Fear is a funny thing. It is not always present, and it's not always paralyzing. It is never pleasant, but it can be useful, and exciting. It can be as slow as a stalking cat or rise up out of the blue in a sudden shocking roar. You can sometimes anticipate the type of fear you will experience, but when you are in a strange and unfamiliar place, then who can say how fear shall happen? Your own fantasies are sometimes your own worst enemy.
Grillain inhaled deeply of the cool mist that surrounded her. Just ten feet or so away, the boat rocked gently on the lapping waves of the shore. Closing her eyes, she relaxed and tried to hear everything there was to hear. The raucous call of a crow, the jibbering of a grayling. It was far away, not likely to find her before morning. Crickets. The swish of broadleaf ferns. A creaking. A dragging step on wood. A soft rattle.
Skeletons. She thought maybe two. Hefting her axe and shield she marched bravely up the slope to the building she'd glimpsed from the boat. Abruptly an arrow flew out of the darkness and she was glad she had her shield up, because it thunked solidly right into the wood. She tucked herself right in behind the shield and marched forward, waiting until she felt the shield connect with the skeleton and then pushing with the shield, she applied her axe. Three strikes later, bones lay scattered upon the ground.
"So lies my enemy." she said softly and stretched her neck back and forth. Another sound from up above caused her to duck behind the shield again, but no arrows came raining down. She peeked out and saw the skeleton, hovering at the very edge of the platform that remained at the top of the building. It chattered and growled then walked to the back of the platform before coming to the edge again.
They didn't seem to remember how to use stairs. It was lucky for her, but she considered it almost poignantly sad. They had lost their lives, then even in their unlives they lost themselves even more, becoming little more than axe fodder. This skeleton swung its sword uselessly out into the air, causing sparks to fly off the stone when it connected.
"You are not happy," she said. "Nope. Not happy. At. All."
She removed her bow, stringing it swiftly and aiming with care. Her first shot hit the skeleton quite solidly, but the next few just thunked into the platform itself leaving little burn marks in the wood. That was no good. She didn't want to take down the platform. She wanted to use it! The building would make a perfect base to get to the Elder. It wasn't very far away.
She stepped back and waited until the rattling, moaning pile of bones made its way into the clear before letting loose two powerful shots in succession. The bolts of fire raced through the dark and sank into their target. The skeleton's last scream lanced through her head just before it collapsed.
Swiftly, she was on the move, racing up to the stone building. She flung useless items from her bag onto the ground. Stone, greydwarf eyes. She got out wood and built a workbench as quickly as she could. She was just about to start repairing the stone buildings walls by putting up wooden walls in the spaces when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to crawl.
It wasn't the night sounds. It wasn't the wind, or the moon. It was the absence of sounds that had triggered her wary attention. She decided to make sure her back-up axe was sharp. She laced the axe into the workbench, but as she leaned onto the sharpener, it slipped. Her hand stopped just a fraction of a hair before hitting the edge of the axe. She sucked in an unsteady breath and swallowed hard. There was a peculiar shine bouncing off the stone. She looked up and frowned. The moonlight. She'd forgotten to build a roof. She couldn't use a workbench without a roof.
A chitter caused her to freeze. Was it a gray dwarf? A shaman? Were they about to gang up on her? They'd get the boat first if they came en masse. No other noise invaded the night. Why was she so nervous? A ripple in the water made her relax, it was just a neck. But her relief lasted only a moment. A rumble caught her attention next. Rocks, settling. Her tense wariness was rising, notch by notch. Even with the moonlight, the dark seemed darker, the trees so much taller. The cries of the crows had turned into screams. The air was colder and even the mist was like little needles on her face.
"This was a bad idea. In fact, I should rethink this whole plan."
A stiff breeze sprang up, as if to reinforce the cloying feeling that wouldn't let her concentrate. Something ELSE was here. Somewhere. Something that was offended by her very presence, maybe her very existence. She smashed the workbench and gathered up the wood, scooping everything into the bag carelessly. She ran for the boat and didn't stop until her two feet hit the safety of her own solid deck.
The creaking of the deck among the hush of the water and whoosh of wind in the sail was comforting. She took long moments to just breathe in the salty air. Out here on the water, she did not feel the dread that filled that forest. And she didn't know why she felt it. It contained no more or less danger than any other Black Forest, yet it was like cold fingers reaching for her heart.
The forest gave way to a brighter, sunnier, more spacious landscape. Gratefully she turned the boat into the shore, almost expertly pulling up the sail and letting the momentum of the vessel carry it up onto the soft sand. The sun peeked over the horizon, warming up the dewy grass. Right in front of her lay a lovely spot to build.
"Oh this is better. This is much better!"
As usual, her building efforts were...chaotic. She began with her workbench and built around it. At least this time, she remembered to smooth the dirt she built on and wasn't too concerned with the roof looking pretty. Her efforts chopping wood of course attracted attention from the bordering Black Forest. The same Black Forest that held whatever it was that pinched her heart into a tiny little piece of coal. Every time she went out for wood, a new wave of chill made her shiver. It wasn't long before the trickles of offensive little irritants became waves. She had to stop more frequently to whip them off. They couldn't all have been coming from this place, could they? Were they migrating?
