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The Curse Of Blood and Gold
Calm before the Storm

Calm before the Storm

Near the village entrance stood multiple caravans that looked more like battle carts from children's books, with their heavy wheels and decoration from animal skulls and bones and their hides. They were massive for normal caravans, as there was only one tribe that had those types of caravans in this region. The Ravnvald Tribe.

Beside them, the old men from the tribe and village huddled together over their morning ale despite the early hour, whispers rising and falling like crows picking at scraps.

"Mark my words," Willem's voice quavered. "Three days of that cursed weather ain't natural. Heavy storm, and that red lightning..." He made the sign against evil, gnarled fingers trembling.

"Aye," Baker added, his usual ruddy face pale. "My boy saw it himself, three nights past. Says it struck that old oak outside the village, split the sky like bloody veins."

I slowed, despite the urgency tugging at me. The old oak… where my mother had unsealed my magic. A chill crept over my skin, a question weighing heavy: was this happening because of me?

"First time in sixty springs I've seen such strikes in the forest," Willem continued. "Red lightning, they say, heralds the awakening of old curses. Dark ones."

The morning market's familiar chaos offered no comfort today. Children darted between stalls, their laughter mixing with the bleating of sheep and the haggling of traders. Through the press of bodies, I spotted three figures I knew well—their northern garb standing out among the villagers.

Bjornulf towered over the crowd, that ridiculous broadsword strapped to his back, his brown hair and ice-blue eyes marking him as a common tribesman. The fool strutted like a peacock, splashing mud with each exaggerated step. Beside him skulked Stigr, those beady eyes never still, fingers always dancing near his daggers, his beard braided in the northern style with iron beads that clinked softly as he moved.

And then there was Ragnhild, Ragna for short.

In her early twenties, just like Bjornulf and Stigr, she stood out with her unique blonde hair, which was intricately braided with leather thongs and decorated with copper rings, signifying her status among her people. Her deep black robes, trimmed with white fur and adorned with symbols, set her apart from other tribesmen. That Redwood wand at her hip marked her as one of the few true sorceresses, like my mother.

"Einar!" Her voice carried the thick accent of the true North. "By th' old gods, yer a sight fer sore eyes! How've ye been keepin?"

I managed a tight nod, forcing a smile I didn't feel. "I'm alright, Ragna."

Her eyes narrowed, reading more than I wished to show. "Yer troubled. What's happened?"

The words caught in my throat for a moment searching for a perfect lie. "Alira has a fever. I'm heading to Eliza's for some herbs."

"Th' fever?" Understanding darkened her face. She shared a meaningful look with her companions. "These past three days... th' weather's been worse." She glanced around before lowering her voice. "Only half our caravans made it to town."

"Half?" This caught my attention despite my hurry. "Why?"

"Roads were treacherous," Daevon rumbled in his deep northern brogue. "Lightning struck too close to th' other wagons. Horses wouldn't move, scared witless."

"Rest of th' tribe's camped beyond th' forest," Ragna added. "Safer there, they figured. Came with just enough goods fer basic trade." She fingered the copper rings in her hair nervously. "But I'll tell ye true, Einar—in all my years traversin' th' northern routes, I've never seen lightning like that. Red as blood and cold as death."

Stigr spat on the ground. "Bad omens. Like th' tales my grandmother used to tell. About th' time before th' great sleep, when magic ran wild and dark things walked under sun."

"Aye," Ragna nodded. "We'd hoped to get more grain from yer village, but with these signs..." She shrugged her fur-clad shoulders. "Might be best we move on soon as we can."

"The weather's better today," I offered, though the words felt hollow.

“Aye, but that’s th’ way of it,” Rina’s pale eyes met mine. “Calm’s th’ one thing to fear.”

I kept moving, unwilling to linger despite my growing unease. Near the market's edge, Bron's massive frame blocked my path. The charcoal burner's arms were thick as tree trunks, his face split by that ever-present grin.

“There you are, lad!” His voice boomed across the square, as welcome and familiar as a summer storm. He shook a small leather pouch, coins jingling faintly. “Just sold the last of the charcoal. Here’s your share.”

