“Wake up, boy. The dead are coming for us.” 

That was the last thing Arne expected to hear, much less from a man who sounded twice his age. With a groan he opened his eyes, grumbling in annoyance as something sharp pressed against his back and arms. Still groggy and lethargic, he idly wondered what the pointed objects were. The deer he’d been tracking had trekked across a wide open field devoid of trees or boulders. Barring the icy blades of grass his path should have been clear.

Sitting up, he noticed the thorns first. Long and serrated like a shark’s tooth, the thorns surrounded him at every angle, attached to gnarled branches that hung low to the ground. A bed of barbs, Arne thought. Someone has a twisted sense of comfort.

“On your feet,” the voice growled.

Arne looked to the side. A man with tanned skin and wavy black hair was standing nearby, taut, as if expecting to pounce at any moment. “I’d grab that bow if I were you.” The man’s eyes glanced down, beside Arne’s arm, where a strung longbow lay in the dirt. His longbow. The narrow limbs matched the string, carved from an elm tree long before he’d gone on his first hunt. Just beneath it rested a bundle of arrows, with one already nocked. Had the deer taken more than one arrow to bring down?

The man had an axe and knife clutched in either hand. Dual wield? That was rare, even among the seasoned warriors. Most prefered the solidity of a shield or the brute strength of a two-handed blade. But the man before him held himself with practiced ease, as it was when Arne wielded a bow. 

“They’ll be upon us soon enough,” the man continued, peering out through the thorns. His grey eyes flickered about with a fervent intensity. “Armor is thin and ragged along the naval and throat. Those broadheads should be able to punch through.” 

“A few frightened and starved villagers, surely,” Arne said, speaking up for the first time. “If it's the same woods that border my home we have nothing to fear. No band of bandits or brigands would be able to hide so easily.”

“These woods are nothing like what you traipsed around in,” the man said, moving to point at a row of hawthorn trees surrounding their enclosure. “The trunks and branches are  withered or burned. All that remains are the pointed needles that grow like overgrown weeds. Danger everywhere you face.” Looking closer, it was hard to believe Arne had missed the telltale decay. They seemed the survivors of a scorching fire, almost darkened a charcoal black. 

“That goes for everything in this accursed place-”. The man crouched down suddenly, motioning for Arne to stand behind him. Bow in hand Arne moved to comply, staring out through the copse of charred trees. Apart from the thorns dancing lazily in the wind there was little that moved. It was only when he strained that he heard the distant footfalls.

 Rusted helmets came into view a moment later, crowning three shambling men arrayed with loose breastplates and decaying rags. Their weapons too seemed close to breaking, the chipped metal attached to frayed pommels or hafts. 

This close, the trio’s ashen skin stood out starkly against the morning sky. Days dead then, if not months. How they continued to move much less remain upright was impossible to comprehend. These are no villagers, Arne thought. These are not men at all.

“Remember what I said boy,” the man whispered.

“Naval and throat, aye,” Arne said shakily. 

“We’ll corale them together amongst the thorns. Any luck and they’ll trap themselves just out of reach.” The man readied his axe and knife, nodding to the backmost figure. “I’ll leave the big bastard to you.”

 Arne tensed as the dead men barrelled forward. The hulking brute in question towered over the others, an enormous maul held in both hands. 

The brute travelled with a single-minded focus. It moved much like a regular man, though frantic and with complete disregard for the roots and stones in its path. It wasn’t so fast that Arne couldn’t outpace it, which would have made it easier to pick off from a distance. There was no such option here. These damned thorns are going to be the death of us.

Arne drew the bowstring back, toward his cheek, honing in on gaps in the armor. The arrow flew through the air and embedded deep into the brute’s stomach, followed up with a second a hairsbreadth later. Either of the broadheads should have been enough to put the dead man down for good, but Arne noticed it stumble only a half step back. 

[Heavy Draugr] sustains 25 points of damage

He stared wide-eyed at the sudden and inexplicable message. The words seemed to glow an orange hue as they hung suspended in the air. A series of floating runes? Arne had never seen their like before and yet somehow he was able to read them. Shaking his head he refocused, and found one of the smaller draugar almost upon him. The creature stabbed its rusted sword through the thorns, but Arne darted out of the way just in time.

“Focus boy!” With a yell his companion pivoted and swung his axe, diverting the sword away. He arced the smaller knife through the opening and into the draugr’s chest and neck, the serrated blade tearing free in a gout of black. The draugr stood there, the light going out of its white eyes. Then it dropped like a stone, entangling in the mass of thorns at their feet.

Arne cursed his moment of hesitation and raised the bow again. Shooting this close was a gamble, and one that likely wouldn’t pay off. He loosed a third arrow at half draw, the heavy draugr already at the wall of thorns, battering away at the spikes with great sweeps of its maul. The creature’s weapon was far longer, with ample reach that fared better in the cramped enclosure. Arne’s bow would be useless in moments.

Stolen story; please report.

Right. Time to change that.

As the heavy draugr swung its weapon back, Arne reached out with one hand and took hold of the rusted sword. He let the maul come terrifyingly close before lashing out, scoring a deep cut along its forearm. The draugr ignored the jagged cut and turned its ashen gaze to meet his. Then it began to grow.

Thorny branches ripped and tore as they strained against the draugr’s expansion. The creature’s armor split apart, falling to pieces at its feet. Arne backpedaled in desperation, pressing back against a hawthorn tree that strung through his leather jerkin.

[Heavy Draugr] used Enlarge. Height and weight attributes altered.

