before falling back down onto all wheels once more.

Once again Firebrand clung on to the copula as he was shaken about by the vehicles erratic movements, narrowly missing his gun as his head was thrown forward. After steadying himself and swearing profusely he grabbed the auto-cannon and swung it in a wild arc, searching out his target but to no effect.
There was then a sudden clang and screech as a crude grappling hook latched onto the roof. Seconds later a vicious bandit hauled himself up from the line attached to the hook, two daggers ready. A menacing grin lurked under the dark hood of his ragged cloak that covered his gangly body. Belts and straps were visible underneath, each with an instrument of unpleasantness attached to it.

Firebrand ducked into the roof hatch just as the vicious daggers closed on him, nicking one of his ears. The gnoll let out a cry of pain but managed to dodge out of the way as the would-be killer went for another strike. He lost his footing in the confusion and fell backwards, down into the truck cabin, hitting his head on the way down. He winced for a moment, grimacing at the sudden white hot pain putting daggers into his brain from the back of his head. He was quickly brought back to the here and now when he spotted the gaunt face of the black hooded figure through the roof hatch. He launched himself in after Firebrand, a vicious grin on that white, almost skeletal face.
"Gun! Gun!" Firebrand shouted as he tried to beat back the bandit who had leaped on top of him.
Terrah whipped her head round to see the struggling tangle of man and gnoll just behind her.
"-the hell you bring him in for?" shouted Terrah as she scrabbled for the heavy pistol in her thigh holster with one hand, the other grasping the steering wheel.
"It's not like I invited him. Oh hello Mr. Bad Guy. Please come in, sit down. Would you like some biscuits before you kill us? That's- Gah!"
One of the vicious blades cut deep into his arm spilling red onto his tan, spotted fur.
Terrah tossed the gun behind her, but Firebrand fumbled the catch and it slid down into a crevice between bits of equipment. He swore colourfully.
"Hey, you! Stop or I'll gut your pal like a fish!" snarled the hooded figure as he made another desperate strike for Firebrand's neck.
"Even if she does you'll just skin us alive and sell our pelts with the rest of the loot!" he retorted, reaching out for the gun. It was just outside his grasp. He stretched, willing his arm to reach further as he held back the knife wielding bandit with the other arm.
"What the hell am I doing?" He said
The gnoll reached behind him and whipped open the door of the gun cabinet he just realised he was leaning against. He checked on the bandit, who was still trying to yell at Terrah and grabbed a rifle.
"Hey! Don't ignore me!" the bandit yelled at the back of Terrah's head.
He turned back to check on his quarry. The unfortunate intruder found the business end of a heavy assault rifle in his face.
"I think you should leave." muttered Firebrand, looking into the suddenly wide eyes of the attacker. If it were possible his face became even whiter. Firebrand turned his head away and pulled the trigger.
The two knives clattered to the floor with a loud metallic clang as the body slumped the rest of the way into the truck. Firebrand slid out of the way, untangling himself from the now messy corpse.
"Get rid of that thing," commanded Terrah without looking round. "And get that last buggy. It's still following us."
After giving the body a quick strip down of any useful equipment, he dragged it over to the side door and unceremoniously dumped it out. He tossed the knives out with it, one ricocheting off a passing rock and embedding itself in the pursuing car's windscreen. The body tumbled along the ground and was flung under the wheels of the pursuers. The remaining buggy, its crew suitably unnerved quickly dropped off  and turned back. Exhausted and injured, Firebrand threw himself down into the seat next to Terrah.
"That's it. I'm done. Can I sleep yet?"
"No," she replied. "Gotta put some more distance between them and us. We'll drive for another few hours. You should get back on the auto-cannon, in case more come after us."
Firebrand whined softly. "Can't you just wake me if we are under attack? I'm tired of standing around up there and being shot at."
He began moving back towards the gun mount, knowing that his feeble arguments would never win.
"Brandy, you're a gnoll. When you're tired of being shot at, you are tired of life!" Terrah replied, a light cackle escaping her throat.
Firebrand grimaced, he hated that name.
* * * *
Randal King stood looking over the valley before him, a fat, stumpy cigar clenched in his yellowing teeth. Arranged behind him were a horrible collection of motorized weapons, spikes and jagged edges gleaming in the late evening light. The blood red sun squatted low on the horizon, throwing out long shadows perpendicular to the valley that was a deep scar in the elevated plateau, plunging it into darkness.
King was head of one of the largest and most powerful motor gangs in the Massiwali plains. They, along with most other desert bandit groups, made a living by picking off the caravans that passed through the hostile wastes between settlements. If the defences were weak enough and their numbers great enough, they would even attack and raid some of the smaller, outlying settlements. Those too far from anywhere that would deem them useful enough to protect.
Almost everything in the gang's possession including the vehicles and weapons they did their raiding with were once part of a convoy or unfortunate village. The rest were salvaged from the wastes. The parched, dry sand and mud that made up the majority of the interior lands surface occasionally shifted, exposing the decaying remains of the once mighty human civilisation that spanned the globe. These desolate remains sometimes held technological or scientific treasures that were highly prized to the right people.
King and his posse however were a special commission and hadn't had a decent fight in over a month. There was a gnoll supply convoy making the rounds at the local settlements. King thought that they would end up heading towards Carthage, the largest city in the region. Everyone on logistics runs did eventually. And the pass he and his gang now occupied was the most direct route for miles.
It was a risky plan to try and hit them here, they would be on full alert in an ambush ready location like this. But he knew that if he could divide them somehow, the two lesser forces would be easier to handle.