"Where are they coming from?"
Her hands had become numb on the hammer as she put up the upper walls, stopping to drive off even more graylings coming out of the forest. Luckily, these graylings were no more dangerous than those who attacked her main base and she only felt physically cold, not cold with terror. The second room was much better, with the roof carefully weather tight. When she finally carved the last letter of the portal's name, she stood back breathlessly and waited. After a number of minutes, nothing had happened. She checked it over, but everything was as it was supposed to be according to the mental instruction.
"Panels, flares, eyes, carving, cores, and name them both...oh."
Doors shut tight against the scratching of the little irritants, she shaved off the carved name and began again, carefully making sure the name was initialed correctly.
ONE
The flare of light startled her. The runes and the whole ring itself seemed to catch on fire and the clinging flames licked toward her, as if inviting her to step through. She glanced around her reluctant to attempt this audacious maneuver, yet wanting to get home to her fire and her bed so badly she ached for it.
"Everyone just...stay the way you are."
And she stepped through.
She was a little surprised to find herself actually back at home. She had almost expected to be flung somewhere out in the wilderness due to her own ineptitude. Finding herself on the solid wood floor of her own home was breathlessly comforting. She backed away from the still flaring portal. It calmed and the fire died away with a sigh. She had just crossed leagues and leagues with just a single step! The excitement exploded from her in a series of giggles, echoing around the room hollowly.
She wiped her eyes and steadied herself, and then made her way into the beckoning warmth, to sleep, to dream, of the next thing she would accomplish.
The next day that dawned bright and cheerful, she completed a sharp, pointy stake-wall all around her structure to protect it and reluctantly climbed back in the boat. She had to return it home, she couldn't just leave it here. The boat was precious, but she wanted to explore so badly. Her craving almost became her undoing. The wind again had become uncertain and she turned the bow of the little vessel further into the ocean than she had before. Much further. Far enough so that she reached another shore itself. It couldn't be the same land could it? No. It was across the water! It would be an awfully big bay.
Her thoughts abruptly stopped as she peered portside and saw what appeared to be a house. A house, in the middle of the water! It was just, floating? Grillain swiftly took in sail and the little boat obeyed her command to slow. The misty air cleared a bit. No. It wasn't floating. The waves rocked back so she saw stilts holding the house up. She guided the boat closer, witnessing the water clearly washing across the rotting floor, its corners spotted with salt and tiny crustaceans.
As the mist parted for the boat, an island with a single bare twisted tree peeked over the waves. What was this place? The eerie nature of it drew her forward. It was threatening, but in an odd fascinating way. There was a faint aroma of decay that seemed to come from nowhere and yet existed. But only here. Sailing even a tick further, the aroma vanished. She came back around the island again nudging ever closer. From behind the twisted bare wood a burly humanoid figure stepped out.
It held an axe. Grillain almost shrieked her delight at seeing another person. Her cry cut off as the figure looked at her with glowing eyes, it's long straggly beard covered in moss, then walked straight into the water. And kept going. A rancid smell reached her and she nearly heeled the boat over in her zeal to pull away. Her father had told her too many stories of terrible walking dead, cursed to walk in their skins until their bodies had fallen apart. Unlike skeletons, Draugr remembered life and were angry enough to take vengeance on everything that came near them even as they wandered in their rotting bodies and minds.
They were so much more dangerous than the skeletons who had no muscles and no hate. The Draugr could run and grab. They had power and if they had magic in life, they kept that magic in death, using it to rend the flesh from the bones of their unlucky targets. Until they lost their own flesh, or one had incredibly strong armor, they were not to be trifled with.
Again she sailed past, this time at a respectful distance. The Draugr, having returned to standing at the tree, stared at her coldly as she passed, dripping salty water. She took a few potshots with her bow, but all it did was force the Draugr to enter the water again. She grumbled to herself. She really wanted to get rid of it, but her bow didn't do much good and the sun was getting pretty low. Reluctantly, she made sure she had a firm mark of the spot on her mental map and turned the boat for home. She wondered if there were other places like this. A swampy, dangerous spot with Draugr?
She arrived through the portal to a dark, rainy morning. She grinned. It suited her purpose. Destruction. Today she would discover and scout out the lair of The Elder. Laden with tools, weapons, and food, she set off. At the edge of the forest she hesitated. What if she were afflicted with that same almost paralyzing fear she had suffered at the first stop near The Elder? Her mind automatically went to all the times she'd been fleeing from the trolls, weak and breathless, stumbling over berry bushes and shrubs. She needed a way out and there was no swift little boat inside the forest. Taking out her hoe she dragged it in the soft soil of the forests edge. She was gratified to see it came away easily, leaving a thick black line. With a will she went to work making sure there was at least a sketchy pathway leading all the way back to the edge of the forest.
