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None remained.
Some deserted. Most perished of disease and malnitrution. The rest fell to that Nagai warband, except for five. Five faithful.
They were dead now too. Lost somewhere back beneath the boughs of the Great Tree, slaughtered by the shadow beast, until he brought it down.
For the best.
They would not have had the strength for what came next.
The bodies of several knights, guardians of the tree, littered his wake. He stood before it and lifted his helm, drinking in the cold air of the Vale.
His neck craned back. The Eldyr Tree of myth, if that is what this was, stretched far and away into the sky. Too far to see.
He grit his teeth and strode forward, helm beneath one hand, his spear in other.
They said the God's Light dwelled in the pond at the base of the tree. They said it could cure any illness.
Perhaps even one suffering afflictions such as his. The muscles in his jaw writhed, highlighting the twisting scar that spread from forehead, across one eye, and down onto his cheek. The eye appeared sightless.
How he wished that were true.
Once, he prayed to the gods to lift the agony of his torment, to stay the toxins flowing through his body.
They did not listen.
So he turned to those who would.
He reached the base of the Tree and thrust his spear into the soil, then mounted his helm on it. Slowly, he removed a gauntlet from one hand, then he pressed his palm against the bark's surface.
"How long I have searched for you," he rasped, his voice a hoarse whisper thanks to the toxins. "Months in this wilderness. And finally, here you are. Just a tree after all, or something more..."
The butcher of the Reach inhaled and steeled himself for what came next.