“Thanks, Bron.” I took the pouch, though my thoughts were already elsewhere. I tightened my grip on the leather, the world narrowing to the weight of what was to come.

His grin faded as he caught my expression. “You look troubled, lad. What’s going on?”

“Alira’s ill,” I said quickly, forcing the words out. “It’s probably just the change in weather. I’m heading to Eliza’s.”

His eyes widened, but he nodded, his voice gentling. “Well, don’t waste any time, lad.”

I promised to bring more wood later, though the words felt empty in my mouth, and turned, already making for the alchemist’s shop. I could hear Bron’s deep voice trailing after me: “Take care of your sister, Einar!”

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His words faded into the noise of the market as I broke into a jog, threading my way through the narrow alleys until the scent of dried herbs and tangy potions hit me. Eliza’s shop came into view, a quiet refuge at the village’s edge, where the chaos of the world seemed to still.

The moment I stepped inside, the scent of lavender, crushed mint, and something sharper like iron or old blood, wrapped around me. The shop was dim and still, save for a faint rustling from the back room.

“Eliza?” My voice cut through the quiet, too loud in the heavy air.

After a moment, she emerged from behind a worn curtain, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, her mouth curving into a small smile. “Einar! You’re finally up.”

She stepped out from behind a curtain, wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes brightening as she saw me. “Einar! You’re finally up.”

I felt a tightness in my chest, my own secrets pressing down as I forced a light tone. “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Eliza tilted her head, her brows knitting in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Alira’s awakening,” I replied quickly. “She’s running a fever. I need the potion Mother requested… and some other remedy of yours. Just in case.”

Her eyes widened, a flicker of unease crossing her face. “Already? She’s young for that, Einar.” She glanced at the shelves, her movements sure as she gathered two vials: a bright orange one and another in a deep blue. Setting them on the counter, her gaze lingered, calculating. “Twenty copper teks. Added Essence Resistance potion, for less strain of her body.”

I counted out the coins Bron had given me, dropping them on the counter. Just as I reached for the potions, her hand brushed mine, lingering, her touch warm and steady. Her eyes uncertain, searching.

“Do you want to talk… about Valeria?” she asked quietly, her words taut, as if she’d kept them waiting too long.

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the potions, her voice tightening around my throat. “Valeria…”

“I’ve heard you say her name before,” she continued, looking at me with a mix of hurt and curiosity. “But never…” She hesitated, glancing at the potions. “And after what your mother said… about your magic…”

“It’s nothing, Eliza, just…” I began, but she interrupted, her voice softening, earnest.

“Please, Einar. It’s important to me.”

“I—” I was about to answer when something caught my attention. “Wait,” I said, glancing toward the window. A noise came low from the outside, something was wrong.

“Don’t change the topic,” she urged, her voice tight, but I shook my head, raising a hand to silence her.

“Shh. Something’s outside.”

A sound drifted in from outside, muffled voices, low and hollow, mingling with the faint thud of dragging feet, a groan that seemed to reverberate through the ground. My hand instinctively went to the dragon handle of my sword.

The door rattled, wood creaking like the groan of a tree under the weight of snow. I unsheathed my sword, the metal steady and solid in my hand, a strange comfort against the unease prickling down my spine. With a shuddering crack, the door burst inward, and a figure stumbled into the room.

Cold seeped into my blood. The creature looked human… but not quite. Its skin was a deathly gray, stretched tight over sunken bones, its eyes hollow pits. It dragged a rusted sword across the floor, each step sending small splinters flying.

“What the hell is that…” I whispered, grip tightening on my blade.

Beside me, Eliza’s voice trembled. “R-Revenant,” she stammered, her usually steady voice breaking.

I tightened my grip around my sword, the familiar weight anchoring me, grounding me. Revenants weren’t supposed to roam in broad daylight, especially not here, in this region. These were creatures twisted by death and despair, things that belonged far from here, in cursed lands where only dark magic thrived.

