“What is that thing?” Uld eyes focused on the strange undead feasting upon the cadaver of a Denevair, a bat like monster associated with death, native to the mountain’s all stratums, layers. Upon entering, they were greeted by the unnatural arkhaine light erected by skohdriens bathing the immense crypt in a white light. The crypt itself built in a ring shape, consisted of a center platform with the grave itself built into it. A bridge connected to where they currently stood, slightly elevated or as Bjartur thought, maybe the platform itself was built deeper. In the gap, they heard the icy river flowing with great vigor towards the lower stratums of the mountain.
Its slender figure hunched down, continued on with munching on the thick, hard flesh of the denevair. It ignored the group as they slowly took up position, forming plans while also trying to identify the undead.
“I have no clue.” Geirhyrien whispered as their gazed at her one by one. Thanks to her parents’ teachings, she had been well versed in the various forms of undead passed onto them. The one currently still feasting matched none of the undead she had learnt about. She did conclude that it was not a simple raised undead, but one constructed through necrotic rituals.
It appeared way taller even from the high vantage point they stood. Its hands ended in long clawed fingers, matching the marks left by it on the felled undead and the murals. Decay passed to a point where it could be deduced that whoever or whatever it once was died centuries ago. If not for the necrotic matter, it would have crumbled to dust already as per her assumptions at least.
What truly set it apart from the constructed though was not necessarily its height, it could have been a tall elf deducing from its slenderness, but that necrotic energies swirling inside appeared much darker in hue. It was as if the night sky itself descended into, blessed it so to speak. And it exuded an aura just as cold and empty as the starless night sky ready to swallow the world in its unending darkness.
“Those razors in its back, they seem familiar.” Fram said as he focused his vision on the undead’s back, noticing the sharp spikes neatly running down in its hunched back, moving as if it still breath.
“Reminds me of what maturing basilisk tend to posses before they loose their legs.” He recalled the anatomy book he once found in the library of their home-city, detailing how basilisk legs rot away as they amass necrotic energies during their maturing. At least those who took up residence in places where necrotic matter is abundant.
“For now, let’s just focus on defeating that. We can learn more after its… well dead once again.” Yun said as silently as he could. Everyone nodded in silence then they decided to go for their usual tactic. Leaving Fridr and Geirhyrien on the high vantage point, slightly away from the entrance on the left and right.
The four of them slowly walked down towards the platform, stepping over the putrid remains of the draugr that once guarded this crypt.
“Ready?” Yun asked carefully amidst the gory sounds of hard flesh being grinded between the razors within the undead’s jaws. With slight tilt, the others nodded, their grips and muscles tightened while Geirhyrien’s spell coursed through them. Uld and Bjartur charged first, swiftly halting midway through as the undead jolted back up, a warped deep howl filled the two with dread they had never felt before. Their hearts beating so fast they almost burst forth their chests, their shaking even spreading into the ground and corpses while their previous stances broke apart in seconds.
“Watch out.” Fram yelled at the two frozen in time, the undead lurched at them with four arms, two additional grown from its armpits. Bjartur’s scream echoed within the chamber as one of the hands left their mark on his face. A dark light lit up on his right eye, passed on from one of the claws, it swiftly devoured his eye, and if not for Geirhyrien, Bjartur himself would have been lost to the vile spell. Putrid flesh framed the empty hole where his eye was once before.
And if not for Fram’s timely pull, he would have been cut in two the next moment when the slit, reptilian eyes glowed with a jet black hue that swallowed all light around them. Behind him far, the section crumbled to pieces within seconds, swallowed by the now raging waters below.
“That was close.” Geirhyrien took a momentary look as the platform crumbled a few steps from her. She focused once more, condensing her mana into her where her heart lies, shaping, forming it while her arms started to rise upwards. Spears and arrows of clear water rose from the raging waters, up to the platform. Their sharp tips looked at the undead that kept its distance from the four.
