Even in the warmest months of the year, the Northlands were still a chilly locale. Beyond the bounds of cities such as Myerigrad, the permafrost set in with remarkable precision. Just a few scant miles from the city’s limits, the snow clings stubbornly to the earth, sheltered by the boughs of towering taiga pines.
It is the beginnings of a great boreal wood, a tranquil place where humanity has not settled yet not far enough into the woods for the truly threatening beasts to appear. The snow sits hard-packed, trodden down by seasons of wildlife, but none are to be seen at the moment. It was almost deathly still, and certainly deathly quiet.
Amidst the silence, there was suddenly a ringing, a chime that brought to mind a golden bell.
Paff!
An arm suddenly burst through the snow, a pale appendage that twitched lightly before erupting into movement. It scrabbled for purchase, lashing out against the snow until it found its grip against the ground. Once found, it tensed, as though pulling against the ground itself.
Power began to thrum lightly in the air, as the snow began to sift. It piled up against the arm, attempting to bury it once again. Black and white began to creep up the tips of the fingers, as though frostbite and rot were setting in at incredible speed. Clearly, whatever was trying to escape was having a difficult time.
The hand released its grip, trying to avoid the sifting snow, but with no more purchase it could not pull itself free. The snow began to creep up the length of the arm, re-sealing whatever lurked beneath.
A shadowy tendril lanced out of the nearby woods, piercing the hand at breakneck speed. Once pierced through, it wrapped around, tugging at the arm. The arm latched onto its new lifeline as the snow, almost panicked, began to pile faster.
But it was too late.
The tendril pulled and the snow buckled, as though a broken seal.
Released into the world was a snow-crusted young woman, who landed on her feet as the tendril disintegrated into nothingness. The frost fell away, revealing features. White hair. Pale skin rendered paler by frostbite. Rags suspended across her, the remnants of what may have been clothing or even armor. Lips turned blue, as though oxygen was a long-forgotten concept. And pale gray eyes that slowly regained the gleam of the living.
And live she did.
At least, for a moment. She was only on her feet for one breath before she fell to her knees, gasping. A beat later, the contents of her stomach were voided onto the ground. Not food, but earth and ice. Nothing a person should be trying to digest.
She was on the ground for what felt like an eternity, but eternity eventually passed along with the feeling. Blinking a few times, she hauled herself to her feet, inspecting her surroundings. A forest. No sign of animals, or any other people for that matter. No threats.
Turning her thoughts inward, she was beset by two sensations. The first was a quiet throbbing in the back of her mind, barely noticeable but certainly there. Like a heartbeat, almost. The second sensation was the realization that she could not feel her actual heartbeat. A quick check confirmed it: No pulse.
Was she dead?
Slowly, as though her body was thawing itself out, she went over her body. She wasn’t breathing, at least not automatically, but her lungs seemed to work fine when she took a deep breath. She checked her fingers and toes for frostbite or rot, finding no sign, but took note that her skin didn’t seem to register any sensation of cold. Clutching at one of the rags clinging to her body, the rough linen texture reassured her. She still had some sensation, at least.
Content with the status of her body for now, she turned to her mind. It felt sluggish, still, waking after spirits know how long, but she was able to pick out several important tidbits.
A name. Hallbera.
A profession and homeland. Warrior of the Hulvolki.
A family. A brother and sister whose names refused to materialize.
A cause of death. The sorcerer Gottskalk.
…So she was dead.
The realization panicked her less than she had assumed it would. Perhaps because her brain was still starting up, as it were. Or perhaps because this felt like the afterlife, with its unnatural tranquility. Though appearing out of the ground seemed like a strange way to enter paradise, in Hallbera’s opinion. She wished her brother were here. He was always the most knowledgeable of them.
Well, lacking any sign of humanity or a guiding voice, she was on her own here in the afterworld. Best to get moving.
And so, she picked a direction and set out.
--
Heading in the direction where the trees grew thinner, Hallbera eventually found what she could only assume was a road. It wasn’t so odd that the afterlife had roads, she supposed. How else would they travel?
Still, following the road south, she was forced to confront the strangeness of her body. Even with her bare feet against the snow, she felt no chill, no bite of frost. Though she still felt it when she had the misfortune to find sharp rocks beneath her heel. Shoes were a high priority, she decided.
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She traveled for a while, sun overhead, until her ears perked up at a familiar noise. The trundling of a cart. People? Perhaps she could get some answers. She sped up, but there was no need; cresting the hill in front of her revealed that the cart in the distance was coming to her. Still, she ran down the side of the hill, hoping to meet them before they had to begin the climb.
As she approached, she raised a hand in greeting. The man leading the horses squinted, trying to make her out, only to avert his eyes and bring the horses to a stop. Ah. She’d forgotten clothes, hadn’t she.
“Milva!” He shouted, a word that Hallbera didn’t recognize until a woman leapt out of the cart. A name.
The woman ran towards Hallbera, calling out. At first, she spoke in harsh, biting words that the newly-risen warrior didn’t understand, but as she cocked her head in confusion, this Milva switched to a language she understood. Somewhat. “Are you okay?!”
Hallbera nodded, looking at the pair with an even keel. “I am all right. Just very confused.”
