Gerald punched his hands together as the last bit of warmth from the Doctor’s potion left his fingertips. The warmth was replaced by a freezing chill as a wind swept down from the forested valley to the east. Mr. Newcastile rode atop a borrowed nag, who even now seemed ready to buckle, and the beast struggled through the thick layers of snow underfoot. When the train stopped, the imperceptibly long train of warriors and heroes, Newcastile stopped his horse along with it. He brought his scarf over his mouth and nose, and sat stoically atop the pathetic steed as another chilling wind came in overhead.

As Newcastile began to wonder about the war party’s impediment he was given something else to worry about. A light shot up from several meters ahead and was clearly visible in the sky for all to see. Newcastile worried if that would bring unwanted guests, but he didn’t have too long to dotter. He knocked on the closed top carriage he rode next to with two easy raps. Within moments the door opened, letting the smell of alabaster and thyme out from the hazy warmth of the confines of the carriage. Sarel’s cloth covered arm extended out as he opened it, breaching from the darkness. He stepped out with a wavering endurance as the cool breeze mixed with the enclosed hot air and caused bouts of mist. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and crushed the snow underneath with his heavy boot fall. Expecting to see Newcastile Sarel glanced around, saw his associate already heading toward the Exemplar’s beacon.

By the time Sarel arrived with a small crate in-hand, several vials of varying liquids held therein, the rest of the Champions had already arrived; Newcastile stood apart, but near, the group as it converged and spoke. Seral trudged up in his uncomfortable furs, the beads of sweat which once plagued him were frozen to his forehead, he spoke directly to Hopsfield.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hopsfield, I wasn’t able to distill the potion enough to both mass produce and remain effective. I’ll have to start over probably. It’s unfortunate though, because most of the ingredients I need are either buried under the snow or dead for winter. We’ll need…” Newcastile grabbed the Doctor’s wrist, eyed him through the thick hood of fur.

“There are Barbarians, Doctor.” He said quietly and easily.

Sarel looked at Gerald, looked at their hands, glanced at the renowned half Elf near him, then smiled. “Oh, well that’s fine. I expected as much, just go around. I’ll have plenty of time to work with this formula then!” Sarel could hardly see the Pheonix or the Vampire but knew they were there. He’d had some time to gather tidbits about each of them. Most of it was unremarkable by his standards, but who was he to judge?

A crashing came from the wooded area and it broke through the silence. Sarel glanced at the direction of the noise, expecting to see a band of idiotic barbarians, or some sort of monster, but in fact all he saw were knobbed knees and snow laden feet. Scanning his eyes all the way up the length of the creature Sarel could tell that this thing, whatever it was, was huge. Sarel considered what it could possibly be, and whether he should be worried about his potions. A moment’s more of analysis set him at ease, this was likely a Troll of some kind.

Sarel looked around the group, pointed with his gloved thumb toward the giant, feasting creature. “Who invited my mother?” He said with a smile.

Newcastile eyed the group from within his hood, shook his head, and chuckled only slightly.

Argus and the dwarves marched alongside the elves and when he was addressed the first time, he laughed loudly and said "Ahh lad, me name's just Argus. Flattery'll get ye nowhere! Me wife would kill me if she found out I was already cheating on her with another man!, at this another hearty laugh issued forth as they prepared to set out into the snow. The caravan formed surprisingly speedily and they began their great walk with little in the way of celebration, not that he could blame them. Argus travelled with his apprentices, a Dwarven marching song always rising up from their lips. One thing Argus had learned about travel was that it was important to keep everyone in high spirits, and perhaps letting them see the dwarves in such high spirits would raise the spirits of the rest of the convoy. They proceeded like this for quite some time, though Argus was not a fan of the walk and occasionally took a moment to indulge in another of his favorite adventuring pass times: complaining.

When the flare was shot up, Argus made his way over to meet up with Hopsfield, though he had little idea what they may need to talk about. Were they already out of food, somehow? That shouldn't be the case, all kinds of caravans loaded down with snow potatoes had been making their way to this area for months. They had likely been paying top dollar to stockpile for this expedition out into the harsh cold, which made sense Argus supposed. What good were the continent's best heroes if they didn't have anything to eat? Even he was vulnerable to starving to death. So no, if they were already out of food or something of that nature it would've had to have been very bad, something to the line of a thief or the catastrophic loss of a wagon into the snow. Granted, all he could do either way was speculate for now. When he arrived however, he felt his boots begin to shake, but he soon realized it wasn't his boots shaking, it was the ground beneath them. Looking up above him, he saw a tower of a man approaching...but it wasn't a man. It was a giant, though based on the fact nobody was attacking it perhaps it was welcome here? Must be a friend, he supposed, as he laughed once more and his voice issued forth at top volume "Ah! We've got a plus-sized friend do we! Now we'll always have the 'high ground'!" At that, another laugh issued forth, the quality of the joke having no bearing on Argus finding it absolutely hilarious.

