Fable - Ask Tides of Blood

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Kol

Twice Bloodied
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The Lost Isles

Kol had never quite understood the Dark God's sense of humor. It was an odd it that remained a mystery to this day. Their ways were ever changing, their intent unknown, their desires a complete and utter enigma. They spoke over one another now, whispering arguments in his ear as The Sorcerer and his remaining warriors stood upon the side of the mountain.

A voice rang out behind him, a real one, he thought. Kol could tell from how loud it was. The Dark Gods never shouted, they always whispered. This voice called to him, screamed at him out of rage.

"WE LOST, SORCERER! LOST!"​

The screaming man was not wrong. The battle had been lost, and in a surprising fashion.

He had originally lead a hundred and fifty warriors through the tundras of the Isle. Skinwolves, Berserkers, Bloodborne and even a few Vir-Bound. Their trek had been a difficult one, and one they had not survived intact. It had been the accursed plague that had struck them half-way through the journey. Most called it simply the Frost, an aching sickness that seemed to slowly turn oneself into stoney ice from the inside out.

The affliction was brought by the Dark Gods themselves, and even Kol's magic had been useless against it.

Near enough a hundred of their number had passed, left behind within the mountains as little more than statues of ice. Now they had not the numbers to take the village below, their warriors not sufficient to fell those within the halls of Cragmoore Bay. Kol knew this, it was why they were standing upon the cliffs edge, watching the torch lights of the city below.

"The Dark Gods have abandoned you!"​

The voice shouted, and for the first time Kol turned his head. The Sorcerer did not look at the yelling man though, no, he looked at the wide chesire grin that floated in the air just to the right of him. No.

Kol thought to himself

No they are still here. Another grin suddenly peeled itself from the air as though in confirmation of his thoughts, the whispers in his head suddenly growing louder. They spoke over one another, some shouting for blood, others demanding subterfuge and stealth, still others clambering for the sacrifice of a mother carrying her child to bring calamanity to Cragmoore Bay.

Kol closed his eyes.

"YOU! YOU HAVE BROUGHT US TO RUIN YOU WILL BE THE DA-"​

Sudden silenced reigned within his skull as he heard the loud crunch and squelsh as someone slaughtered the screaming man
 
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As the body of the man fell face first upon the cliff's edge the reason for his sudden silence was made perfectly apparent. A well-worn axe, buried with perfectly brutality into the man's spine had ended his pathetic, heretical wailing in a single blow.

“Does anybody else lack faith?” Skad asked as she placed a boot upon the body's back and wrenched her axe out like she had done countless times before.

There was no room for men like that amongst their cause.

Such rampant doubt was an ill-fated seed that could easily be spread among others, the longer the man had been allowed to talk the more his garden of uncertainty would grow. The man had become a detriment, his wavering voice had outweighed his use as a pair of hands and a weapon in which to conquer their foes and Skad was more than happy to make the decision to end his whimpering cries.

A sacrificial sceptic to appease the Dark Gods.

It was true, things had not been kind but it was foolish simplicity to expect nothing but benevolence from their deities, their dwindling numbers a stark example of the hardships to be expected within their cause.

Running a gloved thumb down the edge of her axe, the woman smeared the blood of the man down from her philtrum to her chin. A personal acknowledgement to the blood that she had shed for their Dark Gods. A way to feel closer to their tremendous blessings. A message for the others. Falter, and die.

Approaching the Sorcerer that guided their dwindling numbers, Skad looked to him with her singular eye, her face an impassive mask of nothing as if even emotion itself dared not to touch upon the woman's scarred features.

“What is our plan, Kol? What do the Dark Gods say?”
 
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The silence was once again broken, albeit this time it was not by the yells of an angry man.

His lips thinned for a brief moment as he closed his eyes, desperately trying to quiet the whispers for even just a few seconds. They did not go away of course, not even for a second, but as he heard steps break the fresh snowfall behind him they at least grew more quiet.

Before Skad reached him Kol opened his eyes, gazing down at the village once more and keeping the chesire grins in his periphery. As the berserker came up behind him Kol noted another grin slowly appearing within the air.

