A wailing in the woods bleeds his ears while his knees sink deep in the snow. He tries to stand back up, reaching his right arm free from his weapon towards his old friend, rushing towards the wound that extends into billions of strands. A sound that he now recognizes as an ode echoes between the buzzing strands.
The wound itself open slowly, resembling a gaping maw of the ginormous obsidian mountain blanketed in snow and cloud. His eyes freeze in place, fixated on the slender silhouette elegantly crawls towards the edges of reality, his head long and wiggling with a maw eternally grinning like a vile devil establishing another contract amongst thousands. Its slender arms reach out towards the young moon elf hovering in the air, his limbs stretched out. Then they both disappear as a loud wailing follows the burst of blackness spreading across the world around them.
Shadows harden under them, slowly gaining mass. They take various shapes, some indescribable, some into tendrils wrapping around the others seemingly frozen in place, their eyes gleaming with emptiness. The tendrils slowly slither up their bodies, invading from the back of their heads as they slowly turn around. Their mouths agape, the ode he heard in all his dreams echoing through them as a single one approaches him. But instead of binding him, it opens up, revealing an array of teeth while it hisses. Or at least that is the closest sound he can associate the sound it gives.
Vro-Ghahk reaches for his axe, he dropped the moment of the explosion. He taps around like a scared child, then when he finally grips it the hissing tendril lunges at him. And the dream ends when the blade and the horrifying tendril clashes.
“Another nightmare?” As he lurches up from the bedding, he notices the paint on his body softening up by the sweat pouring from his arms and forehead. Gha-Rhol turns to him as she holds her arms over the fire, its lights painting the white trees in its warmness. Her aging face gleaming with a motherly warmness that calms Vro-Ghahk down a little.
Vro-Ghahk slowly gets out from the wrappings of his makeshift bed on the frozen ground. He answers with a grunt and faint smile after bathing his face in the cold snow, the sudden iciness easing his nerves in an instant. “My mind can’t wander off to calmer plains now that he is traversing there.” He takes a deep breath as he sits on the left. Gha-Rhol twists her arms up and the flames grow a little in mass, offering heat for the two.
“Whatever you saw there Chief, it is gone most likely.” Rielk passes by the right of them, appearing from behind the cart as he continues on his patrol route. His eyes fixated on the brightened by the snow forest scenery. “I try to think that too. But something gnaws at me, wanting to plant the opposite into me.” Weakness gleams in his eyes while wrapping himself in furred sheets to shield from the cold he feels.
“If I may say so, I think that is just fatherly worries.” Gha-Rhol adds in her raspy, yet still serene voice as she gazes into the flames. “I could keep watch over them if you wish so.” She adds while slowly turning her head towards him.
“Thanks.” He says as a smile curves onto his thick lips, his rough fangs glinting slightly in the light.
“We have visitors.” Then she snaps up to the night sky, her eyes fading into white. “Friendly?” Rielk asks as he turns to her while he tries to sniff out the scent of theirs.
“Hostile. Elven.” She mutters, Vro-Ghahk and Rielk look at each other. The ape like hobgoblin painted in white reaches into his pockets, pulling out two bells and softly ringing them. Each chime carried a light weight with a clear aim being the ears of the dreaming warriors laying in the vicinity. A soft whisper of magical nature, alerting them to keep still and alert at the same time.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Each of them sleeping with their weapons nearby, reach for them slowly, then embrace them like as if it's their lovers. The same chime echoes silently within the boundaries of the camp as the soft shrieking of arrows tearing through the air reaches Rielk’s ears. His nimble, yet honed body flips out from the way of the arrow missing its mark in the frozen ground between Vro-Ghahk and Gha-Rhol already on their feet.
Gha-Rhol’s arms turn into a mass of flaming fluid, constantly swirling spheres charge out from her palms as she rapidly aims in the same direction, different heights. “1500 steps to the East, Give or take a few, while rushing.” She adds as only her right eye loses its colour.
“Stay with her.” Vro-Ghahk orders one of the younger warriors of his group while the rest already up disappear in the distance. Their aim, the burning in the distance revealing the alabaster shapes of the moon elves.
On the front Bjartur and Vhar-Thurg leads the vanguard of the group, the earth shakes, snow and leaves fall with each heavy step they take towards the elves. Behind them are Yho-Zhul Vro-Ghahk and two of his bodyguards. One a young orc with short rustled hair and roughly trimmed beard, the other a shorter goblin with patches of beard and a bald head. And on the far behind is Rielk, Eywinder both returning arrows at the enemy.
Rielk is the first to hit his target. His arrow pierces through the soft silken dress like cloth of a moon elf. She slowly loses her balance as life slips from her, a loud creaking reverberates between the tree while her dislocated head stares at the swiftly approaching Hvitr-Ha’ygrs.
Another calls out to her, giving away his location in the heat of his loss. Eywindur whose senses are enhanced locates the elf through hearing. Before he could notice the arrow flying towards him, it penetrates through his silken white hair, his snow-white blood melding in with it as it flows out while his corpse plummets to the ground.
A hail fire of arrows dressed in frost reach the group. Before they could hit the group, they scatter in the air as a strong gust of wind traverses above head. It changes its trajectory, heading towards the elves. Some start climbing higher on the trees while a few decides to land on the ground, their bodies turning blurry as they glide between the trees, towards the charging group.
The first to engage is Bjartur, a blade hitting the metallic surface of his round shield. He bashes the moon elf in a yukata appearing white attire with light plates attached to them like magnets. The long ponytail of the elf rolls in the air, blood gushes forth from his open wound, blending in with the snow as his corpse hits the ground.
“Oh, come on!” Vhar-Thurg rushes in his battleaxe slicing one moon elf in two, swiftly and cleanly like butter. Another tries to jump at him from behind, but his fist crushes half of her head. The third manages to cut his left ear off, that makes him pissed off, as his blood taints his painting. With great force, their heads clash, the moon elves’ crashes to a hundred bits spreading all over as if a boulder fell on his head with great velocity.
Yho-Zhul crashes through a tree, her long blade slicing through the tender flesh of the moon elven archer. Her blood gushes forth from her throat as she wails on the ground. The orc quickly tramples her head to swiftly end her suffering. Two arrows get stuck in her shield, scraping the thick vambrace protecting her forearm. With a diagonal cut, her blade opens up the chest of a charging elf with a katana, and with a swift motion, the other blocked by her shield loses his head.
Vro-Ghahk reaches the battle too while gripping his axe with both of his massive arms. He leaps over a frozen in fear, moon elf, his blood spraying over his painted head as his head opens up like a sack of gold. Another charges at him screaming, the axe entering his body from the left shoulder without much of an issue, breaking the weak plate to pieces while tearing flesh and silk in tandem. The cadaver falls back after Vro-Ghahk dislocates his axe from it with the help of his leg.
Gha-Rhol watches from above the whole battle. Black clouds melding into the night appear above the trees, raining down flames on the archers still sitting atop, buried in branches and snow-covered leaves. Their screaming echoes through the forest as they fall down, flames slowly eating through their attire, reaching the alabaster skin and flesh. The impact of the fall leading to their deaths saves them from the pain of the flames, all four arriving with a hard thud with seemingly fate favouring being kind to both sides, not dropping them on either.
“Leave some alive!” A mesmerizing moon elf clad in regal armour charges at him, their weapons lock just as he yells his order, reaching even the ears of Gha-Rhol several meters away.