It was a slog, digging, avoiding trees and rocks, trying to keep going in the right direction, and stopping to smack down boars and graylings. It was when she finally hit a rock that was so big you could build a house on it that she gave it up. For awhile at least. She was tempted to flop down here right on the slick rock but the familiar sound of rain on wood planking drew her on. Was an abandoned house near here? She could at least get dry and rested.
Through the chilling drizzle, dark blocks rose up in sight, shiny with rain dripping down them. A tower! This was fortuitous. So close to The Elder according to her map. Perhaps...perhaps she could make this a mini raiding camp? Just enough for a bed, a fire, and a place to store some food?
Of course, she wouldn't be defeated, she just had to have options!
She stretched fingers tight with exhaustion, but got to work quickly. She repaired the flooring and built walls and a secure door. The activity warmed and dried her. When she had completed it she felt, if not good, at least, secure. She waited on improving it with a fire and bed. Her eagerness to see The Elder's lair was too much to hold back now. She took a moment to build a box and left wood, core wood, rock, feathers, and some raw meat.
She closed the door behind her and a smile flickered at the thatched porch roof obviously built by someone who liked comfort. Then all thoughts of the tower faded as she set off in a cool, now clear, dry morning. She did not continue her efforts to create a path. She figured she could do that later as she was running back and forth for supplies to prepare for her battle. At a trot, she almost tripped over a lone skeleton aimlessly wandering in the forest. She wondered where it came from, but not for too long. There was little that stopped her. Some thistle and blueberries. Her jam pots were getting low and she was a sucker for the sweet sticky substance.
She was close to The Elder's lair when she came across one last unavoidable obstacle. It was a swirling mass of pink, green and black. Clouds surrounding what looked like vines poking through. As Grillain peered through the blaze of sunrise, she saw a familiar form wriggle out of the cloud and begin wandering around. A grayling? This was where they were coming from! A burst of purpose picked her up and she ran forward, no warning, axe raised and yelling an angry battle cry. The graylings and greydwarves there had no time to react as she waded in stomping, smashing, and screaming. She flailed with her axe until there was nothing to hit anymore. She came down slowly from her berserk rage and the scream died away in her throat. Around her, dead monsters and broken vines were fading into bits and pieces. She plucked a random Greydwarf eye that stuck to her foot and tossed it away. She had no need of it now, and goodness knew, there were still enough of those little aggravations around to kill.
She returned to her path forward. Up a long rocky slope, she glimpsed the lair through the trees. Tall spires of carved rock. As she got closer she saw a large platform of stone blocks. Four pillars at each corner stood sentinels to an ancient pit of fire blazing away in front of a rune scribed stone.
Did all the Prey have altars? Were they so dangerous they had to be locked away unless summoned? Or was that how they survived? Remaining in torpor until summoned to be battled against? Scraping her fingers against the runed stone, she read.
BURN THEIR YOUNG
Burn their young? But how was she supposed to know what they looked like?
A vision of the trophy circle came to mind. Pictures graven upon the rocks. Closing her eyes she groaned. She'd never made the connection that those pictures actually TOLD her what the Forsaken all looked like! The tall tree-like carving. This was...an Ent?
Grillain's confidence wavered. Ents were terrifyingly tall. Part of the giant race, these creatures were so violent they couldn't even live in Jotunheim with all the rest of the giants. The greydwarf shamans and brutes were very ent like, though much smaller. Burn their young. That must refer to the seeds the greydwarves dropped when they died. She turned to look around the platform. Greenery and cracks marred the surface of the tall spires. How was she supposed to do this? Kill an Ent? Was it even possible?
Grillain's breath caught in her throat the next moment. A choking tightness in her chest told her something was near. Something angry, something dangerous. And it was summoning other dangerous things. She staggered, unable to clear her thoughts for the snowy fuzziness in her brain. The voice that flew around the platform was gritty with age and anger.
You cannot prevail. You are a weak fleshy creature with no strength in your heart. Come back when you have spirit, when you can fight! Now GO!
The last word did lend wings to Grillain's feet. She was running through the forest, cursing her thoughtlessness at not finishing her pathway. Hordes of greydwarves hounded her heels and she felt, rather than heard, the rumbling step of a troll right behind them. She stumbled over rocks over logs. Their claws were in her hair and on her cloak, pulling at her. Gasping hard, she knew, she wasn't going to make it. She was going to be crushed, torn apart, devoured! She was too tired, too stupid, too old…
She broke through the tree line, going down in a heap on the soft grass of the meadow, waiting for the final strike, for the end. But it never came.
Chest heaving she rolled over and saw...nothing. Just the edge of the Black Forest where the line of peaceful trees met the grass. And a short distance away, her house stood perfectly still, awaiting her arrival. Birds chirped in defiance of her minds insistence the world was ending.
"Gods that Forsaken has some power. To make me so afraid. He could make my own nightmares come to life! How will I ever defeat him?"