"Sir, the charges have been set."

King was taken out of his thoughts by a short, broad gang member sidling up to him.
He sucked forcefully on his cigar, the end lighting up like a flare before turning round.

"All right Mug. Tell the lads to buckle up and load anti-personnel rounds. We wanna take their goods, not burn it"

The gang member cringed back at King's words before taking off to deliver the message.
"And don't forget about the special package!" he bellowed after the man.
King gazed over at the huge rock they had shifted to the cliff edge for the divide and conquer plan. As the sun slid behind the horizon he could see lights and dust clouds appearing far off in the distance.
Borken watched the gnoll opposite him go through a weapon assembly and disassembly drill. His stubby, clawed fingers were nimbly working away on the large assault rifle that passed as standard issue. Although each gnoll was provided a weapon built from a standard design left over from the days when the race were no more than foot soldiers for a globally dominant super power. Each weapon was adapted over years, or decades, of use. With repairs made with make-shift parts, modifications added to suit the user and the odd decoration to mark an achievement, each weapon, vehicle or piece of equipment was made unique in its own right.
With practised efficiency the gnoll took the scattering of parts on the small table in front of him and built the weapon up once more. This one had a highly decorated carved wooden stock, grenade launcher and a few long fangs hanging like totems from the barrel. The swaying of the vehicle had apparently little effect on his progress.

Borken tried to ignore the light nausea that lurked inside, threatening to take him over. The windowless insides of the APC jolted and swayed to his dismay as it travelled onwards. He was a scholar by trade and a sauren by birth. He was a data miner, one of those odd people whose occupation was a hybrid of archaeology, hacking and potholing. Their jobs were invaluable.
The old world had made many breakthroughs in science and technology, as well as many records on anything from ancient texts to satellite imagery, all of which would be invaluable to those striving to improve life in the now barren, irradiated wastes. Such stores of information mostly came in the form of data centres, rows and rows of server stacks in specially constructed rooms. Most of which were kept in the basement levels of buildings and as such, were shielded from the worse of the bombs that has scarred the landscape above. Decades of neglect does take its effect though. Sometimes water would seep in and ruin low lying equipment. Sometimes the damaged roof gave up and collapsed thousands of tonnes of masonry onto the rooms. Sometimes there would be a gem, usually found glistening in the shattered and makeshift remains of the old international telecommunications network, the backup power still running to the abandoned hardware. One tiny signal of life flashing on an obscure IP in a long-thought disconnected or non-existent network.
Borken would not normally travel in such conditions. Normally he would not have been so impatient as to forego one of the regular passenger trade trucks that travelled the roads from the various towns to Carthage, the capital of the region. Normally he wouldn't have been this excited however. Normally he would not have much of interest to report from his work. Most importantly, he was not normally carrying anything away from his excavations that he hadn't brought in with him.
He took another pill from one of many pockets of his long coat and swallowed it down hard, hoping to suppress his travel sickness at least until he was in a more convenient location to expel his dignity away quietly.

