Predators of the Dunes

A cold, gentle breeze swept across the desert night as a band of dark elves rode atop domesticated salamanders.

Standing atop his own with expert balance, Zark peered out across the dune at their prey.

His weapon was the tip of a stinger tied off to an arachnid's leg. At his side, a sealed venom pouch.

Dark elves didn't use it unless under dire circumstances, as it often ruined the food and materials. A last resort that would end the hunt but save lives.

Other weapons of similar sorts were held by his kin, taking on different shapes and curves.

His kin had not yet discovered a way to craft bows. The closest they had to a long-range weapon was slings.

"Keep your distance," Zark shouted as they circled their prey. "Its pincers are smaller than its tail! Don't let it touch you!"

The tribe was fortunate and unfortunate decades ago, avoiding the worst of the desert's nocturnal predators. No man-sized spiders or monstrous scorpions, no beastkin that could rip them apart, no venomous insects whose bite could leave them paralyzed for days- if not kill them outright.

This miracle allowed them a chance to rebuild, raise children, and grow. But the sacrifices for survival were still high.

To keep experience and knowledge safe, the youngest were often put at the front to discover the dangers of the world.

Few survived, but those who did became dangerous and cunning.

Zark's sharp gaze followed the scorpion as it rotated carefully, body coiled with tension and stinger shaking. Both the dark elves and scorpions viewed each other as prey, yet both were aware of the danger the other posed.

Whenever a salamander drifted too close or slid on the dunes, the scorpion would lunge. Its tail lashed out like lightning, faster than the eye could track.

Thankfully, the salamanders had keen senses and survival instincts of their own. Nimbly, they'd twist their bodies away while the dark elf riding shifted their weight, balancing against the motion or leaping to keep from being thrown off.

It became a skill of its own and a sport for the dark elves. But in this moment, it was life or death.

Nothing was going wrong so far.

Rocks whipped through the air, pelting the scorpion's shell, distracting it and shifting its attention.

Myra, his wife, closed her eyes, the red mist drifting from them. Her ability to keep her balance came unconsciously as her hands outstretched with focus. Before her and her salamander, a red mist rose from the ground and materialized into the jagged form of ominous, red-hued lightning.

Zark couldn't help but shudder sometimes at her power. Everyone knew the darkness connected to it, having witnessed its effects multiple times now, but she controlled it with deadly precision.

"AGH!"

His head whipped around. One of the dark elves fell from his mount as the salamander slid, thrashing wildly to avoid the oncoming stinger.

Sensing the opportunity, the scorpion frenzied and lunged. Its tail struck the young elf's chest, piercing it like a spear.

The young elf cried out in pain, blood spewing from his mouth as he thrashed in agony.

"Shit," Zark cursed and whistled sharply.

The salamander turned abruptly toward the scorpion's rear, and he ripped the venomous pouch from his side. He was about to tear a hole in it when deadly, jagged energy from Myra seared past him, startling him.

The energy sliced through the scorpion cleanly, yellow entrails spilling onto the sand.

Zark leaped from his mount and ran over.

It was too late. The young elf's lifeless eyes stared into the night sky.

Bitterly, Zark drove his weapon down into a gap in the scorpion's shell. The upper half, still thrashing wildly, reaching to tear apart the corpse, finally fell still.

"We lost another?"

Myra's voice echoed softly behind him as other dark elves dismounted. Some remained on their mounts, creating a perimeter and keeping a watchful eye.

"He wouldn't listen and rode the leeward side," Zark sighed, shaking his head. "Too stupid and eager to prove himself..."

Expressions dark and grim, the other dark elves immediately began dismantling what they could from the scorpion's corpse.

Stepping next to Zark, wrapping her arm around his, Myra's shrouded eyes drifted down to the dark elf's corpse. Whatever emotions Zark tried to glimpse were clouded by the red mist.

The body's skin darkened unnaturally, veins bulging and leaking, its eyes weeping blood. The venom was highly potent.

"How much longer do you think we can survive like this?" Myra asked somberly.

Zark frowned. "As long as we must. Our lives have improved, despite how it may seem."

Silence fell between them before she spoke quietly, "I'll speak to his mother."

"Are you sure?" Zark asked, his gaze resting on the red mist resonating from her. "Last time, they didn't take too kindly to your..."

"If I do nothing, their beliefs will cement," she replied firmly. "His parents need to know, and I need to do this."

Zark nodded, his gaze returning to the dark elves at work, studying the process for any useful insights.

"Zark!"

An alarmed voice rang out from the western perimeter watch.

Everyone's heads snapped up. Zark and Myra quickly ran up the steep dune, Zark slipping slightly in the loose sand.

Pointing with his curved stinger weapon, their gazes followed.

A band of small creatures, their teeth and claws glinting under the moonlight, shifted in the distance.

They moved with supernatural speed, on par with a salamander despite their small size. Atop their heads, still unknown to the dark elves, they wore livers turned inside out, red from the blood of their prey.

Hardened exoskeletons were fashioned into armor, with stingers gripped like daggers and venom pouches similar to those of the dark elves.

Little did the dark elves know, but the populace of these creatures had grown exponentially over the last fifty years.

The original goblin, birthed from Selena, had commanded bands to scour the deserts.

Rarely did they return, but when they did—they learned.

Each time, they progressed deeper.

And now, fifty years later, these goblins were close to discovering the dark elves.

The source of their lifelong hatred and bloodlust.

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Soon after dissecting the scorpion, the dark elves trailed the band of goblins. Unlike the dark elves, who warily approached if they spotted a creature, the goblins dived in at the first sign of life.

Their ferocity and aggression overwhelmed a similarly large arachnid, but they still suffered losses and were bloodied.

Seeing their opportunity, the dark elves attacked the goblins, sparing all but one. From this captive, they learned of the goblins' deep-rooted hatred and their unconscious awareness of the dark elves' existence—despite never having encountered them before.

This unsettled them, and out of caution, they killed the creature. From that moment on, they knew they were being hunted.

In the years that followed, more and more bands of goblins scoured the desert in search of them.

Yet, despite nearly 428 more years passing, the goblins never came close to the Oasis.

Through misdirection, ambushes, and using the desert's hostility to their advantage, the dark elves ensured none returned alive. All goblin corpses were stabbed with venomous weapons to guarantee no survivors.

This, however, would soon change through mistakes made.