Iris looked as if she had been through hell. Dried blood of the creature she killed was smeared over the entirety of the left side of her face. Strands of her white hair draped over her face like an unwashed curtain. Iris made an attempt to wet her dried lips using her tongue but to no avail, all she could do was stumble through the field of heavy snow. Heading towards the stone walls of safety, leaving the giant trees of the Ivorian forest behind her.
The huntress walked in the snow at her own pace. A sluggish pace that indicated her extreme fatigue, she only managed to make it around three hundred feet away from the treeline when she heard the ghastly sounds of the Veiled Ones, once again. They had been following her the entire time.
Iris turned her head swiftly the moment she heard those vile sounds coming from behind her. Iris took one look at the tree-line she stood at moments ago, only to see dozens of Black Bloods lined up along the forest’s outskirts. Some on all fours and others standing human-like, salivating black ooze from their jaws.
All of the creatures had one thing in common however, they were all staring at the white haired huntress.
One of the abominations let out a blood curdling scream as if it were a signal. Simultaneously the creatures began running towards the lone woman, some even kicking up snow as they ran due to the power behind their appendages. Iris didn’t hesitate in using up whatever she had left of her energy to turn around and run for it.
Iris was on the verge of collapse, her lungs felt heavy, her heart felt as if it were pounding the heat of the sun into her, but the thought of being eaten alive by the Black Bloods was the only thing keeping her going. The woman’s running slowly morphed into a sort of hurried jog as she was slowing down, her body no longer able to keep up with her demands. The heavy crunching of snow got louder and louder the closer the creatures got to her. Iris however refused to stop pushing her body forward.
She. Wanted. To. Survive.
The sound of heavy toned bells filled the night sky. Iris knew this sound all too well. The bells were an alarm used by all major cities of Ikorum to signal the approach of Black Bloods. The sound of the bells crept a light smile on Iris’ dried lips, this meant she was spotted by the city guard.
Three tolls of the bell rang out, as soon as the third toll finished, the sound of whizzing arrows could be heard passing Iris. The heaving huntress looked up to see she was not much further from reaching the gates of Wighthall. Members of the Ivory Hunt boarded the ramparts of the stone walls and began letting arrows loose.
One by one the Black Bloods dropped dead into the snow. Arrows penetrating into their bodies. Some of the creatures needed multiple arrows to be put down, but the biggest priorities to take down were the ones closest to Iris. Iris herself could hear the bodies of the creatures thudding violently into the snow, followed by quick whips of arrows whizzing by.
Iris closed in on the city, the large grated gates of Wighthall began to open upward using a pulley mechanism to hold it up, two men on the other side used a wheel contraption to keep it held.
Pouring out of the gate came ten armed guards. Although, these guards weren't heavily armored, instead wearing thick furs for the extreme climates of the Ivory. Each guard held a large serrated sword on one hand and a torch with blue flames similar to the ones in the braziers atop the walls on their other hand.
Upon seeing the armed mens faces, and out of relief, Iris’ body gave up. She buckled onto one knee only to press her hands into the snow pushing herself up as a last ditch effort to reach the safety of the armed warriors.
Iris stumbled herself back up but was violently smashed back down onto her stomach by one of the Black Bloods that had been chasing her. Its gnarled claw-like fingers gripped tightly onto Iris’ shoulders, its oozing mouth reached down to the back of her neck. Its mashing teeth ripped the heavy fur coating that was covering the back of her neck in order to reach the flesh. All Iris could do is cry out in pain feeling the creature's fingers digging into her skin.
The men fast approaching saw the creature attack the huntress. In a desperate attempt to save Iris, one of the armed men threw his blue flamed torch hoping it would land close enough.
The torch dropped onto the snow only a few feet away from Iris. The moment the torch landed, the creature on top of Iris let out a ghastly screech. It took one gaze at the blue flames and covered its own face as if it was being assaulted. Any of the Black Bloods that weren't slain by the archers during the chase would similarly back away from the blue flame.
The creature atop Iris slowly backed away, trying to keep itself at a safe distance from the fire, but it didn’t seem to run away; it instead lingered around, just outside of the dim lighting of the blue flame. The archers ceased their onslaught of arrows to give time for the warriors to reach Iris who was still laid in the snow. Motionless.
Two of the men ran for her tired body lifting her up by her legs and her bloodied shoulders. Meanwhile, the rest of the eight men ran at the Black Bloods wildly swinging the blue flames of their torches at the creatures that lingered. In response the Black Bloods hissed and screamed, backing away from the crackling lights of the blue flames but they never seemed to run away, only back away.
“Alright, we have her, let's go!” yelled out the warrior holding onto Iris’ shoulders.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
As if it had been done many times before, the warriors pulled away inch by inch keeping their torches trained outward towards the lingering monsters. The men made a formation around the two carrying Iris to cover for them as they all quickly retreated back into the safety of Wighthall.
When the final man made it through the gate, the men operating the wheel mechanism pushed for the gate to close with speed leaving the Black Bloods howling their ghoulish sounds on the other side of the wall.
Upon all the commotion approached a slim man of fair skin tone, dressed in a fur cloak and grayed tunic. His white hair was tied neatly into a bun, his approach was silent but his presence was loud. At his arrival all of the armed men around the gate saluted by pressing their fists to the core of their chests accompanied by a light bow to the head. Next to the slim man was a hunched elder dressed in simple black robes.
“Why were the bells rung?” asked the man in the fur cloak.
“High’lord Castor. Apologies for the disturbance, one of the missing recruits of the Ivory Hunt has finally returned.” the warrior standing at the front of the group answered. He was the commander of the soldiers present.
