One such unlucky traveller lies sprawled on a barren patch of ground, amidst blood-red dust. The ursine slowly stirs from his involuntary slumber, to find himself in this forsaken realm.

Jonas groans, shaking his head in confusion.

Jonas raises himself up onto his hands and knees, confused at the turn of events. The dusty ground between his paws catches his attention. "What in the name of St. Bruin's strong right arm?" he mutters, and immediately winces in pain at the sound of his own voice.

Jonas shakes his head again, trying to clear it of the sharp pain. A blow to the back of the head, he remembers, and he feels for the wound. Dried blood comes away on his fingers.

The full measure of the bear's surroundings slowly seeps in. The air is hot and muggy and heavy with the scent of sulfur. Just beyond, a strange building can be seen … or creature … or plant. If it were a creature, it has the body of a cracked egg shell, and a human head upon which is perched some sort of plant or perhaps a vase. The eggshell body stands on what appear to be two tree trunks, and it seems that there are some creatures inside the cracked shell, as if it were some sort of residence. They are some distance away, though, and do not evidence any notice of the bear just yet.

Jonas pulls himself to his feet. "Where am I?" he wonders aloud, as he tries to keep the ground steady under his unsteady feet.

Some diminutive, impish creatures scamper past. They are furless, with pale skins, and wide, pupilless eyes. Their features suggest any of a number of species, but as if they had deteriorated past the point of certain recognition. Their expressions are frozen in stupid, leering grins, bearing sharp fangs.

Jonas whirls around, taking in the unwholesome and thoroughly lurid landscape. "Annabelle," he shouts. "Can ye hear me, lass?! Annabelle!!"

Jonas stumbles as he spins, vertigo induced by his head wound.

Several of the imps stop whatever horrible things they are doing to each other, and turn to regard Jonas with wide, seemingly blind eyes. They start to cackle, then repeat the bear's words back to him – in parroting voices, that is, that are fairly garbled.

Jonas recovers his footing and looks about, turning slower than before, so as not to stumble again. There is no sign of the Child of St. Procyon that had been his companion these past months. He appears to be alone. "Damn," he swears, "Alone, wounded, and Mother knows where."

A bitter wind blows across the landscape, breaking the smell of sulfur only with scents of filth and decay intermixed with a sickening sweetness as if someone had doused it all with perfume in an attempt to cover the foul odors.

Jonas gags momentarily at the odor. He looks about, spies the odd egg-shaped dwelling, and the creatures within. As unappealling as the thought is, they might be able to tell him where he is.

One of the creatures within the dwelling gazes outward, perhaps finally noticing the bear. He idly reaches into a bowl beside him, pulling out something small and squirming, which he tosses into an orifice which might pass for a mouth with some degree of generosity on behalf of the observer.

Jonas cautiously moves towards the odd shelter. With a motion of familiarity, he reaches up over his shoulder to grab something. Something that is not there.

As the bear walks toward the shoulder, the little imps follow him with their gaze … and then begin to fall in behind him, slowly getting more bold in their approach, as they chatter amongst themselves in some meaningless gibberish.

Jonas stops, turns to look over his shoulder, and then looks at the ground. "Great. My sword's gone. Wonderful. Lost, wounded, alone, and weaponless."

Jonas looks at the imps behind him. "Ye haven't seen a great sword by any chance?"

Screams echo across the landscape, and as the bear continues, he can see various other, more bizarre creatures, each a seemingly random collection of parts of various more recognizeable creatures (and a few not), all involved in the processes of cavorting about and/or torturing each other or doing even odder and meaningless things. As for the imps, they just stare at Jonas and parrot his words back to him yet again.

Jonas stares at the imps. "Damn. I liked that blade," he grunts to himself. After a moment of introspection, he opens his sporran and examines the contents. A small amount of currency, a few dried fruit, but little else. He shrugs to himself and walks on towards the shoulder.

There is a rumble, and the ground trembles for a moment, then is still again. No one or no thing seems to pay it much heed.

Jonas winces again as he begins moving

As the bear approaches the egg-man-tree structure, the two monsters sitting within the shell are most certainly watching him now. They bark something in a strange tongue at him, but the words are completely unfamiliar. The tone of voice would seem to suggest hostility, while their body language seems fairly lazy and less than concerned.

Jonas stops, touching the wound on the back of his head briefly, and hissing as it sends a sharp pain through his head. He looks up at the beings, and brings his arms down to his sides, with the palms open and empty, showing his lack of weapons. "Yer pardon, citizens, but could you tell me where I am?" he asks.

The creatures confer with each other, again in some tongue Jonas cannot comprehend, but then they laugh, turn back toward him and bellow in unison, "BOSCH!"

Jonas leans back in surprise at the shout, which is accompanied by another shooting pain in his head. "Bosch?" he repeats.

Jonas thinks back to his knowledge of the Empire. No town that he knows of bears that name.