“Stay your distance.” Fridr yelled while drawing an arrow herself, her eyes squinting as she took aim at the undead’s head. Her ears waited for the voice of Geirhyrien to reach her in gentle, echoing whispers. Now. The command arrived and the spears and arrows made of water assaulted the undead with Geirhyrien’s gentle fury. Each missile aimed at the joints and limbs, to pin it in place so Fridr or the four can finish it off.
But instead of being finding their way, they dissipate, even the arrow rots to nothing a few meters from the undead’s head. It’s gaze now focused on Geirhyrien as it recognized the threat the mage possess. And the one it wants dead.
The ceiling shook, the four fell on their knees while Geirhyrien swift protection failed to reach them in time as the undead let out a distorted bellow. A dread carried by pain stuck their nerves and muscles like hundreds of needles inserted, yet Yun and Bjartur pushed through the pain, one because of his nature, the other because of worry born from love as he noticed the undead turned its attention to Geirhyrien.
They charged at the living dead, Fram not far behind as he managed to overcome the pain and fear. The runes engraved onto his blade lit up with warm light, sparks turned to flames engulfing blinding silver as he leapt above the two. His blade aimed at the undead’s neck, hoping to sever it in one go, or at least to bring its attention away from their aid.
Yet the blade only touched the air in front of its decayed skin, stopped by a dark aura that snuffed the magical flames out altogether. The light of the runes too lost their fervor, only smothering smoke inhabiting the runic space. Fear frozen on his face as he stared into the undead’s eyes, blood flowed from his libs as the claws pierced through his thick furred armor and flesh.
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Fridr’s scream still reached her ears, before he passed onto the next life, gifted by the Nightscale to all who followed and believed in his cause. Then in his place, dust flew into the air leaving only his memory living on within his now saddened, enraged friends unleashing their fury on the undead.
Uld spear through the air accompanied by his high pitched scream, even passing through the layers of negative matter draping over the undead. Bjartur’s hammer stroke down at the back, shattering the negative aura. Yun’s axe reached its destination, severing its lesser arm on the right, landed in the side of the undead.
Even all this hurt the undead little. It emitted a great wave of deathly energies that swept all three away, and if not for Geirhyrien’s timely protection, they may have met their friend sooner than later. With weapons in hand, they charged once more at the undead, but a few steps from striking at it, their weapons decayed away into nothingness. And two rotten sickle appeared from its back, striking at them with unnatural vigor.
The ground shook and cracked as the two rotten apparatus buried deep in the ground. Yun and Bjartur were looking for weapons on the few draugr laid motionless, the two grabbed a long blade and a spear that was thrown towards Uld. The Gobokh warrior gulped as he mustered his bravery and calmed the raging flames of anger that burned his heart and soul.
Before the tip of the spear, or the sword’s held by Yun could reach the stuck undead, it disappeared. With a swift movement, after getting used to the two sickles, the undead leaped high in the air, leaving ancient dust and frost.
Transparent darkness formed into a thin layer similar to ones found on the wings of insects as it turned its attention once more at Geirhyrien. For a moment as they gazed upon the undead, the words winged horror flashed in their minds as an appropriate name. Arrows flew past its wings, some scraped rotten flesh, others scraped the thin layer of negative matter helping its flight, before they rotted away.
Once more Geirhyrien felt a cold presence slithering its way through her body, and soul while the winged horror approached her with hollow resentment in its eyes. The main four fingers on her right hand glued together while her thumb pushed onto the plump palm on her left hand held out. Her left hand stretched to the abyss gesturing waves as her will called out the element of water.
As a whirlpool formed in the raging river, a blue glow enveloped both her arms while the winged horror slammed down to where she stood, all four of its arms turned to as dark as the starless night sky, stuck in the platform. A serpentine hiss escaped its jaw, unbecoming to its figure as it may have experienced frustration for the first time.
Snowflakes fell onto it as Geirhyrien stood in the same position with the smile of a victor. In the next moment the river slithered above their level in the shape of a dancing serpent, bared its fangs at the trapped winged horror as water droplets freeze its arms to place.