This one was directly ahead of him, eyes fixed on it as Skad asked him her question.

For a brief second The Sorcerer wondered just what he should do, what his answer would be. Each of the Dark Gods wanted something different. Each of them wanted their own path. Almost never did they agree on a single road.

Yet they had before. "We take the town."

Kol said softly.

"The Dark Gods demand blood, and blood they shall have." Slowly The Sorcerer turned away from his perch and towards Skad. "But the slaughter will come quietly."

It was the only way they would win.
 
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As the Sorcerer's gaze remained fixed upon the town below she observed him. Despite their trek plagued by misfortune, Skad did not hold any doubt about Kol. Perhaps such blind faith was foolish, after all, there had been those who questioned his blessings, accusing the man of being a deceiver that communed with nothing more than trickery and charade. Such voices had been silenced.

He had already done what many had tried and failed to do before and his very act of uniting the Nordwiir tribes that seemed instinctively ingrained to internal conflict was a clear sign of what was to come.

Blood.

“While they sleep,” Skad replied in assumption, the idea of slitting throats of the vulnerable not bothering the raider in the slightest.

They no longer held the numbers to take the town by brute force, this much the woman knew and despite the longing for battle that stained most of their souls there would be little point in throwing it all away. This was only the beginning. They had so much more to do.

The woman shifted, taking her own steps towards the cliff edge to appraise the town with her single green eye. They would need to make a plan of attack, identify those who would provide the greatest threat to their depleted forces and dispatch them first in the dead of night. Then, even if the alarm was raised it would be too late. Simple, on paper but in practice...

“We'll need to prepare,” Skad commented, stating the obvious as her back remained facing Kol, “and you need to raise morale, the men are beginning to falter.”

The fresh corpse in the snow was more than enough evidence for that.
 
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His gaze swept towards the men, then towards the corpse. "He is not enough?"

Kol was never once for 'raising' morale. His people were not much for it, never had been. Though Skad was right. He was supposed to be changing them, making them better and forging them into something completely new.

A single tribe.

The Sorcerer's gaze slowly drifted between Skad and the other men, lips thinning for a brief moment as he looked at one of the grins in the air. They seemed to widen, taunting him, the whispers growing a bit louder.

"Blood will raise their morale." He told Skad as he stepped towards the corpse and grabbed the mans hair. A blade suddenly appeared within Kol's hand, flecks of odd black twisting from nothing and forming into a knife. "Waterskin."

Kol bid her as he pressed the tip of his curved blade into the dead man's throat.
 
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“Enough to make them weary of me.”

And she wouldn't have had it any other way. As if the moniker of Kin-Slayer wasn't enough to keep her fellow Nordwiir on their toes, it never hurt to have a little demonstration. It put them all in their place and let them know that Skad wasn't fucking around with notions of doubt on this journey.

“The Dark Gods speak through you, and you alone. It is you they need to believe, not me.”

She obliged, stone-faced as the blood of fading life began to pour forth from the man's throat to be caught in the waterskin held below, the warmth of the crimson giving off the barest traces of steam in the frigid air that surrounded them. There was nothing unusual about this, their people held reverence in blood and sacrifice, for some of them it was all that they knew.

“Otherwise, this will all be for nothing,” the raider continued as the vital fluids spilt over the lip of the mouthpiece and onto her gloves.

She believed in Kol's blessing, fully holding faith in this new cause of unity amongst tribes that knew nothing but inner-strife but knew that it would ultimately be fruitless without greater numbers, and they had already lost so many to the Frost. They couldn't lose any more to doubt.
 
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The Sorcerer nodded his head, frowning for a moment as Skad spoke though deciding that her words held a wisdom.

It was the will of the Dark gods that she was sent there, the will that they were all here. Kol was the one who interpreted that will, the one who could take it and mould it into something else. His fingers tightened on the man's head for a moment, and then the waterskin was full.

"It shall be done." Kol said as he grabbed the waterskin from her.

