Dawn broke over the Great Eastern Forest, the sky a pale gray washed with the remnants of night’s cool air. The team awoke stiff from the cold, their blankets now wet and scattered across the damp forest floor. The previous evening’s raw meal still lingered in their stomachs giving cramps and leaving them unsatiated. Vlastimir was the first to rise, pulling his cloak tight against the chill, his breath clouding in the air. Miloslav, ever stoic, followed suit, rubbing his face with a weary hand as he groggily rose to his feet. Zavila squinted against the light, her eyes reflecting the morning light. Bogdan, wrapped in furs to stave off the morning cold, took longer to stir, his thoughts on the ice-cold meal they’d eaten—something about it hadn’t sat well with him.
"Another day in this damned forest," Miloslav muttered, as the group began packing up their makeshift camp. "Let’s hope we find our way soon."
Vlastimir, ever the tracker, had already been scanning the forest floor, noting a pattern of large footprints and disturbed earth. He didn’t speak immediately, his eyes tracing the path in the terrain. A faint rustle from the trees, or perhaps just the wind, kept him on edge. He wasn't certain what creature it was, but it was big and humanoid.
“We’ll head east,” he said eventually, breaking the silence. “The sun should be able to guide us.”
Bogdan’s eyes narrowed, sensing the unease in Vlastimir’s tone. He didn’t question the decision, though. The forest was unknown to him, only Vlastimir had any experience here.
With their gear packed, the group started on their path once more, moving through the dense underbrush. The trees here were ancient, their gnarled roots and towering trunks forming a labyrinth of twisted branches and outcropped earth. The silence that enveloped them felt almost oppressive—no birds, no creatures stirring. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, the terrain seemed to shift subtly, making progress more difficult. The forest was growing denser, with thorny vines hanging from the trees, and branches that arced downward which scraped against their shoulders, what's more thick mist had settled in.
Vlastimir led the group, his gaze constantly scanning the path ahead, looking for any sign of movement or familiarity. He occasionally stopped, bending down to inspect the ground, only to stand up with a frustrated sigh and make the team backtrack. The silence of the forest, which had been calming at first, was starting to wear on everyone.
"Vlastimir, are we still heading the right way?" Zavila asked, her voice tense. She was unnerved by the eerie quiet and how the forest felt even more isolating.
Vlastimir hesitated, his hand resting on a large, twisted root. "No, Something’s wrong. The forest is changing."
"What do you mean?" asked Miloslav, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Vlastimir shook his head, looking back at the team with a grim expression. "This is the second time we've passed these prints, they're our own yet they came from the opposite direction. But the trees, the ground beneath our feet—they’re different now. I’ve never seen the forest shift like this before."
The mist around them seemed to thicken as they spoke, curling up from the damp earth, adding a layer of heaviness to the already oppressive atmosphere. As they pushed forward, it became harder to distinguish where the mist ended and the trees began. It was disorienting, the very air now feeling thick and suffocating.
Bogdan scowled, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is this the forest’s doing too? Some sort of illusion?"
Zavila looked up sharply at the mention of illusions. "Don’t be ridiculous," she snapped. "This is no mere trickery. This place is… alive. And I don’t think it likes us anymore."
They’d all sensed it—the change in the forest, the way it seemed to press closer, the way the trees seemed to shift just out of view when they weren’t looking directly at them. The longer they traveled, the more they could feel it.
As they continued, strange sounds started to echo from the trees, soft whispers carried on the wind. At first, they thought it was just the wind, but soon the voices became more distinct—calling their names, beckoning them forward. It was subtle at first, like a whisper just on the edge of hearing, but then it became unmistakable, as if something was trying to lure them further into the depths of the forest, rather than letting them go their own route.
Miloslav froze, his eyes wide, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "Did you hear that?"
Zavila, too, had stopped. She could already tell it were spirits that had manifested themselves physically. "Yes," she murmured, barely above a whisper. "They’re trying to guide us... or lead us astray."
Without warning, a light flickered in the distance, pale and faint, but too perfect to be natural.
“Don’t follow it,” Vlastimir ordered immediately, his voice low but firm. "It’s a lure, don’t trust anything here."
But as the light seemed to beckon from within the mist, Zavila and Bogdan hesitated. Something about it was almost… comforting. It didn’t feel malicious, but Vlastimir’s warning was enough to keep them from moving toward it.
“I don’t like this,” Miloslav muttered, shifting uneasily. "It’s as if the forest itself is playing tricks on us."
