23rd of the 12th Epoch, 768th of the First Age.
“Are you sure you won’t stay Emissary?” Bjartur asks as the cold wind blows on his furred collar of his thick layered coat. He almost melds into the snowy scenery with the rest of the guards surrounding them.
“Just call me Gnuld!” The goblin emissary of the Bál-Su’urthr says with a snort while keeping his hood from being blown over. “And the sooner I report the better. Tell the kid to not mull over his loss, if he serves the Nightscale well, he’ll regain it one day.” He adds as he slowly turns away, heading into the distance. “Be safe Gnuld!” Bjartur yells when he is about to disappear in the distance, then he grasps his gut as his wound starts aching once more.
“Let’s get inside. Time for your treatment.” His younger sister noticing his slightly contorting face says. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He adds while staring into her deep blue eyes then turns back, a part of him craving to prove himself as a warrior wishing to hear the sounds of battle. Although another part of him is well aware that if one breaks out nearby, Gnuld would take care of it in a second like with the large undead werewolf.
“I wasn’t asking.” Then he starts yelping rapidly as Alfina pinches his left ear and starts dragging him into the city. “Okay, okay I’m coming.” He says with a bit of irritation in his voice as he frees himself then walks beside his much taller sister draped in thick robes and a layered coat of the same white as his.
**
“Please wake up!” Yngwild whispers with her voice breaking a little as she leans over the dreaming Kra-Aghk still sweating profusely. His wound seemingly healed, resembling a normal flesh wound with blood dripping through the bandages wrapped around it, healing salves pressed onto the other side stopping any infection.
“He’ll be fine, the veins are no more present.” Floki sitting near them in the large tent says while resting his legs on a stack of crates. “Floki is right, he is tough one.” Nha-Grub adds as he walks to Yngwild and holds out a cup of water with healing salve mixed in.
“Thanks to the Healing Mother’s sacrifice he will be up soon I’m sure of that.” Njal also adds his piece with a solemn tone while finishes consuming a whole roasted bird leg. “You guys, should eat too.”
“I’m fine for now.” Yngwild adds as she sips into the water after thanking Nha-Grub. Then for a second the cold winter air blows into the tent bringing down the temperature, making Kra-Aghk groan. An elderly Farseer steps in with his layered robes wrapped tightly around his body, his bearded face hidden behind a cloth he pulls down.
“How is he?” Adalward asks in his mellowing voice while sits opposite to Ingwild. “He has seen better days. But still seems to be in a deep dream.” She says while forcing away her worry filled complexion.
“Have you already communicated with the Chief father?” She then asks while trying to lift Kra-Aghk’s head up to make him drink a little. “Yes, at least I have passed it onto Gha-Rhol, so it's just a matter of time before he learns.”
“The Emissary took off.” The entrance opens up once more, Bjartur and Alfina steps in while confirming the goblins' departure to the group. “Could you guys tell me what exactly happened?” As the two sit down with the rest, Adalward turns to face them while crossing his legs.
“I’m not even sure where should we start.” Sprath-Hnu lets out a sigh while scraping his head as he recalls the events that lead to the battle.
“We definitely arrived where the moon elf disappeared according to the Chief. I remember Emissary Gnuld lifting his staff up while his tail wiggled around like a dog that just smelled some ravenous beast in its surroundings. Even I felt chills in the air while standing at the edge.” Bjartur starts with jumping to the point they were standing at the edge of the chasm facing the enormous mountain walls reeking with death.
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“Well, he even mentioned it being unnatural on the way to the chasm. I recall that as he scryed, cracks appeared in the air as if it was a window that got cracked by the impact of a weakly thrown stone. Then.” Thorgrimma continues as her scar riddled face appears to be deep in thinking. “Then?” Adalward asks while leaning closer, caressing his chin buried under his graying beard.
“Then we got assaulted by the undead werewolves and a bunch of tree ladies that seemed to work together.” Floki adds in before Thorgrimma could answer back. “Tree ladies? You mean spriggans? That is strange, nature spirits at best try to contain the undead. Were there any noticeable, quality to them?” Adalward asks as he recalls the drawings of spriggans he read about in the cities still somewhat intact library.
“Well, the undead werewolves were somewhat calmer, but I guess that’s thanks to the spriggans. Other than that, they leaked shadows so dark and thick you couldn’t see through it.” Thorgrimma continues while recalling the events, drawing the little details in her mind while taking a plate and tearing off a roasted limb from the creature that was resembled a lamb.
“That is odd, certainly.” He mumbles while his eyes wander into the distance while his head slowly tilts down. “What are spriggans exactly father?” Yngwild asks surprising him a bit as he notices the flames of inquiry burning in her eyes.
“Well, they are as far as I know at least nature spirits that create bodies from the dead trees to protect nature from any harm. That includes undead whose tainted presence can rapidly decrease the natural life span of fauna and flora.” After overcoming his shock of his daughter who in all her relatively still short life were interested more in martial arts and weapons showed curiosity towards the magical nature of the world.
“Hmmm, can spriggan be raised as undead?” Aynise asks as she herself is in her studies to be a shaman for the clan, with the aim to be a Farseer one day. “Not really. Compared to us mortals, when a spriggans body is destroyed the nature spirit doesn’t really die. Just returns to their realm, or they seek out dead trees to create a new vessel.” Adalward answers while staring up at the woven ceiling.
“But they can be corrupted. And from what you told me it seems to be the case. Even with the undead Hlátr-Scaelu.” Adalward continues after once more tilting his head down. “What do you mean by that?” Yngwild asks quickly just as he was ready to go on, making him feel proud a little.
“You all may not found it weird because you haven’t fought when we arrived, but undead don’t leak pitch black, thick shadows. The colour of necrotic energies resembles icy blue. Which means that whatever entered our realm is responsible for those undead and the corrupted spriggans.” As he speaks the last two sentences, everyone attention hardens on him as they go completely silent.
“Entered?” Thorgrimma is the first to speak up. “Oh yes, my bad I thought that was clear. The moon elf Chief Aghk pursued probably reached out to some demon and got answered. Those folks are quite vile and on the watch for any on the edge of despair, hopelessness.” He speaks nonchalantly as he pieces together what he heard from them and what Vro-Ghahk indulged to him.
“Demons raise undead? I thought they have their own little imps to carry out their will.” Floki says while starting to munch on roasted breast he tore off, pieces of meat left in his beard and between his teeth. “Well, most do. But there are a few who dabble in death magic like the Dhau-Íssz and the Bál-Su’urthr. I remember my grandfather spoke about a priest who lost their faith in the Gods and turned to the Lords Below. It took a small imperial regiment to take him down thanks to the undead army the demon bestowed upon him.” Mid-sentence he recalls the tale of an old priest who lost his family and blamed the Gods for it, a tale as old as time. In his despair an Elder Demon reached out to him from the deepest layers of the Abyss granting him great affinity with the forbidden Aspect of Death. Within a day he raised a small undead army with he expanded upon by raising the settlements, ridding the Gods of their worshippers in his insanity.
“Well, that will be enough for now. Rest all of you, especially you Yng. Your mother is worried sick still.” He slowly stands up, then bids them farewell, kissing his daughter on the forehead before leaving. “Yng. I like that.” Thorgrimma adds while almost suffocating on meat as she starts chuckling a little. Yngwild in response throws the cup at her throat, making her spit out at which laughter fills the room as she spits the meat on Njal.
A tender smile curves onto her soft lips as they start joking around, then she leans closer to Kra-Aghk, kissing him on the cheeks before whispering. “Please, wake up. We have a demon to beat.”