Act:1 Part 1-Outside the village

Hrossbjorn, and his small army, stood on the edge of a small village that they had stumbled upon a few hours prior. The village had no particular claim to fame as far as Hrossbjorn could tell, and it seemed big enough to house around fifty people. Hrossbjorn stood five steps out in front of his army, his eyes scanning the shadows inside the houses. Sometimes he imagined he was seeing faces in the windows and motion in the spaces between the houses, but thus far no one else had seen or heard anything else. The stress of the past week had already gotten to Hrossbjorn. Marching through the countryside had become one potential trap after another, and it taxed his mind. He was seeing shadows behind every tree and monsters in his sleep. Despite the increasingly drastic nature of this, imaginary threats were becoming the least of his worries as his eyes were drawn to bright flashes in the distance, and the low rumble of thunder that soon followed. A large storm was heading straight towards his forces. Already exhausted, the heavy rain that would accompany that storm would make life that much more difficult for him and his soldiers.

This was the new life of the Earl, the retreat from the Mad King armies had created many new, and tricky at that, problems for his soldiers. There was a legitimate problem related to logistics that needed dealt with, as their food reserves were already low a week ago when they arrived at the battle. While normally he could simply enter a city and refill supplies, the news of the Mad Kings victory had spread like wildfire. Reports kept coming in from cities across the land, and the cities behind their current position told stories of monsters breaking down their walls and murdering every living soul they encountered. These reports became less frequent with time, and the news ahead of them were no better. People were scared of what happened. Rumors were starting to spread that cities, instead of evacuating and retreating to better defensive positions, were preparing for the inevitable sieges. Most also barred entrance to the city itself and the guard often confiscated any and all food reserves. It was madness to Hrossbjorn. He offered them entrance to the Glamhoth lands and safety behind the walls of Castle Estel when he sent four of his five riders out to spread the message. The final rider would act as a rear scout, keeping his nose out of danger while monitoring the advance of the enemy.

“What do you think is taking him so long?” Asked Gyrid in their native Glamhoth language. “The village is not all that big and the scout has been gone for half an hour.”

“He is either a good scout,” responded Hrossbjorn, also speaking in his native Glamhoth language, “or he is dead.” He joked.

“And if he is dead?” Gyrid asked again. A small smirk crossed her face as she presented the thought. She herself held the newcomers to the group to a lower standard than the Glamhoth soldiers, viewing them as a liability and in some cases even dangerous to the group. Gyrid had a keen eyes for signs of Black Magic, and she had noticed one member of the group in particular in regards to it's use. She had noticed that the Va’sha mage, Walden, was never very far from a dark black colored leather book. While she had no proof just yet of his involvement, she had her hunch. She was trained from a young age to root out Black Magic use and end the threat that it presented to the living; this was one of her roles as a Rofella Guard. Signs, such as a suspicious tome and odd behavior, usually indicate to her that someone one is in bed with demons. While he had not presented himself as odd or suspicious, his book caused Gyrid to keep her eyes on him whenever she had the chance.

“First we will drink a pint in his memory, then we will avenge him.” Hrossbjorn responded. Hrossbjorn differed in his thoughts about the newcomers. They each held a certain skill set that could make or break his effort to make it to the Castle Estel. A woman who can control the weather could serve useful if the village turns out to be not safe, and a powerful mage could level a whole portion of an enemies formation if they run into the vanguard of the Mad Kings’ army while the elf, who has spent most of his life as a scout for the Lebethron army, could locate any potential trap before the army arrived. There were a few other additions to his army that he did not think were worth extra thought. Though they all had their uses in his army, and he would make sure he protected these assets as long as they kept themselves in line and under control.

"I could use a pint right now, whether or not he dies." Chimed in a Glamhoth Shield Warrior behind them in the Glamhoth language. He was a tall soldier, standing nearly six foot three inches tall. His beard was a crimson red color that peaked out from underneath his metal helmet.

He was met by an 'aye' from most of the Glamhoth soldiers, each looked as if they were thinking back at a loving memory with the thought of a pint of mead on their minds.

"I could as well, my friend." Responded Hrossbjorn in the Glamhoth language and smiled. His soldiers were still in good spirit despite the week of running and marching.

