Cancelled Rat Story, recycled into Tribes and it's successor.

Chapter 1 A Rude Meeting
The scouts could see the glint of the Teuton’s armor for miles, the scouts were like all creatures in the sense of not being human. They knew that Johan was the leader of the 54th Exploratory Force and with his company-sized force of standard men and a few faun spellcasters, and that he was tasked to defend the Missionaries of God along the way to the Western Barrens. They didn’t know that Johan was much more fervent than the missionaries themselves. While the missionaries preached in the cities along the few rivers, most of the towns and farmlands built along the freshwater springs were much more prone to converting from the actions of Johan. During one such theologian mission in one such freshwater spring village, he gave a short yet oddly terrifying sermon to the Lord, one that left the bested champions of the village beg for mercy, and one that made the scouts themselves feel like heretics. The Scouts were not of the snakes, nor the Coyotes, nor the lizards, hawks, or any sort of desert creature, nay, these creatures were far from home themselves, they are rats, or as they call themselves, the Royaits. The rats of this party were a mixed bag of varieties, most weighed a little less than a human, some varieties weighed more, some less. The leader was a smaller specimen, her white-speckled grey coat, she was from the Northwest of the Melida, she had never seen a human, and was shocked at how truly alien they seemed. From behind her a voice called “Moun look-see, the man-people move again!” She turned her head to see the shining figure of Johan starting to leave the town, but something was off, using her see-tube she was able to see that he was dragging a snake by its neck, the thing was hissing like a maniac and using it two limbs was trying to cut through the greaves of the behemoth human with his claws. Before she could gather the rest of her unit Johan placed his foot on the long neck of the serpent, raised his sword, and ran the hilt to the ground, the snake being but mild resistance. In a fluid motion Moun watched the human pull his sword up from the sand. Moun watched as Johan looked back at the now lifeless husk, and through his winged helm, she could tell he thought the death was unneeded. Johan’s cloaked, armored self then walked back to the town, and even a mile away, the scouts could hear screams of several towns folk. Johan returned to Moun’s line of sight holding the heads of several heads, on the other end of the village two of the missionaries were being healed by two fauns while a Roven stitched him up. As soon as Johan disappears behind the building once again, angry shouts can be heards. The shouts continue for a minute or so before bangs rip the relative tranquility apart.
	The scouts don’t see Johan again that day, but they could see smoke rise from the village in the evening, and firelight in the evening. The next day the hundred-and-fifty men move out, their wagons continuing west. The scouts find the village mostly empty, the temple to the serpent gods has been burnt down, within the collapsed structure are the poorly cremated  corpses of villagers. Moun begins to ask the few remaining villagers questions “What thing-happen here?” “Why did man-people burn-scorch the temple-shrine?” “What cause-make the loud crack-bangs?”. Most of Moun’s questions were met with a thousand-yard-stare or resulted in the person breaking down in tears. The only two people who did answer, answered fearfully: “We hurt their missionaries who told us our gods were false, we tried to send those damned humans to see them, so that monster sent us to them instead” and “They begged their gods for help, and only to meet their one.”, the next question was answered with the exact same wording “The Teutons hate other faiths.”, the last was answered with an answer that would make Moun question the capabilities of the humans, “The Teutons’s weapon.”.
	Moun and her scouts got the Teutons at around midday, the normal glint of steel helms just bright enough to be a bother. Something was off as they got to the normal following distance, they couldn’t see Johan, which was odd as he often led the caravan of wagons from atop his horse. Moun and her scouts assumed that Johan was with the wounded missionaries, while healing magic was powerful it only sped up the healing process, not instantly heal the wound. As sunset approached and Johan was nowhere to be seen the scouts began to be inexplicably nervous. It was as a much larger predator was watching them just beyond their field of view.
	As night came to cool the scorching desert the feeling of a predator stalking grew closer and closer, Moun and her scouts had their hairs standing on end. Every rock moving in the wind was met with some squeak or fearful chirp. The fear lasted hours, finally at around midnight the sensation was gone.