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And yet, here it was, an abomination standing a few feet from me, eyes hollow as pits, its decaying flesh stretched taut over skeletal bones. The air around it felt thick and wrong, a chill that cut to the bone.

The stench hit me then—putrid, like rotten flesh mixed with blood, the kind of smell that clings to you even after you’ve left it behind. I forced down the urge to gag, keeping my eyes trained on the revenant as it took another staggered step toward me.

“Eliza,” I whispered, not daring to look away. “Get out through the back. Now.”

But she didn’t move. I could feel her behind me, her voice shaking but steady with resolve. “No, I’m not leaving you.” She gripped her wand tightly, her knuckles white. “I know enough spells to help. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Every instinct screamed at me to get her out, to keep her safe. But there wasn’t time. I clenched my teeth and nodded. “Fine. But stay behind me. I mean it.”

The revenant moved, a raspy hiss escaped its mouth, and it raised a rusted sword high, lunging at me with a speed that didn’t belong to something so decayed. I swung my sword up, meeting its blade with a force that sent a jolt through my bones. The blow nearly knocked me back; it was stronger than it looked, far stronger than it had any right to be.

It pressed forward, its decayed face inches from mine, empty eyes staring through me, around me, as if I were nothing but an obstacle in its path. Panic clawed at me, but I shoved it down, drawing on everything I had left to push back. With a final grunt, I shoved the creature off me and kicked it hard in the chest.

“Eliza!” I shouted, urgency sharpening my voice.

Without hesitation, she raised her wand, her voice firm as she chanted, “Vistras.” Her wand glowing faintly as she flicked her wrist in a pattern that looked more like a dance than a spell.

A shimmering sphere of light shot from glowing tip of the wand, striking the creature in the chest. The impact made it stagger, its grip loosening on its rusted blade. Seizing the chance, I swung my sword, aiming for its side, but the blade barely cut through its decayed flesh. There was no scream or groan, just deep cut on its rotten flesh with blood that look more like Eliza’s low grade potions.

It recovered quickly, swinging its clawed hand toward me. I saw it coming too late. “Eliza!” I shouted, feeling the helplessness slip into my voice.

Another blast of magic hit the revenant’s arm, forcing it to drop its sword, the rusted blade clattering to the floor. But the creature wasn’t finished. It let out a low, guttural growl, lunging at me with clawed fingers outstretched, reaching for my throat.

Every instinct screamed at me to move, to react, but I felt sluggish, my body heavy under the weight of the cold that seemed to seep from the creature itself. But then, something shifted deep inside me, something primal, raw, rising like a long-buried ember catching flame.

My heart pounded heavily, and sudden, like the thunder strikes. I felt a strange power surging through me, like blood that had never run through my veins until this moment.

My hand tightened on the sword, and then it happened: a hum, low and steady at first, then rising into a crackling force. Red lightning flickered along my wrist, then the blade, a dark, pulsing energy that matched the beat of my heart. My breath caught, but there was no time to question it. I moved with the power, driving my sword forward, straight at the revenant’s heart.

The revenant tried to deflect with its palm, but my blade plunged into it like hot knife cutting through butter, finding its chest, the red lightning surging along its decayed frame, forcing it back. The creature convulsed, a twisted, jerking movement as the power tore through it. With a final, agonized hiss, it crumpled to the ground, motionless.

For a moment, the shop was silent, save for the crackling remnants of red lightning that faded from my sword. I stared down at the lifeless revenant, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind reeling, trying to grasp what had just happened. The energy that had come from within me was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, not since it was unsealed. It was… raw.

Behind me, Eliza’s voice broke the silence, a tremor in her words. “Einar… what was that?”

I turned slowly, my breaths still ragged. Her eyes were wide, fixed on my sword, where the red lightning had danced just moments before. Her face was a mask of confusion and fear, maybe.

“I… I don’t know,” I muttered, sliding my sword back into its sheath. But I could still feel that power lingering under my skin, fading now but leaving a warmth, a reminder of whatever I had tapped into.

“That was magic,” she whispered, her voice thick with disbelief. “Old magic. And you don’t even have a wand. Is… is that what old magic feels like?”