The other champions soon gathered, and the matter of business was attended. Apparently there was a horde of Northmen slowly crawling southward. That would certainly enough to disturb Volkimir's wolves, and so that mystery was solved. The intention for this meeting was obvious; Hopsfield wished to deter the horde, to avoid the plunder of his homelands that lay directly in path of the barbarian horde. The man was easy to figure out, if nothing else. The elf (Fyldren, was it?) voiced her opinion on the matter, largely unconcerned by the matter. Volkimir found himself of like mind; the fate of the world was at stake, and they could not afford to waste their strength on such a petty matter.

Still, another issue crossed Volkimir's mind. Both the Northmen and themselves were processions of considerable size. They had only noticed the barbarians first by virtue of having aerial scouts. It would not be long before the Northmen noticed them, and while they could evade them for some time by virtue of the blizzard, their caravan was simply too large and unwieldy to escape them in such an open area. The two would have to come into contact for one reason or another, and Volkimir suspected that the fleeing Northmen would take notice of the large quantities of supplies their retinues carried.

The ground rumbled, and Volkimir spotted a giant of some sort that had wandered into their midst. It stood vaguely at the edge of their caravan, standing still as it gnawed on some beast or another. The other arriving champions cracked awful jokes that made Vokimir hate them all a little more, but his mind pondered the possibilities that this creature presented. The Northmen were not known for their strict discipline or tight formations. If he learned anything in the years he spent in their lands, Volkimir knew that barbarians moved like water, always taking the path of least resistance. Not to mention that this was not a warband, as far as they could tell, these were refugees. Their numbers seemed vast, but they would mostly be women and children, supplies and shelters carried on sleds by pack animals. They could not risk a direct incursion with such a great beast.

Volkimir decided to voice his considerations. "I believe we have found the solution to this issue," he said, gesturing to the giant. "Regardless of whatever settlements lay in the path of these Northmen, they impede our progress Northward. A direct confrontation would needlessly sap our strength and resources. I suggest we lure the beast ahead of our procession, as a vanguard, and march it into the barbarian horde." He made motions with his hands to demonstrate his intended formations. "They would split like water on a stone to avoid it, and we would follow behind it in tight formations and march directly through the middle of their formation. The blizzard will provide us cover, and by the time they find our tracks, we will be long gone."

Though his face of course betrayed nothing, Volkimir had a subtle ulterior motive to this plan. Though the rest of his fellow champions believed that their supplies were plentiful, poor rationing stemming from Volkimir's haste had led his retinue to run out of sustenance. The more living members of his personal caravan had no issues eating from the supplies offered by the others, but Volkimir and his personal attendents required a "fresher" sort of meal. A few outriders set out as they passed through the barbarian horde would be enough to capture a plentiful number of cattle to keep fat and full of blood for the remainder of the journey. Considering that only reasons of practicality kept his peers from condemning the horde to death, Volkimir doubted that they would care much if they found out afterwards. Not to mention that the was sure that their servants and lesser attendants would be grateful to no longer awaken with bite wounds.

The heroes assembled speedily, and there was some discussion of what was occurring. The Dark Prince had an inkling that something had been off, but he could not read the minds of his wolves. Malaena explained the situation promptly, seeming to have some degree of understanding for Hopsfield's dilemma. Both the ranger and the doctor were totally uncaring about the south however, and seemed perfectly content to damn his homeland if it meant completing the mission a few hours faster.

Suddenly, the ground began to tremble. The other heroes easily stood through the shocks, and after Acamen recovered his balance the mage noticed there was a giant snacking on a deer in the middle of the caravan. Hopsfield couldn't avoid freezing in fear before the mighty beast - the instinct of prey ran through his heart, and terror filled his bones. Acamen had seen worse, but this was truly terrifying sight to behold.

The Golden Lances stood ready to charge and take down the monster. The Exemplar began to think through spells that could cripple a fifty foot tall tower. These were men that would fight for their lives. But no combat commenced, as the creature made no motion to attack the heroes.