He took it with surprising delicacy, his hand wrapping around the leather neck as he closed his eyes and muttered a few words. There was an odd spark on his right arm, a brief flick of something in the air, and then a flash of light erupted just above the neck of the waterskin.

"The Dark Gods have blessed me." He confirmed, his voice growing louder. "And this is a battle we shall win!"

The Sorcerer stood. "Those who drink from this skin shall know their blessing as I have."

He looked towards his men as he stood.

"Those who drink shall know no death. Shall find no rest." Slowly he looked towards them. "Those who drink shall live within the histories."
 
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As Kol gave his small speech of blood, the tribute and blessings, the promise Skad stood off to the side, surveying the men whose attention had been captured by the charismatic sorcerer. The woman's dead-eyed stare studied each and every face, searching for remnants of worthless doubt and fear. She would note who stepped forward first, and who stepped forward last. Separate the wheat from the chaff.

Cutting down every hesitant soul, however, was quite an unproductive habit when embarking on a new adventure such as this. One was the mark of an example made, two was the mark of a poor first example.

She could see the weariness amongst them, the weathered faces holding darkened circles beneath dull eyes as the fatigue of their travels and misfortune weighed heavy upon flesh. Loosening furs and leathers from relative famine. Taking the town could resolve so much of this, they only needed to take faith in Kol's offering from the Dark Gods.

Skad's gloved hands twisted upon the hilt of her axe, smearing blood upon the wood as she observed the group's hesitation. The first pair of boots stepped up to Kol, and another followed in that man's stead.

“Come,” Skad spoke, raising a hand to the bloodskin, her voice demanding yet not raised, an unnerving chill that left threat lurking behind her, “drink.”
 
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The blessings of the Dark Gods were not often kind.

What some called a gift others called a curse. For Kol this had rung truer than most. Some would dub the voices in his head grand, something to aspire towards, something to wish for. Yet the never ending whispers, the lack of silence and the constant gazes that fell upon him were torture.

The Sorcerer had not slept for years, and it was doubtful that he ever would again. It was the Dark Gods themselves that kept him going, allowed him the life that he lived now. His gaze flickered towards Skad, noting she had not taken a drink.

As the last warrior in line drank from the skin, Kol motioned for Skad to return to his side.

When she turned though, the first scream would tear from the warriors lips. In an instant their skin would begin to stretch, their flesh tear and their muscles burst forth from the gashes. The men twisted and broke, chesire grins appearing above them as the Dark Gods took their forms.

"Those who do not believe cannot be forced to." He imparted the knowledge to Skad. "So they will serve in another way."

As the Dark Gods demand.
 
One by one, each reluctant man stepped up to drink the Dark God's crimson blessing but before the woman, herself could drink she was summoned to the sorcerer's side. Before there was time for Skad to even be offended by the denial of such promise, there was a scream that caused the grip on her axe to tighten.

It was pained. It was terrified. It was primal.

One after another until it all became a howling cacophony of terror that would no doubt slowly echo its way into the town below, inspiring fear into the hearts of those that listened.

Skad's expression flickered from alarm to curiosity before settling back into her regular callous observation. The men had erupted from their furs in what was a hideous and painful transformation, no longer resembling their former selves but instead monsters. Suddenly, instead of a handful of craven Nordwiir, they now had hulking abominations.

This would make taking the town much easier.

“At least the snivelling cunts will be useful now,” Skad replied, still watching the wicked creatures before them. Suddenly it was quite fortunate that she had not taken a drink from the waterskin. Nodding towards the town below them, the raider locked eyes with the sorcerer, her stare still hollow and cold.

“There will be no quiet slaughter now. No need to wait until they sleep.”
 
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"No silence." Kol agreed with a nod of his head, his eyes slowly peeling away from the woman and towards the abominations that now stood before them.

He had wondered just how Skad would react.

One of the gods had whispered this particular truth in his ear, but he had been doubtful. Most would have reacted far more negatively, screamed, cursed him. Some would even have tried to stick a knife into his throat just because of what had happened.

She had accepted it.

