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The undead howled, moaned and grumbled as they shambled through the streets of Amendale. Hollowed out and broken vessels of dwindling souls, flayed and rotted to the core by the chilling hand of the White Frost, they were drawn towards the town due to its warmth.
The warmth of fire and the warmth of flesh- living and breathing flesh.
The watchmen spotted them coming out of the forest woodlands, where the local hero Vandal slew the fiend, this was after something big fell out of the sky and rocked the countryside as it struck the nearby mountain at the wee hours of the morning. Then, a tremor that lasted for a brief moment, followed by the onset of a thick blanket of fog covering the outskirts of Amendale. The shambling corpses started pouring out like rats out of a sewer. The watchmen sprang to action and pulled the gates shut after ensuring that the townsfolk were all safe inside, and the archers that were at the guard towers started shooting the undead.
The weaker ones, those that looked like ghouls with only skin and bone left on their bodies, were the first to fall- but only after two or three arrows had struck them down. This prompted the archers to call upon the best of their skills, as they narrowed their aim to a point, planting arrows into the exposed skulls of the shamblers to ensure a swift conclusion.
Then, the wave of undead grew in strength and number. Hollowed knights, dragging their ancient weapons behind them, jostled their way through the horrid, stinking masses towards the gates. They shored up against the heavy wooden barrier, making it difficult for the archers to get a good shot as their arrows failed to connect. Word was sent to the barracks, and more watchmen came to defend the front gate. It wasn't long before the alarm bell at the town square was rung, but the sleepy town of Amendale was slow to take heed.
The moment it seemed like it couldn't get any worse, three gigantic undead warriors that were just as tall as the stone walls of Amendale lumbered out of the woodlands. They trampled undead beneath their feet and swatted aside the runts in their way.
The sight of them all dressed in failing, crude and ancient armor, wielding greatmaces that were as long as a weaver's beam, caused the hearts of the watchmen to falter.
A violent kick or two from the giants shattered the gates and sent the undead tide surging forward. They hacked apart and tore down everyone in their path, whether they be watchman or peasant, then feasted on their remains.
Enris and his fellow mercenaries heard the clamor of battle, then rushed for their weapons to join the fight. They, like the watchmen of Amendale, were unprepared for what they saw. Still, even at the daunting sight of the undead, the mercenaries bravely stood their ground and got to work. Valiant peasants took up arms as militia and joined the mercenaries in battle. They opened a path for the women, the old and the children to escape into the town square, where bit by bit the defenders were being pushed back by the reeking tide.
Enris smashed shambler after shambler with every swing from his great-maul, negating what little armor they had as he crushed their tiny bodies with the heavy weapon. His friend Rostchild performed admirably as he weaved in and out of the fray, severing heads and limbs with his razor-sharp shortswords. Neither of them were having the best of a morning, as both were still quite hungover from last night's drinking spree, and that anger served them well in their defense of the town.
Joining them was the hero himself. Vandal came from the flank to bolster their ranks, wielding a nasty looking mace along with his battered shield.
"Ah, come to claim some ill-gotten glory once more, lad?" Rostchild sneered.
"Oi! What did we agree on last night?" Enris growled as he nudged the smaller man on the shoulder with his fist.
"Today, I do not fight for glory, but for the safety of these people." Vandal replied, which caused no shortage of disgust to flow from the one-eyed mercenary's lips.
Rostchild ignored Enris and snapped at the knight, "Oh spare me that high and mighty nonsense!"
The man's prickly attitude bothered Vandal. He preferred a more welcoming reception from him that day, but he knew that gaining someone's approval could not be done by words alone. He learned that the hard way with Lord Anres. "Have it your way." He turned to Enris, "Shall we repel this attack together?"
Enris nodded as he pointed his bloody great-maul towards the three giants stomping down the street towards the gathered defenders, "Those are some pretty bad looking bastards, they'll mess up our day. We need a way to bring them down."
"I know how to do that." Vandal said, recalling the fateful encounter with the frozen giant at the mountain shelter in Saggrel. Again, his strict adherence to duty overruled his timid nature. There was a need for a leader, one who had experience fighting the monsters from his world, such as the ones they faced today. He would take that chance, not because he wanted to, but because someone had to do it.
It's what Lord Anres would've wanted. These people wouldn't last long against the undead tide if they spent most of the day trying to figure out how to kill the giants. "But first, we need to thin the herd."
Enris shoved Rostchild aside before the man could utter another insulting remark, "Shouldn't be a problem for us. Come on lads, let's kill some more of these buggers and make some room!"
Together, they pushed back and cut down the horde's numbers to half. The mercenaries, sufficiently equipped for tasks like these, carved a path through the undead until they met up with one of the giants. As promised, Vandal took point and rushed to get within reach of the giant's legs. He cried out for Enris or any of the mercenaries carrying spears or hammers to aim for the joints, "Quickly! It is the only way to bring it down!"