The abrupt, jolting change in the creature made his stomach lurch and breath quicken. Even in its former state, the draugr had been a fearsome opponent. Now, the maul held loosely in one hand, it seemed a veritable giant - one that dwarfed Arne and his companion combined. 

 He clutched the sword in a white-knuckled grip, sparing a brief glance to the draugr’s side. Both of the smaller undead lay still, identical wounds punctured through chest and neck. The man stood atop their bodies, black blood dripping from his weapons. He turned to Arne with a word on his lips. Stall.

This had better work, Arne thought as the draugr giant bounded towards him. With no room left to maneuver he threw himself to one side, thrashing through the pointed needles, expecting the maul to cave in his chest at any moment. He scrambled up, gasping for air. He saw the huge weapon swing high and dodged under, leaping away and towards the nearest broad tree trunk. He glanced back and the draugr swung again. Needles flew from the impact as the entire tree shook. Gods but that was close.

Arne tensed and lashed out. Too short and his target too high, the sword pierced through its chest rather than neck. There was a wet thunk as the blade buried itself to the hilt. 

Critical! [Heavy Draugr] sustains 28 points of damage

In a blur of movement the man followed up with a frantic leap atop the creature’s back. He used his weapons as if digging holds into a tree, scaling faster towards the head with each gough of flesh. With a final shrill yell he leaned back and plunged the dagger and axe into the draugr’s neck. They tore free alongside the ashen head. The draugr’s body stayed standing for one long moment before crashing to the ground, dragging the sword from Arne’s fingers. 

[Heavy Draugr] slain. Acquire runic band to harness essence

“You did well. I hadn’t come across their like when I first arrived.” The man kneeled down, face a mask of sweat and grime. “Only right that half the spoils go to you.” He tossed a fragment of silver into Arne’s hands. Light as a feather, the metallic object seemed to glow even in the dim light of the enclosure. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“A shard of essence, whatever that may be. Crush it between your fingers and it’ll get absorbed.” The man revealed a second shard before it dissolved into dust. Arne followed suit a moment later, eyeing the new mysterious message.

Shard of a Corrupted Warrior

Essence leaked from the body of a corrupted warrior. Use to strengthen one’s runic band. 

There it was again, and yet there's no armband in sight

“No doubt you have more than a few questions,” the man said.

“A name would be nice.” Arne turned toward him. “And how is it that we ended up here? A man doesn’t just wake up in an unknown location. I clearly recall going out on a routine excursion for food. The deer I’d been tracking must have escaped, though that doesn’t account for the undead soldiers and locale. And the cryptic messages which hover in the air? They… they make no sense at all.”

“Einar. My name is Einar.” He frowned. “As to your second question, well, that is easy enough to surmise.” 

“You and I are dead, boy. And this place, the undead that walk across it? Nothing here is amongst the living. Of that I am sure.”

* * *

Arne crept along past the enclosure in a haze of confusion. Einar had known less than he’d hoped, adding to the mounting mystery. One thing he’d been clear on, however, was that he’d been in a fight before ending up here. 

Had the same thing happened to me? It was difficult to recollect, as if the memories were scattered fragments. One moment he’d been travelling across an open field, and the next blackness. A quick glance down showed he still had on his usual attire. The leather jerkin, beige trousers and worn boots were frayed from years of use, yet no holes or tears marred the clothing. Too real to be a dream though. Too real by far. He wasn’t going to wake up a third time, no matter how much he willed it.

Arne looked past Einar’s lean frame, picking up on three sets of footprints. Two lighter gaits with heavier steps coming from the rear. It was hard to mistake the soldiers' tracks in the dim light.

He continued to gaze down as Einar led the way, scanning the forest floor for anything that looked amiss. Apart from the charred trees things seemed almost normal. Patches of grass strewn across the dirt. Shrubs and willowy branches that creaked in the wind. Even puddles of mud that collected along the recesses and shade. He sidestepped one of the murky pools, and it was only the barest second glance that revealed a new set of tracks.

“Hold a moment,” Arne said, stooping low to get a closer look.

“You can read those prints?” Einar said.

“I am…was a hunter back home. My father taught me everything he knew growing up.” Now that he was bent double the tracks were easy enough to discern. The top layer of mud was displaced down the middle, pooling around a set of smooth and textured paw prints. Furrows marked the tips of each, dug deep into the mud. Sharp or overgrown claws then, but far longer than any hound Arne had seen before. 

“Paths diverge just up ahead. Likely a dog or fox veered off in source of its next meal. Tracks are too small for a bear,” Arne said.

“You got all that from a puddle in the dirt?” Einar said. 

“All of that and more,” Arne said, pointing under Einar’s boots. The man lifted them up to reveal a thin layer of scat. “Droppings are still wet. They become dried and crusty with age.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” Einar said, wiping his boots against the forest floor. “Way I see it we have two choices to make. One, you lead us to that shit-dropping beast and we have our next meal.”

“And if it’s diseased?”

“Then we lay it atop a fire. Let the flames cook the meat through.”

“Something easier said than done. Even a small fire would need to be hidden, unless you wanted to draw more attention.” Arne glanced around at the open woodland pointedly. “And the second?”

“We continue on down the main path. I’d checked ahead before those draugar came in pursuit. Spotted some of the smaller ones, but nothing we can’t handle.”

Nothing we… Arne blinked. A small misstep moments ago and I would have perished.

“Fine. I will lead us after the animal,” Arne said. “You should trail behind a few paces though. I don’t know whether it will be alone, but I’d rather find out from a distance.”