The find was a great one. A wonderful and dangerous piece of technology found in the bowels of a long forgotten research facility. He'd have to write up the paper the night before the conference, he couldn't concentrate in this contraption. Too much noise and-
He had to brace himself as a wave of nausea rose over him once more.
He looked desperately round of a bag or something to use. He closed his eyes and tried to think calm, relaxing and steady thoughts. It gradually faded, to his relief, but Borken became aware of eyes upon him. Apparently his internal battle didn't go unnoticed.
"Get the passenger a bucket or something. He doesn't look a healthy shade of green."
There was sniggering and a small, plastic bucket was produced from somewhere and passed to him. He took it sheepishly.
The sauren species had bifurcated sometime in the past into two races. One native to the wetter, more vegetation rich areas of the world and one became adept at living in the more arid regions. This had given rise to the tan sauren, who were normally a sandy brown, sometimes with darker stripes across their back and upper parts of their limbs, and the green sauren who were just that, green. Borken was, of course, of the latter creed.

Suddenly the radio croaked into life. The dry, rasping voice of the gnoll clans matriarch and commander spoke. "We are going on high alert. We'll be passing into the valley imminently so gunners, get to your positions. Be on the watch for anything suspicious."
Borken gulped.
The convoy began to enter the valley, their weapon systems coming online. Grimacing hyena heads, looking absurd with their goggles down, rose from hatches. Gloved hands gripped mounted guns. Ears swivelled, noses twitched.
The bandits waited back, eager with the anticipation of the fight ahead. Not all of them would make it through, but that was ok. There would be a bigger share of the loot for the rest of them. They gripped their ropes and guns, ready to get down the steep valley edge and into the fray as soon as possible. Others took up posts behind craggy outcroppings with long rifles and complicated looking scopes.
King peered over the edge, invisible in the fading light of the evening.
"Almost, almost..." he thought, waiting for the lead vehicle to reach the target point. The palms of his massive hands were sweating, his heart pumping hard. No matter how many times he did it he was always found a tough fight exhilarating. Being caught in a life or death battle, killing men with his own hands, watching the life drain from their eyes.
He observed the vehicles passing below, bristling with guns that were pointing in every direction. Surprise was the key, with surprise you take anyone, no matter the size or number of his guns. In fact, the bigger guns were better; it took time for them to be put in position, and if you were fast and your enemy nervous, you could get them to kill a few of their mates for you.
King smirked with malice, raising his radio to talk.
"There right on the mark. Hit them, now!" he yelled into the small box clasped in his hand.
Somewhere a button was pushed. But nothing happened.
"Hit it! What are you waiting for?"
But there was still nothing. Something was wrong.
"Sir, one of the wires came loose. We are trying to fix it," came a nervous voice through the radio.
He swore violently, watching his precious loot drive by below him and his plan crumble. That special something they were being paid to get too. They had better get it, no matter anything else. There were few things in the world that frightened King, but that figure in the cloak... It seemed the very air around him froze when it spoke. The tavern he was in seemed to fade away into the background. The brawl that has been taking over half the place was so much muffled silence. Failing someone... something like that did not bare thinking about. He shuddered.
"There was a slight problem with the explosives sir, but that has been fixed now"
King was brought back to the here and now by the voice. He looked round.
"Mug! Why are you telling me that? If its fixed I want the bastard rock rolling now!" He bellowed.
The squat man lent back, as if he was physically being assaulted with the words before scrambling off.
There was an almighty explosion. The huge boulder began to roll down the side of the valley.
