Jarl Jorsson, a famed warrior across Skardia and even something of a thinking man, sat with a scowl across his face. He had been sending out batches of troops in all directions to reinforce his neighbours at the king's orders after the rebellion broke out. However, he had no word back from the territory of Yugrund.
He was feeling uneasy with that development. Even when the other ones were sent, if they ran into rebel forces, they always sent back news. Mainly because the way the troops were sent out at staggered intervals caused the rebel forces to collapse from exhaustion of being constantly harassed by fresh warriors.
But Yugrund was silent as a grave. Which led him to fear the worst. 'Yugrund has likely become a rebel territory now. I should divert more troops to that region. This would be where they would attack first.' Jarl Jorsson sat forward in his high-backed chair and clasped his meaty hands together under his bearded chin.
'Then there's all of this unrest... Gods? Hah! As if they exist! Bunch of superstitious nonsense. And these nightmares that come in like a plague. Everyone and their goat have had them. It's poisoning their minds.' Jarl Jorsson stared into the nearby fire as shadows danced across his face. It would not do for these damned nightmares to continue, but all the remedies did not seem to work.
'Is it an outside attack by the elves during all of this?' Everyone knew that elves brought nightmares. It was their thing. They looked all pretty to draw you in with your guard down before draining the life from your body. But the nightmares were the worst thing. They hovered over you in the darkest of nights, all invisible. The only tell-tale sign that it was an elf that did it was the weight you felt sitting on your chest when you woke up. 'But nobody has reported that feeling. It's just the damned nightmares...'
Some of his advisors had dared to say it was a god or goddess of dreams and such that must have done it. As punishment for not believing in the gods. That they would be cast down in front of a mighty king of the gods and devoured by his wrath. That had gotten the normal civilians riled up, but naturally, those saying these things now had a great view of the town. With their heads being on spikes, atop the town walls, of course.
It was a warning message that he had to send. Before things got out of control real fast and nobody would be able to stop it. He had seen hysteria before on raids, and he was certainly not a fan of it. As he stared into the fire, he got the feeling that someone was standing behind him. His head sharply twisted to peer into the darkness. But nothing was there except the long, dark shadows cast by the flames.
Jarl Jorsson let out a long sigh as the flames flickered in a breeze that had entered his home. There were warriors standing at regular intervals and sitting at the tables in his home. With the way things were, he did not dare to be caught unprepared security-wise. He even wondered if rebel spies had snuck into his town and were planting all of these things in the minds of his people. But there was no way to determine if that was true or not. Not without searching every home for anyone that nobody could really identify.
His warriors had already been to the inns, but there was nobody there from out of town. Just those that could not afford to buy themselves a proper home. His mind was trapped in deep thought, trying to figure out what would happen next. If this were a deliberate attack, what was their aim? What was their goal? To those questions, he could come up with several answers.
The first being that his life would be a target and failing that have someone ready to open the gates if an attack was launched. That was what he would do. But he was a cautious man and even considered if they would have an alternative goal. Maybe they wanted to delay his sending out of troops? Perhaps they wanted to cause a riot in his town so their main force could walk straight past while he was too busy dealing with his own people.
He felt as though his neck was resting on the sharp end of the axe of fate. One wrong move and his life and everything his family had built would be forfeited. 'Maybe I'm just letting it get to me too much. For now, I'll increase the warriors sent to Yugrund. Send them in smaller batches at more regular intervals to keep the pressure up. Perhaps I should have them send messages back every day. Then I'll be able to tell how far away the rebels are when the messages stop coming...'
He had used this method before while raiding. The enemies at that time belonged to a land full of bogs, swamps and an eerie fog that never seemed to go away. They would be attacked from nowhere and could never pinpoint the enemy camps. Until he used this method. When the messages stopped coming, he knew exactly how many days that group had been going in that direction for. Making it easy to pinpoint where they were roughly hiding.
When they found the devils in the fog, they turned out to be men wearing deer skulls and other odd things to make themselves appear more frightening when their shadows were spotted in the fog. They only managed to raid three settlements before the natives became nomads, which was the only counter to his method.
It had been pure bloodshed after that. Random parties of warriors would die and disappear. The natives would let a couple of groups pass them, only to strike the next one. But when they targeted that area, they were already gone. Since then, they had never returned to that cursed land. The gains never made up for the losses.
'Who thought that fighting them would give me an edge now...' Jarl Jorsson grimly thought as the sensation of being watched struck the back of his mind again. He could not help but turn to stare into the darkness again. 'Maybe it's my mind playing tricks on me... But then again...'
