The sound of the battle reaches far and wide, the distorted hums of the undead, the yells of the snow ghost warriors belonging to the Hvitr-Ha’ygr, their weapons severing, breaking rotten dried flesh and bones and an unnatural scream echoing through the plains and forest as the corrupted souls of the undead dissipate into nothingness. The cacophony reaches far and beyond entering the long, sharp and pointy ended ears of the two moon elven scouts watching from the distance melding into the ground through nature magic.
A snow shaped like a moon elven woman clad in their northern elven armour bearing the runic sigil of the Aesir Freyja. Long waves of her hair fall like whirling waterfalls onto her shoulder plates crafted with great elven precision, her small elven right hand holds her longbow tightly while the other reaches for her arrow, her materializing eyes piercing the single female ghost warrior crushing the head of an undead. Another formation of snow rises up, similarly shapen with a bit larger hand that grapples onto hers while the head of her scout partner appears from the snow with his index finger in front of his lips.
A hush descends, and the seconds pass by as she contemplates within her to take the risk, shot at the ghostly warrior that is Yngwild and potentially may give up their position, not even speaking of the chance of failing. And then as quickly as she raised it the outline of snow that is the bow disappears, melding back followed by her beautiful visage’s. Not long after the two unseen moon elven scouts watch as four of the warriors led by Yngwild rush into the forest as blood curdling scream reverberates through the snow covered plains, moderately sending shivers through their bodies.
**
As Yngwild and her warriors rush towards the sounds of battle coming from the far end, they notice that the cold air that would in normal circumstances assault their bodies remains calm and eerily warm compared to the temperature outside. Her hair quivers ever so slightly while her body trembles with each step that sends her slightly up in the air as she steps from one root to another covered in snow and frozen mud.
“Hold out” her deep, sharp voice cuts through the still air while her blood boils as the battle noises of distorted, otherworldly growls and snarls reach her ears covered in the magical body paint of her clan. Weapons and armor clanking mixed in with the grotesque sound of meat and bone being severed and screams of excitement and dread clearly coming from her friends and comrades. Then between the trees at the end of the forest she spots Kra-Aghk covered in dark ichor like blood similar to her with one of his arms clearly torn off with great force, yet he is seemingly unaware of that while he slices one of the smaller statured undead werewolf in two with his long blade coated in magical runes exhuming heat and flames of the Sub-Aspect of Fire.
Her lips move into position, ready to shout his name as a strong feeling of worry courses through her, but she gulps it down realizing that it will give away their surprise. Then the world spins in the next moment while a sharp pain runs through her face starting from the chin, the two orcs and two human warriors under her appearing in her vision upside down. Then everything fades black while the yells of her friends enter her mind with the last thing she sees before the darkness is them slowing down to not trample on her body.
The crooked, tree-bark like arm that her head met with great velocity slowly creeps back to the single tree remaining at a few meters from the edge of the battle where most of its kin have been torn to pieces. Before it could disappear in the white bark, Urh-Ag severs the hand from the wrists which is followed by an ear piercing, soul shivering intangible scream. The severed corrupted tree-bark hand falls on the unconscious Yngwild whose painted face is covered by her messed up hair.
“Grab her!” Njal the oldest of the group almost past his prime yells at Urh-Ag and the much younger Bjalfi who after a bit of hesitation grab her by the armpits and drag her the way they came from with their weapons ready, their eyes surveying their surroundings for any possible spriggan ready to attack them.
Njal and Nha-Grub turns back to the battle noticing the dozen unmoving corpses belonging to the werewolves of Hlátr-Scaelu clan, their festering fur and armour covered bodies adorned with scars, each more fatal than the other with one even missing its head completely. Similarly they spot a few empty exoskeletons made of dark greyish tree bark shaped like voluptuous women, empty eyes staring eastwards or up to the sky covered by eerie branches of the towering trees.