Soon loose debris freed by the explosion and the falling boulder had formed a sizeable landslide alongside it. The massive tonnage of rocks, dust, and sand slammed heavily into the line of vehicles passing bellow. Gunfire, cries and the horrid screech of metal twisting out of shape rang up from the valley floor, but it was muffled by the great roar of moving earth.
Panic took hold bellow causing havoc among the vehicles of the convoy, that was now sliced in two. Some were crushed outright and others crashed into each other, swerving to avoid the chaos.
Before the dust had even settled a volley of gunfire erupted between the convoy and raiders on the valley edge. Machine gunners shot blindly up, peppering the raiders with lead. Snipers tried to take out those manning the vehicle guns.
"Mounted squad! Get after those escaping us!" King bellowed into his radio, barely audible above the din of gunfire. "You might have a few more to deal with than you thought. I want ALL of them stopped. "
Suddenly a violent boom sent the bandit leader crashing to the ground and lumps of rock and men skywards. The tanks had finally managed to sort themselves out and were aiming at key targets. Surprise had given the bandits an edge, but now it was time to press it home, and into the necks of their enemy.
He threw himself to his feet and bellowed, "Assault the convoy! Remember, we want the loot intact and I'll personally scalp ANY man that so much as scratches the tank engines!"
In a world where most technology was scrounged together from bits of scrap and century old machinery, the gas-turbine engines of the gnoll tanks were worth much more than their weight in gold.
The settling dust was whipped up into choking cloud as men ran about, getting into their squads.
"Go, go, go!" someone yelled.
A surge of men rushed forwards, latching ropes onto prepared anchor points and hurled themselves over the valley edge, abseiling down it at speed. Others latched onto the ropes as soon as enough was free and followed. A wall of men propelled themselves down the steep rock face. Snipers and those yet to climb down covered the assault, providing a hail of randomised and precise shooting. Confusion reigned over the stalled convoy.
The battle progressed with heavy casualties on both sides. There was no way of telling how well the running vehicle battle was going with the other half of the convoy that had made it though the land slide. King had confidence in his men, he would get them to report in after he had finished here.
The valley floor was lit up with fires and gunshots. The assault was going well and the bandits were gradually wearing down the gnolls. King smiled, now it was his turn for some fun. He picked up a huge, evil looking machete and gripped it in his yellowing teeth. The blade was chipped and dirty but unsuspectingly sharp.  He then checked his revolver, eyeing down the sights of the sizeable weapon before holstering it in a grubby leather pouch on his hip. He then ran to the edge, grabbing a rope and swinging down into the chaos below.
Random shots ricochet off of the wall near him. Sharp, hot chips of stone bounced off of his pockmarked skin. A billow of dust was thrown up when his large, weathered but thick leather boots landed. His eyes narrowed on his target some 400 yards away. He looked around. This section of the valley had now been secured. There were bodies of men and gnolls scattered all around. More gnolls than men here though. The tank belched another round into the side of the valley, aiming for the snipers. King pushed through his men and advanced through the maze of parked, overturned and crashed vehicles.
He grabbed the machete in his left hand and took out his revolver with the right. He spotted a gnoll  leaning against a truck, opening fire at a group off to the left, the large assault riffle jerking in his grasp with automatic fire. His back was to the advancing bandit lord.  King smiled and swung the machete, hacking into the gnoll's thick neck and severing his spine. Simple. He advanced further.
Another emerged, running for cover. A revolver shot to the head sent her down. He loosed a few more rounds off towards  an SUV taking down the gunner and causing the others to duck for cover.
Holstering the gun, King approached the first tank. He yanked a hand-made gas grenade from his jacket.