"You!" Jarl Jorsson growled at a warrior sitting at the table nearest to him. "Go check the back rooms. I think I heard something."
The man frowned before letting out a grunt of acknowledgement. He drew his sword and, without hesitation, disappeared into the darkness. That was the Skardian way. For a warrior to show fear was almost a crime in itself. Jarl Jorsson mumbled to himself as he listened for the footsteps to signal the man's return. 'It's been too long...'
He immediately ordered three more men to find out what had happened to the first man. This time, they were more cautious. Even they knew that their comrade had taken too long. The flames flickered as the other warriors stared silently at the darkness behind him. There were no sounds of fighting. No warning cries. Nothing but the darkness.
Jarl Jorsson eventually stood up and drew his own blade. Like a statue, he stood poised and ready to face those shadows and whatever they were hiding. The flames flickered as his warriors lined up beside and behind them. The orange glow of the fire shining off of their bright steel.
He turned to face the man on his right, ready to order him forward. He had grown tired of waiting, but his expression froze. His eyes met two empty sockets in a skull with a beard, wearing the armour of one of his warriors. His eyes moved to the next man and saw the same thing. Again and again. He was surrounded by dead men walking, staring into the darkness ahead of him.
'What the hell is going on?' He mumbled to himself as he stepped forward and twisted to face the dead. The darkness, now behind him again. But they did not move, not an inch as their darkened eyes sockets stared forward. He was about to cry out, summoning the guards who should be standing at their post outside, but his voice caught in his throat. 'Maybe that isn't a good idea...'
In that silence, he decided to walk past the macabre scene and get outside into the town. There had to be someone out there, after all. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what had happened to his men as he flung the doors open to stare at the snow-covered town. Darkness and silence reigned there. Even the snow seemed less white than it should be. A lump caught in his throat as he turned to glance at the men who should have been keeping watch. But he only found two more dead men on their feet staring silently into the night. As shiver ran down his spine as he felt something grab his ankles.
Before he could cry out, he was pulled from his feet, his head slammed against the ground. A confused and terrified scream rang out as he was dragged into the darkness of his home once again. The flames now extinguished. The doors slammed shut as he disappeared into the dark and a smiling figure appeared next to the skeletal guards with decaying flesh.
"It took a while, but eventually all minds fall to me..." Winter chuckled before she disappeared into the shadows of the nightmare she had spun...
Jarl Jorsson, a famed warrior across Skardia and even something of a thinking man, sat with a scowl across his face. He had been sending out batches of troops in all directions to reinforce his neighbours at the king's orders after the rebellion broke out. However, he had no word back from the territory of Yugrund.
He was feeling uneasy with that development. Even when the other ones were sent, if they ran into rebel forces, they always sent back news. Mainly because the way the troops were sent out at staggered intervals caused the rebel forces to collapse from exhaustion of being constantly harassed by fresh warriors.
But Yugrund was silent as a grave. Which led him to fear the worst. 'Yugrund has likely become a rebel territory now. I should divert more troops to that region. This would be where they would attack first.' Jarl Jorsson sat forward in his high-backed chair and clasped his meaty hands together under his bearded chin.
'Then there's all of this unrest... Gods? Hah! As if they exist! Bunch of superstitious nonsense. And these nightmares that come in like a plague. Everyone and their goat have had them. It's poisoning their minds.' Jarl Jorsson stared into the nearby fire as shadows danced across his face. It would not do for these damned nightmares to continue, but all the remedies did not seem to work.
'Is it an outside attack by the elves during all of this?' Everyone knew that elves brought nightmares. It was their thing. They looked all pretty to draw you in with your guard down before draining the life from your body. But the nightmares were the worst thing. They hovered over you in the darkest of nights, all invisible. The only tell-tale sign that it was an elf that did it was the weight you felt sitting on your chest when you woke up. 'But nobody has reported that feeling. It's just the damned nightmares...'
Some of his advisors had dared to say it was a god or goddess of dreams and such that must have done it. As punishment for not believing in the gods. That they would be cast down in front of a mighty king of the gods and devoured by his wrath. That had gotten the normal civilians riled up, but naturally, those saying these things now had a great view of the town. With their heads being on spikes, atop the town walls, of course.
It was a warning message that he had to send. Before things got out of control real fast and nobody would be able to stop it. He had seen hysteria before on raids, and he was certainly not a fan of it. As he stared into the fire, he got the feeling that someone was standing behind him. His head sharply twisted to peer into the darkness. But nothing was there except the long, dark shadows cast by the flames.