The cloaked man referred to as High’lord Castor approached the group of rugged white haired warriors to get a better look of the woman they were carrying. The men made space for the High’lord to encroach closely for a better look at the woman. His eyes glided over the wounded woman who by this point had her eyes closed, no longer able to keep them open. Upon looking at the woman, the High’lord gazed over his shoulder to look at the Elder who had not moved from his spot.
“Seer Yanu, could this be the one who left the pouch in her chambers?” The High’lord asked the elderly man. The older man did not hesitate to nod.
“I see,” said the High’lord who turned his head back to the commander. “Where is the rest of her party?”
The commander shook his head and adjusted the bow slung over his shoulder. “She was the only one we saw..”
I presume they are dead then. Make sure your men take her to the healer's den. Oh, and commander, find out who her huntmaster is, I want to know why she was out so late.” Castor ordered, planting his hand on the commander's shoulder making his leave along with the elderly man.
“Yes High’lord,” said the commander who watched as the High’lord and the elder Seer walked off. Once they were gone, he looked over to the two men still carrying Iris. “Jamory and Gruhun, you two make sure she makes it to the healers' den. The rest of you, if you have not been assigned to the ramparts, may go back to your homes. You are relieved for the night.” The commander ordered.
Once his command was spoken, the men did as told. Some of the archers returned to their duties while others slung their bows over their shoulders and headed into the town, likely returning back to their homes.
Meanwhile, Iris was carried off by the two men towards the healers den. Nobody was sure if she would survive.
The healers den was a warm and cozy building placed near the center of Wighthall for easier access to the public. The structure itself was gray and circular with a large stone chimney at its center and no windows to bare. The only way in and out was through the small framed wooden door.
Inside the den was a furnace laid in the very center. The furnace was connected to the chimney with multiple openings on the face of its stone meant to pour heat in every direction of the building. On the outer rim of the building laid the beds in which patients were placed on.
The beds were put in such a way it would form a circle around the entire den, surrounding the furnace itself, this way the patients were kept warm during recovery. The rest of the space that wasn’t used up was cluttered with racks and tables meant to hold onto various herbs, medicines, and even surgical tools.
All throughout the day only three healers would be present to take care of the most usual of issues; normally being, the wounds of hunts gone wrong. Tonight however, was a quiet night.
All of the beds were unoccupied, and the three healers were busy cleaning up blood from a man that had unfortunately passed away an hour ago. Due to bleeding caused from fighting off a Jakkahead; an animal unique to the Ivory that was considered extremely difficult for hunters.
The blood cleaning was interrupted with the sound of the front wooden door whipping open with the help of intense wind. Coming inside were the two men carrying Iris’ body hurrying their way towards one of the soft feathery beds.
Reaching the closest bed, the two men dropped her limp body onto white plumage of cot. In response, all three of the red robed healers dropped what they were doing and rushed over to the two men who now loomed over the bed-side.
“What happened to this woman?” asked the first healer who arrived. A white haired woman with wrinkled features appearing around her late sixties .
“She was attacked by Black Bloods. High’lord Castor asked us to bring her here.” replied one of the rugged warriors.
“And she is still alive?” the first healer asked, rushing to Iris’ side to place a palm on her forehead, then moved two fingers down to her neck.
“I am not sure- she was running to the gate and was pounced on by one.” said the warrior, moving backward in order to give space to the healer.
“It's ok, she seems to still be breathing.” the woman said, touching her forehead once more. She gestured for the two other healers to approach and begin their work.
“We will take care of her. Thank you for bringing her in.” the old woman said, walking over to the wooden door opening it and gesturing for the two warriors to depart.
The two armed men looked at one another before bowing their heads to the healers. “When she awakens, make sure to get her name. The High’lord seemed to be interested in it.” one of the warriors said, before the two made their departure through the door held open for them.
The wooden door was closed quietly the moment the men left allowing the healers to do the rest of their job. A healer that looked to be about as young as fifteen years old, took a pair of large clippers from the rack and began to cut at the thick fur coating wrapped around Iris.
First he started at the neck area and made his way down along the chest and stomach, until he finally reached the waistline of her coat cutting it in a single vertical line. With the coat now cut, it allowed the other healers present to split the thick layers of fur apart in hopes of finding any hidden wound that otherwise was being covered by the heavy clothing.
The older healer grabbed the tunic Iris wore by the waist and pulled it up to make sure there were no wounds on her stomach. Then the younger healer who had used the clippers only moments ago moved the layer of fur from her shoulder to notice a patch of wet red blood stained on Iris’ tunic.
“Found blood. Looks to be a fresh wound from the looks of it.” the young boy said to his associates.
“She's lucky to only get away with a scrape, while fighting off Black Bloods..” the third healer said. She was the only one present that did not have white hair, she instead had ginger hair, making her stand out from the majority of the people around Wighthall.
“You’ve seen a lot of Black Blood attacks?” Curiously asked the younger boy.
“Of course. In this line of work you’ll see that very often. Victims come in with missing stomachs and ripped appendages.” replied the ginger haired woman, who was obviously trying to spook the young healer in training.
“That's enough Margei. You’ll scare the poor boy. Focus on getting her shoulder wrapped,” the oldest of the three healers said, interjecting on the ginger woman’s obvious hazing.
The young boy nodded to the eldest and went off to fetch clean wrappings to fend off the bleeding still coming from Iris’ shoulders.
Her wounds were finally stemmed. Now all they had to do was wait.