The two creatures then lazily begin waving their limbs (something like hands, but more like tentacles) at the imps surrounding the bear, warbling out some stream of conversation that seems to be amusing the imps, for they are laughing and slavering messily, turning to look at the bear.

Jonas starts to ask another question, but notices the agitation of the imps. He turns towards them, trying to keep both the imps and the other beings in view, saying, "Now, lads, doon't be tryin' anything foolish. I'm a member o' the Black Watch, and ye know what that means."

Jonas brings his hands up in front of him in a defensive stance, watching the odd folk uneasily.

The imps laugh and parrot the bear's words back to him, as they raise up their sharp little claws and bear their not-so-little but just-as-sharp teeth. Any one of them could probably be stepped on and squashed to bits by the bear, but there are probably about thirty of them in the immediate vicinity now, and many more lurking about somewhere beyond.

Jonas briefly glance around for an avenue of escape should violence occur. He is outnumbered, and without his sword. Discretion may be advisable.

The most immediately evident route of escape would take the bear directly toward the egg-plant-tree-man-thing and right between the trunks it has for legs. That is, that would be assuming that it IS just a stationary structure and would not pose any additional threat should the bear head that way. Other routes would seem to involve getting through (or over) the imps.

Jonas glances at the imps again. "Hell," he mutters.

The imps parrot this last word quite loudly and enthusiastically as they leap and pounce at the bear, claws slashing!

Jonas weighs his options, and recalls an old Black Watch maxim. "When outnumbered, screw it." He rises up to his full height, bellowing the MacAlister warcry, takes a step towards the imps, and promptly dashes between the legs of the structure at all possible speed.

Most of the imps miss the bear as he starts moving, some colliding with each other in mid-air … and immediately liquifying and spraying a foul fluid in every direction as they disintegrate. These are not very hardy creatures by any means. A few cling to the bear as he runs toward the odd structure.

To the bear's credit, he isn't squashed by the building-creature he dashes under. The tree-like "legs" stay true to their apparent form, and do not move at all.

Jonas snarls as the imps land on him. Not pausing much in his staggering run, he tries to pull an imp off with each hand and fling them into the walls of the building.

Jonas says, "Leggo, ye bloody nuisances!"

*SPLAT* *SPLAT* The bear's strong hands (and a good fling or two) make short order of the imps. At first it seems that the imps were no real threat after all … but he can now feel a sharp burning sensation where he has been scratched and bitten by the creatures, even though no drawn blood can be seen.

Jonas grunts at the pain, but tries to keep moving, away from the building and the imps. One direction is as good as any, when you don't know where you're going.

Jonas looks for some hiding place or refuge in this terrible place.

There are obstacles and buildings and such aplenty to be found, but bizarre creatures like these or even worse are to be found everywhere. The land is frustratingly devoid of anything that appears to provide any real shelter … only yet more monsters to stir into action to join the chase.

Jonas snarls as he sees other beings join the imps. "Hell," is all he has breath to utter.

The creatures appear to be, save for natural weapons and make-shift bludgeons, unarmed and unarmored. Fortunately, they do not seem to be terribly swift, either. However, given so many and nowhere to hide, perhaps time is on their side, for no endurance can last forever, surely…

Jonas prays silently as he runs. . o 0 ( St. Percheron, give me strength. St. Procyon, protect me from the hazards of this road I travel. St. Bruin, be my shield from my enemies. Mother Goddess, help me! )

As the bear runs around a pool of some sort of foul and probably toxic liquid, past some screaming bound creatures who strain to nip at each other, he can now see a fairly barren hill that rises like an oasis in the madness, untouched by these bizarre creatures for some unexplained reason.

Jonas looks about for some relief, wondering once again where he is and how he got here. Spying the hill, he renews his efforts to put some distance between himself and the creatures.

The creatures form a wave behind the bear, scrambling and clawing at each other in their eagerness to be at the fore – thinning their numbers in the process, but replenished readily by so many more to join the chase.

Jonas' head feels as if it is about to split from the pain from his wound, intensified by his running.

The bear maintains the lead, however, as he reaches the base of this hill. Whether he chooses to run around it, or scale it to its peak, he should be able to either before the creatures can close the gap.

Jonas pants, "Never (huff) a bloody (huff) cavalry (huff) unit around (huff) when you (huff) need one."

A whinny reaches the bear's ears, from somewhere ahead.

Jonas leaps up in mid-run, grasping for the side of the hill. He clambers up as fast as he can, determined to get to the high ground.

Jonas' ears pick up the sound of a horse. Whether it is a steed, or one of St. Percheron's children, he knows not. Perhaps he will see it when he gets to the top of the hill.

As the bear makes his way up the irregular, sandy hill, he can see that it is not completely barren after all. There is indeed a horse, or something much like it standing at the crest of the hill, fitted in black enamelled barding trimmed with brass. Riding this warbeast is a humanoid form completely armored in the same pattern, with a billowing, tattered cape of red. No face is visible, hidden by a helmet.