The rest of the party was either completely insane or had become so accustomed to the ridiculous they began jesting at the situation. The Alchemist construed a rude comment regarding his mother. The dwarf stumbled in, probably drunk, and spat out a bad joke. Volkimir immediately began to think of ways to exploit the situation one way or another. While they initially through the Exemplar off, their reactions somehow made the scholar calmer after a few moments.

"Well ... um ... That's not a bad idea at all Prince Volkimir. However, I don't think a lure is required." In his studies, Acamen had learned that trolls were normally rather peaceful creatures that did have enough intelligence to be bargained with. Rather than trying to lure the troll somehow, they could simply ask it. The Exemplar looked up towards the giant, and made sure to raise his volume so that he could be heard. "Hello great one! Our party wishes to go through another, we were wondering if you would be willing to walk in front of us as we head through them? I can promise you a free deer later!"

With some additional thought, he realized that Volkimir's idea had another merit. If the barbarians still felt inspired to attack, the party had a few more display options before resorting to violence. The death knights were unsettling, a phoenix's flames were scorching, many would cower in the presence of holy magic, and he had heard rumors about Sarel's ability to turn into a giant as well.

After some discussion with the giant, the party continued on it's path. Initially, the barbarians stood in the way, seeming to want to stand up to the heroes as some act of defiance against the gods. But the fire in their hearts was quenched after weeks in the cold, the giant easily carving a wedge through the horde with the sheer power of it's presence. As the party continued, hushed tones passed through the crowd as some recognized the champions based off of stories.

Many of the barbarians were obviously relieved that these fabled warriors and mythical beings wouldn't be attacking them.

As the party continued to head through the middle of the horde, the Dark Prince's prediction proved itself accurate. Men avoided conflict, and women grabbed their children away from the monsters that stood before them. The group reached the other side without any issue.

The white mage sighed in relief as they reached the other side. While he was confident in the Vampire's plan, the feeling of success was more filling than any amount of bravado the soul could muster. After walking a safe distance from the horde, Acamen sent his daughter to snatch a deer for the giant and pay the party's debt. After a few more miles of traveling, Ezekala returned with the payment and the group sent the satisfied giant on it's way.

Two more days passed uneventfully. The morning sun on the fifth day failed to warm the party as they hiked over yet another mound of snow, the only exciting feature the Turmian Mountains the party would be passing through later that day. The mountains towered in the distance, sentinels over the surrounding hills, the peaks easily piercing the cload. Hopsfield hoped that the Turmian Pass would allow the team he was leading to get a jump start on the way up north, avoiding a long detour around the mountain range.

As the party entered the mountain pass the birds eye vision was cut off - neither Phoenix or Angel could fly over the mighty Turmian mountains, meaning that there would be little warning in case of an ambush. Historically however, the road had been kept clear by the Order of Schlucht, so the white mage had little reason to worry.

The Order of Schlucht was some two thousand years old, maintaining about a thousand knights dedicated to keeping the Turmian Pass clear. Initially created to block the northern barbarians from invading, today they maintained themselves by collecting tolls from travelers and merchants in exchange for a quick and safe passage. In the middle of the pass their fortress still stood against the test of time, having held off barbarians, mages, and multiple invasions from both sides. Acamen knew that recently the order had some financial troubles, but he guessed that the fort was making a killing from tolls due to southern migrations.

Acamen was not expecting a siege. While the recent lack of resources lent itself to violence, even a large army wouldn't dare to challenge the Knights of Schlucht. But here was a small army of some seventy five men waiting outside the fortress, firing arrows towards the battlements. After a moment of searching the Exemplar noticed the assaulting armies banner, a simple cloth of purple and black. Acamen thought through the list of noble houses and eventually realized who it was. House Zoloman? If I remember correctly they have land holdings just south of these mountains. Still, that didn't explain why Zoloman was sieging the Knights of Schlucht. If anything, House Zoloman relied on the protection the knights granted them.

The Exemplar found his answer upon viewing the fort. It appeared to have been through several sieges recently, a massive hole blown in the wall and signs that a large army had passed through recently, numbering in the thousands. The trail headed off into the mountain range however, which Acamen considered to be the least confusing part of what he saw.

The confusing part were the skeletons that now occupied the walls, some wore tabards from the knightly order, others wore the signature fur cloaks of barbarians. Arrows and bolts and javelins were being launched towards the sieging army, inaccurately and falling short of Zolomon's troops. The problem was the large army of undead massing at the hole, preparing the charge the human troops.

The Golden Lances prepared for combat, ready to slay those kept unloving through heretical magic.