They also spot the remains of Ig-Norg’s, the orc vanguard, corpse laying a few steps west near the edge of the cliff. Both of his hands seemingly torn or bitten off and his face frozen with fear while his throat is completely torn out exposing flesh and bones with blood dripping down to his armour covered chest while his head rests on a large rock.
With Njal’s order, the two of them revealed themselves, four undead werewolves quickly turned their back towards them and immediately rushed at the two while three other started running towards Yngwild and the two other comrades of hers. Before though they could even pass beyond Njal and Nha-Grub, Thorgrima seemingly appears out of nowhere in the chaos, swinging her long sword at the back of the largest with dark fur. Her sword cleanly cuts through the back of the undead, opening it up vertically and ending its unnatural return swiftly. The second turns back, but a moment too late. It’s empty eyes stare at the end of the blade separating the top of its elongated lupine head with sharp blade surrounded by an orange aura exhuming the same heat as Kra-Aghk’s.
The elongated head that was already missing some skin on the right erupts in raging flames that quickly spread towards the rest of its decaying body with holes exposing its twice corrupted soul. After a quick series of distorted wails the undead werewolf falls with a heavy wet thud on puddle and mud. Thorgrimma takes a second while panting, her attractive face now also battle hardened thanks to the addition of the four claw marks of one of the undead, dry blood and mud greased all over her face that wrinkled as the cold negative matter faintly spread during that moment. Her masked helmet laying somewhere on the battlefield behind her.
Not far from her Njal evades the claws saturated with negative matter of one of the two undead werewolves while tries to swing axe at the other. A not so pleasant sound is created the moment when his axe meets with the claws that prove sturdier than they appear. He ducks down as the large hand of the other appears in the edges of his vision. Then he grapples the handle of his axe and pours most of his strength into the next strike, which lands in the shoulders of the undead on his right. The blade sinks in deep into the putrid fur covered flesh and with a slight push continues its way down to the chest creating an long opening in the creature’s body revealing its tainted soul. The pitch-black darkness dissipates and it stops moving falling down to its knees as its bulky body falls to the ground with a loud, heavy thud.
Njal instinctively raises his hand to shield his face when he once again spots the incoming claws of the other undead werewolf. He bites onto his tongue the moment the claws slice through his flesh and armor like butter, even scratching his bones. A small amount of negative matter splashes onto the bones weakening them as they slightly start to decay which leads to him scream in his deep voice. Then the creature raises his bulky arms to finish Njal off, but then Thorgrimma’s blade runs through the back of his head, sticking out from its elongated jaw filled with razor sharp teeth dripping in the blood of their comrades. Then in a blink of an eye, the almost two-meter-tall moldering body erupts in flames ending its unholy life.
The two take a second to rest before they turn to their comrade, Nha-Grub using his now battered shield to protect himself from the onslaught of the two undead werewolves he engaged with. Then one of the undead werewolves turns its skeletal lupine head towards the two and rushes at them like a rabid dog. Without saying a word Njal takes out one of his last arrows from its quiver and launches it towards the undead beast while enhancing his strength with pure aspectless magic. The arrow cuts through the air with great velocity creating an ear piercing sound then enters the chest of it. It goes through the armor covering its gray furred chest and comes out on the other side stopping in the leg of the one still engaged with Nha-Grub.
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The small hole created by the arrow does nothing to stop the undead werewolf who leaps into the air while its jaws open, inside a round shape made of dense shadows forms and lunges towards Njal who manages to dodge it, the snow previously under him seemingly decaying into a strange fog while the ground darkens while the overground roots of the nearby tree dry and break down into dust. As the undead werewolf reaches the ground Thorgrimma tightens her grip around the hilt of her enchanted sword and swings it sideways slicing it in two with clear precision. The separated upper and lower body make their last moves crawling towards the two while burning.