Jarl Jorsson let out a long sigh as the flames flickered in a breeze that had entered his home. There were warriors standing at regular intervals and sitting at the tables in his home. With the way things were, he did not dare to be caught unprepared security-wise. He even wondered if rebel spies had snuck into his town and were planting all of these things in the minds of his people. But there was no way to determine if that was true or not. Not without searching every home for anyone that nobody could really identify.
His warriors had already been to the inns, but there was nobody there from out of town. Just those that could not afford to buy themselves a proper home. His mind was trapped in deep thought, trying to figure out what would happen next. If this were a deliberate attack, what was their aim? What was their goal? To those questions, he could come up with several answers.
The first being that his life would be a target and failing that have someone ready to open the gates if an attack was launched. That was what he would do. But he was a cautious man and even considered if they would have an alternative goal. Maybe they wanted to delay his sending out of troops? Perhaps they wanted to cause a riot in his town so their main force could walk straight past while he was too busy dealing with his own people.
He felt as though his neck was resting on the sharp end of the axe of fate. One wrong move and his life and everything his family had built would be forfeited. 'Maybe I'm just letting it get to me too much. For now, I'll increase the warriors sent to Yugrund. Send them in smaller batches at more regular intervals to keep the pressure up. Perhaps I should have them send messages back every day. Then I'll be able to tell how far away the rebels are when the messages stop coming...'
He had used this method before while raiding. The enemies at that time belonged to a land full of bogs, swamps and an eerie fog that never seemed to go away. They would be attacked from nowhere and could never pinpoint the enemy camps. Until he used this method. When the messages stopped coming, he knew exactly how many days that group had been going in that direction for. Making it easy to pinpoint where they were roughly hiding.
When they found the devils in the fog, they turned out to be men wearing deer skulls and other odd things to make themselves appear more frightening when their shadows were spotted in the fog. They only managed to raid three settlements before the natives became nomads, which was the only counter to his method.
It had been pure bloodshed after that. Random parties of warriors would die and disappear. The natives would let a couple of groups pass them, only to strike the next one. But when they targeted that area, they were already gone. Since then, they had never returned to that cursed land. The gains never made up for the losses.
'Who thought that fighting them would give me an edge now...' Jarl Jorsson grimly thought as the sensation of being watched struck the back of his mind again. He could not help but turn to stare into the darkness again. 'Maybe it's my mind playing tricks on me... But then again...'
"You!" Jarl Jorsson growled at a warrior sitting at the table nearest to him. "Go check the back rooms. I think I heard something."
The man frowned before letting out a grunt of acknowledgement. He drew his sword and, without hesitation, disappeared into the darkness. That was the Skardian way. For a warrior to show fear was almost a crime in itself. Jarl Jorsson mumbled to himself as he listened for the footsteps to signal the man's return. 'It's been too long...'
He immediately ordered three more men to find out what had happened to the first man. This time, they were more cautious. Even they knew that their comrade had taken too long. The flames flickered as the other warriors stared silently at the darkness behind him. There were no sounds of fighting. No warning cries. Nothing but the darkness.
Jarl Jorsson eventually stood up and drew his own blade. Like a statue, he stood poised and ready to face those shadows and whatever they were hiding. The flames flickered as his warriors lined up beside and behind them. The orange glow of the fire shining off of their bright steel.
He turned to face the man on his right, ready to order him forward. He had grown tired of waiting, but his expression froze. His eyes met two empty sockets in a skull with a beard, wearing the armour of one of his warriors. His eyes moved to the next man and saw the same thing. Again and again. He was surrounded by dead men walking, staring into the darkness ahead of him.
'What the hell is going on?' He mumbled to himself as he stepped forward and twisted to face the dead. The darkness, now behind him again. But they did not move, not an inch as their darkened eyes sockets stared forward. He was about to cry out, summoning the guards who should be standing at their post outside, but his voice caught in his throat. 'Maybe that isn't a good idea...'
In that silence, he decided to walk past the macabre scene and get outside into the town. There had to be someone out there, after all. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what had happened to his men as he flung the doors open to stare at the snow-covered town. Darkness and silence reigned there. Even the snow seemed less white than it should be. A lump caught in his throat as he turned to glance at the men who should have been keeping watch. But he only found two more dead men on their feet staring silently into the night. As shiver ran down his spine as he felt something grab his ankles.
Before he could cry out, he was pulled from his feet, his head slammed against the ground. A confused and terrified scream rang out as he was dragged into the darkness of his home once again. The flames now extinguished. The doors slammed shut as he disappeared into the dark and a smiling figure appeared next to the skeletal guards with decaying flesh.
"It took a while, but eventually all minds fall to me..." Winter chuckled before she disappeared into the shadows of the nightmare she had spun...