They were close, Eros was certain.

The legendary marksman stood in the center of a ditch, looking at his lieutenants in bewilderment. He had been in his fair share of ditches in his many years of adventuring, but this one was different. This one was shaped like a foot.

“Are you certain, Lord Zolomon?” The young Lieutenant Marios River wiped a bead of sweat – despite the cold – from his fair, unwrinkled forehead. “These seem more like the tracks of a monster than the heroes we are supposed to be meeting.”

Eros Zolomon looked up from his quiver. For the third time that morning, the Lord Zolomon was checking for any flaws in his equipment. Warped shafts, blemishes on his bow, impotent poison – any small flaw could dispel his magic, ruin his attack. Eros always liked – needed – to be certain. That's exactly why he knew that they were indeed following the correct trail. He looked at his other lieutenant who smiled back knowingly. Atticus Black had joined Eros and his brother Paris many years ago when the pair had first set out adventuring, hunting down the wildest and most fantastical beasts that threatened the common folk of the land. Though Black was just an ordinary soldier at the time, he had always proved to be a loyal and valuable asset. The veteran had worked hard over the years and had surely been rewarded by his appreciative lord; he was now a top ranking officer with his own son elevated to the rank of captain quickly – partially a favor to his father and partially with the hope that determination and a faithful heart were hereditary.

The three leaders of House Zolomon continued along the trail, planning on arriving at the fortress of the Order of Schlucht before too long. Eros hoped to have time to check in with his old allies before any other heroes arrived to join him in this all important quest. House Zolomon owed the knights of the Order a great deal of gratitude for the protection they offered from barbarians, monsters or any other of the multitude of threats in this dangerous land. The smallfolk of House Zolomon had lived in relative security over the years because of the knights' valiant efforts. The fort was just coming into view when one of Eros's outriders came charging back down the path, both rider and horse panting hard. The scout reported immediately to his lord. Eros knew the man – he knew each of his soldiers by name – as Iravan, a stoic, experienced warrior. Whatever had this well-traveled veteran so frightened must be serious indeed.

“My Lord! My Lord! The order.. they're... the knights.. barbarians.. dead..” Iravan spluttered and tripped over his words, trying to say everything at once. He took a moment to gather himself and explained to the gathered Zolomon leaders about what he had witnessed just up the road.

The Order of Schlucht was no more. In its place was a host of abominations to the natural order of the world itself. What used to be men – sons, fathers, friends – were now ghastly creatures, animated skeletons still adorned with traces of their past lives. The shattered remnants of the knights' armor hung from emaciated carcasses, and some of the animated dead even sported tattered furs and bloody axes. The horrified lord figured that there must have been a battle that prompted this grizzly scene; the fort had obviously been sieged by barbarians, but living or dead, Eros couldn't tell.

What mattered now was that both sides were indeed dead. The only thing left was to put these obscenities to rest.

_____________________________________

“Another volley on the first battlement!” The arcane marksman's voice rang clear over the sounds of bowstrings thrumming and arrows skipping off stone, and just as their lord commanded, the ranged specialists that constituted Eros Zolomon's elite guard unleashed a concentrated barrage of enchanted arrows at the group of skeletons throwing and shooting various projectiles from the nearest tower. Normal arrows wouldn't have much of an effect on the undead, so the House Zolomon archers were forced to be innovative. Each arrow was coated in an extremely combustible oil that would explode in flames after the slightest impact. To avoid arrows exploding from wind resistance, Eros enchanted them with a short-lived magical shield and dispelled the shields of each volley the instant before collision.

Each volley further ruined significant portions of the castle, sending flaming skeletons tumbling down to crash and crumble on the rocks below. The archers continued the assault from on top a narrow precipice while a score of the ordinary house soldiers defended the two pathways leading to Eros and his guard's vantage point. Wielding hammers and maces, the soldiers engaged and smashed to pieces every undead that drew too near. The legendary lord watched his company with satisfaction as he ordered in yet another volley. He knew that he wasn't going to overtake this emaciated army with one assault, but he was confident that his course of action would take its toll on his enemy without posing a significant danger to his retinue.

The Zolomon archers continued their destructive rain until one barrage collapsed the only remaining portion of the southernmost wall. There was already a sizable hole from previous sieges, and the explosive volley only widened the hole and cleared away the rubble. Eros didn't think anything of the new development until the smoked cleared from the previous barrage; what he saw then made him lower his bow and stare.