“Sir.” The voice of the lead scout shouted from up ahead, pulling Hrossbjorn from his thoughts “I think there is something wrong with the village. Everyone seems to have vacated the area, and left behind all their clothes and other valuables. Many doors remain locked, as if the villagers expected to return home. To me it seems like something happened in the village, something terrible.”

“No vengeance today, Hrossbjorn.” Gyrid joked, this time in the common tongue. She moved forward a few steps towards the village and scanned the area with her eyes. “I suggest we move into the village, and take it by force if the enemy is there.” Hrossbjorn quickly moved to Gyrid's side as she continued.

“If the enemy vanguard has reached us then we must be quick in getting out of this area.” Hrossbjorn whispered in the native Glamhoth language. “You know this is not wise.”

“The men are tired, Hrossbjorn,” Gyrid whispered back, “I am tired.” She paused as she looked back to the village. “If we are to make it to the Castle we need to regain some strength and grab whatever provisions we can. We have a long journey yet to march. The last report from our rear scout stated we had a full three days lead on the vanguard.” Pausing again as she moved back to the side of Hrossbjorn. “Would you rather me threaten you with the information I know?”

“No.” Hrossbjorn responded in the common tongue. “You are right.” He placed his hand on his chin and began to stroke his beard as he thought of a quick plan of action for entering the village. The entrance nearest his army was an almost straight shot down the road, with the road itself flanked by the first pair of houses in the village. The road itself would not bend and would continue for another hundred feet before reaching what appeared to be the market or common area of the village. From there it was a short walk to any of the houses.

Hrossbjorn turned his body away from Gyrid and the village before looking back at his soldiers, plan in mind. “Form three lines behind Gyrid and I. Shield Warriors, you are on the outside of the column with your shields facing outwards. Archers, mages and anyone too afraid to be on the outside are inside of it.” Hrossbjorn spoke in the Glamhoth language. He paused as he moved himself closer to the group. “Do not wander off alone, do not do anything stupid and you will live.” Hrossbjorn continued in the Glamhoth language. He paused as he looked over every new face that had joined his army. “If you do wander off or do something stupid, my men and I will save you from whatever is trying to kill you only to have Gyrid kill you.” He finished, this time speaking in the common tongue, as he pointed his ax towards Gyrid.

“You don’t want me to kill you. I steal the souls of those I kill.” She joked, earning a few chuckles from the other Glamhoth warriors.

“We do not know what awaits us in this village. So keep your head on a swivel and scan every doorway and every window, if you see something shout.” Hrossbjorn, once again speaking the Glamhoth language, finished. His eyes moved to the faces of the newcomers, and the realization that he had just ordered them in a language that they did not speak dawned on him. "If you did not understand what I said, you are in the middle of the formation. Do as the other soldiers do."

"Idiot." Gyrid joked, this time earning more of a laugh from the soldiers.

“Any questions? Good.” Hrossbjorn rhetorically asked in the common tongue, before turning around and begun to head towards the village, his makeshift army quickly moving to catch up and form up behind him. If those who did not speak his language wanted to know what the plan was, they would have to ask the Glamhoth soldiers around them, though the two lines of Glamhoth soldiers on the outside with the middle being open should have been a clear indication.

Act 1: Part II-Entering the village

"Ah, Gyrid. I am, knowing how to sneak ahead? I can go not seen by anyone. This is good, yes? Should I go?"

It took Gyrid a few seconds, as a puzzled look fell over face, before she realized what the Sunset Islander named Kat was trying to ask her. While the confused look initially turned to a more surprised one, as Gyrid knew the Glamhoth language was considered to be a difficult language to pick up because of its complicated grammar and unique sounds while this girl had learned as much in one week as some students do in a year, it quickly turned back to her trademarked commander look with eyes that pierced the soul and sent chills down the spines of those unfortunate enough to be caught by it. Her eyebrows raised up, forming a large arch above her eyes, and her lips curled downward. Gyrid looked Kat in the eyes with an intense stare.