Milva ran up and took Hallbera’s hand, speaking again with that strange accent that the warrior barely understood. As their flesh touched, though, the throbbing in the back of Hallbera’s mind suddenly intensified. “You’re freezing!” Milva exclaimed with worry. “Come on. We need to get you bundled up right this moment!”
Hallbera let her lead them both into the trundling cart, stepping up gingerly as the man coaxed the horses back into movement. Milva practically shoved Hallbera into a seat before rifling through one of the large bags at the side, pulling out a blanket. The blanket was thrown over Hallbera, but the warrior hardly noticed. She was too busy holding her head.
throb
The beat in the back of her mind was getting worse by the second. Louder, more insistent. She could practically hear words behind it, though the meaning was lost to her. She managed to give Milva a weak smile as the older woman threw another blanket on her.
throb
Ugh. Hallbera’s other hand went to her head, massaging her temples in some vain attempt at getting the thrumming to abate. The concern on Milva’s face deepened. “Are you all right, dear?” She asked in her heavily-accented voice.
Hallbera gave her a weak smile, but it faded as her mind pulsed again.
feast
Oh, spirits protect her. She knew that voice. The image of her most hated foe projected itself into her mind, or at least his most popular mask. Gottskalk. The Necromancer.
fight
Hallbera looked up at Milva, eyes hardened. “Run,” she managed to bark weakly.
FEED
Hallbera’s vision became a blur, senses thrown into disarray. She felt herself move on raw instinct, though not any she’d cultivated in her time as a warrior. It was all she could do to resist being lost entirely. There was a sense of relief, of something red and pleasant splattering across and seeping into her. She hadn’t felt cold, but for the first time since waking up, she felt well and truly warm.
Slowly and surely, her senses returned to her control, whatever urge had overtaken her subsiding. What greeted her was a ghastly sight: Blood everywhere, the cart completely wrecked, both horses dead on the ground. Of the pair who’d picked her up, there was no sign.
Blood and violence did not affect Hallbera much. She would be a poor warrior if it did. But the image of Gottskalk in her head made her stomach turn over. Even now, she could still feel the throbbing in the back of her mind, voices barely audible now that she knew what to look for. Feast-fight-feed-destroy, beating in time with the throbbing of her mind.
Tentatively, she raised a bloodied hand to her mouth, lapping at the blood like a cat trying to clean itself. But the voice and the thrum remained, and all she had to show for her idea was the distressing tang of iron in her mouth. At least her sense of taste still worked, she supposed.
With little other idea, she began sifting through the wreckage of the cart. She first found a waterskin, no doubt left behind in the panic. She couldn’t say she was thirsty at the moment, but it served well to wash off the blood. Next she pulled the blankets out from the wreckage, wrapping them around herself. She wouldn’t be nude any longer, though it was no substitute for proper clothing.
As she stood up, she finally noticed it. A slight trail of blood, leading to the south. So they’d made it away. Hallbera sighed with relief.
follow
Her blood ran cold. An image projected itself into her head; not an image, but a full-blown memory. Hallbera, bloodied and beaten, standing over Gottskalk, carved in twain. But even defeated, he had still been able to speak.
“With my dying breath…I curse you, Hallbera. My dead hand shall guide you, willing or not.
“You shall fight forever.”
And as Hallbera unwillingly set out towards the south, the realization struck her:
This was Hell.
--
The knock on Amelie’s door was a distinctly unpleasant one, considering she had just sat down to work on her projects again. Music wouldn’t compose itself, after all. She considered ignoring it. Just let them come back later. But as they rapped against the door again, she recognized the pattern. Only one person she knew was that insistent and blunt. Sliding out of her chair, she answered the door. “What do you need, ma’am?”
Dr. Vellicent stood before her, as sharply-dressed as ever. Not that it had any impact on Amelie. “We have a situation,” she announced.
“That’s the only reason you ever come to me,” Amelie replied bluntly. “With Ikhan and Seda, you didn’t even come in person.”
“Yes,” Vellicent said. “Different situations require different approaches. And this one requires you to come with me. Right now.”
“...” Amelie looked as though she was about to say something, but thought better of it. She stepped out, following after Dr. Vellicent who was already well down the corridor. “So what’s the situation?”
“We have a potential Accursed sighting.”
“Another?”
“Indeed. A pair of merchants came back to the city bleeding, babbling about some strange woman they’d picked up on the road.”
“Two in two weeks is strange.”
“Indeed it is.”
Amelie blinked. “You could help the conversation along a little bit more, you know.”
“Is that a trick you learned?”
“Well, yeah. You’re supposed to leave hooks for other people to grab onto. It’s called small talk. You could learn a few things, Ms. Vellicent.”
“I thought small talk was for people who didn’t know each other,” Vellicent said.
“That’s…beside the point,” Amelie muttered. “Do we know anything else about the Accursed?”
“We have a description. Woman, white hair, pale skin, cold to the touch. Seemed to be out in the nude without any adverse effects.”
“Hmm.” Amelie’s eyes shifted. “Do you think the cold resistance is part of the curse, or the power?”
“Uncertain. We’ll need to test.”
“What if she’s just a normal crazy mage?”
“Then we’ll turn her over to the authorities.”
“But I’d still have to work.”
“Yes. Consider it payment for your tuition.”
Amelie sighed. “Fine. Let’s go see what’s up, fast. I want to get back to composing.”
The pair of them left the South Tower, goal clear. It was time to get to work.