The Dark Gods all seemed to grin at him at the same time, watching with their eyeless gazes as if their smugness could only grow larger. Kol, for some odd reason, smiled as well. Perhaps he had finally found one that was not so simple. "We go now, catch them within their feast."

A slaughter that was demanded.
 
No further words were needed as Skad turned upon her heel to begin the short descent down into the town.

Her mind had already shifted, away from the demise of their reluctant party and towards the upcoming battle. It didn't occur to the woman that Kol's deeds could be considered monstrous in practice, if anything, to her it was a necessity. No better than what any of them deserved and at the same time turning them into something far more useful.

Why follow the Sorcerer that communed with the Dark Gods if you were to hold any shred of doubt in the first place?

Skad turned the hilt of the axe in her hands as she marched downhill, her breathing focused, thoughts turning to blood and slaughter. However as the drew closer the woman paused, bringing up the blade of her weapon to her own face and bringing it down her own cheek. As the crimson trickled down and dripped from her chin she muttered guttural words of their own tongue.

Ritual before massacre.

A drop for the Dark Gods to sup upon before a river would flow.
 
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Kol moved quickly, quietly, his weight shifting as the abominations followed close behind.

The village, as he had expected, did not know anything was coming. They were not waiting, they did not know, it was peaceful quiet. There was something to be said about that peace, and something to be said about the fact that they were going to break it.

"The sentries first." Kol told Skad as they got closer.

His hand jerked towards the edges of the city, pointing out two further points and the watchtowers that lay there.

"I'll go for that one." He pointed. "You that one."

Then the beasts would run wild.
 
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A nod and Skad was gone.

There was little need to linger as there was a clear task ahead of them and one that would allow the carnage to reign in the name of the Dark Gods.

Fur-wrapped feet danced across the freshly lain snow, the occasional drip of crimson from the woman's chin leaving the smallest mark that they were here at all. Her back was stooped and head low, axe kept still in a twin-handed grasp as her form was found compact, like a snake coiled before the kill. As brazen as Skad could be, she understood the need for stealth at that moment, the rampage would come.

It was promised.

But the sentries came first.

Making it to the foot of the leftmost watchtower, the Nordwiir remained undetected in her advance, her breath falling silently only betrayed by its heat meeting the frigid air as condensation billowed from the berserker's mouth. A cautious first step was taken upon the stairs, the slightest creak a danger to the element of surprise.

However, her ascent was masked by not one voice but two, lamenting to one another in a differing dialect from her own at their misfortune of having to keep watch. Skad made out more and more as she climbed, her expression an impassive mask of nothing as they spoke of missing the feast and spreading the names of local women that they wanted to fuck.

Foolish.

Unaware.

Blind.


Without hesitation she emerged, the well-worn axe in her hands far more ready than the swords that were laid aside by the gossiping wastrels. Before the men could arm themselves properly, their sudden exclamations of surprise were the only defences to be mustered as the first man's skull was split by a single overhead strike.

It stoked the fires of her soul with that sensation of divine absolution pumping through Skad's veins as thick and as powerful as blood.

By then the second man had taken up his sword and struck out before the Nordwiir could remove her axe from the first. She twisted to face him and his novice blade that wished to run through her could only glance the woman's side. Jaw became set like stone, her lower jaw protruding and teeth bared as the sharp kiss of pain only granted further blessing.

In animal instinct she was upon him, cracking the back of his skull against a wooden post of the tower and just like that she was atop him in complete control. Gloved hands traversing the struggles of his face until her thumbs met his eye sockets and pushed, gouging them with little fanfare as her knee pressed into his sternum.

He didn't even know how blind he truly was.
 
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Blood.

Sweet blood.

There was something about it he missed every time. A darker part of him, the part that the Dark Gods had taken and claimed for themselves. He was not so violent as Skad, not so bold. The blood he spilled came not from his hands, but the knife within his palm.

The blade swiped through flesh. Tore muscle, notched bone.

Blood spilled onto snowy ground, and it seemed to warp and shift beneath their feet. It crawled and spread like a plague, touching others and crawling beneath their skin as the magic of the Dark Gods began to take hold within the village.

