13th of the 12th Epoch, 768 of the First Age.
The forest blanketed in snow with its enormous trees rising up like ghostly sentinels with their branches still covered in the lighter violet toned leaves with the cold winter sun’s light shining through their semi-transparent surface. The silence is occasionally broken by the snap of a twig or the soft crunch of the snow underfoot. A shadow cast not by the sun slowly creeps towards the borders while filling the air with an otherworldly coldness that freezes the souls of the few beasts living in Téllnat.
The inaudible footsteps of a strangely decaying war band marching through the winter forest echoes inaudibly, their empty growls freeze the consciousness of the trees and bushes around them hidden under snow. Their leader once a protégé of chieftain of the Hlátr-Scaelu clan turns its decaying elongated lupine head towards the east, a strange line running across its head similar to certain carnivorous flowers found in the southern-central regions of the continent. Its eye sockets filled with an empty darkness that swallows the light all around it while it stares in all directions.
Its almost skeletal nose quivers as it reproduces the motion of sniffing, sensing the smell of multiple souls approaching the border. As it confirms the number every other member of the group including the unnatural spriggans and elven and human undead that was still in motion stops and like automatons turn in unison the same direction in their slow and careful march with led by the it, the largest of the werewolf group in its lupine form, standing at almost three meters.
**
“We’re finally here” Kra-Aghk loudly exclaims, his voice echoing through the forest as he jumps down from his oversized wolven mount and peers inside noticing the marks of the chase. The foot of Mount Dhaugúz looming in the distance sinisterly with sinister, dark clouds hiding the top. Behind him reaching his waist is the goblin mage and emissary of the Pentarch Gnuld with a hunched down back hidden under his winter robe seemingly contrasting the blinding white snow under their foot, and the fifteen other members of their group serving as bodyguards for the goblin, half of them orcs while the other half a mixture of humans and goblins.
“Yngvild, your group sets up the camp, the rest with us.” After confirming that they are at the right location his father told him about, Kra-Aghk shouts to his second in command, a youngish looking human clad in furred armor with a hood over her head, her long auburn hair parted to the left while the right is braided. Her attractive face decorated with a few scars covered in their clans white paint making her appear like a ghost. She nods and yells to the five other warriors and they start unpacking from their lupine mounts while Kra-Aghk and the rest of the warriors start entering the forest.
Gnuld meanwhile is frozen in place, his clawed scaled hand’s grip on his crude staff with three other goblins skull on it staring in different directions tighten while his face shows a mixture of dread and strange determination. “What is it Emissary?” Kra-Aghk notices the Gnuld looking strange. “It seems like your father’s worries are truer than we thought” Gnuld replies after a moment of silence after swallowing the slight feeling of dread within himself that started appeared as soon as he stepped on the border of the forest.
“Something is definitely not right with this place.” He murmurs to himself as he his small crooked body starts following the group with Kra-Aghk behind him. As they follow the trail of the chase they feel the still and heavy cold air surrounding them chilling their bodies heavily tucked under the fur covered armor pieces. A palpable sense of unease surrounds the thick scenery, the tree branches slowly creeping down resembling bony hands cautioning the group to not wander further. Shadows starts to grow longer and deeper with each step they take towards their destination, an uncanny feeling rises within each warrior making them grip their weapons and unsheathe them as they slowly start to feel unseen gazes piercing them.
The snow seemingly muffles all sound around them making them feel like a feeling of isolation and remoteness comes over the group with Gnuld and Kra-Aghk behind. While their pace was initially quick and sure, they gradually slowed down and became cautious with each step while some surveying the sides, seemingly searching for the source of the gazes. Even Kra-Aghk who entered in an almost too sure, foolhardy manner now is shaking slightly while keeping an eye on his surroundings like an overcautious adventurer who just picked up their first quest to hunt down some dangerous beast terrorizing a village.
“Out of the way.” After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at their destination, the ravaged cliffside where the event happened two months ago involving Vro-Ghahk and his war band chasing a moon elven scout. The rocky cliffside that once gradually elevated over the chasm towards the foot of the mountain now missing, replaced with an emptiness leading to the dark depths below where the river flows inside the mountain’s Upper Layer. The ground edging around the empty space is darkened with the light suffocated in front of it. The few root ends of some nearby trees seemingly changed, appearing ethereal instead of possessing a rough whitish bark. Gnuld yells to the four human and goblin warriors of Kra-Aghk to stay out of his way as he walks in a quick pace towards the edge, seemingly the bravest of the group.
