It has always been the case that the further one travels from civilized society, the more likely they are to witness life without laws, without out morals, without mercy. Yet still, some choose to embrace the risks and venture far from the safety of castle walls and noble armies, out into the wilderness. That is the natural balance of freedom versus security.
As of late however, the wilderness has come to society. Dark forces from the icy north encroach on farming villages, trading posts and quaint hamlets as the land warps into a foul miasmic marsh. As if this spreading corruption was not bad enough on crops, foul creatures began to follow the taint. Overgrown beasts, unnatural creatures unlike any animal yet seen—and the risen dead, marching ever onward without rest, need of food or the fear their mere presence strikes into the common people. Lives are taken, and the oppressive, implacable spread of this evil makes all but the hardiest people flee its approach; those that remain must endure the constant threat of attack and ever-dwindling supplies, as the land itself turns on them.
Some seek to discover the source of the spreading horror—brave warriors, clever rogues and keen magi. Parties are formed, deals are struck and fortunes are offered for an answer, but years have passed since the beginning of this taint with none succeeding. Very few of these adventurers who travel to the north even return, and almost everyone that does is never the same. There are some who’ve chosen to brave the danger and thrived.
One such traveler stands on a craggy outcropping that overlooks what likely used to be a thriving fishing town. The center square’s lanterns beating back the dark of night along with those few that hang from thatch-roofed houses show signs of life, but compared to the ruined, rotted shells of buildings that surround them the town is barely a quarter of its former glory. The land, formerly verdant highlands with abundant wildlife has become shrouded in gnarled trees and vile, swampy earth, ruining any chance of agriculture returning to the soil anytime soon.
It’s a land touched by darkness, and the odd onlooker mirrors such an observation. On their back a farmer’s scythe is slung, the long, thin blade razor-sharp and glimmering in the dim moonlight. Clearly marked as a woman by their slender figure, their clothing is ragged and tattered. What was likely once a fine crimson overcoat with an attached hood looks to have been stained several times over, with several patches sewn onto the thick material. The leathers and linens beneath are faded and torn, while their boots have clearly seen better days. The true strangeness lies in their appearance beneath that hood however; skin as pale as a corpse and hair like the driven snow frames a surprisingly delicate, youthful visage. Dark lips rest below piercing eyes that glow a faint turquoise, adding to her unearthly presence.
The strange woman stands, her arms crossed while she gazes at the ravaged village below; still save for her chest rising and falling. Ultimately what breaks her stillness is a brief flash of violet light, followed by the rustling of tree branches made all the more obvious by the air’s complete stillness. Upon seeing that, the silent observer’s lips curl into a smile before turning around, traveling back the way she came…along with a quartet of skeletons wielding makeshift weapons, several others falling in line behind her as she descends the hilltop.
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Down in the village, the locals are settling in for the night after a long, grueling day of eking out whatever subsistence they can manage. Most have turned to the lake for food due to the danger of leaving town alone, and without a proper blacksmith—merely his apprentice, who hadn’t learned enough to carry the trade in full before his mentor was slain by a ‘wolf attack’. That’s what they called it at least; a small way to not have to consider just what those formless dangers are, skulking around in the vast morass.
Most villagers out right now are returning to their homes after taking their dinner with ale in the tavern, perhaps the only building that’s not changed much since the darkness swept over the land. Before it was packed due to travelers; now it remains filled at most hours because of restless nights and the feeling of safety in numbers. Among the departing patrons is a middle-aged father and his young son, approaching his teenage years—both fishmongers, and both wearing what once were likely supple, if plain linens. Now? Barely more than rags and wrappings to hold it all together. Their fair skin is blemished with grime, while their hair is slick with grease and the collective remnants of a day’s sweat, even in the chilly air. The boy carries their fishing poles, while his father hoists their pack filled with the day’s catch.
“Why did we have to leave so early?” the boy asks with a pouty frown.
“Because it’s not a good idea to stay out so late, and leave when there’s less people around. I know it’s not fun Noah, but it’s better to be safe and unhappy than happy then dead.” Normally such blunt talk with young children was looked down upon, but in this new way of life they were all forced into, there wasn’t any room for childhood innocence anymore. That was made obvious when several children, kept ignorant of the true terrors that roamed the land went missing one night, with claw marks and bloodstains where the shattered remnants of their beds were.
“But, we’re in the middle of town. We’re safe if we don’t go out, right Dad?” Noah asks, looking up at his father with anxious curiosity. Grimacing, Venick takes a moment before nodding. “Yeah, we’re safe—“
The guttural scream of a man pierces the dim noise of the evening, cut off as quickly as it began. For an instant the town was silent, and then chaos erupted. Several other cries of terror echoed out, and the sound of many light feet running along the ground can be heard—along with unholy, bestial howls not unlike a wolf’s, but pained and reverberating through the air.
