The woods grew dark around them as they made their way north and then west. Cold wind blew down the mountain as they went, the branches above scratching and writhing like living things. Darian led the way, Carver some distance behind them as was agreed. If they ran across trouble, they would attempt first to flee. But if they had to fight, Darian would play the frontline while Zan and Carver would try and circle for openings. Since Carver only had five arrows left, they decided he should save them for particularly dire situations.
If only the archer could take aim at the weather. The ground was hard packed, frozen in places with pitfalls just under the leaves. Darian had to choose his steps carefully as he led them across a shallow stream and then up a short bank. He was doing his best to move silently, but his steps were often accompanied by the crunch of frost or the snap of a broken stick. Cursing, they topped a hill that wasn’t far from their destination.
Darian hesitated, a frightful urge to turn back tugging at his heels. Despite how it defied logic, he kept thinking the body would still be there, fresh blood oozing onto the cold ground. He managed to tear himself away once, but he doubted he could do so again. Even imagining it sent a grumble through his guts. But he shook his head when heard Carver adjust his quiver behind him. This was for Carver, so he could know his friend was gone. If it’s for someone else, I can do this.
The forest ahead was dead quiet, an edge to the darkness. Both Darian and Carver kept their eyes to the shadows, the thick clouds overhead shrouding the forest in dappled starlight. Something shifted in the canopy, knocking an errant twig to the ground. They froze, weapons ready. Since Darian’s sword had been broken by the Bone Knight, he had to rely on his dagger. When it was clear nothing would be leaping from the darkness, the trio pressed on.
The clearing was much like Darian remembered it. Ringed by tall trees that blocked out the wind, the grass short cropped and bright. But there was no body at its center now, only a patch of red grass and chips of bone. Zan was the first to approach the crimson stain, his ears pulled back, a whimper escaping him.
“Zan?” Carver asked, a gentle hand on the wolf’s back.
Darian watched them from the clearing’s edge, his chest throbbing. Why couldn’t I just tell him Carn was dead? He wanted to pretend he never happened on the body, like it was all a bad dream. Telling someone about it made it real. But standing there staring at the tinted grass sent shards of glass to his heart.
Then the howl came.
It was high pitched and keening, mournful as it spread amidst the trees. Carver slumped as Zan continued to howl, his head turned to the darkening sky. Darian was frozen watching the pair, their sadness reminding him of the last time he saw his parents.
This new world was no game. It was real, with real people and consequences. That stain on the grass could have just as easily been him.
Zan’s howl ceased and the wolf nestled itself beside Carver, his tongue licking at the archer’s gloved hand.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” Carver said, fingers pressed to the ground. “I shouldn’t have run.”
Darian came to the archer’s side and looked around. Where is his daughter? There were no other bloodstains, no signs of battle either. She could still be alive.
“His daughter isn’t here. She could still be out here somewhere.”
Carver shrugged. “How do we know this isn’t her too?” He nodded down at the bloodstain. But Zan perked up and set himself to sniffing.
The big wolf crawled across the ground, nose pressed to the grass. He stopped a few paces away, sneezed, then stood tall and barked.
“I think he’s found something,” Darian said, a reassuring hand on Carver’s shoulder.
The archer stood, his face pale. “We follow him, but not too far. We’re already some distance from shelter.”
Darian nodded his agreement and they followed Zan down the slope, their boots sliding on the frosted dirt. At the bottom, the ground evened out and the trees grew thinner. Before long they entered an area swallowed by pale fog, the wind silent. Shapes appeared in the haze, square and jutting.
“Ruins of some kind,” Carver said, his bow out. “Be careful.”
Zan stopped at the doorway to some large structure. The old stone was weather beaten and covered in moss, the wooden roof above slanted, long ago falling into the darkness within. The door was still half standing, held to the wall by thick iron rings. Zan clawed at it, the scraping sound grating in the silence.
“I’ll go in first,” Darian said approaching the door.
“If you need help fall back. I’ll shoot whatever comes out.” Carver dropped to one knee, an arrow pulled halfway back.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Zan moved to let Darian through. The door was ice cold, Darian’s frost resistance offering little protection. Why is this thing so damned cold? He pressed on it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“It’s locked,” he said, glancing about. “I’m going in through the roof.”
“Be careful,” Carver said. “I mean it.”