Borken's world had exploded. There was a lot of chatter on the radio. Shouting and surprise seemed to be charging over the airwaves and it had spread to everyone around him. An order was barked by a large, commanding figure of a gnoll and everyone around him had been spurred into action. Rifles were cocked, magazines checked. Then the big door at the back of the compartment started to fold down with mechanical inevitability. Around it, the dying light of the evening entered, along with choking dust and a wall of sound from the outside. Borken had not even realised the vehicle had come to a halt. He sat in a state of shock while the whirlwind of action went on around him.
He looked at his own pistol, small and harmless compared to the weapons bristling around him. Putting it back in its holster he began to question the wisdom of his hasty choice of transport. He could have taken the land train north, via Megentown to Weilder Oasis. Then hitched a lift on one of the regular caravans down to Carthage. But then he would have missed the conference.
At least he'd be alive though. Damn it!
Then they were all gone. Gone into the dusty, noisy, screaming maelstrom of the outside. A sudden, massive vibration shook the reptile out of his stupor as the vehicle's machine gun burst into life. The hollow tinkle of a rain of brass made him look round. He then felt himself dragged sideways, towards the door of the vehicle. He whipped his head round to see what was going on. A gnoll, the one that handed him the bucket was hauling him bodily outside, yelling at him.
"What are you doing? You have to leave, this ain't a safe place for you."
Borken blinked, he was outside, and then was quickly dragged behind one of the 4 wheeled cross-country cars they used for shouting and speedy transport. It was overturned. Shots occasionally ricocheted off of its thinly armoured hide.
"You have a weapon right?" the gnoll barked. It seemed more on an observation than a question. Borken did have a leather holster on his side.
"Uhh, yes." He pulled out the gun. It was scratched and a little rusty around the edges. It had seen more use as a handy hammer, leaver, grappling hook and holder of small quantities of rapidly burning powder that was very useful in Borken's line of work, which generally involved having to break through, or explode locks. The amount of times he had actually used as a weapon was low. And even when it was used, in the confined environments that he crawled around in led to it being used more as a bludgeoning instrument. That way, there was not so much whizzing, out of control bits of metal bouncing off the walls that way.
"Knight isn't it?" Borken asked stupidly. He wasn't very good at remembering names and all these gnolls looked somewhat similar to him.
"No, I'm Juno. Knight was the one sitting the other side of you."
"Oh yes, now I remember," he lied.
"Right. I've got to look after you. That's my orders. You stick close to me and do exactly what I tell you to."
Borken nodded enthusiastically. He wasn't planning on disobeying instructions from someone so well armed and was luckily assigned to his protection.
"Ok, I'm going to lay down some covering fire, you run to that boulder over there." He pointed to a large, lump of rock that was resting a few tens of yards away.
"I am going to try and get you out of the valley, or at least out of immediate danger."
"That's fine by me," Borken stammered. A nearby explosion somewhat deafened him, he saw the gnoll yell something but couldn't make it out until he started gesturing wildly for him to run to the spot indicated a moment ago.
Stumbling his first few steps, the reptile ran, while crouching low in a straight line. As if he needed further motivation he heard a few rounds whistle past him, inches away. He ran as fast as he could, not daring to lift himself higher. The rock seemed such a long distance away, the idea of running out into the open seemed so stupid now, but that all felt like it was a decade ago, all there was now was running. Running and bullets and dust and explosions and shouts.
Then suddenly he was there, diving for cover behind the large, solid and bullet-proof rock. Safe. He lay panting for a few minutes, his heart pounding in his throat. However, before he was fully recovered he noticed Juno gesturing again. Gesturing for him to come out of the safety of the nice, big rock and lay down covering fire for him.
"How do I get myself into these situations?" he though. Then he stood up, aimed roughly in the direction of the enemy and pulled the trigger until it stopped firing.
"Get down!" Juno yelled, as he pulled Broken back down behind cover. Bullets whizzed and whipped overhead.
"It's a good idea to not stand around when you aren't shooting anyone," Juno suggested sarcastically. Broken didn't look at him, he just reloaded clumsily. His hands were shaking with the abject terror brought on by open warfare.
"We are going to the next point of cover now, that truck over there. I'll run with you this time, I don't think your little pea shooter is up to providing covering fire. Ok, on my word we will go. If I get hit, just keep going. Ok... Go!"