Nha-Grub meanwhile stays in a defensive stance his eyes focusing on the last undead werewolf facing him baring his rotten fangs, assaulting his nose with a stomach churning stench. Then the darkness tainting its soul engulfs its clawed hands before it leaps towards Nha-Grub. It hits the battered shield, this time shattering it as it slices sideways. The remains of the shield quickly deteriorate mid air falling towards the ground. Only the rusty metal parts hit the snow where they quickly rot away. Similarly, his left hand that was scratched also starts putrefying sending an indescribable pain through him. The orc manages to hold back the scream and keep his stance ready to swing to sword to end it before the next strike comes and hits.
In his panicked state he launches a flurry of attacks at the undead werewolf with gray fur. The undead beast manages to dodge most of incoming attacks while two strikes hit him on his knee where the arrow was stuck, but rotted away thanks to the negative matter, the other landed almost on his head, slicing his last remaining ear off that showed signs of an arrow getting a chunk of it. It strikes back in the next moment with Nha-Grub almost losing his balance and falling back as he leans out of the claw’s way. With a bit of muscle and magical strength he manages to fix is balance and ducks down as the next attack comes. In that moment he quickly sweeps the legs of the undead werewolf, he almost screams as his leg forcefully breaks the weakened bones and decayed flesh belonging to it’s legs, practically snapping both of its legs in two while some of the negative matter corrodes his armor and pale whitish skin on his own right leg. Ignoring the pain, he grabs his sword and pins it to the ground with his longsword pushing deep down into the ground. Then Thorgrimma’s blade severs its head that bites the air as it slides a bit further from its body. Then it stops moving as its corrupted soul dissipates into nothingness.
Without saying a word, in the next moment Thorgrimma separates the putrid left hand of Nha-Grub. Njal who was not far behind the two cutting down another undead Hlátr-Scaelu rushes at Thorgrimma holding his axe towards her head. “What is the meaning of this Grimma?” He asks with a loud voice. “Trust me it’s for the best.” She says in a somber cold tone as her right arm holding the sword points towards the corpse of Ig-Norg. “Now let’s finish the rest off, with Kra and leaves this Gods forsaken forest.” she says while pushing the hot, blunt end of her blade to the gaping wound where Nha-Grub’s left hand were.
The trio rushes towards Kra-Agh cutting down the rest of the undead consisting of smaller statured werewolves, that still more of a mix of a lupine humanoid that would pass as one of the intelligent races compared to the mature, more bestial looking ones. They reach Kra-Agh laying semi-conscious under one of the tall white trees standing near the edge of the forest, the soothing serenade of the river flowing deep in the chasm between Téllnag and the foot of the mountain reaches their ear. “Just in time.” Floki one of the older warriors of Kra-Aghk’s war band greets them in his mischievous voice, his tired breath rustling his thick brown mustache connecting to his dense, carelessly trimmed beard while he unintentionally smears his paint on the top of his head already missing hair as he tries to wipe the sweat and blood off. His shield torn in two with the top half etched into the no longer moving body of an undead werewolf whose skeletons peeks out as its upper body’s left side is seemingly missing its flesh and skin.
“Finally, was that the last of them?” Sprath-Hnu the surviving rear guard asks while sticking her long spear into the ground while panting. “Shit.” In that moment Thorgrimma curses as she turns around noticing the large lupine footprints in the mud and snow heading in the same direction where Gnuld and then later Yngwild was carried off. The others except for Floki who stays behind with the heavily injured Kra-Agh quickly understand and start running after her.
**
“Shitshitshitshit” Ragnfrid curses within himself, a cold dread spreads within him mixing with the pain of the deep claw marks adoring his chest. His armor already rusted away completely, the flesh around the four long and deep wounds blackening in an unnatural speed. His snot and tears mix as silently screams as the pain registers in his mind. “Just kill me dammit.” As he lifts his head up noticing the enormous undead monstrosity that was once a prominent hunter of the Hlátr-Scaelu, holding the similarly scared Bjalfi up in the air by his throat while Urh-Ag’s lifeless mangled corpse lies a few meters from the still alive but also unconscious Yngwild between the corpses of their mounts near the edge of the forest.