Finding purchase on the rocky wall was relatively easy, but the wind picked back up, whipping Darian with its icy fingers. He gripped a stone, the mortar giving way. It crashed to the ground and burst apart, the sound echoing all around. Then a strange chittering came from the fog, low and sparse at first but growing. Carver turned his ear at it, Zan growling.
“Wargs!” Carver spun, his arrow turning red. “Get inside and get that door open!”
Darian’s muscles strained as he climbed, his fingers slick. When he reached the top rim of the wall an explosion rang out behind him, but he had no time to look. He vaulted over the wall and came into the room below through a large hole in the ceiling. His boots crunched into the hardwood, his steps thundering as he ran for the door.
“Get in!” he cried as he undid the metal latch.
Outside, dark shapes moved in the fog, hunched and on four legs. But behind them loomed something far greater, a massive beast that towered above the rest.
“Close it! Close it!” Carver ran opposite the door, another arrow nocked in a flash.
Darian slammed it shut, but the beasts outside were not advancing. They’re surrounding us. He backed away from the door, dagger held deathly tight in his hand.
Zan barked from the far corner, another door in front of him.
“What is it?” Carver asked. “I can’t see a thing.”
Darian approached the wolf. He was bouncing up and down, his tail wagging. With a light push the door opened and a shard of ice sprang forth, just barely missing Darian’s cheek.
“Get back!” A small, frightened voice said before another shard of ice came from the darkness beyond.
Zan didn’t seem to mind the request or the attack, for he charged into the room. Darian followed, surprised to find the wolf on his belly, his tongue whipping out at a young girl’s face.
“Zan?” She croaked, her lips pale and thin.
She was huddled in the corner, a bow and two quivers beside her. She wore fur and leather like Carver, but it was torn here and there to show bandages beneath. Her hair was a bright, fiery red, tied into a thick braid that hung over her shoulder. Her green eyes met Darian’s, a haunting look of recognition passing over her face.
“Fria!” Carver came crashing through the doorway. He fell to one knee beside the girl, scooping her hand up in both of his. “Your arm…”
Her arm was limp by her side, only the hand showing beneath her sleeve. But it was purple and lifeless, hanging there like a strip of meat.
Meat. Darian could smell her blood. It filled the air with honey, and he found himself walking toward her, his mouth slowly opening.
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Quest Added: The Hunger
Objective: Consume human blood.
* Reward: + 25 Race XP.
* Reward: Unique Skill [Vampiric Charm]
* Reward: Unique Skill [Life Leech]
* Trait: +15% weakness to holy damage.
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The notification knocked Darian back to his senses. He backed away, nose still full of that sweet coppery scent.
“What happened to you?” Carver asked.
Fria pulled her hand away. “You know what happened to us, you coward.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I told Father you weren’t ready, but he wouldn’t listen. And now he’s…and now he’s…”
Carver slumped back, his bow clattering to the floor beside him. “I know, Fria.” He cradled his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
There was a crash on the door, then a voice like the grating of two stones pierced the air.
“G’day my little fleshy friends,” the voice said. “Mind if I speak for a moment? I doubt you’ve got better to do.”
Darian looked at Carver, but his head was down, Fria still in some kind of shock beside him. Guess it’s up to me. He walked back to the front door, Zan padding along behind him.
“Ah, hello friend.” The creature beyond the door sniffed. “My pale compatriot, just the person I wanted to speak to.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Gershank, and I’m a friend. Now, why don’t you open this door so we can speak face to maw?”
Zan growled, his claws digging into the floor. “Think I’ll pass on that, if it’s okay with you.”
“You wound me, little one. But I understand. Speaking to monsters is not for everyone. Though you’re a bit of a monster yourself.”
Darian froze. “What are you talking about?”
The creature laughed. “You and I both know you’re no elf. Not human either.” It sniffed again. “The stench of undeath surrounds you, yet your heart beats. I can hear it thumping faster and faster.”
How does it know all that? “What…what do you want.”
“A favor.” Its voice grew deeper, dripping with malice. “But we talk outside. Leave the others behind. You have my word they will not be harmed. Well, so long as you do what I say.”
Darian teetered in place, unsure of what to do. But the longer he stayed, the more his mind wandered to the girl’s wounds. Reluctantly, he undid the lock on the door. “Stay here, Zan.” Darian commanded, the wolf backing away with a whimper.
The door clattered open, and with one final look over his shoulder, Darian strode into the darkness.