image [https://i.imgur.com/yFu9mOD.png]

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The Hauntings of the North

We decided to leave early the next morning.

The landscape of the North was like a vast sheet of ice where no spare ray of sunshine fell to miraculously warm us. But there was a reprieve in the snowfall and winds, lending the frosty planes a sense of quiet: the ever-looming quiet of Death over a town of elderly.

It was peaceful, and that allowed me to think as my horse’s hooves dug into the snow and found the pavement underneath.

Darius was a commander of a division in the Black Legion, the military force of the foulbloods who ruled over Kreed, far to the south. I, or rather Sepharin, had seen a foulblood in person. Once. They were a type of elf, and the Duchy was one of their vassal states. However, their method of ruling was hands-off, so the power of my family was intact. The reason for that was most likely the environment. No Governor from Kreed would want their seat to be in the cold, desolate North, which wouldn’t achieve anything but place the burden of safeguarding the Wall in their hands.

And now that Governor is me. Yet my position was even more precarious: even if I gave my heart and soul to protect the North, my brother could return and demand to become the Warden at any moment…

But was that bad? Though I had accepted the responsibility to keep my people safe, I didn’t care about how that was done. If my brother could do a good enough job, then what was the issue? What did it mean to me if I suddenly wasn’t the Warden anymore? I hadn’t shouldered the title for more than a week.

The answer didn’t shoot into my head, so I was left to ruminate on it the entire ride.

‘We’re almost there, Warden,’ Malakai said.

He pointed to what was unfolding into the beginnings of a town on the horizon.

We spurred on our horses.

image [https://i.imgur.com/z6G5s0x.png]

A mixed reception welcomed our arrival.

‘Warden! Coldmarsh is grateful for your presence!’ a man with greying hair said. The white robe and coat he wore on top weren’t worn, but they weren’t new either. ‘My name is Trish. I am the reeve of this humble town.’

Coldmarsh was twice as big as Snowspire and was a fishing hamlet in the summer months, when the frost let go of the large lake to our south. In the winters they spent their resources trading with the local frostguards.

Around fifty townspeople were gathered behind Trish. Some wore rags, others wore pieces of clothing that they solely called upon for formal occasions. But all, behind the cheer put on for the arriving frostguards, hid a core of anxiety and anger. Anxiety for why we were here. Anger for what they had lost.

The emotions infected my guards, who searched for free patches of ground to look at instead of faces.

‘The Frostguard appreciates the welcome, Trish,’ I said, sweeping the gathering in turn. ‘Worry not. We will not burden the town with our upkeep.’

‘Of course, not!’ the reeve yelled. ‘Please, be assured that you can stay as long as is required! The safety of the Duchy is paramount.’

I gave a silent nod. ‘Indeed. So let us not dally. My brother will soon see to the wounds of any of your people.’

The townsfolk lit up, gawking at Levi like they would a puppy. He’d joined our mission with the reason being that he wanted to help as many towns as he could. It didn’t matter to me. I was glad to have him at my side, even if we hadn’t spoken since our last fallout.

‘I would see the person who escaped the orcs,’ I added.

‘Right away, Warden,’ the reeve said. ‘Please, follow me to the manor house. I will fetch him myself.’

And so we followed the elderly man.

image [https://i.imgur.com/z6G5s0x.png]

Trish led a scrawny boy of around seventeen into the living room. ‘Warden. This is Dimitri.’

The poor boy was shaking, glancing between me, Levi, and the frostguards.

‘Dimitri,’ I said, rising and offering my hand.

He flinched but took it.

‘Sepharin K. Vrost,’ I said. ‘You did well to escape your captors.’

His palm snuggled into mine. He chuckled. ‘Ain’ did much to deserve credit for, Lady. I’m juz a cowward.’

The reeve quietly rebuked the boy and told him to use my title.

‘Yar not a cowward, son,’ Drake said. He stood at the back of the room with the other frostguards. ‘Fleein’ a losin’ battle dun’ make ya a cowward.’

For once, I found myself agreeing with Drake.

‘Thanks to you,’ I said, ‘we may have a chance to save the others.’