As soon as the largest male in the pack disappeared from view, a cough like sound could be heard, and the sound of metal-on-bone could be heard. The male was sent over the boulder in a bloodied heap, soon followed by Johan’s enormous form rising from behind it, most of the females in the pack scurried straight into the arms of the Teutons who had laid a trap behind their position, while the males lunged fruitlessly towards the human titan. Each was cut down in a single, precise motion. The last male able to stand was lifted by the throat, all the rat could say before having his windpipe crushed with a single hand was “We aren’t-”. Moun, who was paralyzed by fear throughout the minute long ordeal was the last remaining Rat able to speak. Johan moved towards her, she began to ramble “We are-is not here to hurt-kill you, we are-just here to see-watch” The massive human before her answered in a mechanical manor, “Is that so?’ before raising his sword and planting the hilt against her forehead. Before she could black out she heard Johan shout to his subordinates “Don’t those that still live, I want to ask them some questions.”
By the time Moun woke up it was midday, she was in one of the covered wagons, her head bandaged and a throbbing pain resounded through her head. She turns to look out the wagon only to find the sight of a human guard with a strange axe-spear in his arms. To her left she sees a line of cots with the two males who survived the encounter with Johan, one has his hand-claw stitched back onto his body while the faint glow of a spell, the other has his chest wrapped in oil soaked bandages. The pain in Moun’s head throbs violently after moving her head right, the delay just long enough to process her comrades state. A pained squeak escapes her lips and right into the ears of the guard.
	The guard shouts “JOHAN! She’s awake! Moun sees Johan approach the wagon with a horse to match his size. Johan dismounts from the horse onto the back step of the wagon and the reins the horse to a pole on the back of the wagon. Johan, loomed over Moun and with a glint of pity in his eyes began to speak. “Why was your party following us for the past two months?” Johan asks, Moun, taken aback by the different voice of Johan, she was so used to the violent, commanding voice of the man, that the soft and calm voice seemed as alien as a human itself. After a few seconds of gawking at the otherside of the man, Johan, appears confused and then instantly seems to know that the issue was. He takes off his helmet, revealing that the hair on his face did continue past the helm into a much longer patch on his head, the light brown hair paling at the tips as if worn and withered. Moun, staring back into the concerned eyes of Johan tried to answer his questions but could only stutter. Johan stared at her ever more intuitively, concluding she was still shaken up from the events of last night, he spoke up once again “You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat or drink?”. Moun nodded carefully, Johan offered his hand, something Moun was even more careful to take. Leading her to his horse who had been matching pace with the wagon, he whistles sharply and the horse seems to be ready to be saddled from the wagon. The brown horse stared at Moun as if to warn her that if she were to try something it would not hold back. Johan was first to saddle the beast, Moun had known that horses did exist but in her homeland they were wild and much smaller. Johan would once again offer his hand to Moun, and she was still rather timid about grabbing the calloused hand of the human. Reluctantly she took his hand, Johan seated her in front of him, while he held the reins.
	Finally outside of the wagon, and up close, Moun finally understood how large the human caravan was, at least two dozen wagons, most were pulled by teams of eight camels, but the two largest ones, each the size of boats were pulled by four titanic reptiles. As Johan began to ride his horse towards one of the two boat-wagons, Moun instinctively wrapped her tail around something, which was Johan in this case. After realizing his belt wasn’t overly tight Johan proclaimed in a jovial tone “Nervous are you? Ah well.”. Moun, in her awe did not catch onto Johan’s comment, but rather began to mumble “I have never seen a big-huge beast like that before” “How do the man-people tame such wild beasts?”. Johan was beginning to get the answers to his questions just from overhearing Moun’s infatuated mumbles.
	Johan while listening was much more intent on the subtleties of his expedition's most recent border crossing. He could tell that it was not just the rats that were stalking him, something less timid was darting between the sun-scorched rocks and rising dune tides. His retainers were weaving between the wagons, piston in hand and saber in sheath. After seeing a metallic glint coming from behind a rock, he fights his reaction to grab his pistol and fire the ball at the rock. After a minute of riding, the two arrive at the food wagon. Within the boat-wagon lines of bolted down benches and tables filled the flat center while bags of grain, spice, dried meat, and barrels of ale stood on the shelves that covered the right wall, the left was obviously some sort of storage as blankets and cloth could be seen rolled over in piles while linens covered other things. Towards the front of the wagon large cisterns of water are seen as well as active ovens and cooking fires. The smell of fresh bread and boiled meat filled the wagon-boat. Johan stood like a sentinel watching something unseen from the end of the wagon, while Moun studies the man like a jeweler would study a ring, noting every detail, from the pale scar that seems to end just beyond his collar to the colors on his short-sleeved shirt. Moun in her study did find the metal armor he was wearing to be perfectly fitted to his torso, that it gave him full movement on his arms and legs while providing more than enough protection. Johan finally lost his sense that the stalkers were present after a few more seconds, the few other Teuton guards looked to Johan. Clasping their muskets tighter than before they stare at the red rocks and the sunburnt sands, hoping to see whatever it was that Johan saw.