“That would be most unwise of you.” She spoke in the common tongue as her head motioned ahead. “We do not know what we will find, and if the Mad King’s forces are already here than your sneaking will not do you or us much good.” Pausing as she dropped some of the judgment in that dominated her voice. “Though we may put those skills to use in the future.” Pausing as she let a faint, but every so there, smile creep over her face. “Keep practicing the language, you will get it right eventually. Even if it takes you ten years” She finished in the Glamhoth language before she tore her attention away from the girl and back to the village ahead.

“The girl shows promise, eh?” Hrossbjorn spoke in a neutral tone in his Glamhoth language as his eyes were locked on the fast approaching village.

“Indeed, have you seen anything ahead?” Gyrid responded.

“Nothing yet.” Hrossbjorn paused as his eyes turned towards the approaching storm. “I hope it remains that way.”

A bright flash of lightning in the distance, which came out from dark black clouds that accompanied it, revealed that the strength of the storm was strong. The effects this heavy rain and thunder could have on the moral of his men, and himself, would be catastrophic. Hrossbjorn knew this village was their best chance at ridding out the storm, and to regain strength for the coming weeks, and he let a thought distract him from their approach to the village as he eyed up a large, well-built house. “There is a chimney, so we can light a fire. Do the other houses have them as well?” He thought as his eyes scanned around the village, looking at the rooftops in particular. “Not all but a few around the center of the village do.” His eyes returned back in front of him and he began to scan the windows again. “If the village is clear, those houses will be where we set up camp.” He paused his thinking, before looking back at the storm. “If this village is not safe, and we have to run, I hope that mage from the Sunset Islands can do something about the storm.”

After a few minutes of the tense, slow, and tedious march up to the front of the village the large group finally crossed the boundary line and began to make its way to the center. Hrossbjorn turned his body around and spoke. “Alright everyone, check every window and every alley thoroughly.” Thuran spoke in the Glamhoth language and repeated it again in the common tongue while he motioned for the others to check every nook and cranny. “No point in us meeting the gods so early in our quest!” The group advanced slowly, with spears and shields greeting the faint shadows cast off the doors and houses as they approached the center of the village. Each house was met with the stares of various Glamhoth soldiers and the other survivors until finally a voice was heard.

“Think I saw something.” A Glamhoth soldier near the middle of the group spoke as he had his eyes locked on a window.

“Hold!” Hrossbjorn spoke as he raised his free hand in a fist up to his head level. The unit stopped in an instant, and the soldiers raised their spears up in anticipation of an attack. Hrossbjorn moved quickly through the center of the group, though he often had to push some of the other survivors out of his way, before he found himself standing right behind the soldier. Hrossbjorn’s eyes locked on the window, before he turned his attention briefly to the soldier. “What did you see?” He asked in the common language.

“Thought I saw a face looking out from the window, it was there for a few seconds in the shadows and gone the next.” The Glamhoth soldier responded in the Glamhoth Language.

After a brief moment, as he was thinking on his next course of action, Hrossbjorn spoke. “Go, check it out Ardur, and take Thrain and Dulvid with you.” Motioning for the two soldiers on either side of Ardur to go with.

Thrain was a tall and young warrior, still learning the ropes of the well oiled Glamhoth machine like army. He was a fierce fighter on his own, but he was stubborn and often rubbed some soldiers the wrong way. Ardur was an older, shorter, yet more experienced soldier. His face showed the scars of his time fighting, with a deep and straight scar cutting through his milky white left eye. Hints of grey in his hair also helped signal his age. Dulvid was another veteran, though he was tall like Ardur. Each carried with them the confidence and the bravado of all the Glamhoth. The rest of the group fell silent with anticipation as the three Glamhoth soldiers, with their shields covering their bodies and their spears at the ready at their sides, began their approach. The small group was led in the front by Ardur, who was taking a slow and cautious approach as he left the safety of the big group. Each step took three seconds for Ardur, who preferred caution over rash decisions. After thirty seconds, Ardur found himself close enough to the house to open the door and check what was inside.