We sat Dimitri down. He eased up after the reeve handed him a cup of warm milk (a rare luxury in the town) and told his story.

The first minutes of the assault had not been much of an assault at all. The townsfolk didn’t know they were under attack. Not until the homes started catching fire and the screams poured in. By the time everyone had realised what was happening, the boy had already been chained together with another group of people, and force marched out of town.

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There were multiple groups, he said. All of them a cluster of around twenty humans led by ten orcs. They were led to the farming fields, where the greenskins drew a strange stone from their pouch and spawned what the boy called ‘a magic gate to another dimension.’ The others stepped through and vanished, but when it was time for the orcs in his group to create a portal, no gate appeared. It was then that horns blew in the distance (a group of incoming frostguards, stationed at a fort near here). The issue was that their group had been the last to leave, so the orcs couldn’t use another group’s stone. In the end, the orcs decided to run for it. They pushed themselves and their prisoners through the cold, but it was clear they hadn’t planned on traversing the climate. Dimitri and two others found a way to break free from their bonds somewhere in the evening, when the orcs were showing serious signs of fatigue.

‘We split up to increase our odds,’ he said solemnly.

My party minutely shook their heads at the end of the boy’s tale, stealing glances at his feet as they did so. He’d been wearing indoor sandals when they caught him. Levi promised he would look at his feet.

‘Ya heard from the others?’ Drake asked, his face more sour than that of all of us combined.

‘Nuffin,’ Dimitri said.

Jaeger spoke up next. ‘You think the orcs knew where they were headed?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

I tapped my forearm. ‘Any army would get a sense of the land before invading. Portals or not.’

The question was, where were they going? They couldn’t possibly think to make the trek all the way to the mountains and use one of the passes to cross out of our territory. The townsfolk were grabbed in a haste and would not survive such a journey—and whatever the orcs wanted our people for, they needed them alive.

I looked up from my thoughts to find the room waiting for me to speak. ‘Do you have a map?’ I asked Trish.

He searched a drawer in a nearby cabinet and returned with parchment that looked ready to crumble in his hands. ‘It’s an old map, I’m afraid, Warden,’ he said after rolling it out over a table.

‘That’s perfect.’ It’s what I’d hoped for.

The old man threw me a confused glance, but I leaned over the drawing. I had a crystal clear image of the map in Castle Frost in my head, yet I couldn’t see any locations the orcs could reach, even if I gave them more credit than was due. But perhaps the map I had wasn’t complete.

I searched for differing landmarks and found my eyes glued to a single one immediately. ‘What is this? It wasn’t on the map in Lord Blackwater’s office.’

Jaeger followed my finger to the symbol of a tower near the larch wood and frowned. ‘…I’ve never heard of it, Warden.’

‘That would be Frostmourne, Warden,’ Trish answered in his stead.

I raised my eyebrow, inviting explanation.

‘It’s a long abandoned fortification.’ The reeve’s gaze became unfocused. ‘The first settlers built it to keep watch over the Giantswood to the west. But they left long ago, claiming the location was cursed. They said its walls seemed to drink the lives of those who stayed too long—hence the name.’

Icy winds whispered outside and stroked the windows.

‘What did they think would get through?’ I asked.

‘Enemies, I presume, milady. No one knows what kind though.’

The room shuffled in place.

‘How long has it stood abandoned?’ Jaeger asked.

‘Centuries,’ the reeve answered. ‘But…’ he trailed off. ‘No. It has been abandoned for centuries.’

‘Tell us anything,’ I told the reeve. ‘Even if you think it doesn’t concern us.’

The reeve scratched his head. ‘There have been rumours, Warden.’

I waited, half expecting what would come next.

‘Many disappearances have happened,’ he said, then paused. ‘Now, voices whisper that the spirit of a vengeful sorcerer haunts both the fort and the woods around it.’

‘Disappearances?’ That would lend the wives’s tale more credence.

Drake snorted. ‘With all respect, Warden, dis is bullcrap.’

Drake caught a glare from the reeve and a quelling look from Jaeger, but his derision didn’t vanish. ‘Lemme guess, most who went up an gon’ were kids?’

