Once again, the horn blew, calling the guards to the berm. It was a new concept, digging a trench around the camp, using the excavated dirt to pile up a berm that made it harder to move across the trench. That trench gave the centaur-warriors a fixed position to defend, allowing them to easily keep enemies away, instead of being forced to move out and meet them in the open field, where they could use their mobility. Without the trench, they had been greatly weakened, to the point that defending their camps was difficult.
But how did one defend against a cloud of mist, that accursed, cold mist that had haunted them for days, before the storm had swept in and caused all operation to cease? The mist itself had been a rather big problem in and of itself. Not only did it decrease the visibility to a few meter, making it hard to see where one was going and forcing the patrols to slow down, it also fully shut down ranged combat, neutralising the two biggest advantages of the centaurs. That the mist was cold, wet and unpleasant, that was a completely different problem, sapping the will and morale of the centaurs, making them simply miserable and long for their accustomed plains.
But the true problem was that the mist sometimes hid teeth and claws, the last few weeks, the local wolves had proven supremely adept at using the dense mist to hide their movements, springing ambushes as if they knew where the centaurs were moving, maybe guided by their excellent sense of smell. Even the domesticated wolves had been useless, other than to guard the perimeter.
And now, the horn had been blown, calling the guards up. But not only the assigned guards started moving, after the previous week of torrential rain, most centaurs felt a little stir-crazy. The few patrols that had moved out, into the soggy, swampy mess they were surrounded by had been short and local, partially to find the wolves, partially to look for the supply-group that should have arrived a few days before. But nobody had seen hide or hair of either group, causing the camp to be suffused in an air of unease, their instincts screaming at them that something was out there, stalking them, hiding, ready to pounce.
To say that morale had been down the drain would be an understatement. So, now that the horn was calling, everyone wanted to move, to DO something.
Every warrior that was free, not just the called guards, took up arms and moved to the berm, standing ready to reinforce the guards, if needed. Even now, discipline was kept, knowing that their best tactic was to work as a herd was something deeply ingrained in the centaurs.
Far away from the camp, easily hundreds of meters, out of range, even for their excellent bows, a dense cloud of mist had rolled in, the simple image looking imposing, worrying. For some of them, the mist was synonymous with wolves, snarling and snapping at their flanks. After positions had been taken up, nobody spoke, everyone tense as a bowstring, ready to snap into action.
When the wind carried the first noises over, barely audible growls and snarls, interspersed with the odd howl of a wolf calling its pack to the hunt, the tension mounted, eyes scanning from left to right, looking for the foes that had tormented them the days before the storm. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to actually go out and kill a few of the beasts, instead of their people vanishing in the mist, to be never seen again.
“Over there!” one of the guards called out, pointing to a large shape that took form in the mist, too large for a wolf, too large to be a humanoid, a shape familiar to all of them, the shape of a centaur. Seconds passed as weapons were gripped tighter when the shape broke free from the mist, stumbling for a moment, before righting itself and galloping towards the camp, towards safety.
“Fifth Group, head out to escort him in!” one of the officers called out, giving the reserve-team their orders. They moved swiftly, knowing that the wolves might emerge from the mist any moment, or the mist might move and catch up to the fleeing centaur, possibly spoiling their chances to save the member of their herd. In the short time they needed to move out, the fleeing centaur had managed to cross three-quarters of the distance, running as if the hounds of tartarus themselves were after him so it only took short moments for the centaurs from the camp to cross the distance, spread out to provide cover for the newcomer.
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But just before they managed to encircle him, to keep him safe, a beam of pure, malevolent Darkness, inky black and foreboding, shot from the mist, striking the centaur into the back and causing him to die in the most horrifying manner imaginable. He wasn’t just robbed of his life, he was ripped apart, blood splattering all around him, coating the centaurs that had moved out in the remains of their fallen comrades.
Not knowing just what kind of terrible being had send the beam out, the centaurs fled back to their camp, hoping that the strange preparations of their own spellcasters would be enough to keep them safe. Sadly, the horror wasn’t over for them, not by a long shot.
Near the spot where their comrade had been ripped apart, the air started to shimmer, as if heat from a fire was rising up, before starting to twist in a most unnatural manner. Those who looked closely felt nauseated, as if they were witnessing something that should not happen, something their minds were revolted from merely witnessing it. And then, with a soundless pop, the air tore apart and a creature from nightmare emerged.
Sickly purple, seemingly just a gaping maw with vicious teeth and barbed tentacles, a creature that looked made to violently tear things apart and devour them, greedy hunger incarnate.
Luckily, it was also relatively small, merely coming to a centaurs stomach, still, everyone seeing it was certain, that thing should not be. With coordination born from hundreds of hours spent training, without the need for commands, the guards and many of the warriors that had taken up position behind them raised their bows, nocking arrows and loosening them in a single volley, coordinated by the need to destroy the sickening creature that had started to screech with a keening, piercing voice.
The volley was horribly imprecise, but even the officers that would have scolded them for the lack of precision normally were too busy being terrified at what they were seeing to care about the lack of precision. What mattered had been to destroy the creature before it managed to get to them, a task that had been perfectly executed, simply by the amount of arrows loosened. Sometimes, quantity was a quality all of its own.
It took everyone a moment to realise that, while the thing was horrifying and should not be, it hadn’t been all that powerful, causing everyone to calm down, at least a little. When the next strange ripple was spotted, the officers had managed to calm everyone, ordering a single element to shoot whatever was coming out of the ripple, hopefully with a precision that was worthy of centaur warriors.
Their efforts worked, until they noticed a second form emerging from the mist, again, a centaur fleeing from the wolves hidden in the damp mist. Everyone tensed up again, ready to spring into action as a new group of centaurs moved out, towards the fleeing form. In their focus on the fleeing centaur, they missed the newly formed ripple, somewhere in the middle between the fleeing centaur and the camp and they only noticed the nightmare creature when it started to move towards the fleeing centaur. It needed a few steps to gather speed, its gait strange but surprisingly fast and the fleeing centaur started to veer off, trying to avoid the tentacled creature.
As archers launched arrows at the nightmare monster, the centaur managed to get to the warriors that had moved out, only to, once again, be struck from a black beam from the mists, killing them in the same way the first centaur had been killed, in a shower of blood. The group that had gone out continued on for a moment, as if they were planning to charge into the mist, but shouted commands from the officers in the camp and their own leader managed to rally the warriors, calming the rage they felt about losing a herd-member right in the middle of them. Whatever produced the strange black beams, they wanted to tear it apart.
Instead of charging into the mist, the officer made them tear into the tentacled creature, ripping it apart in a relentless charge, even if it managed to tear a chunk out of one warrior, none of the centaurs really cared. Their bloodlust was running high, they wanted to murder something. Maybe it was quite good that two more nightmare beings appeared, excellent targets for them to vent their rage on.
But no matter how many of the creatures were killed, there seemed to come more and more, especially when two more centaurs managed to escape the mists only to die near the camp. The officers felt a foreboding feeling, knowing that something was seriously wrong in the world around them. And not knowing what to do about it.