He raises his staff while he starts chanting in his deep crooked voice that becomes slightly resonant, echoing. All three skulls on his staff, the skulls of his father, grandfather and his grandfather’s father light up in a pure whitish blue light that starts expanding towards the space above the empty space where the moon elf stood on the cliff before it exploded. The light itself starts slowly break and darken, making Gnuld chant in a more aggressive tone, forcing it to remain. Then his scrying spell finally manages to reach its destination revealing cracks in the space of reality with a pitch-black emptiness behind them.
Then in the next moment Gnuld screams in a high pitched voice, making all the warriors including Kra-Aghk drop their weapons and shield their ears from the eerily high scream that even blows some of their eardrums. Then as quick as he started screaming, Gnuld stops and his eyes close before he falls back to the ground dropping his staff. He lands on his sides and almost slides down to the deep, but Kra-Aghk and another, Ragnfrid grabs his robe and staff and drags him under the shadow of a nearby tree.
“What was that Kraag?” Ragnfrid asks with a puzzled look appearing on his fledgling beardless face with a few strands of his long fair blonde hair framing it. “I’m not sure myself, but let’s return to the others now.” Kra-Aghk says while lifting the unconscious Gnuld over who seemingly looks like a corpse with his previous brownish skin tone turned corpse pale. His tale that wiggled around during his chanting now completely motionless.
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“Kraag, seems like we aren’t alone” One of his warriors yells to him as he stands up, a towering orc with a muscle heavy body under his armor with a greenish pale skin under the heavy enchanted white body painting and a long dreaded mane running to the back of his neck with the sides shaven in a precarious manner. His hands ending in dark claws natural to him raised and pointing at a group of large dark figures slowly approaching them. “Hlátr-Scaelu dogs” Kra-Aghk says with a bit of disdain mixed in with his deep voice.
“Go” He quickly hands the unconscious Gnuld to Ragnfrid after he notices their decaying bodies filled with scars made by sharpened weapons and arrows while a strange darkness both fills and follows them carrying a coldness similar to what they felt when Gnuld’s chanting revealed the cracks. Without saying a word Ragnfrid took Gnuld and rushed the way they came carrying the goblin mage like a princess.
“Ready yourselves!” Kra-Aghk yelled from the top of his lungs while picking up his longsword with a dark metallic grey blade with runes engraved on its surface that started lightning up in an orange red like light, exhuming a warmness that heated up the blade while also enhancing the strength of his muscled arms. The front carrying heavy shields wedged them into the snowy frozen ground while their other hands raised their swords and axes while the remaining three ready their spears while watching the undead werewolves approaching them on all fours. Then the head of the leading one splits open resembling the maw of a strange worm filled with emptiness while an ear-piercing distorted scream, a mixture of at least hundred voices assault their ears, and fills them with dread.
Kra-Aghk screams back even louder, his voice mixed with magical energies that counteracts the strange undead werewolves and his warriors, friends grip on their shields and weapons even harder. Their previously terror filled faces contort into a snarl, their eyes narrow and focus on the coming adversaries whose steps shake the ground silently. Their lips pull back revealing gritting teeth while their nostrils flare taking in deep breaths of air as adrenaline begins to pump through the veins.
“What!?” One of the orc Vanguard exclaims as strange, corrupted vines wrap around his wrists and yank him down to the ground breaking the shield line just as the undead werewolves are a few steps away from them. The bizarre appearing spriggans whose whole bodies are made up of tree bark like exoskeleton that houses their soul saturated by nature energies. Not these ones, these are filled with the same cold, empty darkness that has a hunger ready to swallow the world, their previous white bark exoskeleton possessing a rough yet somewhat elegant texture is now rotten and dark, their eyes empty and their clawed hands exhuming the darkness that freezes the trees as they phase out from them.
“Shit, help him” Kra-Aghk quickly issues a command while he replaces Thorgrima, a slightly shorter human with a well-trained slender body clad in thick dark furred armor with an open helmet pushing down her long braided fair blonde hair while her lower face is hidden behind a dark greyish cloth, only her intense green eyes peeking out from under the helmet two minotaur horns protruding from its sides.
