When the sun was at its highest and the caravan had stopped to give the men and the camels rest, the howlers came pounding out of the desert. They were dead, emaciated men, their cracked faces twisted into cruel sneers. The monsters dashed across the dunes on all fours, kicking up a cloud of sand as they plowed toward the caravan.
Hassan drew his falchion as soon as the first scream hit the hot air. He watched the undead horde with trepidation, eyes occasionally darting back along the road whence the caravan had come. No, fleeing was not an option here. His only chance of surviving in this harsh desert was to stay and ensure that the caravan survived. He dashed up to where the first of the ghouls were already swarming a panicked camel laden with silks. Hot blood sprayed out, staining raw silk red and sizzling on the skillet-hot sand.
Hassan's falchion bit into one of the ghouls, producing no spray of blood but a small puff of ancient dust. The creature was caked with sand and salt crystals. Its shriveled yellow eyes fixed on Hassan and it lunged at him, raking a gnarled claw against his upraised forearm. He kicked it in the chest, gathering space, then swung his sword with both hands, decapitating the ghoul. Its husk fell with a light thump. Hassan took a second to examine his wound. His flesh was puckered and cracked around the three gashes, but no blood was coming out - not even a trickle.
Another scream ripped the air close by, and he turned to meet another leaping ghoul with his blade, blocking its claws and using its momentum to toss it over his shoulder. But another leapt for him at the same time, clawing at his silk jazerant and sinking yellow teeth into his neck. He dislodged it with an elbow to the skull and brought his curved blade down into its back. But Hassan's strength was leaving him. His muscles were slow to respond, and his tongue was glued to the dry roof of his mouth. He stumbled back, clutching at his neck wound. His vision blurred, he tripped over something and fell, splayed out on the sand, eyes closed.
Thirsty. So thirsty. Hassan rubbed sand and grime out of his eyes and sat up. The sun was low and orange on the horizon. Dead men and camels and dismembered ghoul husks littered the road around him. Not enough to account for the whole caravan. So they had made it. They had weathered the ghoul attack and gone on. Gone on without Hassan. His situation began to dawn on him. He was alone in the desert with almost no water. He frantically patted his hip, searching for his canteen, but it was absent. They had left him and taken his water. Bastards.
He rushed to the nearest camel corpse in hopes that they had overlooked a waterskin. There was one resting on the camel's side, shredded by ghoul claws and drained of its contents. But the array of leather straps suggested there might be another under the bulk of the dead beast. Hassan began to dig, heedless of the pain. At last, he drew forth a small bladder of water, though his cry of triumph could not escape his dry throat. He uncorked the skin and upended it into his mouth. The water seemed to disappear as soon as it hit his tongue. No cool wetness soothed his dry mouth, no refreshing fluid filled him. It was as if he was drinking ash. A cry of frustration and pain escaped him now, rasping and high pitched like the screams of the ghouls. He touched his neck wound and his fingers came away crusted in salt. As the last light of the sun dipped below the dunes, Hassan stumbled down the road after the companions who had left him to die.Today's Monster Monday is the salt ghoul, a ravenous undead creature from the dry dunes. Their cursed claws and bite can drain the water from a living being, leaving them dehydrated and desperate in the desert.
The following text in gold is available as Open Game Content under the OGL. Open Game Content is ©2017 Jonah Bomgaars.