Just behind the hole, an immense mob of the skeletons had been congregating, pushing and jostling for position, fighting hungrily to be the first out the wall. When the rubble was cleared and the last of the wall destroyed, a dozen or so skeletons were crushed; however, scores upon scores of the fiends remained, crawling over their fallen, burning comrades and pouring out of the hole.

Eros and his lieutenants immediately started barking orders, Zolomon soldiers scrambling in every direction. Their position was defensible, but there is only so much benefit location can give against a veritable horde of ravenous, unfeeling monsters.

Mountains passes never had been the best places to travel through, especially when paired with unnatural inclement weather and the threat of world take over looming in the near future.
Malaena did not particularly care for such roads herself, there were too many things that could go wrong in the unevenly narrow channels cut between mountains, too many places that offered perfect hiding places for those intent on ambush. Yet in this instance she was not terribly concerned about this particular route, Hopsfield himself seemed far more comfortable with their current path than he had been the entire trip thus far, no doubt due to the fact that the Turmien Pass was under the control and protection of a well known and highly respected order. As far as everyone was concerned there was no sign to indicate that this leg of their journey was going to be any more difficult than the past couple of days.

Not until, that is, the battered walls of the The Order of Schlucht finally loomed into view.

Truth be told, when the group drew near enough the fortress to realize something was horribly amiss, Malaena was relieved, intensely keen for a change of pace and a refreshing bought of conflict to do away with the mindless task of placing one foot in front of the other, not to mention providing some distraction from the less than ideal travel companions.
The inability to take to the skies had not been a great hardship at first, it had been interesting to study fellow travelers and gather bits and pieces of information that might come in useful further down the road. After awhile, however, peevish whining about chilled fingers and aching feet from many of the underlings had begun to bring out an irritable side of the phoenix. The sudden chance to set something on fire could not have come at a more convenient time, as it provided an excellent outlet and completely avoiding the risk of destroying the tenuous alliance between herself and the others.

While orders began to ripple through the ranks and the companies prepared to defend themselves, Malaena took the opportunity to slip out of the midst of the wagons and bustling people, skimming along the uneven edges of the pass until she found a small goat track carved into the wall. Nimble feet picked out the narrow path, carrying her upward at a steep angle, and in a matter of seconds she was perched among a group of jagged boulders taking in every detail of the scene below.

Emaciated skeletons swarmed the siege torn walls of the fortress, their movements abrupt and unpredictable much as one would expect from the undead. Yet the longer she studied them an unsettling feeling began to stir, there was something off about the entire thing for even though several dozen kept randomly spilling forward to attack the small force gathered at the foot of the walls, the majority of the undead remained where they were, simply seething about in a confusion of movement, never truly attempting to overwhelm the attacking force.

It was almost as though they were waiting for something.

A wave of extra heat flooded her body, spreading and growing in intensity until it appeared as though a thin veil of shimmering flames clung to her entire form. Every movement caused ripples of brilliant blue to shoot through the glow of white hot fire, and the second Malaena lifted her hand the veil disappeared, flowing through her core and limbs to collect at the tips of her fingers.
Perhaps there was a chance the mass of undead were waiting for higher orders, perhaps they were simply becoming accustomed to their newfound un-deadness. Whatever the case, she was quite certain the question would be discussed and figured out later, right now she had some steam to blow off, and a perfect target with which to focus upon.

The tiniest twitch of her fingers sent the globe of fire spinning through the air toward the fortress walls. Keen silver eyes focused intently on the projectile, a ripple of golden light dancing through the pupils as the globe suddenly shifted form, stretching and spinning until it became a ribbon of flames that crashed into the wall, flowing like water down the stones and engulfing a swarm of undead that had just burst from one of the openings. The force of the blast and the energy that had been put into it caused the the wave of fire to continue on its deadly course, crashing into the ground at the foot of the wall and spilling outward in a rush of intense heat and flames, dissipating just before overcoming the group of soldiers gathered beneath the purple banner. No doubt they wouldn't be overly thankful about almost becoming burnt to a crisp, but she had every reason to believe a few scorch marks were far more reasonable to endure than having various limbs ripped rather unceremoniously from their bodies.

Apparently the army of undead did not appreciate the attack either, for quite suddenly the creatures surged forward, driven by a renewed sense of purpose and verocity as they poured out of holes and over the top of the walls like an angry nest of disturbed ants.
Faint traces of an amused smile shadowed the corners of Malaena's lips as three more bursts of reddish fire soared through the air to explode amongst the swarming multitude.

What a refreshing turn of events.