19th of the 12th Epoch, 768th of the First Age.

“Make way!” The ground trembles under the guards’ feet at the gate of the Krhezohogh, the principal city serving as the home of the Hvitr-Ha’ygr clan. Ragnfrid shouts as he spots the enormous gates, reaching almost a kilometre towards the cloudy sky. A snowflake falls into his throat, making him cough fervidly, almost falling over while carrying the passed out Kra-Aghk whose bandages tied over his missing arm blackened by his blood.

The two guards, an elderly orc and a human both appearing as white phantoms blending in with their armour to the grey stone walls yell as they spot the group rapidly closing on them. “We’re almost there, hold out, you idiot.” Ragnfrid speaks to the unconscious heavy baggage that is his friend as they reach within a few steps.

Then as they reach the gate, his muscles gave up, the inscriptions Gnuld woven into them gave in after the constant strain they were put under the past few days they’ve been rushing. “That is all I could do, sorry.” Gnuld says weakly as the headache intensifies to a point that his crooked nose starts bleeding while the world spins in his vision. “Shit, hold out the two of you!” Thorgrimma curses as she brings her leg muscles to their absolute limit, while the guards yell inside over one of the guard balconies for help.

“What happened?” The orc guard asks while rolling Kra-Aghk onto his back. He undoes the bandage while taking another from his belt. As the last layer is unbounded he gasps at the blackened spot where his arm started. His surprise comes more from the fact that the wound appears as if his body was made of porcelain, and it got broken off instead of bitten, while still drenched in blood. “Undead Hlátr-Scaelu attacked us. At least I think those were undead.” Floki adds while catching up, panting his soul out while drenched in his own sweat.

The guard grasps some snow besides the road. It quickly melts down to water that stars, forming into a bubble that attaches itself into the gaping dark wound. At that moment, Kra-Aghk screams from the top of his lungs, his voice reaching far into the streets as the gates slowly open up. “Call for the Healing Mother!” The orc guard shouts at the rushing out guards and healers bringing a makeshift carry-bed as they call it.

“Hurry! We may not have much time!” He turns his attention back, noticing the black veins spreading under the broken painting, slowly slithering towards his neck. He helps to lift him while keeping the bubble to the wound as they rush him inside the boundaries of the city. “What about the Emissary?” The younger guard asks while he rushes with two remaining healers to Gnuld. “He is overloaded, with a bit of help he’ll be fine.” The red-headed healer says as she places her fair palm on his forehead and absorbs the raging mana that is set to consume Gnuld.

“Let’s look after the others, Kra-Aghk will be in good hands.” She says to the other healers standing in shock at the sight of the chief’s son. As their senior, she calms them down with her voice imbued with a soothing inscription, and they quickly rush to the others to check on them collapsed on the road.

As the rampant mana flows into her hand, a coldness slips into her being, planting a primal fear within her. “What is this?” She whispers as the usual feeling of scorching arcane energies seems absent, replaced by the iciness.

**

“Hold him down!” The orc guard shouts to the six others in the temple once dedicated to the Vanir, now used by the healers of the Hvitr-Ha’ygr. Foam starts forming between his tusks, his trembling body sends shockwaves into the seven trying to hold him down. His pupils seemingly fade into whiteness while his voice starts becoming distorted, the veins slowly enveloping his whole body.

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“I don’t want to hurry you, Mother, but I am not so sure the young chief has much time left.” The orc guard yells, still in a somewhat respectful manner. The Healing Mother, an elderly orc wise-woman, enters through the large ornate door, dressed in white as snow fur robe with moulded wood armour under it, her neck and parts of her chest exposed. Those parts showing the clan’s white runic paint that covers her body, enhancing her healing prowess.

“Certainly so. Time is of the essence, Sisters.” She speaks with an authoritative tone with her mellowing voice as she turns to the other two with her, and they swiftly glide towards the altar Kra-Aghk suffering on. “What’s happening to him, Mother? Is it some kind of elven poison?” One of the warriors asks as she stops at his head, hovering her right palm over his pallid complexion. Runes glow up with an arcane light on her rings, three on each longer finger as she starts chanting softly while a similarly coloured swirling column connects his face to her.

“It is a curse. If he dies, he will rise as an undead, no doubt about that.” Her face contorts as if in pain as her soul experiences a pain similar to one being punctured by thousands of tine icy needles. “It is a highly complex one.” She murmurs as some enthralling rhyme appears in her mind as if beckoning her to something or someone.

“The source is not in this realm. To save him, I’ll have to follow the scent of his soul. Keep him down firmly, if need be, break his one remaining arm and the legs.” Then she locks firmly her hand, the column dissipating into the air as she opens her eyes. She says firmly, looking at each warrior in front of him who at first feel a bit hesitant at her request but then nod in understanding. “Sisters, help me out. This may take more than I can handle.” The two walk beside her and place their right and left hands onto her shoulders, the warm, tender feeling fills her being.

“O’ Nightscale, grant me your wisdom and power!” She utters a prayer as her hands move beside Kra-Aghk’s temples. His head suddenly stops in its constant twitching and stares up with his empty eyes. The Healing Mother tilts over him and returns his gaze. As the same transparent arcana columns connect to his temples, the scenery in front of her shifts as if sucked into a hole. The cold temple decorated with crude orcish design changes to a serene forest reminiscent of the south with colourful trees casting their caring shadows onto her.

“Guide me spirits to save him!” As a vivid blue bird flies towards her, she requests its help, feeling a familiar connection to it. It leads her towards a dark pond with the warm forest dying around it, the world grey in its proximity. “Thank you. But I have wrestled with similar or worse.” As she starts dipping her feet into the black pond, her body freezes as the bird stops her. She turns back and with a kind smile assures it to not worry about her.

After feeling in control again, she dives slowly into the pond. Seconds pass, then minutes as the warmness leaves her being, rapidly decreasing into an unnerving coldness seeping deeper and deeper within her psyche. As she gets closer and closer to the swirling emptiness, the coldness changes into a sensation of icy teeth digging into her being. Then she lands on her knees and palms, jagged stone cutting into it without bleeding following. She starts panting as she looks up, inspecting the surrounding, searching for Kra-Aghk’s presence. But in her horror, she stares at an enormous figure without features except for two white holes staring emptily back at her.

Yet she feels, knows that he doesn’t want him here, not yet at least. The figure slowly starts moving towards her, each step producing silence that pervades her with an instinctive dread. With each step, the darkness assembling its body blurs, trembles, sending ripples across the sea surrounding them. As she surveys the surroundings, she spots a faint bluish glow penetrating the pitch black sea and rushes towards it, prepared to dive in the bottomless waters.

But instead, she lands on a hard, yet soft surface the continues rippling as the figure slowly, but surely gets closer with each passing moment. She gets up while her heart beats so hard that it is ready to burst through her chest. She sprints, forcing every fibre of her being to move according to her will, to beat the fear suffocating her.

She ducks down, punching through the waters as she spots the sleeping Kra-Aghk wrapped in tendrils with one slowly slithering towards the back of his head, opening up like a blooming flower, emitting a sinister black light, its maw filled with innumerable arrayed teeth ready to dig through the metaphysical flesh of his. She grabs him, and with all her willpower forces him back to their reality, just as his cold hands touch her shoulders.