Chaos, rage, destruction; it all came flooding back to Brucien’s mind like a vivid dream.
His head throbbed and his body ached, surely a good sign that the whole thing had been a drunken fantasy right? He opened his eyes a crack and groaned as the intense light sent daggers of pain through his brain. As his vision began to focus he could make out tree branches overhead, with blue sky filtering through.
There was soft dirt underneath his prone form and as he sat up he realised he was lying at the end of a long trench. Trees were all around, except for the half dozen or so that had been knocked down along the furrow in the soil.
Oh gods, it was real!
The night before he had been kidnapped by an insane cult of chaos worshippers who wished to bestow the chaos god’s blessing upon him. The robed madmen had unleashed some sort of primal creature from the depths of Bruce’s soul which went on a rampage through the city. Its path of destruction culminated in a battle with a mysterious hooded man outside his love Bethany Rose’s estate. In a surprising twist of fate, the robed man had actually hurled the Behemoth through the air and into the mountains just north of the city.
At least it’s over now, he thought, as he breathed a sigh of relief that the Behemoth was gone.
Somewhere, deep in the dark part of his mind, the Behemoth raged. He would be free again.
Many leagues away, high in the Barrier mountain range, a grey figure traversed the treacherous slopes of the range’s tallest mountain, Dragon’s Tooth Peak. He had been asked to do a difficult task; track down Thunderbolt, who was perhaps mighty enough to slay even the Behemoth.
Perhaps it would have been better if Sir Thaddeus Rose himself had come to find Thunderbolt, but the war hero had passed the mantle onto him now. The robed figure possessed the Ring of Order now, so he held the responsibility of the world on his shoulders.
Two thirds of the way up the forbidding mountain, which really did look like a dragon’s tooth, he found what he was searching for; a massive cave entrance. Like a gaping maw in the side of the mountain, the cave was easily five times the height of a man and ten times as wide.
With some hesitation, the man entered. The smooth edges of the cave mouth, worn down from years of something large rubbing against it, had not escaped his notice.   Darkness soon replaced light as he passed deeper into the cavern; it meant little to him though. He wielded the Ring of Order, allowing him too see through the darkness as clearly as it was day.
When he was beginning to suspect the person he was searching for wasn’t present, something gigantic slammed the stone floor beside him. The man saw a glimpse of grey-blue scale before he was snatched up in a vice-like grip. A pair of melon sized, reptilian eyes stared at him intently from no more than a body length away. He was so close in fact that he could make out the various flecks of gold and blue that made up the creature’s irises.
The eyes were housed in a huge, crocodilian head, and lined with small horns, accompanied by a much larger pair of horns growing from the back of its skull. Its mouth was a gaping chasm filled with monstrous teeth and could have easily swallowed him whole. From his vantage point he couldn’t make out the rest of the leviathan’s body but he knew what it would look like; a gigantic, reptilian body with massive leathery wings and scales as hard as steel. He was face to face with a dragon.
“Are you lost little human?!” boomed the dragon, his breath smelled strangely of ozone, “Who are you and why do you dare to wander into my home?!”
As calmly as he would be in the presence of an old friend, the cloaked man pulled his arm free from the dragon’s clutches and removed his hood. Revealed was the face of a handsome man framed by long hair an odd shade of black.
“Hello Thunderbolt,” said the man, with a charming grin, “my name is Samson and I’ve come for your help.”
Emil cursed to himself as he clutched his broken ribs. He hadn’t expected to lose the Behemoth so soon after creating it. Surely the Chaos Lord would reward their dedicated service by allowing them to witness the glory of the Behemoth in battle?
“What do we do now Brother?” asked Fredrick anxiously.
The pair of cultists had removed their robes and managed to track the chaos beast’s path of destruction from the warrens all the way to noble district. According to witnesses a huge ogre like creature had battled with a robed man outside the Rose Manor, before the robed man actually hurled the beast into the mountains.
“We have to find the Behemoth before the Order does again,” replied the older fanatic, “Only one of theirs would have been able to best the Behemoth in battle.”
“But surely nothing can harm Bruc…the Behemoth now?” asked Fredrick.
Emil snorted, “The Order may be all but destroyed but they still have a trick or two up their sleeve I’m sure. Go gather the others and pack your things, tell them to be ready to leave by sunset,”
“What about you?”
“I have to commune with our Lord,” and hope he doesn’t flay the flesh from my bones for losing the beast, he added silently.
Brucien was a mess; his shirt and shoes were gone and all that remained of his clothes were his tattered pants. 
Garon the tanner must have worked some sort of magic on these pants, thought Bruce.
Not knowing where he was or which direction to head, Brucien had followed logic and followed the path of destruction left by the Behemoth’s body as it came crashing down through the undergrowth. 
Twigs and pine needles scratched his feet and a chill breeze left him shivering. Needless to say, it was an unpleasant experience for the city dweller. He rarely left the safety of Brynn’s city walls and even when he did he never strayed from well travelled paths. As an alchemist it was essential he had a variety of exotic herbs and items, many of which could be gathered from the forest with ease, but that was a role he delegated to Fredrick.
His thoughts turned to the young man who had been his assistant for over a year. How could he not know that the wide eyed fool had been ensnared by a cult? He actually believed that strapping Bruce down to an alter, cutting him up and turning him into a raging beast was best for him?
A stray branch slapped him in the face shocking him back to awareness. Where was he? Being lost in his thoughts had distracted him; he could no longer tell if he still going in a straight line towards the city.
Panic set in. What if he starved to death in the woods, barefoot and nearly naked? His breathing became faster and more frantic until he was nearly hyperventilating; he couldn’t breathe!
Let me out weakling, I can keep you alive!
Bruce spun around, desperately searching for the phantom voice.  He didn’t want to believe it belonged to the Behemoth, still raging within his mind.
Don’t dare deny me Bannerson!
“Shut up!” he cried, clutching his head as if he wanted to squeeze the voice out, “You’re gone! Its over!”
“Lo there traveller!” can an unfamiliar voice from the distance.
Quickly the steady sound of hoof beats drowned out the chirping of woodland birds, as a dozen soldiers on horseback came riding through the forest. Each bore the crimson and gold armour of Brynn’s militia.