The doors to King Alaric's hall swung open violently as one of the scouts rushed inside, limping on one leg, the other a broken mess. His knee poked through his skin, and his face ran red with blood from a gash over his right eye. "LARSMA! LARSMA!"
King Alaric stood, his golden crown studded with jewels shimmering in the dying light of the sun. He wore a breastplate painted blue with a golden lion at its center and a longsword at his hip. "Breathe, friend. Speak clearly. What's this about larsma?" The king asked, his voice calm and deep, though he rose from his throne.
The scout took a moment to catch his breath, his lip quivering from a mixture of pain and fear, "We were out finding a path through Boysewood and came close to Waterhal. We found a larsma. I was the only one who made it out." The scout hung his head, choking back tears.
Alaric looked around the hall, "Well? What are we waiting for? Someone fetch a healer for this man! And Geoffrey—" he looked to his first sword, "Prepare your men. We leave immediately to deal with this creature!" As if suddenly unfrozen in time, Alaric's hall burst into action. Geoffrey shouted a command to muster a dozen Lionsguard, his gruff voice bellowing, echoing around the hall.
Alaric stuck his arms out as servants quickly strapped his armor to him, perfectly polished and engraved with golden swirls. The moment he was finished getting dressed, he marched down the steps and nodded towards Geoffrey and the now gathered Lionsguard, all clad in their matching blue and gold.
The first sign of Waterhal Alaric could sense was the sweet smell of charred flesh coupled with the sulfuric odor of hair. He raised a hand to his nostrils and tried in vain to filter out the putrid scent. Geoffrey grinned, his crooked teeth on full display, “It’s no use, my lord. May as well let it all in and get used to it!” He let out a hearty laugh.
Alaric sighed, his tone monotonous, “Your sense of humor is as impeccable as always.” As the meager wall of Waterhal emerged from the horizon, Alaric could see the splintered wood of the main gate, embers licking the tips of whatever fencing remained. Beyond it lay the homes of the townsfolk, most of them collapsed, either through their foundations being burned through to cinders or from boulders caving in their roofs. As he drew nearer and got a closer look at the small town, the air seemed to grow colder, and Alaric could feel a chill go down his spine. The streets were deserted, the only sign of life coming from the crows and the flies who feasted upon the mangled bodies of the townsfolk. Every shadow seemed to scream danger to him as he looked around to his men, all equally unsettled.
Alaric cleared his throat and spoke, at first with just a whisper, then repeating louder after finding his voice, “We are men of Tenebradia! And you are my Lionsguard! We may be too late to rescue these poor souls, but let us not allow their deaths to go unavenged! We spread out, and find this larsma!” Alaric let out a rallying shout, his men following suit. Though he had rallied his men, he still felt the eerie fluttering of fear in his heart as he set out in search of any sign of the creature.
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“Over here, my lord! Looks like some poor bastard’s still breathin’!” Geoffrey called. Before him lay the mangled mess of a young man, no more than twenty summers old. His chest was caved in, ribs clearly shattered, and his breath came out sporadically.
Alaric knelt down beside him and took his hand, ignoring the blood caked on the dying man’s skin. “Did you see which way it went? Where is it?” The man opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came. His eyes widened as his eyes traveled wildly, his breath hastening. Alaric squeezed his hand, “Only tell me where it is. I shall see to it that you are put out of your misery.” His expression softened, a hint of grief on his face as he patted the back of the man’s hand with his other hand. Tears welled up in the young man’s face as he nodded slightly and shifted his gaze to his right, keeping his eyes trained on the gate opposite where the Lionsguard entered Waterhal. Alaric nodded and pulled out his knife, placing a hand over the man’s eyes before cleanly slicing open his throat. He took a deep breath and mumbled a prayer before wiping the blood off of his knife with the man’s tattered clothing.
An ear-piercing shriek could be heard coming from behind the shattered gate, and immediately Alaric stood, drawing his sword. The black blade shimmered like the night sky as he pointed the tip in the direction of the sound. Geoffrey stood beside him, his face turned into a scowl, “Sounds like a mean bastard, doesn’t he?” Alaric merely nodded in response, his throat dry with anticipation.
The creature burst into view, long, wispy white hair flowing wildly as it stared at the Tenebradi with its blank eyes. It appeared almost like a skeleton with too little gray-blue skin stretched thinly over its body as it stood slightly hunched over and cocked its head before hissing out, “Ignitia Petrapiskaet vrexere supano voseisis!”
Alaric cried out, “Shields! Brace yourselves!” He held his round shield up over his head, men all around him doing the same as loose chunks of stone rose above them, becoming engulfed in flames before raining down upon them. Alaric heard one of his men cry out as he crumpled under the weight of a particularly large piece of rubble. Alaric gritted his teeth and pointed his sword out towards the larsma, “Astragur supano tues!” The air turned pungent and crisp as a bolt of lightning shot out from the tip of the black sword towards the creature. It fell backwards, shrieking violently in a mixture of pain and rage as it collapsed to the ground. “Its head! We must take its head!” Alaric commanded as he rushed forwards, using the moment of respite to gain the advantage.
As he raised his sword to strike at the larsma’s neck, it snapped back to attention and threw itself at Alaric, gripping his wrists as it grappled with him. It lifted him with inhuman strength and threw him to the ground, his wrists singing with pain as his sword clattered from his grasp. Is this how it ends? Alaric thought as the creature stood over him and snarled, an orange glow peeking through its crooked teeth as it hissed, “Revnis detou Ignitia supano—” Its voice cut abruptly as its head soared over Alaric’s shoulder, landing behind him.
Geoffrey sighed in satisfaction as he stood proudly, offering his hand down to his king, “Another happy hunt, eh? Beats wild boar, does it not?”
Alaric shook his head in disbelief and gripped his first sword’s arm, pulling himself up to his feet, “If only I could bottle that optimism. Tenebradia would become the most prosperous kingdom in Ipeirens.” He looked over his shoulder at the decapitated head of the larsma. “We should get a fire going. Be nice to purge Waterhal of this filth.” He hocked and spit on the ground by the head before turning back to Geoffrey, the two sharing a laugh before turning to the rest of the Lionsguard and raising their arms in victory. “For Tenebradia!”
“FOR TENEBRADIA!” The men around him cheered, the looks of relief on their faces contagious as they surrounded their king and chanted, “Hail, King Alaric!”