Ducking under the swinging barrel at the turret rotated, King hauled himself up onto the tank hull and reached for the hatch to deposit his deadly grenade.
"What the-" his progress was checked by something grabbing his ankle tightly, very tightly.
He looked down, just as another tightening grip around his wrist caused him to drop the grenade. Thick, prickled vines emerging from the dirt grasped him, he saw more going for him and others too. The air seemed misty at the corners of his eyes and there was a high pitched ringing in his eats, just at the cusp of audible detection. Magic was happening here. There had only ever been a few times he had encountered it. A weird and intangible force that made his skin crawl. He has seen it do horrible and unreal things to people and things alike.
Elves were its true master, if those eldritch forces could have a master, but even they used it sparingly. Using it to assist natural forces, like using a stick as a leaver to tip a heavy rock, rather than exert it in a full, pure form where is would likely throw the rock a thousand metres and turn it to a sticky liquid.
Looking around desperately, he searched for the source.
Then he saw her. Pure white fur, interspersed with scarred and painted marks of esoteric and mystical significance. One paw-like hand grasped a gnarled staffs that was rooted in the ground with vast roots undulating from its base. The eyes were half closed and glowing eerily and her mouth moved subtly, but rapidly as if she were whispering a chant.
Oh yes, gnolls had magic users too. There was something about the artificial nature of their genetic makeup that made some of them unstable and susceptible to influence from magical forces. They were usually albino, or had other distinguishing marks that were a by-product of their difference.
He scrambled for his revolver urgently with his unbound hand, took aim and fired.
With a quick twist and a movement with the free hand a thick wall of vines and vegetation was thrown up in the path of the bullet.
He fired a second and third time, each time the wall grew thicker. Then, growling with rage at his own stupidity he shot at the vines binding him. They recoiled violently like wounded snakes.
He ran, ran and dived behind an over turned 4x4,  panting hard. This fight was going to be fun after all.
"Artillery! Where are you?" King screamed into the handset he kept on his chest.
He knew they were just damned unlucky. The chances of coming upon a clan with one of... them, with that sort of power were very low.
"Yeah, what is it?" came the crackly reply over the radio.
"Change of target, take out the witch!"
"Witch? They have a witch? I'll send the spotter immediately!"

The burning fire of fury and fear burned through her veins. Her mind felt scattered, unbalanced. This was a fierce attack and she was unsure she could hold it off. Another vine whipped up at her command and strangled the life from a man trying to take out unsuspecting gnolls from behind their lines. There were too many targets. She was good at dividing her attention; it was part of her power, being aware of how people and things moulded the lines of magic around them. But this was too much. She flicked her arm out and put a wall of twisted vines in the pathway of a volley of bullets heading towards another of her kind. But then she heard the agonised scream of one other that she had missed. The pain and feeling of life slipping away ran through her mind as sharply as if it were her own. No matter how many she saved, more died.
Tears edged her eyes but she fought through the sadness and pain. She had to see this through, repel the attacks and save as many of her people as she could. Experience wasn't on her side though. She was only 3 seasons out of training under the wise and powerful Tabather, arguably the most skilled of all the gnoll mystics. She had plenty of practice with healing medicine but this was the first time she had to truly use her powers in a conflict.
A bullet whistled past her ear, then she struck out at the shooter, tossing him into a car with neck breaking force.
"Concentrate!" she thought, "If you get killed you can't help anyone."