Jonas pulls himself up and looks at the figure before him. He looks over his shoulder briefly, and then back at the warrior. "Are ye friend or foe?" he asks, breathlessly.

The warrior reaches to the side of his mount, and pulls a long blade out of a bundle of rags and wrappings rather than a sheath. It glints in the flickering light of the geysers of flame that shoot up in the distance.

Jonas steps back a bit and drops into a defensive stance. "If ye plan on taking me down, it'll cost ye. I doon't know where I am, or how I got here, but I'm far from helpless."

The warrior lifts the sword, but holds it point-down, grasping it by the blade. He makes a downward, thrusting motion, letting loose of the sword, the blade of which imbeds itself in the sandy ground before the bear. The armored warrior says some word in a guttural growl, and his mount begins to back away.

Jonas looks at the warrior, and at the blade. He looks over his shoulder at the tide of foes. Shrugging, he pulls the blade from the soil, and turns to face his foes. "My thanks," he grunts.

The blade, as Jonas seizes it, is apparently not fashioned of metal, but rather appears to be made out of some great piece of bone or some sort of chitinous material, having a certain organic appearance to it. It is a sizeable blade, requiring two hands to use properly, though not necessarily to compare with Jonas' blade of old.

As the swarm of misshapen monsters overcomes its hesitation and begins to close in on the sides of the hill, it does appear that the blade just might come in handy after all…

Jonas pauses briefly to examine the blade, but swings it around in a few practice moves. A little strange, but no less a weapon for the lack of steel. "COME ON, YE BEASTIES!!" he shouts. "JONAS MACALISTER O' THE BLACK WATCH WOON'T BE AN EASY KILL FER THE LIKES OF YE!!!"

The monsters respond to the challenge this time with roars of their own, rather than simply parroting back the same words, and they lunge inward, scrambling over each other in their eagerness. The armored warrior must have backed off the other side of the hill, for he is no where to be seen.

Jonas swings the sword in wide sweeps, backing away with each swing. If they're as undisciplined as they seem, maybe he can kill enough to dissuade the others.

The sword swings through the swarms of monsters, making sounds like a sickle harvesting stalks of corn. The monsters trample their own fallen comrades, and the base of the hill is soon saturated in whatever foul ooze composes these creatures.

Jonas grits his teeth and snarls at the foe as he swings. This isn't a fight to be enjoyed, it's one to be endured. And, hopefully, survived.

Jonas says, "IS THAT THE BEST YE CAN GIVE?!!" he shouts. "MY GRAN CAN FIGHT BETTER'N THAT! AND SHE'S A TOOTHLESS OLD WOMAN!!""

The mindless onslaught continues, a constant hacking and slashing at slavering, mindless, frenzied creatures. With each bite and slash that manages to get through, the bear's limbs sting and burn more painfully, even though he has yet to suffer even but one wound that lets blood.

Jonas steps back away from the beasts for a moment, sparing a glance over his shoulder, hoping for any sort of relief or refuge.

*Hack* *SPLAT* … *HACK* … *SPLAT* … … The hill is looking fairly still and quiet now, as the remaining bodies slowly dissolve and melt away, seeping into the sandy soil, and ultimately leaving no trace of their former existence.

Jonas turns back, realizing that the foe is no longer pressing forward. Has he won?

Sure enough, the "wave" is gone. It had seemed so overwhelming just a moment ago. Only the stinging pains in the bear's hide and the reminders in his body of his exertion provide any real testament to the battle which has taken place. Even the blade is clean of any blood or other substance.

Jonas pants, worn out and in no small amount of pain. "Damn," he grunts, "that (huff) was (huff) not (huff) fun. Thanks (huff) to the (huff) Primogen and (huff) the Mother, I seem (huff) to be alive."

There's a snuffling sound, and that of a hoof digging in sandy earth, and then the growling voice of that armored warrior again. As before, it defies translation.

Jonas looks around, taking in his surroundings again. "Not that I have any idea of where I might be. Or how I got here."

Jonas looks behind him. Has the warrior remained? Jonas does owe him a great deal.

The warrior is on the horse where we was originally. He bows his armored head to the bear, from his place on the back of his steed.

Jonas looks at the warrior, and down at the blade. Even though it has no stain, he wipes it on his kilt, and hands it, hilt-first, to the warrior. "Ye have my thanks, Warrior. I doon't suppose ye'd know where I might find refuge in this land?"

The warrior does not reach for the blade. Instead, he reins his steed about, and starts down the hill, turning in the saddle to bark something back to the bear before riding down the hill at a leisurely pace.

Jonas watches the warrior turn about and move away. With a shrug, he hangs onto the blade and starts down the hill after his mysterious benefactor.