She helps free the now screaming orc Vanguard wrists free that were sizzling already in the binding. Almost burn like marks appear around his wrists formerly protected by his vambraces that got corroded into two pieces by the corrupted vines. He grabs onto his shield once again while biting on his tongue to counter the pain of his injured wrists and stand back up firmly keeping his shield wedged between his comrades. Then in the next moment the undead hit on them with great force, while the two spearman behind them struck their weapons into their decaying bodies.
**
“UNDEAD!” Ragnfrid screams from the top of his lungs as he reaches the end of the forest while carrying the unconscious Gnuld, his muscles burning as he is running with high velocity while being chased by at least two dozen undead humans, some wearing armor while others seem to be foresters or farmers. Their skins blackened and putrid while their bodies and armor are riddled with scars, bite and claw marks with some of them even missing a good chunk of their heads and upper limbs that are now replaced by darkness solidified into prosthetics.
Yngwild and her warriors and their mounts ready themselves for the battle. Two, an orc and human draw their bows and when the undead is in clear sight, release their arrows they enchanted with a weak flame aspect spell. The arrows land in a feminine zombie clad in a mismatched armor of the fallen kingdoms, piercing her empty eyes and setting her decaying head on fire. The other lands in a masculine zombie’s chest that was once a forester with deep greenish leathery armor with a hood covering his head which’s half is made up of solidified darkness that swallows the gloomy light reflected from the snow covering the frozen ground. They both let out a distorted veil as they pick up their pace rushing towards the Hvitr-Ha’ygr warriors covered in their furred armor and contrasting white body paint.
Yngwild and the two at the front ready themselves, their foot sinks into the snow covered hardened ground while their muscles tense with each passing second while a supernatural strength flows through their bodies. Then the sound of bone breaking echoes through the winter plains mixed with the distorted growls of the undead. Yngwild manages to take down the first, wearing the mismatched armor of the fallen kingdom, while swings her mace at the next one in a quick succession separating the body in two from top to bottom. The cold darkness inhibiting their foul moving carcasses dissipates as the two undeads restlessness comes to an end.
Her warriors also fare similarly well against the undead while their mounts deep growls mix in with the undeads while they tear them to pieces, spitting out the awful tasting wretched, dried meat and bones from their mouth while one even vomits on top of the unmoving corpse under its pawed legs. Ragnfrid watches the group with a bit of envy plastered on his face, craving to join in on the battle after placing Gnuld down to the ground covered by shroud that was once the skin of a mighty northern beast, wrapping the small, crooked stature of the goblin Emissary to keep him warm. His grips tighten on the handle of his two handed axe as he watches the undead being cut and broken down by the strikes of his comrades, friends.
His legs start to quiver, but not in fear, but in impatience as he silently hopes for one or two undead to rush towards him. And after several minutes his wish comes to pass as three undead change their trajectory mid rush heading towards him like mad gnolls. His muscles tense even harder, the white body paint feeling even more suffocating while it grants him strength and reflexes beyond his limits. He readies his axes and releases his left grip as he cleaves the first undead in two. Then in a swift motion changes the blades trajectory landing it on the top of the second’s head almost severing it in two. With a swift move he dislodges the battle axe from the lower torso upwards through the vertical slice that contorts the empty carcass to almost resemble a blooming flower, a bit more gruesome.
Ragnfrid pants while staring at the unmoving corpse, watching as the opaque mist of darkness that swallowed the light around it dissipates into nothingness. His eyes dart around expecting another undead to lunge at him with its unnatural strength that keeps their bodies intact, in motion. Then he quickly looks back noticing that he is at least five or six meters away from the wrapped and soundly dreaming Gnuld whose dragon like tail wiggles while his crude goblin face contorts into fear as his sweet dreams turn into nightmare.
Then in the next moment the ear piercing loud scream echoes between the trees reaching beyond its snow and leaf covered borders at the exact moment Yngwild finishes off the last undead with her mace, her well-trained armor clad body drenched in dark ichor like blood. “After me!” She orders the closest warriors to her leaving Ragnfrid who just came back to reality. While his blood boils ready to battle, he decides to continue his duty to guard the emissary while watching their backs disappear under the menacing shadows of the forest.