I shook my head. How was I supposed to explain what I didn’t understand? It hadn’t felt like casting a spell, it had been just instinct, survival instinct that every being has, a scream from deep within, that only comes at critical moments. “I don’t know, Eliza. I just… acted.”

Her gaze drifted to the fallen revenant, her expression shifting from fear to a kind of awe. “Whatever it was, it saved us.”

I nodded, wiping sweat from my brow as I crouched beside the creature. Its flesh had turned an unnatural green where my blade had cut it, and the smell of burned decay lingered in the air. This thing was beyond the usual undead, and the sight of it here, in this village… it wasn’t right. “This thing doesn’t belong here,” I muttered, more to myself than to her. “Revenants don’t just wander into villages. Something… or someone… sent it.”

Eliza knelt beside me, her brow furrowed. “Do you think there could be more?”

“I don’t know,” I said, standing slowly. My gaze fell on the door, half-splintered from where the creature had burst in. “But I can’t stay here waiting to find out.” I turned back to her, something fierce tightening in my chest. “I need to check the village. There were screams before…”

Eliza nodded, reaching up to grab a few vials from the shelves. Her hands were steady as she passed them to me, though her eyes were still clouded with worry. “Take these, just in case. You don’t know what else might be out there.”

I thanked her with a tight nod, uncorking one of the potions—a stamina potion—and drinking it down. The warmth of it spread through me, easing the ache in my limbs, and sharpening my focus.

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The morning sun hung like a corpse behind the clouds, casting our village in shades of ash and bone. Mist coiled around my boots like dying breath, each step sending ripples through the white shroud that clutched at the earth. The weight of Eliza's presence behind me felt like a countdown, her quick breaths matching the tempo of my thundering heart. Something was wrong.

I'd woken to the taste of copper in my mouth, a nameless dread that wormed its way through my gut, and now, as we left the alchemy shop's bitter-herb warmth for the alley's chill, that feeling crystallized into certainty.

The scream came like death's own voice.

My blood turned to ice. It wasn't pain that made that sound—it was the kind of terror that lives in a child's nightmares, the sort that strips away sanity and leaves only the animal need to survive. The cry twisted, mutated into something that shouldn't exist in nature, followed by a squawking roar that made my teeth ache and my bones vibrate.

Eliza's fingers dug into my arm hard enough to bruise. "That... that didn't sound human." Her voice quivered like a dying autumn leaf. When I turned, her hazel eyes were wide with a fear so pure it made her look young, fragile.

"There are more." The word tasted like grave dirt on my tongue. I'd felt the wrongness building for days, like watching storm clouds gather over a funeral. "Stay close. If you value your life, don't leave my side."

We threaded through the back alleys like rats in a maze. The air pressed against us, thick and wrong, carrying the metallic stench of fresh blood mixed with the sweeter, fouler smell of opened bowels. Each heartbeat felt like a war drum in my chest, counting down to something I couldn't prevent.

The village square spread before us like a butcher's floor. Bodies lay scattered and broken, limbs twisted in ways that made mockery of life. Blood had turned the mud into a black soup that sucked at my boots with each step. Ghouls hunched over the dead like grotesque parodies of mourners, their feeding sounds wet and obscene. Torn flesh disappeared between razor teeth, and the crack of splintering bones punctuated their feast.

Beyond them stood the revenants, abominations of bone and rotted flesh that moved with an unnatural grace that defied their decay. Their hollow eyes swept the square with ancient hunger, searching for anything that still drew breath. The morning mist curled around their feet, as if even the air itself tried to flee their presence.

"Oh gods..." Eliza's voice cracked like thin ice. Her grip on my arm tightened until I felt her nails pierce skin. "There's so many... Einar, what do we do?"

Mother. Alira. Their names cut through my fear like a heated blade through flesh. "We find my family. No matter the cost."

"How are we supposed to—" Eliza's words died in her throat. She tugged at my sleeve with trembling fingers. "Einar, look!"