Screams began to echo.

It was the sound of the abominations coming forth, rushing into the village after Kol and Skald had slaughtered the watchmen. Fires began to spark, torches lit, but it was too late. The village was under assault, and those that could have prevented it were already dead.

Slaughter. The word echoed in his skull. It was the one command that creatures needed, and it would leave this place little more than a desolate waste.

Perfect for the Nordwiir to take.

The first Settlement in the South.
 
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There was something in the struggle of her foe that gave Skad an almost primal sense of being, like a predator with prey. She savoured it for a moment, allowing him to flail helplessly once he had been blinded, her forearm pressing down into his throat so that only gasping croaks escaped his mouth.

A small dagger used to skin wild beasts was retrieved from the raider's belt and after the suffering had satisfied just enough she drew the blade across his throat in savage motion.

Wordless tribute left the woman's mouth as the rapturous crimson cascaded down from his throat and onto the wooden floor, the man's very life essence eventually dripping down through the cracks into the waiting cold of the snow.

The screeches of their monstrous horde roused Skad from her moment of tribute and the woman wasted little time in retrieving her axe and joining Kol's blood-borne beasts for the joy of the slaughter. She could hear it in the air as she sprinted to get to the forefront, the screams of the village intermingling with the howls of the wicked and Skad could pick them apart with ease, the sound of their fear so prominent it rose the hairs upon the nape of her neck.

With her single eye, she caught a flicker of movement. A group of the vulnerable being escorted to presumed safety from out the side of the dining hall. A woman, two children and a man. Without hesitation, Skad changed course and began running for them.

There would be no safety for them, but perhaps they could rest knowing that their demise was the start of something greater.
 
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Kol yanked his blade free from the chest of a man who had wandered too close to him, black flecks peeled from his flesh as his corpse fell to the ground.

He seemed to twitch for a moment, and then fade almost into a surge of nothingness. A shade seemed to rise from his body, slowly flowing forth and finding the runes on the steel within The Sorcerer's hands. Echoes of death and the screams of those already fallen rang out within the village, a cacophony of blood and orgy of violence breaking out everywhere.

The Dark Gods howled with laughter.

This massacre was a tribute to them. The blood spilled on the ground a way to sate their hunger.

Kol knew that some did not care. Knew that for them this may as well have been a rock falling down a well, but it did not matter. Some would be pleased. Would whisper in his ear a truth that he had not known before, and that was all that mattered.

His head tilted to the side as he spotted one of the abominations feasting on the corpse of a man, his head half caved in from some thunderous blow.

The sight was gazed upon by the man's fellow, a soldier dressed in furs, quivering against the wall and doing his best to hide. "You."

Kol said as he raised a hand, black tendrils extending from his fingers and floating beyond his reach.

"You can show me the way." As he finished speaking the man started to scream.
 
With christened axe in hand Skad ran down those that chose to run, her leather and fur-wrapped feet charging through the snow with practised form. Despite the chaos that surrounded them, as the sights, sounds and smells of death began to envelop the village the woman only remained focused upon her quarry who had now noticed her charge.

“Mercy!” the man called out as he drew his sword and ushered the woman and children behind his defensive stance, “They are innocents! Let them flee!”

But what were such feeble words and sentiments compared to divine tribute?

The pair clashed in a meeting of violent metal as sword and axe pranged and scraped in a multitude of parried blows. In his heart, the man knew that every second that he kept this raider distracted was another second that the rest were gifted to run and hide.

A glancing blow struck the shoulder of the blonde woman, biting through hide and flesh but instead of providing an advantage to the protector, only served to empower the Nordwiir as blood began to pour and further stain her furs. She took the small opening of his success, headbutting the man to stagger him before the axe was brought down into the flesh of his neck.

He gurgled and dropped his sword, gloves moving to the wound that spurted and dribbled crimson in a violent manner before he dropped to the ground.

There was no time to savour it, however, as immediately the woman moved out to hunt down the rest of the stragglers who try as the might, could not outrun the weather-beaten pace of a tried and tested raider and much more importantly, could not hide footprints in the snow.