His mace struck the giant on the right knee, smashing right through the protective sheet of aged metal and sending the brute crashing to the ground on all fours.
Astonished and encouraged by the success of the attack, the mercenaries surged forward with renewed vigor. Enris, in particular, claimed the kill for himself by leaping with his great-maul raised high to brain the giant's head into a pulp. The weapon connected with a satisfying crack, and the thick black ichor within burst forth to coat the jubilant mercenary in its horrid stains.
"One down!" He cackled.
Vandal nodded in approval, doubting for a second back then that the old trick would work. The mercenaries, together with some of the courageous militia, worked to take down another giant while they had the momentum. Their attempts did not fare too well as the first, as this giant proved to be quicker than its kin. Its flanged club left ugly smears on the cobblestone street where townsmen used to be, and it sent many a man flying through the air whenever it swung one way or the other.
The third giant did not wait for the defenders of Amendale to recover, and it reared back to slam its weapon onto the ground, sending tremors that threw the ones left standing off balance.
Vandal and Enris steadied themselves, then charged at the slower giant as it resumed its stance. Enris narrowly avoided the giant's greatmace as it descended once again, retaliating by smashing his maul through the monster's leg. The blow practically reduced the limb into pieces, and the mighty giant toppled over like a felled tree into a nearby house. Stone and timber fell apart as the massive creature came to rest upon the ruined pile. Rostchild seized this chance to leap onto the fallen giant's chest and hack at its neck with his swords.
"That's two!"
Vandal rolled to the side just as the heavy greatmace of the last giant swung past him, striking his shield and tearing the strap as it was flung free from his arm. The knight, fearing for his life, instinctively dove for between the giant's legs.
An unnamed mercenary that carried a spear, seeing the town hero's predicament, leapt into action and drove his weapon into the giant's belly in an attempt to spare him a gruesome end. He earned the giant's wrath as it swept the greatmace across the street like a broom, sending the mercenary flying back into a pile of debris and impaling him on the sharp end of a broken wood beam.
Vandal, enraged by the death of a good man, gripped his mace harder with both hands and swung it down so hard against the giant's leg that it came apart into little black fragments. He rolled away as the giant collapsed onto the street, crushing some undead warriors upon descent. In one fluid motion, the knight approached the downed monster and proceeded to hammer his weapon into the giant's head, splitting it open like a rotten tomato.
Enris was barely out of breath, unlike Vandal who was left wheezing from exertion. The young man recovered quickly though, and he surveyed the results of their combined efforts. "Three..."
"Well, that should be the last of them." The tall man placed his weapon on its head and leaned casually against the handle.
"There will always be more." Vandal said with a shake of the head.
"Really? How do you know that?" Enris asked with an inquisitive frown on his face.
Vandal didn't answer. He took a moment to pick up and inspect his shield. Once he found it too damaged for use, smashed and with a broken strap, he discarded it among the corpses. He looked at the bloody one-eyed man, expecting another barbed taunt thrown his way. Surprisingly, Rostchild remained silent as he moved to inspect the state of his fellows.
"Enris, is it?" The knight said to the mercenary as he extended his hand, "We haven't been properly introduced last night."
"That's right, innit?" The man grinned as he grabbed Vandal's forearm, "I had hoped to see you in action, and looks like I got more than my fair share. You're alright, lad."
"Thanks."
"How'd you know that hitting them low was going to work?" The man asked as he nudged the corpses with his great-maul.
Vandal offered a weak excuse that somehow seemed to work, there was no way of knowing for sure based on Enris' expression. "I...uh...lucky guess?"
The look of perplexity on Enris remained as he walked off to join the others at the square, while Vandal returned to the house to fetch Serah and Sandy from their hiding place. The knight rapped on the door as he called their names. When the door was unlocked and swung open, Sandy threw her arms around his neck as she applauded his actions that day, having witnessed everything that occurred from the top window.
He brought them with him to the square, just as Enris was arguing with some of the townsfolk.
Another gathering of undead was spotted in the other side of the Amendale, the direction opposite of the first attack, and it was far larger than the one that came before. Knowing full well that they stood no chance facing another attack so soon, Enris suggested that escape was a better option than sitting there and eventually become overwhelmed. The people, naturally, protested as they had much to lose.
The mayor, especially, had no intention of leaving. His argument, however weak and small, still raged against the mercenary leader's proposition. "I shall not part with this town!"
"You can do what you wish, but if we stay here we'll die!" Enris bellowed, his words directed towards the meek crowd rather than the stubborn old mayor. He turned to the captain of the watchmen, who leaned on one of his men for support as he was wounded in the battle. "Captain, my men and I are prepared to safeguard you and the townsfolk- but it's imperative that we make for better shelter. We must go to Cintra. We will be safe there."