“Thrain, follow my lead and Dulvid, head to the window.” Ardur commanded and the other soldiers followed his command. Ardur placed his spear on the left side of the door, as it opened outward and to the right, while he braced himself on the left side of the doorway itself. Thrain stood ready near the doorway, and he cocked his spear back and readied himself for a strike. “Three, two,” Ardur paused as he looked back to Thrain once more and received a nod of approval, “one.” Ardur quickly pulled the door open into the street and moved out of the way, grabbing his spear in the process. Thrain quickly entered the house while Dulvid cocked his spear in a way that would allow him to throw it with ease as he quickly moved in front of the window. Ardur quickly moved and soon found himself inside with Thrain before the duo inside let loose an audible, yet somehow child like, scream.

“Dulvid?” Hrossbjorn asked as he moved from the rest of the group and closer to the house, his hand tightening around the shaft of the ax. His only response from Dulvid was a soft chuckle followed by him lowering his spear and turning around and making his way back to the group with a large smile on his face. “Well?” Hrossbjorn asked again.

“See for yourself.” Dulvid smirked as he reentered his spot on the line. Soon enough Thrain appeared in the doorway, he too chuckling with a large smile on his face. By now Hrossbjorn suspected something that was not sinister in nature was to blame for both the face seen in the window and the girlish scream heard within.

“Ardur, we are waiting.” Hrossbjorn asked as he waited impatiently.

Soon enough Ardur appeared in the doorway, his shield arm holding something small and fluffy. Hrossbjorn immediately recognized it and he too let out a small laugh. “A cat?” He asked in the common tongue. “You saw a common cat?”

“It looked like a monster when I first saw it.” Ardur responded in the Glamhoth language as he approached the group once again, the cat purring loudly. As he arrived back in his spot, he crouched down and let the cat walk free. The cat started to leisurely take a stroll through the ranks, rubbing his body against the legs of the soldiers while meowing for attention.

“And the scream we heard?” Gyrid asked from the front of the column in the common tongue. A large smirk had fallen over her face, and her question elicited a few well earned chuckles from around the group.

“It jumped at me.” Ardur finally responded. “Was very scary.”

A few laughs could be heard as Hrossbjorn made his way back to the front of the unit, and a few minutes later they were in the center of the village. Hrossbjorn ordered his men to search the nearby houses, and in turn the sounds of doors being kicked open with the quick shuffle of footsteps storming in and then out of the houses soon followed. After about five minutes of breaking into the houses, it was made clear that the village was clear of any and all signs of life, and for that matter the undead as well. After a few, audible, sighs filled the air as Hrossbjorn and his men began to feel a sense of relief wash over them, all attention turned towards Hrossbjorn who turned his attention back to the weather. The storm was closer now, with the thunder having more bass behind it and the lightning strikes more frequent. The idea of dry shelter was indeed a welcome luxury they might be able to afford.

“Hrossbjorn.” The lead scout interrupted him, before he moved to his side.

“What is it-” Pausing as he began to think hard, before a look of disappointment fell on his face. “What is your name once again, elf?” He finished as a small smirk developed on his face.

“Lason.” He responded with a sign. This was the third time he had to inform Hrossbjorn of his name since he was found after the battle. Lason supposed beggars couldn't be choosers, and he shrugged off the forgetful nature of Hrossbjorn. Lason himself was large for an elf, standing nearly six foot five on his own with a clear muscular build beneath his chain mail armor. Lason had his large, two meter in length, long bow in his hand and he used it to point to a nearby rooftop with what looked to be some shelter from the storm. The building itself seemed to be the old town hall, as it was larger than any other building in the vicinity and had what appeared to be an old style wooden scouting tower on top of it. The village, Lason guessed, was a common target for bandits and had erected the the tower to see them coming. From his position it looked sturdy enough to weather the storm as well as give him a bird eyes view on the village below and the country side around.

“With your permission sir, I would like to ascend the building and set up a lookout spot in that tower.” Lason spoke quickly and deliberately.

“Permission granted, Lason.” Hrossbjorn spoke with authority.

The scout simply nodded his head before he took off in the direction of the tower. Hrossbjorn turned his body and faced his remaining group of soldiers once again. “Glamhoth soldiers, set up a barricade around the center of the village. While it appears we are clear, we are taking no chances.” He spoke in his native Glamhoth tongue. He used his free hand, he pointed out the village stalls, used to sell food or wares, as well as the heavy but durable carts that were usually pulled by horses. “Set those up on the four main roads that come into this village center. I want the normal guard rotation set up, and if you are not on duty get some rest inside the houses. We will stay for a day at most, maybe a while longer if this storm does not let up enough. Ardur, you are with Gyrid and I.” Pausing as he turned his attention to those who were not his soldiers by default. “Help where you can, but don't wander off.” He spoke in the common tongue.

