Somewhere in the valley west of Spooky Mountain, a simple alpaca farmer named Milo was bedding down his herd. He'd spent years saving up coppers working as a dung wrangler, mucking up other people's stalls and hauling away the dung for profit. It was barely profitable, but he was a hard worker, and his tenacity with dung had, in the long run, paid off. He'd managed to scrape together enough to buy five fairly healthy llamas, and was getting them ready for the coming winter. He'd fattened them up on the plentiful apples that grew in the valley, and he'd taken care to ensure their long coats were clean(ish) and relatively free from snags and mats. He'd named them all after stars in the sky, with Ayleth (the fat one) being named after a red supergiant, was the matriarch of the little troupe. Veyza, named after the white dwarf in the constellation Crabwalk Major, had a disposition to match. Little Vega, ironically named after the yellow supergiant of the same name, would often be found staring for hours at a fencepost, seemingly lost in thought. It was only after observing her do this a coiuple times that Milo soon came to realize she'd just forgotten where she was going. Finally the twins, Zubenelgenubi and Zubeneschamali (binary stars) were the runts of the litter and served as a reminder to Milo that giving llamas very long and cutesy names was probably not a good idea.
A scream slid down the mountain like an apocalyptic toboggan. It hit anxious ears and jangled nerves and froze the party in its tracks.
"What the hell was that?" asked Pierre.
"What should we do?" asked Elizabeth.
"Is there any other way around this hill?" asked Lady Eris.
"WOULD ANYONE LIKE SOME RICE?" asked Lamont.
Old Crow looked up the hill with the typical air of Chinan calm, mixed with the barely-contained panic of his whiter ancestors. "Let's think about this," he offered. "Surely we can come up with a plan to investigate cautiously while still making headway towards the valley on the other side.
"I'm going to summon some monsters!" squeaked Elizabeth. She started muttering under her breath and making the hand gestures the old gypsy woman had taught her. Everyone else took two steps back.
Milo made his way out to the barn under the light of the full moon. Something had been disturbing his little flock, as strained braaas and braaaps had been coming from there for the past ten minutes. The sharp smell of ozone cut through his nostrils, which was a rare treat - years of working in the dung business had pretty much killed off his sense of smell. Turns out it had been a blessing, as llamas were one of the gods' more pungent creations. Still, he wondered where the strange smell was coming from as he approached the barn door.
He opened it, and immediately had to shield his eyes from the dazzling rainbow hues that were emanating from the twins' stall. Effervescent blues, sparkling pinks, and ebullient yellows bounced off the roof beams and glistened. Milo stood mutely admiring the impressive display. Then, as soon as it had started, the rainbow display stopped, and Milo stood for a dozen heartbeats with his eyes clamped shut, waiting for his night vision to return.
When it did, Milo crept forward cautiously and peered over the stall wall and into the space where the twins should have been. But they were gone, and only the now-familiar smell of ozone and fresh dung told him that they were ever there to begin with.
"Not again," he sighed.
Elizabeth stood back and tried to admire her handiwork, She'd never cast Monster Summoning I before, and wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but she was pretty sure three llamas were on the 'disappointing' end of the spectrum.
"INTERESTING," chimed Lamont. "I'M SURE WHATEVER LIES AT THE TOP OF YON HILL WILL NOT EXPECT LLAMAS." Elizabeth tried not to seethe at the comment, but she seethed a little anyway. She became determined to make it work.
"Llamas!" she hissed as loud as she dared. They turned to face her. The two on the right did so with an air of amiable stupidity. The one on the left, however, the black one, assessed her with the cold, hard stare of a llama that had done some serious time.
"I want you three to head up that hill and check things out. Get the llay of the lland," the others chuckled. She continued on, unperturbed. "Go up there and have a llook around." Snickers. "If you see anything dangerous, I want you to attack. Understand?" Two of the llamas snuffled and turned, and started to make their way slowly up the hill. The black one, however, kept its gaze fixed on Elizabeth. She started to open her mouth to berate the unmoving llama. "Llisten here, you..."
"I aM nOt LlIkE tHe OtHeRs. I aM tHe DeAtH oF lLaMaS. i Am HeRe To TaKe ThEm HoMe AfTeR tHeY pErIsH. nOw Is ThEiR TiMe."
Elizabeth regarded the black llama for some time, willing her mind to not only make sense of the exchange, but to come up with a witty response as well.
"You're welcome," was her two word reply.
The Death of Llamas turned and started slowly, silently up the hill. Everyone turned mutely towards Elizabeth in expectation of an explanation. None was forthcoming.
"So, Old Crow," she spoke with an air of considerable distraction. "You were saying there was a reasonable path forward?"
"Well, I don't know about reasonable," this old half-breed stroked his chin with a gleam in his eye. "But I do no we got to get a move on while the moon is high." The others agreed reluctantly, the memory of that mysterious scream still at the forefront of their minds.
"I don mind going up after ze llamas," said Pierre in his French-Northgallian accent. "If you vant to take ze others around ze long way, I'll meet you on ze other side." Old Crow nodded, bade him good luck, and led the others on a path around the hill to the north.
Pierre made his way up the hill. It was a good hill, containing occasional cover, a decent incline, and a growing number of rocky outcroppings to make things interesting. He was noting how unusually good the footing was (considering he was climbing uphill in the dark) when he heard another scream. Not the same as the previous scream - shorter, higher-pitched and shrill. But the fact that it seemed to be a completely different scream only served to unnerve him. What ze hell is going on up here? he wondered to himself. And why in ze hell am I up here all alone? He stopped to contemplate this. He's allowed a party of four to take the safe way around the hill, while foolishly coming straight up the side of the hill on his own. Was he mad? What had he been thinking? He had half a mind to turn around and head back down towards where he had last seen the others. But before he could seriously consider that action, he took another one.
He fell into pit.
Old Crow thanked his luck. He and Lamont had made out a little path that seemed to circumnavigate the hill and the four of them were now making good time. In single file they crept, ignoring the occasional scream or shriek from the darkness above them. They moved silently (relatively) and quickly (for this lot) until they came to a fork in the path. From what Lamont could tell, the left turn headed up the hill, while the right hand path seemed to continue more or less around the way they had originally been heading. Old Crow took a poll to see which path everyone preferred to take.'
"The right one," came three replies in unison.
Old Crow took only a couple dozen steps on the right hand path before a strange crunching noise cropped up after each one of his careful footfalls. He called a quick halt, and had Lamont move up from rearguard to strike a match. When he did so, he held the match high to illuminate the path ahead. He almost immediately blew it back out again and whispered with a quiet tenderness that none of the party had ever heard before.
"I think we should backtrack and take. That. Left."
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