The thought of high walls and the royal army's protection was too great a chance to pass up, but the thought of having to abandon so much for what seemed so little proved to be quite a challenge to overcome. Still, the thought of having to fend off another horde without the aid of the mercenaries was frightening to them. Fear was a good motivator, at times. The townsfolk scattered to gather what belongings they could take on the journey, in what little time they had left.
Sandy, like many of the women among the townsfolk, was on the verge of tears as she felt her whole life turned upside down. She found comfort in the support of her friend Serah and the compassion of Vandal as he helped them stow their things into a small handcart. All they had were a sack full of clothes and sheets for a makeshift tent, some furs for warmth, a box of Serah's jewelry and what was left of the morning's breakfast.
"Don't cry, my lady." Vandal reassured the golden-tressed vixen. "You will start anew in the city, and I shall be there to protect you on your journey."
"The journey will be long." Serah informed him, wrapping the furs tightly around her shoulders as she boarded the cart with Sandy. "We are miles away from the capital city. It may take days, maybe weeks to reach its outskirts."
"Then I reckon we'd best get started." Vandal replied as he pulled the cart behind him.
City of Cintra
Reports of sightings of strange islands of ice and rock crashing down and settling all over the kingdom came flooding through the city by high noon.
Cintra started receiving its first stream of refugees when the distant fires of ruined towns and villages started to show a heavy trail of smoke into the morning sky. Screams of the dead emerging from graveyards and wandering the roads filled the air as the refugees passed their portents of doom to the citizens of the capital city. The coastal towns, washed away by the waves of the disturbed seas, turned into swamps of building debris and thick muck which welcomed the presence of the monsters that lived in the nearby hills as they came to feast on the dead.
In quick response to the threat, King Dagorad issued orders for his army to protect his people, fortifying the walls of the capital and making room for the refugees to live in while he saw to a solution to the problem. The first step to overcoming the looming threat of an undead invasion was to find answers to its origins, which was usually the most difficult, as it was nearly impossible to get a straight answer. As he watched a contingent of his finest soldiers march for the vassal state of Attre from his high tower, Dagorad listened to his advisors discuss and share their preliminary findings on the initial cataclysm that occurred, followed by the descent of the islands of ice and rock, then finally to the rising dead that came with it. Piece by piece, they put it all together to a semblance of the whole.
In truth, he was impressed by how seamless their cooperation had become, as the king was accustomed to hearing his advisors bicker like old hens in his courts.
Lord Ubrich Strauss, a friend of the royal family and who at times acted as Lord Protector when the monarch fell ill or was otherwise unavailable, approached the monarch to speak with him alone. He addressed his king with a slight bow, "Your Highness."
"Ubrich." Dagorad returned the greeting, "Any luck finding our elusive contractors?"
He was referring to the Witchers, the ancient order of monster hunters responsible for keeping the horrid creatures in check for many centuries. "I have dispatched several envoys, sir. All of them sent to find the famous Witcher schools, both high and low, and extend our offered contracts. We only have to wait for their response."
"Will they accept?" The king inquired.
"They've never turned down the promise of good coin before." Ubrich lied, "I am confident that they will come, it's just a matter of time."
"Ah, time." Dagorad nodded, noticing the crush of bodies in the streets as the refugees crammed into the shelters built for them in the open district, where the king decreed they should live until the crisis was over. "Yes, if only we had such an abundance." Their eyes looked up at the sky and saw a faint glimpse into the ice world looming above the Continent as if it were a new moon. A contrast of bright blue and black amidst the graying clouds forming to bring rain to Cintra.
"It would seem that a neighboring world has opened its floodgates." The king remarked, "And now, it pours forth its cursed tide upon us."
"That wouldn't be too far from the council's conclusion, Your Highness."
As Cintra prepared as they would in times of war, the unseen hand that guided the undead legions of Saggrel made preparations of its own. A world shard of frozen earth, that held a largely intact fortress of brass and stone, had settled atop the mountain pass southeast of Cintra. Most of its denizens were still imprisoned in ice, cursed to remain there by the sorcerer king Lorosi when he destroyed the Saggrel.
Now, drawing from the warmth of the living world of the Continent, the ice started to melt and crack open, releasing its prisoners for the first time.
Ancient giants, bearing souls great and small, awoke from their slumber. Their eyes, glowing red with life, not undeath, took in the light of day and rejoiced. Their fanged maws yawned wide as they belched fire and frost, shaking the foundations with their vicious screams and cries of jubilation. The cobblestones rattled as their skin, made with scales harder than iron, scraped from their ascent through the pits of the fortress.
Basking in the noonday sun, they stretched forth their wings and took flight.
The sight of them taking their place in the skies above Cintra inspired mixed feelings of awe, dread and fear. These were unlike the dragons of old, for they were bigger than the largest galleon ship, with wings spanning three main sails from tip to tip.
Dagorad bent his head and swore under his breath.
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