“Hrossbjorn, the town hall would be useful for us.” She spoke as she motioned for him to follow. “Our maps of this area is limited, and we may yet find some inside.” Hrossbjorn nodded in approval and the two quickly made their way inside the building and began their search for any useful information while Ardur set up at the door. The rest of their soldiers began to move both the stalls and the heavy carts into a defensive position, though they showed signs of struggling with the weight.

Up above the Elf scout named Lason had already begun to set up his perch, laying his two quivers of arrows, one quiver filled with enchanted arrows while the other was standard three foot broadhead tipped arrows. He was about to rest his bow down before something caught his eye to the south of the village. He moved quickly out of the shadows of the guard tower and cupped his hands and placed them over his eyes.

“What in the-” Lason spoke as he pulled his hands away from his forehead and quickly made his way back to the guard tower. He quickly strapped the quiver filled with the broadhead arrows to his back while the enchanted arrows got strapped in around his waist. He grabbed his bow and made his way to the side of the tower. He spotted a Glamhoth soldier nearby. “Hey.” Lason shouted. “Yes you!” He shouted again as the Glamhoth soldier as he was in the process of pointing his right pointer finger at his chest. “Get Hrossbjorn, two people just emerged from the woods outside the village.”

“Stovah dor? Un commen lugge buh shuohar.” He spoke as he pointed his hand again to his ears before moving them side to side, indicating his lack of understanding of the common language.

“Hrossbjorn.” Lason shouted as he pointed two of his fingers to his eyes, before then pointing behind him to the south. The Glamhoth soldier still did not understand, but he must have realized that Hrossbjorn was being called as he quickly entered the building, and after a few seconds emerged with Hrossbjorn and Gyrid.

“What did you see?” Hrossbjorn asked.

“Two people just emerged from the tree line.” Pausing as he pointed back in the direction that they were coming from.

“Villagers?” Hrossbjorn asked.

“I can not say.” Lason spoke. “Permission to head out and intercept them.”

“Granted.” Hrossbjorn spoke. “Take the Sunset Islander, the Va'Sha mage, and Ardur here will lead you all.”

“Ardur will stay with you. He can't speak the common tongue” Gyrid interrupted. “I will lead them out.”

“Gyrid will lead you out I guess.” Hrossbjorn quipped.

Gyrid nodded her head and quickly moved away from the house. With a look of disdain upon her face she began to make her way back to the center of the village, starting the process of locating her mages. Lason found his way down from the top of the building and followed Gyrid. After a few minutes, Gyrid had gathered the two mages and informed them of the situation. The small group made it's way out of the village and into the open field surrounding it. Soon enough the forms of the two adventures came into view, and Gyrid noticed one appeared to be injured.

“Let's hurry.” Gyrid spoke.

- - - - - - - - - - - -
At the outskirts of the forest

In the forest, near it's edge, the forms of some thirty shamblers began to take shape as they crossed out of the woods and into the open. The common theme among them was their spears, which they held with both their hands and pointed directly in front of them as they began to charge. Their pace was slow when compared to the living, but it is still fast enough to catch Aliya at her current pace before the help arrived. A few archers also emerged from the forest and began to fire their war bows at the Aliya and her friend. The archers would miss with their first volley but eventually they would get their aim right and land a strike home. Finally, a human mage emerged from the forest, though his features bore the dark curse of the black magic used by the Mad King. Where blood vessels used to run black streaks now covered the sunken, and worn, face of the cultist. His eyes were as black as the clouds in the approaching storm and a sinister, blood curling smile covered his face. He stood six feet tall with a staff that towered another half a foot over his head, while having a golden hue and intricate carvings that ran the entire length of the staff. The tattered, and blood soaked robes were the only thing that seemed remotely normal about him.

“More subjects..” He hissed as a small laugh began to take control over his body.