	Johan walks down the two rows of benches, Moun slinking behind by a few feet, just beyond immediate reach of the man. Moun the wagon is virtually empty, there were the two guards on the rear, a group of four black feathered avins she knew weren't natives, she had heard the humans in the group refer to these avins as Roven, and three cooks tending the cooking pots. After getting to the forwardmost counter, one of the cooks turns to Johan, he looks to Moun and back to Johan, “I take it you’ll need two bowls and a loaf.”. Johan nods once and the cook gets to work, the cooks make small talk, talking about how tragic the last village was, or about how much he misses his wife, but most notably to Moun, was his mention of the war on the “North Coast ''. Johan replies rather quietly, as if pained by recollection, “You know Fitz, I served alongside the Njords during my four years. The Wufen warriors may be big but one Wufen is an easy kill, but a hundred thousand on a mountain ridge is a different situation, especially when they have a thousand Avin Haquebruisers sitting atop a cliff.” The Cook looks up, “You know I didn’t know you fought at Xander’s Ridge. I figured you fought with the Nords from the way you handle your blade, but that battle wasn’t like the rest was it?” he calmly says. Johan looks at the cook, and replies in an icy tone “No”. The Cook then hands Johan two bowls of soup, the smells of chicken, onions, and carrots wafting gently into the noses of the two. The sentinel-esc nature of Johan finally gave way to the person underneath, as he lifted the bowl to his nose and inhaled deeply. Moun needed not to get a better smell, she could pinpoint every ingredient she knew, garlic, carrots, onion, chicked, beef stock, parsley, bay leaf, beans, and several others herbs and spices she wasn’t familiar with. Johan takes his bowl of soup and the loaf of bread and walks to one of the tables, Moun following just a little more than an arm’s reach away. Johan sits silently as Moun still sits an arms length away from the towering human.
	Johan was beginning to get frustrated with the skittish rat, he silently cursed both her and himself for the current state of affairs. He needed answers, ones he could not get if she remained as silent as she is now. He catches Moun staring at him, she looks more nervous than normal, “Great. WONDERFUL. I come a year from home to be read like a book from a damned rat. Lord forgive me but GOD DAMMIT I CAN’T TAKE MUCH MORE” he screams in his mind. He lets out a great sigh before continuing on his train of thought, “I need to find a wife, mainly I need heirs regardless. The Faun’s say my brother was grievously wounded, if he dies, I’ll be the last man in my family. That Rammite maid from my fathers castle was rather attractive, she seemed interested enough to be a concubine, maybe I could have faun children with her. Regardless of how nice that maid’s smile and bosom was, I need a human wife for legalities and reputation’s sake.” he continues to ponder.
Moun stares at the human with his furrowed brow and concerned look. She realized he hadn't touched his soup, his hands crossed letting his chin rest on them. She couldn’t help but almost pity the titan, she could tell that something weighed heavy on his mind while the burden of leadership nearly crushed his massive form. She pipes up for the first time since her string of muttering on horseback, while still unfamiliar and rather timid, she felt compelled to ask “What are you thinking about?” Johan stares for but a second, his mind whirring and jaw loosely shut. He opens his mouth after about ten seconds, “I really need to , before I die here.” He turns to Moun who stares at him confused, he speaks again “Dare I ask why you and your party was tailing us.” Moun speaks “We were tasked-told to get knowledge on the man-people that had appeared in the western barren-deserts.”to find a wife, lest before I die here.” He turns to Moun who stares at him confused, he speaks again “Dare I ask why you and your party was tailing us?” Moun speaks “We were tasked-told to get knowledge on the men-people that had appeared in the western barren-deserts.”
Johan asks “Who was it that sent you, as in an organization or nation?”
Moun replies with a nervous hint in her voice “Nation, the Roiyat Empire-Kingdom.”