Suddenly, the light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and the eerie whispers returned, even more insistent than before. As they pushed forward, the mist seemed to close in tighter around them, the forest felt even more oppressive now, the spirits around them ever-present, though they remained hidden just out of sight.
Suddenly piercing wails erupted from the shadows. The sound was not merely loud; it was anguished, the kind of noise that clawed at the soul and rattled the mind.
The team froze, instincts screaming to run, though their feet felt rooted in place. From the mist, shapes began to materialize—translucent forms of spirits, their bodies fractured and incomplete, some missing their lower body parts or their arms, their faces locked in expressions of torment.
“Come and get it then!,” Miloslav hissed, stepping protectively in front of the group, his hand tightening on his blade.
“Watch out,” Vlastimir stated, his voice grim. “They’re not something you can just beat!”
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The spirits surged forward, their wails tearing through the air. As they drew closer, the world itself seemed to warp. Trees bent and twisted unnaturally, their bark cracking as though the weight of reality itself had shifted. The earth beneath them split in jagged lines, spewing faint glimmers of pale, unearthly light.
“We have to move!” Vlastimir shouted, grabbing the shaman, who seemed to be entirely enraptured, by the arm and shoving her forward.
The group ran, but the spirits were relentless, closing in with every step. Vlastimir led them through the shifting terrain, his sharp eyes scanning for any semblance of an escape, but the forest itself seemed to conspire against them. Roots rose from the ground, catching their feet, and the trees pressed closer, forming an almost impenetrable barrier.
One spirit, Caught up and lunged forward, its claw-like hand brushing Bogdan’s shoulder. The ice mage winced as the touch leeched with decaying energy, leaving a pale mark. He retaliated instinctively, thrusting his hand outward and sending a shard of ice into the spirit’s form. It screamed and recoiled, but it did not vanish.
“These things can’t be fought!” Bogdan yelled, frustration and pain clear in his voice.
“They’re not trying to kill us!” Zavila interjected with a shout, her voice steady despite the chaos. Her eyes, wide with realization, locked onto the spirits. “They’re wailing... for help!”
“What?” Vlastimir snapped, his tone incredulous as he cut through a thick vine blocking their path.
“They’re trapped—fractured and twisted,” she continued, slowing her pace despite the danger. Her gaze followed the jagged edges of the spirits’ forms, their brokenness now painfully clear. “They’re hurt. They’re suffering.”
“Doesn’t matter what they’re feeling if they’re trying to kill us!” Miloslav barked, his axe raised as a spirit closed in on him.
“No, it does!” she insisted, her voice firm now. She stepped forward, ignoring Vlastimir’s hand reaching to pull her back. The spirits hesitated, their wailing softening slightly as if sensing her intention.
“I hear you,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “You want peace, don’t you? You want an end to this torment.”
The spirits paused, their fractured forms trembling.
“I promise you,” she continued, her tone carrying the weight of her conviction. “We will rid this place of the evil that holds you here. But you must guide us. Show us the way, as you tried before, and let us pass unharmed.”
For a moment, the wailing ceased entirely. The forest was eerily still, the oppressive atmosphere lingering but no longer suffocating. Slowly, the spirits began to back away, their translucent forms gliding through the mist. A faint light appeared ahead, flickering gently like a distant lantern.
“They’re leading us,” Zavila whispered, relief washing over her face.
Bogdan seemed to not be entirely surprised by the shaman's insight, but both Vlastimir and Miloslav watched it all unfold with disbelief.
----------------------------------
The group followed the lights, though the oppressive air of the forest remained. The spirits stayed close, their fractured forms hovering just at the edge of visibility.
As they pressed on the terrain began to change. The ground beneath their feet turned muddy, and the air became heavy with the scent of decay. Ahead, the spirits’ light wavered slightly as they guided the team forward.
But then, a massive shadow emerged from the mist. The figure was hulking and grotesque, its flesh rotting and sloughing off its immense frame.
The spirits glided past it without hesitation, their fractured forms oblivious to the danger, as though the soulless undead troll could not be perceived by them.
The troll’s white eyes locked onto the group, and it let out a guttural roar that echoed through the forest.
“Of course, they don’t understand what a undead is,” Vlastimir muttered, his voice dripping with exasperation. He raised his bow, signaling the others to prepare. “Form up!”
The troll lumbered forward, each step shaking the ground beneath their feet. Its claws, long and jagged, gleamed with the sickly sheen of necrotic energy.
