The nature of the mist is still hardly understood despite existing for several months. Everyone has grown to accept the fact that it can reanimate the dead, but to transform a man into a heinous, necrotic beast that towers above others? The rumors of the existence of such things have been persistent for some time, but definitive proof has yet to come to light. The “unique conquests” system for Mistwalkers was created to accommodate such encounters, but only because the rumors were so prevalent. As the mist becomes denser when one approaches the borders of Armasstadt, could these otherwordly beings show up? Would they appear with as much frequency as the weak, limping cadavers commonly seen closer to the barrier? It's extremely rare for any Mistwalker, regardless of battle experience or adventurous spirit, to go beyond the imaginary border set by Checkpoint Rosemont.
After continuing northward for only a few miles in what felt like hours, Veros begins to wonder if the massive undead is still in the area. In a futile attempt to look for clues, he examines the dirt of the road, as if the creature would own some sort of strange footprint to follow or hint at its activity.
“Ahead.” Royd speaks up suddenly, and Veros brings his gaze forward in time to see multiple dark shapes litter the road in front of them, still barely covered by the mist. None of them are in the form of any of sort of eight-foot behemoth.
As they carefully tread closer, the mist clears and the shapes begin to bare details. It was the remains of what is presumably the band of Mistwalkers that Egart was part of. Almost a dozen mangled bodies – human and horse – cleaved into different pieces are scattered around the road.
“Oh, Gods!” Zyra is utterly aghast at the sight. This is the first time she's witnessed the gore of a violent battle that goes beyond the tame sight of already dried up undead corpses. She covers her mouth and looks away, as continued staring would be bound to activate her gag reflex.
Torsos cut in half at the waist and severed limbs are separated by a significant distance from other body parts belonging to the same person, at least at a glance. The blood that seeped from them have yet to totally dry, as visible, dark red stains color numerous spots on the ground.
“Fuckin' disgusting.” Kellar voices his revulsion at the sight, twisting his face and gulping as if to keep his last meal from coming back up. “This is nothin' short of a total massacre.”
Kellar and Zyra keep a fair distance from the gruesome site, but the others slowly approach different corpses for further examination. Atticus dismounts Annaliese to get a closer look of a bare severed arm, the hand still clasping a knife. However, his point of focus isn't that, but rather the severance point.
“These slices look clean.” The knight comments on his observations aloud. “It looks like whatever cut them apart did it in a single, quick swing.”
Veros dismounts his own horse to examine a torso that was split horizontally at the waist. The unknown man's head is still attached, and sadly, he looks rather young. Veros's eyes travel down the dead man's ragged leather armor, which clearly did little to protect him this fight, and looks at the gaping wound that would normally be where his hips were. Ignoring the sight and stench of the poor victim's entrails bunched up outside of him, Veros looks at the cut flesh itself, which shows no signs of repeated chopping or tearing. Indeed, it appears that whatever blade cleaved the young Mistwalker in half, did so in one heave.
“I agree.” Veros replies after his own examination, covering his mouth and nose afterward to not inhale the foul odor of death.
“How is such strength even possible?” Royd asks, appalled at the thought while staring at the result of the carnage. “Cleaving a man in half with one swing? And what weapon would allow that?”
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“Monastery halberds have blades long enough for that.” Veros answers almost immediately.
“So it's true, then?” Kellar chimes in, with an expression of dread on his face that he didn't wear before. “There's a massive undead monastery knight with the strength of ten men wandering around here?”
The group is immediately struck with momentary paranoia as they look around the slaughter site. There doesn't seem to be any sort of ambiguous figures hidden in the mist, nor do they hear the sounds of a large beast approaching or leaving.
“It's probably not around here anymore.” Atticus comments. “We didn't see it on the way here, so it either wandered north, or off the road entirely.”
“Fuckin' good.” Kellar wastes no time in voicing his relief. “I wasn't too reluctant to deal with it earlier, but after seein' the outcome of its last fight, I'd prefer it stay as far from us as possible.”
“What should we do with the bodies on the road?” Royd asks, examining the gruesome scene which is essentially a mass grave that happens to be above ground.
“This is too much of a clean up to bother with.” Kellar responds. “I can't even tell how many people are scattered around in this mess. Six? Seven? Maybe eight? There's even several horses, too.”
“We should at least look for their cards.” Veros states. “Kellar, come down and help.”
“Ugh.” Kellar heaves a groan as he dismounts his steed. He walks to the nearest, most complete torso, which still retains an arm and a half, and head, and starts to pat it down with both hands, with his arms as extended as possible to maximize the distance bewteen himself and the freshly dead. “This feels much worse than pattin' down a corpse that's been dead for weeks. They barely look human at that point, so I don't think much of it.”
“Found one.” Atticus announces. He reads off the information that the card provides. “Darick Reed. Third outing on the fifth card. Stopped by all of the checkpoints on this route, too.”
“Sounds like one of those fellows who managed to more or less make a livable wage off being a Mistwalker.” Royd comments. “They're always sure to stop at as many checkpoints as they can, but never go past the Rosemont line.”
“I'm sure riskin' your life every day is somewhat lucrative.” Kellar says as he pauses from searching his designated dead body. “But I'd rather come in, find somethin' valuable to sell, and leave forever. To be frank, I'm already further north than I anticipated being.”
No one pays any real mind to Kellar's usual venting. He stares at the body next to him, and instead of continuing to search for a card, he just lets out a small sigh.
“You'd probably still be alive if you did that too, you know?” He lectures the dead Mistwalker under his breath.
Immediately, a ghastly groan is heard without warning. It's the body next to Kellar, desperately wiggling in a grotesque, mindless manner, extending its arm stiffly as its reanimation process finally kicks in.
“Fuck's sake!” Kellar exclaims in surprise, falling backwards and out of reach of the body. It continues to let out faint screeches as it helplessly flails its one complete arm around for anything to grab a hold of.
“Finish it off, Kellar.” Veros commands nonchalantly. “Turn him over and drive your knife into the back of its neck.”
“What a day...” The rogue continues to mutter his complaints as he carefully follows orders. He walks around to the torso's handless side, flips it over, and stabs one of his daggers into the back of its neck, severing the brain stem. “Is this the only to make sure they're dead for certain? Severing the head?” He asks to no one in particular.
“Not sure.” Veros answers as he drives his sword into another torso that has its head intact. “But it's better to be safe than sorry.”
Veros, Atticus, Royd, and Kellar continue to preemptively re-kill the corpses before they have a chance to reanimate while also patting down torsos and legs for Mistwalker indentification cards. It takes a few minutes, but they finish the task soon enough.
“Five cards.” Kellar announces as the looks at them. “Most of these fellas were on their third card at the very least.”
“Well, we've done as much as we reasonably can.” Veros says with a relieved exhale. “We should continue on before we waste more daylight.” He mounts his horse and leads the group past the grisly massacre site. Zyra still can't contain her disgust at the view and tries to keep her gaze down at her horse's mane.