The head of the town opened and closed his mouth, eyeing me from the corner of his eye. ‘They were.’

‘Frum poor families?’ Drake said.

The reeve remained quiet, and Drake rolled his eyes. ‘Told ya.’

Beside me, Levi looked like he had bitten into sour fruit.

‘Care to explain?’ I whispered to my brother.

‘Winters are cruel,’ Levi said through his teeth. ‘They can force families to make tough decisions.’ He swallowed to force the belief in his own words down.

My eyes narrowed as I read between the lines. Horrifying. But it wasn’t our problem. Not right now.

‘An abandoned fort would serve as a hiding place,’ I said in the quiet that followed. ‘Jaeger, your best scout?’

‘Michael,’ he said immediately, nodding at a man near Drake. ‘He’s still a Ward but he’s got a nose for navigation and a silent step.’

The name and face were familiar to me. ‘Michael, choose a companion and track the orcs. Given the distance to the fort and the difficult climb through the woods, they will need shelter for the night. We won’t let them rest.’

‘Warden!’ he saluted.

He chose Drake, and the two of them were out of the room after a brief word with Jaeger.

‘What about the rest of us, Warden?’ one of the frostguards asked.

‘Though we’re behind, we have time,’ I said. ‘Our horses will catch up to them eventually, so use the leeway they offer to prepare yourselves for battle.’

Because something told me things were about to turn hectic.

image [https://i.imgur.com/z6G5s0x.png]

I was in one of the sole spare rooms upstairs in the manor home, sitting on the floor, following my own advice. The room was bare except for a small table and chair, and the ground was freezing. But the cold enhanced my focus as I rotated my miasma. Though my core was full, I was starting the process of enhancing my body by saturating it with the dark energy. Sadly, there was a limit to how much I could improve in a day due to the strain involved, and I was quickly out of anything to do.

My attention fell on my status screen.

Sepharin K. Vrost =

{

Skills =

[Lesser Frost Necromancy, Lesser Frost Manipulation, Minor Miasma Control,

Minor Necromancy, Minor Frostmancy]

Racials =

[Icy Veins, Goliath, Overbearing, Callous, Vorst]

Miasma =

895/895

Skill Points =

4

}

It wasn’t the first time I’d shifted through my skills list. My suspicions were that [Lesser Frost Necromancy] was what allowed me to create the cores around a corpse’s heart, which were a combination of death and frost magic. But what about the others? I had the [Lesser Frost Manipulation] skill. What did it do? And what about [Minor Necromancy] and [Minor Frostmancy]?

I pondered these questions for a while.

If Lesser Frost Necromancy allows me to create the core…

I held out my hand and guided a tendril of miasma towards my fingertips. The energy rose from my skin. I imagined myself back on the horse, overseeing the vast sheet of frost that was the north. Then, I pulled on the cold. My breath curled as the miasma sphere above my palm froze over and became a ball of solid ice the size of a coin. I smiled. Miasma was mana. Neutral energy. According to the user’s innate talents, it could shape and transform into other types.

‘So, I can create pure constructs of frost.’

I played with the ability. I could grow the ball, changing it from the size of a coin to that of a waterskin. That consumed quite a bit of miasma, though. What took even more was when I shaped the ball into a shard with a tip so sharp it would have no trouble penetrating flesh.

The ice shard cruised around me in a circle with nothing but my thoughts driving it. Yes, this would do well for a crude attack.

Yet inspiration hadn’t finished striking me. Frost Necromancy was a combination of death and frost magic. So, what if I infused the shard with necromantic energy?

I tried and found that the shard drunk of my death-attuned miasma greedily. The ice lost its pure shade of blue and turned darker at the centre, creating a scattered shadow effect along its circumference.

How interesting. Would the Death energy infect a target when the shard drew blood? Combat would answer.

I dissolved the shard and meditated to recover my lost miasma.

It was well into the evening when someone announced themselves outside my door.

‘Come in,’ I said.

One of the frostguards entered. ‘Warden!’ he saluted. ‘Michael sent back word. He’s found their trail.’

I got to my feet. The time had come to save my people…and for a tasting of my new abilities and undead.