Throwing himself to the dusty floor Borken crawled with haste under the truck he and his handler had just sprinted to. The grunt and clatter above him told him that Juno had clambered over the flatbed of the truck. His feet landed ahead of Borken. A strong arm reached out and he grasped the proffered hand. Borken was pulled with surprising force up from under the truck and next to the panting gnoll. He then sat down, back against a sturdy wheel and began to reload his large rifle, tearing the top-loading magazine off and unhooking another from his belt. He ripped off the dust cap and rammed the magazine onto the weapon. All this was done in a few fluid movements.
Borken looked around; they were near the back of the convoy now. The few vehicles remained were light buggies, empty of their occupants who had joined the fight. He then glanced back to the fight, trying to keep his profile low.
"What the hell is that!" he yelled, spotting a series of dark green vines in the near distance. They were strangulating, whipping and otherwise lacerating bandits. Some shot and hacked at them but they would grow back as fast as they were severed.
Juno appeared beside him, sighting along his rifle for possible targets.
"That's Lycos. Our mystic. "
"Mystic?"
"A magic user. She does life magics. Don't understand it myself. I'll explain more when I get you out of here."
Borken watching in horror as a screaming man was torn in half by the vicious vines. There was a series of dull thudding booms, suddenly all the vines retracted, slithering back like a mass of startled snakes. A slightly domed disk rose from behind a damaged van. It was made of thick vines weaved tightly in an interlocking mass. A massive explosion followed. A couple more too in quick succession as artillery shells rained down.
The saurens eyes were fixed on the space under where the dome had been. As the dust cleared he saw that he ground had been shattered. The van had been blown aside and in the middle of the destruction stood, panting, a stark white furred gnoll. Unlike the others in their camouflaged combat gear she wore a few colourful and torn rags. A few totems and feathers hung from places and nearly all the exposed fur had swirling, spiral designs of paint and tattoos upon it. Blood was oozing from a dozen cuts and wounds. The vine shield was in disarray.
"She looks like she needs help." Borken commented to Juno.
He nodded but began moving away. "I'll go back to help her when you are safe", he said
"But we have to move, now. See that buggy over there? " He pointed to a compact looking vehicle, seemingly made up of steel poles and a huge engine. Four chunky wheels sat at each corner of the vehicle.
"Keep low, we are still targets for snipers."
Borken nodded. The gnoll and sauren moved in an odd crouch run out towards their destination.
"Get in!" Juno commanded. Borken scrambled into the driver's seat. Juno leaned over and pushed a button on the sparse dashboard. The engine roared into life sending sparks and the odd flame out of the truncated exhausts at the rear.
"You know how to drive right?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Go back out of the valley, then…"
Borken noticed a faint glint at the edge of his vision, high up on the side of the cliff face.
"… you should head out-"
There was a faint, wet thud.
Juno's eyes widened. He grasped his throat and tried to say something, all that came forth was gargles and blood. He staggered back and collapsed on the front of the buggy. Blood ran from somewhere on his thick neck and pooled on the bonnet. More horribly liquid sounds issued from the dying gnolls gaping maw.
There was another glint and a ricochet just inches from Borken's head as a bullet hit the frame of the buggy. He screamed and slammed the vehicle into reverse. Juno's still twitching body slid from the bonnet leaving a long smear of red. Another near miss pinged off of the bonnet.

Mr Brown's upper lip twitched at the corner as he watched the tiny buggy disappear off in the dimming light. The expression was akin to a full force cursing and perhaps the throwing of an object in anyone that didn't have the self-control and are of Mr Brown. He calmly disassembled his long, very sleek sniper rifle and put it in a battered, but very serviceable grey leather case. He carried it over to a modest looking 4x4 and placed it on the back seat. He then removed the tent-like desert cloak he was wearing and put it on top of the case. The cloak had been revealing the mountainous visage of Mr Brown. He was a well-built man of middle age and with a few minor scars on his square, weather-beaten face. An old, worn suite clung to the man's body. It wasn't well tailored to his wide frame, not much would be, and it gave the impression of a well-dressed gorilla. He adjusted his green tie in the mirror and clambered into the vehicle. He smoothed back his slightly greying, greased-back hair and drove off. The hunt was on.

A sharp whistling sound sounded to her left. Lycos turned and threw her arm out. A knot of vines left the disk above her and followed her arm. It was not enough though as the grenade launcher's explosion pushed her to the ground.
King grinned as he took another grenade from a fallen bandit and loaded it in the tube of the launcher. It seemed there was only so much power to go around. More small-arms fire was taken up, aimed in the direction of the white gnoll. More vines were detached from the upper shield and sent coiling outwards towards the incoming lead. Splinteres of plant matter were thrown into the air as bullets impacted. A twitch and spray of red indicated a hit but nothing more than a glancing blow. Then the artillery began again and everything slowed down.
The incoming shells whistled down through the air, King pulled the trigger and launched his grenade. The first shell hit the damaged and weakened shield sending Lycos back down to her knees. Another bullet hit her in the side and she let out a cry. The second artillery shell hit and she hastily reinforced the upper shield. Then she saw the incoming grenade, saw the lunatic grin on Kings face. The vines were hastily thrown in the way of the explosive, maybe too many. She never knew. The final artillery passed straight through the upper shield.