A pack of ghouls surrounded a villager who still clung to life, though his screams had faded to wet, bubbling whimpers. They fed with savage intensity, pale fingers sinking into his entrails like children playing with clay. We tried to edge past, but one lifted its head, milky eyes locking onto us. Dark blood and strings of meat hung from its jaw as it turned, and one by one, its packmates followed suit, their growls raising welts of fear along my spine.

"Einar!" Eliza stumbled back, her boot slipping in the bloody mud.

"Stay behind me." I drew my sword, the steel singing a note that seemed to cut through the horror around us. The first ghoul lunged, moving faster than anything dead had right to move. Its teeth snapped where my face had been as I sidestepped, bringing my blade down in an arc that parted flesh and bone. Black blood sprayed across my chest, burning where it touched bare skin.

Two more charged through their brother's falling corpse. I ducked under claws that would have opened my throat, driving my sword up through ribcage and rotted organs. The blade caught on spine, and I had to plant my boot on the creature's chest to wrench it free. The sound was like pulling a stick from thick mud.

"Behind you!"

Eliza's warning came with the stench of decay. I spun, catching a third ghoul's claws on my sword's flat. The impact rattled my teeth and sent shockwaves through my arms. Rotted flesh hung from its face in strips, revealing yellowed bone beneath. I shoved back, feeling its sternum crack as I drove my point through its throat. Black ichor sprayed across my face, tasting of copper and rot.

But there were more. Always more. They moved like a plague now, learning, adapting, their dead eyes holding an intelligence that shouldn't exist in the dead creatures. Pain exploded through my side as claws raked across my ribs, parting flesh like paper. Blood soaked my shirt, hot and sticky against my skin, each movement sending fresh agony through my body.

"You're bleeding!" Eliza's voice carried a note of panic.

"Just a scratch," I forced through gritted teeth, though the edges of my vision swam with black spots. I couldn't let her see how deep they'd cut. Couldn't stop. Not yet.

The ghouls circled us like wolves around their pry, moving with a horrible synchronicity that spoke of shared purpose. Then one broke from the pack, its dead eyes fixed on Eliza with terrible hunger.

"Watch—" The warning died in my throat as something massive slammed into me from behind. My face hit the mud, the taste of blood and mud and filth flooding my mouth. Through blurred vision, I saw a revenant loom above me, its rusted sword catching what little light filtered through the death-gray clouds. The creature's bones creaked like old timber as it moved.

"Einar!" Eliza's scream tore through the chaos. I rolled as the revenant's blade came down, feeling it bite into the earth where my head had been. The touch of metal striking the ground sent mud splashing across my vision.

"Yolstra Vurnis!" Eliza's voice cracked with desperation. Fire erupted from her wand, the runes along its blackwood length glowing white-hot. The spell took the revenant's head clean off, showering me with burning gore and black blood that sizzled where it landed. The stench of charred, rotted flesh made my stomach heave.

The crack of splintering wood split the air like thunder. Eliza stumbled, blood streaming from her nose and ears. The spell had ripped the magic from her body like a tide pulling a swimmer under. Her wand, smoking and cracked, trembled in her pale fingers covered in blood.

"Eliza, I'm coming!" My legs felt like lead as I scrambled up, but I was too slow. Too far. The ghoul lunged as she tried to cast again with her broken wand and trembling hands, but nothing came. Her eyes met mine, wide with terror and… acceptance, as claws tore into her flesh. The sound... gods, the sound of meat parting from bone...

"No!" The scream ripped from my throat like a beast clawing its way free. Rage burned through my veins like molten metal as I charged, my sword cleaving the ghoul in two. Its bisected body fell away, spilling black innards across the bloody ground.

But I was too late. The light had already fled from her eyes, leaving behind only glass-like orbs that stared at nothing.

I fell to my knees beside her, pulling her broken body into my arms. The world blurred and twisted around me, sound fading to a distant roar like waves against rocks. Blood, hers and mine, soaked into my clothes, still warm, still speaking of life just recently fled.

"I'm sorry." The words came out broken, worthless things. "I'm so sorry."

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