Acting quickly, Venick drops his sack of fish and scoops his son up, breaking out into a full sprint towards their home. He turns a corner before abruptly stopping, while Noah holds on tightly to their fishing rods out of fear more than anything. “Dad, what’s happening?!” he asks pleadingly, unable to see the horror that made his father stop in his tracks. A beast, larger than a dog and covered in mottled scales is crouched over the bleeding corpse of a fellow villager. The ambient light from the torches lining the road show enough of the creature to see what it truly is…there is no face, just solid bone. No eyes, no ears—just an elongated snout with a horrifically wide, gnarl-toothed maw wet with blood. A long, reptilian tail swishes with every gnashing chew on the corpse, before ‘looking’ up at the pair, a pitch black elongated tongue sliding along its enormous jaw as it growls, starting to approach them.
Venick turns to flee; it’s all he can think to do. Thinking isn’t even an accurate word really; blind panic is what he’s feeling. Turning the corner back the way he came, Noah screams out as he sees that horrifying creature start to move towards them, while Venick’s legs carry him as fast as they can manage. Alas, he runs into another two of the hellish breasts who break off from their rampage, sensing easy prey as the three faceless creatures surround him. Venick can hear Noah crying, pleading for him to do something; all he can think is that he hopes the beasts descend on him first, so Noah might be able to run away. This wasn’t how he expected to die and it certainly wasn’t what he wanted for his son, but there isn’t anything else he can do. Not unarmed, and not surrounded. As the first monstrous horror charges towards him, Venick shuts his eyes and braces for the agony of teeth chewing through bone and tearing flesh asunder…only to hear the sound of lightning crackling through the air as his lungs fill with the scent of ozone and burnt flesh, while arrows sink into scaled flesh behind him.
He opens his eyes to the sight of that charging beast reduced to a smoldering corpse, its charred limbs twitching occasionally. Looking behind him, he sees a sight that convinces him he must be mad—skeletons, hacking at the dying, arrow-ridden creatures and ignoring his presence entirely. Then to make things even worse on him, a calm, cheery voice rings out behind him, coming from the path he first saw that beast in.
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“Sorry about that; I tried to get him before he rounded the corner. The name’s Zirdalen, no need to shake hands since I can see you’ve got yours full,” the necromancer says, smiling politely from beneath her crimson hood to the complete and utter shock of Venick. “I know the feeling, believe me…go and find somewhere down that street to hide, it’s safe now.” She opens her mouth to speak further, but the sound of yet more howling growing closer by the second gives Zirdalen pause, and she reaches behind her to pull that large scythe from her back. “Or stay where you are and keep the skeletons between you and these wretches, actually!”
Venick barely has time to turn around, tightening his grip on Noah before the first of several creatures like the first three come galloping around the corners, perhaps drawn by the deaths of their fellows. Two of them charge one skeleton, gnawing madly at its bones as it topples to the ground only for one to have its head sliced clean off by the blade of another risen minion. Lightning arcs from the hands of yet another one of Zirdalen’s guardians, searing the body of another beast while the necromancer herself is accosted by a particularly large monster, only for it to be deftly slain by her swinging her scythe into its mouth, unholy energy emanating from the blade as it effortlessly cuts through the creature entirely.
Over a dozen of those beasts charge the necromancer and her skeletal allies, yet they reach neither her nor Venick. Blow after blow, arrow after arrow, spell after spell they beat the creatures back, until the street is littered with foul ichor that seeps from their scattered corpses. Zirdalen, her clothing spattered with the black blood of these fiends looks as if she did nothing more than go for a brisk morning jog; her demeanor pleasant and casual even while she steps over one of the unnatural carcasses towards Venick, who cautiously sets Noah down, still keeping a hold on the boy’s hand. They both stare at her, with Venick pushing Noah behind him as he gives Zirdalen a wary look. “Thank you but that’s close enough.” Unfazed, Zirdalen stops mid-step, nodding with a wave of her hand as her skeletons reconvene behind her—minus only two, their battered and cracked remnants strewn across the impromptu battlefield.
“Sorry about the scare, but the best way to handle these beasties is a little bit of dark magic of my own I’ve found. I don’t want to stress you out further, but I’m afraid I came here with a purpose. Do you have an elder, or village leader I can speak with?”
Stiffening, Venick shakes his head. “No, he died some time ago. It didn’t feel right to pick someone new with how small we are; it’s not like we’ll make any big decisions anytime soon anyway.” His voice is shaky despite his attempts to keep calm; seeming as if he’s a moment away from bolting with Noah in tow.
“I see. Well, I heard rumors about demons attacking travelers and even villages in the north—here, and so far, that seems to be true. Would you mind if I asked you—“
“No, no. No questions, just…I’m taking my boy home.” His tone brooked no argument, and without waiting for a response he dragged Noah along with him, not wanting to wait and see if their apparent savior will take offense or not.
With a grimace and a sigh, Zirdalen turns to the nearest skeleton, shaking her head. “This will be tough…who knows how many died before we got here. Well, I ‘spose we at least found where the demons are! Time to do some investigating…” she says cheerily, before heading into the town’s center, her mindless skeletons in tow.