Swallowed by the serpent’s head, the winged horror emits a shriek bled her ears before the water froze solid. Her friends’ footsteps dampened thrums as she collapsed down the ground while gasping. Water freezing her teeth poured out from her while an indescribable pain danced within her veins. The fear of being on the verge of death by consumption made her shake like never before.
She quickly pushed the fear away and reached for her belt on which her pouch rested. Reaching in, as calmly as she could, pulled out a small bottle filled with a bluish liquid possessing an ethereal glow. Barely managed to open it with her shaky fingers, some poured onto her scaled and white furred armor but as it went down, the pain subsided slowly.
Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath out of relief, then as she opened them fear once again assaulted her being. Dark energies condensed within the ice, followed by cracks appearing all over the ground and ice. “Rhy!” Then just as his voice reached her ears, the roar of breaking stone and ice muted it and she found herself falling into the depths. The winged horror followed to make sure of her imminent death.
Her arms reached out, one that got grabbed by Yun, the other condensing mana for one last spell, willing even in the face of possible death. Arrows pierce the head of it, while the spell slowly took the shape of a tear with a sharp end.
“Just a bit more.” She said while shakingly aimed at the chest of the winged horror half-stuck in ice still somehow flying up towards her.
“Let it go. Give me your other hand!” Yun yelled with an aching voice as a bad feeling rooted itself within his heart.
Then as her spell fired, the winged horror swung its arm. For a moment it was once again pitch black, as a blade flew out from it, seemingly aimed at Geirhyrien’s head. But instead it severed Yun’s arm, that remained locked as a sudden terror filled her while she fell towards the raging waters. The winged horror fully frozen once more, by Fridr’s arrow fell after her.
Yun’s bloody scream trailed after the two as they were swallowed whole by the waters, carried to the depths of death…
**
…Down by the river laid the bright alabaster cadaver on the dark grounds of the lowest stratum of Mount Dhaugruz. Her face frozen in a calmness riddled with open scars through which her ivory blood poured out, forming a pool around her, making her resemble a grotesque, discarded doll.
Her hair dances as the cavernous air blew onto it, while her eyes remained closed as she found her peace while toiling in the raging waters that dragged her to the lower stratums of the mountain. From afar one could deduce that a lone maiden was sleeping in a bed of snow surrounded by a dark, luminous landscape. Rocks shooting high up resembling wicked jaws in the process of closing on their captured prey. Howls and crackles filled the dark distance belonging to the varied, deathly denizens of the mountain.
But their cowardice kept them from approaching beyond the natural boundary of rocks. They felt it, him in the air and even in deeper layers of reality. His cold presence was a forewarning to leave the corpse alone.
Minutes, hours and days passed as she laid there with the air frozen around her at her final resting place before a towering dark figure appeared clad in tattered robes made up of numerous layers, each with a black hue akin to the feathers of ravens, red as blood lining and stole. Strange, outlandish runes engraved into the soft and dry fabric.
His visage hidden under his large hood that cast hard shadows over them, except for the two mauve slit contours that appeared – their light devoured by the darkness.
“Should have taken it.” He spoke with a deep, guttural voice full of faux regret and hollow sorrow while myriad whispers followed, each with their own differing, forced emotions. His eerily long arms that reached down to where his knees may lie, moved closer.
“Our dreams were the same.” He continued while his body hunched down towards her, his hands caressed her damaged face, now a haunting beauty after life faded from her. Then he stopped as he noticed her right hand clutching onto something. With a gentle wave of one of his hand, her palm opened revealing an amulet of a peculiar dried heart shape bleeding as two daggers penetrated from top and bottom, a strange symbol of love between two.
“I’ll promise... this time around, he will live his life to the fullest. Present with joy and sorrow, peace and anger. Before he dreams of you again.” He slowly sat beside her, the empty darkness stared far into the distance. As he made his vow, his voice felt heavier for a moment before the end, before he started enjoying the silence…