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Nraz'gagr

Crouched in the thick woodland surrounding the lake, the Wildhorn watched and waited. It was difficult for a hulking monster like Nraz'gagr to hide anywhere, but in the woods it was almost as if he was a natural part of the forest. His dark brown fur was matted with mud and the long braids of his beard were stained red with the blood of his last meal. But today he cared little for his appearance or impressions. The only thing he cared about was what lied across the bridge over the pale water, what lied within Moonlake Keep.

The letter had been vague, ominous, questionable. It was written by human hand, on human paper, so small were the words that he needed a lesser beast to read it aloud to him. It was not the content that interested him, obscure talk of an order of Knights. But the name Lancelot thrown into the mess of words changed everything. It didn't matter how powerful you were; Lancelot was more so. The former Knight of the Round Table had destroyed Camelot almost singlehandedly, and now this towering keep had sprung up from its ruin. How Lancelot had found him, and why he had summoned him, had brought the Wildhorn to the table more than the actual summons.

The Hordefather had dragged his men across the land, a journey spanning a week and a half, marching across lands both rich and ruined, plundering and raiding as they went. They had been here for a day already. Nraz'gagr had sent bands of his kin to set up camps in the woodland around the lake, encircling it, concealed in the forest and reporting anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Nraz'gagr had personally camped a few hundred metres from the bridge, in a densely surrounded clearing, with a few dozen of his fiercest warriors, using the gifts of his lord Ghadur to hide his men from sight. They had watched since arrival, but it was only in the last few hours that anyone had begun arriving.

The first was a woman. In fact, most of the new arrivals were. It was difficult to see from this distance, but her hair was black and her clothes red. To Nraz'gagr all humans were small, but this one was not noticeably tiny or large. The second was exceptionally short, silver of hair, an odd colour for humans, Nraz'gagr thought. At least until he saw the next one, also bearing long, silvery hair. Three women in a row lead the Wildhorn to question. In his experience, from the ones he'd slaughtered, the men fought, and the women ran. But clearly these were no ordinary women. If Lancelot had sought them out, clearly they had skills and powers he desired. Heavy armour plating covered the fourth, apparently male from the shape of him, but from this distance it could easily have been either. And two more, travelling together, a small woman and a tall armoured man, apparently some kind of bodyguard. They had left a small band of men by the bridge, a move the Wildhorn respected.

He had seen enough. Six humans had entered the Keep already, and the Wildhorn grew impatient. He stood, branches snapping as his enormous frame pushed up through them. He grunted, a signal to his men to assemble, before uttering in the beast tongue for them to remain here and protect the encampment. He wandered out from the brush, his hooved feet thudding against the ground as he walked. Emerging from the trees towards the start of the bridge, he had his concerns about whether the bridge would support his considerable weight. The men at the bridge did not stand in his way; their faces a gallery of emotions ranging from horror to extreme discomfort to utter bewilderment. The bridge was long, lit by hundreds of tiny flickering torches. He shifted his shoulders to feel the weight of his axe on his back, reassurance that he was armed and ready should this be a trap after all.

He could see the hall at the end. A long stretching table, laden with food and dimly lit. Readying himself for the worst, the Wildhorn ducked slightly under the arched doorway, making sure that his long, spiked horns would not catch on the stone and make him look clumsy or oafish, and into a spacious hall. The six humans he had already seen were present. Some sitting and some standing, apparently wrapped up in trivial conversation. His tiny beast eyes scanned the room, observing the patterned windows, the carved table, the strange people. The armoured figure from earlier was indeed a man now that he could see up close, and all of them looked even smaller when he stood at around double their size. He bared his teeth, showing the maw of sharp, needle like teeth as a maybe not-so-subtle warning, before trudging around the table. His hooves made a noise like thunder when he brought them down on the floor. The Hordefather examined the table, looking for anything to eat. It was all human-sized, less than bite sized snacks to a creature of his size, but that didn't stop him from helping himself. He grunted, uncaring if the others were watching him, before tucking into the feast, wondering when Lancelot would show himself.
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