They were found cowering inside of a small hut, trying to conceal every sniff and shiver as their heartbeats pounded like the drums of death. When Skad approached they didn't even speak, breathless squeaks and sobs replacing pleas for mercy.

“Close your eyes. This will be quick,” she spoke quietly yet without a trace of emotion, swapping axe for her skinning blade as she approached their fear-shrunken forms.

They did, and it was.

The deeds of Skad, Kin-Slayer were not deeds that one would ever hear passed down from generation-to-generation. They were often the cruellest and ones that required a devotion that eclipsed any sense of benevolence in its entirety. She did not chase down the fleeing and weak or cut the throats of the dying for her own benefit, but because it was demanded.

After all three throats were slit and lives were given as tribute the woman kneeled, muttering a small guttural devotion to Haraudur, the Blood God.
 
His hand ripped away from the man's throat, the odd black tendrils withdrawing from his flesh and writhing back into the Sorcerer's arm.

Fingers tightened for a brief moment, specks of blood smearing his face. The man, now a crumpled corpse, lay half strewn on the floor. There was a look of abject horror and fear on his face, the terror he had died in evident upon his features.

Kol looked at him for a moment, and then let his voice boom "SKAD!"

The name echoed throughout the entire village, loud enough that even some of the abominations stopped within their tracks. Some of them peered towards Kol, others simply carried on their work after the momentary interruption was done with.

By dawn this village would be empty.

The blood beneath it's ground would consecrate it for the Dark Gods, but within the man's mind Kol had seen something.

Something that needed to be attended to. The Abominations were not quite clever enough to understand. He would have to take the Kin-Slayer.
 
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The call was heard as she left the hut, her feet tracking the blood that was now being absorbed into the beaten earth of the floor, drank in by the Dark Gods that craved it so.

It was a pity that she had been summoned in the midst of the chaos as she ran past the abominations that were once her fellow Nordwiir reigning terror and death upon the village. Her lip curled in an animalistic snarl at the sight of their monstrosities charging down each dweller like helpless prey, her jaw set, lower teeth protruding at the sound of desperate death rattles and tearing flesh alike.

There was something in it all that felt greater, that turned her blood to fire and gave Skad a sense of true being.

Perhaps she would be granted the chance to graze amongst the beasts once she had dealt with Kol's summons. If not on this night, then perhaps another. After all, this village was only the beginning of their pilgrimage south.

There was so much more to come.

With thirsting blade still in her gloved hand, she arrived at the side of the sorcerer, their leader. Skad's face was no longer its usual impassive mask of hollow mystery, no, now it burned with eager fervour only highlighted by the fresh specks of blood that now sat atop the prior dried markings. Even her plentiful scars seemed to smile as the scant moonlight slipping through the clouds highlighted the woman's features.

“What do you need of me, Kol?” Skad asked, her single eye looking to him with a burning intensity.
 
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"The Chief and his wife fled into the Tundra." His voice was low, though not for fear of spreading some sort of secret.

Those who could have benefitted from listening to such words were either dead or twisted beyond any semblance of humanity. His muted tone came from the magic still roiling in his chest, the taint of th Dark God's that hung over him even seconds after having used them to tear apart his victims mind.

Slowly the Sorcerer turned towards Skad.

"We will have to hunt them." The abominations could not do it. They would get distracted at the sight of a bear, the scent of a little blood, anything that could draw their focus for more than half a second. "If he reaches the villages to the south it will pose a problem."

Kol explained with a frown. "We will find them, and their corpses will be put on the altar for the Dark God's."

Such was the fate of all who refused to see the truth.
 
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Skad's brow creased beneath the cloth of her eye wrapping as Kol revealed that the village Chief and his wife had evaded their surprise attack. Such news filled the woman with disdain, as the raider was not one to ever tolerate cowardice, especially for those who were meant to lead. If the Chief had any true iron in his blood then he would have been here, defending his people to the very last drop.

A brief nod was given in agreement as any warning given to other settlements would undoubtedly hamstring their plans on their crimson pilgrimage south. They were best equipped to take villages by surprise in a flurry of sudden and violent bloodshed, not in prolonged and prepared warfare.