Its large, dark lupine head splits open like a flower, bone and flesh included revealing a darkness shaped like maw filled with shadows shaped like teeth. A mist flows out with clear intent, entering the orifices of the young Bjalfi. As it enters his body rapidly deteriorates. His hair falls out, his fair skin gains new darker tones as his flesh decomposes in an alarming rate, his eyes dry up and dissipate thanks to the cold northern wind that blows it away, his blood curdling death wails send even more shivers down the wounded Ragnfrid lying a few steps away from them in perfect view to all this. Then it all comes to an end with the undead beast releasing its grip on the deceased Bjalfi’s throat that pours out between its long clawed fingers like sand. With a silent thud the skeleton that remained falls to the snow-covered ground, shattering like a vase on impact. For the first time in his life, Ragnfrid experiences the world stopping, the noises of the forest and the snow covered plains numbing completely as he watches the undead beast turn to him as it closes its grotesque head. But then a strange relief washes it all away as it turns towards the still dreaming Gnuld, small quakes shake the injured Ragnfrid as the undead beast slowly reaches its next target.
It’s index claw runs through the shroud wrapped around his ape-like crooked body. The pelt making up most of it tears open and the whole thing disintegrates as the negative matter spreads in a rapid rate. It’s fist looked way larger as it wrapped its bony claws around the limp body of the goblin emissary, slowly lifting it towards its elongated jaws dripping with the darkened blood of the mounts. The faint, moist sound of flesh tearing reaches Ragnfrid as the undead werewolf starts opening its head once more to devour the little goblin.
Gnuld’s small, beady eyes sunken within his crude, almost triangle shaped head opens with abnormal calmness as he stares at the shadowy darkness that swallows the light condense and form a jaw within a jaw. His frail, short arm with claws as sharp and dark as a dragon’s escape the grip binding the goblin in the air and holds his palm towards the gaping mouth while his dry lips start to move while he chants inaudibly.
Then in the next moment Ragnfrid stares in amazement at the frozen in time undead werewolf towering at three meters with a putrid dark fur covered body, its still somewhat muscled right arm holding Gnuld who is seemingly hyperventilates and then falls back into unconsciousness. Then in the next moment Gnuld falls back to the ground as its body explodes in silence into a thousand pieces that are carried away into the nothingness, leaving only the two of them and the macabre scenery to be found by Thorgrimma and the rest except Floki and Kra-Agh arrive with puzzled looks on their faces before rushing to Ragnfrid whose face is plastered in pain and fear once more.
**
The silent winter wind gently breezes the leaves secreting a cold emptiness within themselves, dark ichor and the claw marks adoring the snow white hard bark of the trees that slowly start to decay thanks to the negative matter spreading onto them. An eerie silence settles slowly as the shadows harden, seemingly swallowing the world inside the forest, engulfing the frozen corpses while the tainted spriggans’ voices unite in an otherworldly cacophony as they surround the battlefield in circle.
Their tree bark exoskeletons resembling elven women move in unison with their hands held high, creaking and bending towards the wound in reality while their dry, soft voices bond into an abnormal cacophony that would freeze the soul of any living mortal, whether they are a brave adventurer ready to face their first red dragon, or a vile necromancer bent on raising an undead army to conquer a kingdom.
The wound in reality start increasing in width and height, while other smaller ones tear and join into the vortex of gaping darkness emitting a coldness that freezes the few remaining animals watching in terror, falling to the ground like dolls as their souls are extinguished, swallowed by the sweet oblivion as they see what lies beyond.
Then darkness flows out of it like blood from a fresh wound inflicted by a sharp weapon. It slowly spreads, the snow-covered ground under the corpses seemingly erased from existence, replaced by a bottomless emptiness that wraps the frozen corpses completely leaving nothing behind as it spreads consuming the remains of the animals and then retreats into the wound that slowly regrows to its original size, barely visible to the naked eye while the spriggans silently merge back to the corrupted trees.