“Bogdan!” Vlastimir shouted. “Slow it down!”
Bogdan raised his hands, summoning the icy magic within him. A frigid gust swirled around the troll’s legs, freezing the muddy ground beneath it and locking its feet in place. The troll roared again, its decayed bulk straining against the ice, its sheer strength beginning to crack the frozen ground whilst the creature’s claws scraped deep gouges in the earth.
“Spread out!” Vlastimir barked, raising his bow and nocking an arrow in one smooth motion. He loosed it, the shaft striking the troll’s shoulder with a dull thunk. The creature barely reacted, its rotting flesh absorbing the blow like a sponge. “It’s too thick!” Vlastimir shouted in frustration.
“Just keep it busy!” Miloslav yelled as he charged forward, his trusted axe at the ready. “I’ll get its legs!” he growled, dodging the troll’s first clumsy swipe. The ground trembled under its movements, and a second swipe narrowly missed him as he ducked low and aimed for the beast’s knees. The axe bit into decayed muscle and sinew, but the troll seemed unfazed, its necrotic flesh sticking together even as Miloslav tore into it.
“It wont go down like that!” Zavila called out. She knelt and placed her hands on the damp earth, murmuring an plea to the forest spirits. The ground beneath the troll shuddered before sharp spike like roots erupted from below, piercing and biting into its body.
The troll bellowed in fury, swiping at the roots with its massive claws. For a moment, it staggered, its bulk held fast by the combined force of the ice and the roots.
“Now’s your chance!” Bogdan shouted, whilst flinging a volley of jagged ice shards at the creature’s head. One shard struck its eye, but that wasn’t enough to keep it distracted for long.
Miloslav seized the moment, darting in again. His axe arced through the air, slicing deep into the troll’s thigh. The blow landed true, but the troll’s retaliation was swift. swinging its arm backwards and hitting Miloslav’s left arm with a sickening crunch.
“Ahh!” Miloslav cried out, stumbling back, his axe falling from his grip. He cradled his arm, which now hung limply at his side, clearly broken.
“Miloslav!” Vlastimir yelled, rushing to cover his retreat. He loosed another arrow, aiming for the troll’s head, but the thick, rotting flesh swallowed the shaft with little effect.
“This isn’t working,” Vlastimir muttered through gritted teeth, his mind racing. His eyes darted to the shaman, who was struggling to provide the energy for the spirits that kept the roots in place. An idea struck him.
“We need fire,” he said, slinging his bow across his back.
“What?” the Zavila asked, glancing up from her spellwork.
“we have to burn it! The flesh, the rot—it’s the only way to stop it.”
Zavila hesitated before nodding. “I can get a small flame, but it won’t be able to damage it.”
“It’ll be enough,” Vlastimir replied. He tore a strip of cloth from his pack and wrapped it tightly around two arrow shafts. Dipping them into the oil from his lantern, he handed them to the shaman.
“Light them,” he ordered.
She murmured another incantation, and a small, flickering flame sparked to life in her palm. She carefully touched it to the oil-soaked rags, igniting the arrows.
“Here goes nothing,” Vlastimir muttered, drawing one of the flaming arrows and taking careful aim. He shot it out, and the arrow struck the troll square in the chest. The fire spread quickly, licking at the necrotic flesh.
The troll howled, a sound of pure, unbridled rage, as the flames consumed it. Vlastimir fired again, this time hitting its shoulder. The flames climbed higher, engulfing its torso and head.
The creature thrashed wildly, tearing free from the roots and ice as it flailed forward in berserked agony. The fire was relentless, feeding on its decayed form until the troll finally collapsed, its massive body crumpling to the ground in a smoldering heap.
The group stood in silence for a moment, their breaths ragged. The spirits hovered nearby, their ghostly lights flickering faintly in the aftermath of the battle.
Miloslav groaned, sinking to his knees. “Damn thing got me good,” he muttered, cradling his broken arm.
“Let me see,” Zavila said, hurrying to his side. She examined the injury with a practiced eye before giving a grim nod. “It’s broken, but we’ll splint it for now. You’ll live.”
Bogdan helped steady Miloslav as Zavila gathered supplies for a makeshift splint. Vlastimir stared at the smoldering remains of the troll, his expression hard.
“Let’s hope these spirits aren't trying to get us killed on purpose,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.
The faint lights of the spirits began to move again, guiding them deeper into the mist-shrouded woods.