“They will not flee from fate,” Skad replied with a sense of urgency in her harsh voice, “there will be tracks in the snow we can follow.”

There was a sudden outcry of panicked squeals amongst the chaos of the slaughter and at that moment she realised that they will not have fled on foot. They had Kaldabatur, frost boars. It wasn't just as simple as running them down upon foot.

“They have mounts!” she realised out loud to the Sorcerer.

Immediately Skad turned and sprinted towards the sound of terrified beasts, the shit-stained sty bearing witness to one of their own abominations, who was waging feral and violent war with a particularly grizzled beast of a mount like rutting bloodied animals. Thankfully, the Dark Gods had granted them a new favour as one boar still stood, backed into the corner of the paddock and snorting between fight or flight instinct.

With no time to ensure a tamed beast the woman approached, leaping onto the side of the beast and clambering onto it's back. It bucked and tried to bolt as Skad grabbed its coarse mane and pulled, gesturing for Kol to join her upon the back of the creature.
 
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The Sorcerer did not hesitate, throwing himself on the back of the board without any hesitation.

Only a second passed before Skad kicked the sides of the great beast and it went bolting off into the snow, dashing out of the pen and moving through the burning village. Screams still echoed all around them, reaching into the air like a choir as they passed between the growing rubble.

Kol seemed ignorant of it all.

His eyes were set dead ahead, his gaze never faltering or swaying. The Dark Gods whispered in his ear, spoke of blood, rituals, of what needed to be done. Some threatened and cajoled, others praised and pandered to him as though he were a child who had done right.

The Sorcerer tried not to listen to any of them. They were never silent, never quiet, but in the midst of the slaughter it seemed almost as though they were growing louder. The voices were incessant, and they did not quiet as he and Skad passed out of the village.

Before them lay an almost obvious trail, their query having fled in terror and fear with near to no preparation. "The mountains!"

He called, biting his cheek slightly as he noticed the clouds hanging above in the distance.

It seemed they would find their foes only in the midst of a blizzard.
 
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The wind began to howl all around them as they pursued their quarry, at first it mingled with the screams of the village, the terror of flesh and fury of nature whipping around their ears in an indistinguishable frenzy. By the time they reached the mountains, there was nought but the blizzard’s breath to hear.

Eventually, the pace of their kaldabatur slowed as the path became more treacherous, their visibility caught by the swirling flurries of snow.

Still, Skad held no doubt that they would find them. This was not the first time that they had pursued fleeing foes, and it would not be the last. They knew that the chief and his wife had fled upon a mount, and so it would stand to reason that anywhere they went, the Nordwiir could follow up on the back of their own beast.

They were also no doubt panicked, and would not attempt to outmanoeuvre them or hide. They picked flight over fight and so their aim was most likely to get as far away as humanly possible. A fool’s gambit, especially in such wicked conditions.

The one-eyed blonde nestled her chin into the furs of her collar, trying to lessen the sting of the storm upon her cheeks as her eye sought flashes of any colour beyond the drift of white.

“Kol!” Skad boomed, her voice competing with the rage of the elements, “Do you sense anything!?”
 
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Kol seemed to stare off into the white nothingness of the storm.

His expression was almost a blank, as if he saw something but it was too far to really make out. The Sorcerer did not hear the storm, nor did he hear Skad call out to him at first. All that he heard was the whispers of the Dark Gods.

They spoke to him, calling for him.

Some sought retribution, others blood, and still others for him to slit Skad's throat so she could become their true champion.

He only listened to one. "A CAVERN!"

Through the haze it was almost impossible to see, but Kol pointed towards it. His other hand nudging Skad so that she would see the direction. Just beyond the storm, it's winds wrapping around it was a surging peak of mountains.

That was where they had gone.

"A WAY UNDER THE MOUNTAINS!" He called. "WITH A RIVER OF VIOLET AND BLOOD!"

He did not know what it meant, but he knew that was the path they needed to set upon.
 
  • Devil
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