Johan presses forward “How did you hear of us?”
Moun answers “We were not told-telled, but we followed the trail of body-corpses and burnt-charred buildings.
“I take it you are a “Roiyat” Johan asserts as if he was insulted by the previous words
Moun but nods. Johan, satisfied with his two-minute interrogation-interview, speaks one more time on the matter “I suppose your party had no wrong intention, and from it I will let you accompany our expedition, provided you carry your own weight in the caravan.”
A sense of newfound security washes over the fearful Moun, as if the man before her was subtly promising protection from the monsters and men of the earth. The two finish their meal in silence, Moun staring at her sentinel between bites of broth-soaked bread and spoonfuls of soup. After the two finished their meals, Johan offered to take back the wooden bowls, an offer Moun does not refute as she hands him the bowl and spoon.
In the minute of solitude she has Moun wonders why the man seems so estranged to the world, thinking back her mind focuses on the details of why he is so skilled yet also so alien. First she thinks of what the chef said, of the Battle of Xander’s ridge, what was it? She thinks of every detail she could muster, the way Johan tried to divert attention away from it, from the whole war he served in. Thought of how cold he seemed last night before he sent her into the force-sleep or rather how it contrasted with the silent kindness of the present.
	Johan returns, leaning down to to inspect the rat, before reaching to pet her head he looks at his hands, the scarred and bruised appendages, he pulls his hands back, and stares with an intensity at his hands, one that radiates self-loathing, as if he cannot touch Moun. Moun, smells the man behind her, every muscle in her body tenses, but she relaxes after something feels off about the whole situation, turning she sees Johan. Johan sees blood running down his hands, chunks of fur and meat stuck to his arms, the metallic smell fills his nose, and he sees it, the ridge. Moun stares at Johan who looks at her, but through her, as if something lies beyond her. Johan sees Moun, but he sees the Avin gunners behind her, standing on the ridge, firing line after line, he shoves her to the ground and rushes through the crater towards the chokepoint. Moun looks for the titan of man, she hurts a bit, but knows that Johan did it for some reason. She sees a glint of metal before a gunshot rings outside of the caravan, followed by another. A muffled shout fills the sensitive ears of Moun, the cook and her approach the entrance to the wagon-ship with caution.
The sight of Johan standing over a dead Kaz while another stands pinned with a pistol pointed at the sky. A raspy voice can be heard from the twisted corpse “Foolish human. Your force can’t con-”A well placed boot crushes the creature’s exposed heart. The pinned Kaz seems to know what’s going to happen, “Please don’t kill me, I was just following orders” the creature pleads. Johan abides the creature’s request by slamming his head against the wall of the wagon-ship, and throwing the unconscious body of the Kaz off the wagon-ship. Johan begins to reload his pistol in the most machine-like way possible, every move seems automated down to the muscle, once he finishes he turns to a target unseen by the cook but smelled by Moun, a loud crack, and a small tan form flashes red before falling in a heap of gore and sand colored fur.
Johan, still in his machine-like state, begins to mumble “Everywhere is stone, slippery, wet. Blood and water run together, flowing down the ridge forever.” The cooks, his face locked in grimace, leans to speak to Moun “That’s the fate of those who fought at Xander’s ridge. A year-long hell, fought until every last Wufen and Avin lay dead and next to them were all but a thousand humans. Johan, the titan he is, barely survived, his tale was…	no…	is legendary.” A long pause grows as Johan mumbles more about stone and caves. Soon Johan stabs his sword into the floor of the wagon-ship gripping it like a shield in battle, then collapsing, hand still on his sword. The cook calls to the Roven within the wagon-ship, demanding that they come help lift “The sleeping angel” with that four armored characters move to lift the armored man inside the wagon. The cook kicks the body of the Kaz that had his heart crushed off the wagon-ship, and speaks to Moun once again “He wasn’t always been this estranged from the world. Why I’m telling you all this I have no idea, but it feels like a burden being lifted off my back.” Moun stares at the cook, she squeaks “What is your name-title man-person?” “I’m Elbel Berger.” the cook replies. “Elbel, what is Johan true-real name-title?” Moun intuitively asks, something Elbel answers with a bit of ice in his voice “Johan von Ozean, a minor noble.” Moun sits down, she begins to mumble