The wind picked up, howling as fiercely as the incoming beasts, and sent shivers down the spines of the villagers. Snowflakes danced erratically in the torchlight.
Zayzal gripped the spear he had used earlier, feeling its cool wood against his dry, frosty palm.
His heart felt like it wanted to race, but the rate at which he was adapting wouldn’t allow for that.
He glanced at Sera, who was intently watching the approaching shadows. The golden hue that had previously surrounded her eyes had disappeared, likely due to her expended energy, but her stance was unyielding.
Clearly, her strength didn’t come from her magic.
“They’re smarter than regular wolves,” she whispered. “And they’re used to hunting humans, not like other packs.”
Zayzal nodded, taking her words seriously. Readying his spear, he prepared to attack.
“Any tips?” Zayzal asked, keeping his eyes forward.
Sera grinned, smacking her shield against her axe, “Reiða þér höfuð þeirra áður en þau nái þitt. Take their heads before they take yours.” She laughed at his incredulous expression, turning her attention back to the front.
The other warriors laughed along with her, not bothered by the fact that some of them might die in this next encounter.
Zayzal couldn’t help but be stunned by their ideals. ‘Am I back in the Viking era or something? What’s wrong with these people?’
The thick tension in the air was palpable as every villager readied for the inevitable confrontation.
The first of the wargs, as Sera had called them, entered the torchlight, revealing its monstrous form. This was larger than any wolf Zayzal had ever seen. Its fur was matted with dark red streaks and its eyes a haunting shade of yellow. Its teeth, exposed in a snarl, looked sharp enough to tear through steel.
Behind it the pack followed, their growls a chorus of impending doom.
Sigurd stood at the forefront, his powerful voice rallying the villagers. "Halda stöðu! Þeir mega ekki komast inn í þorpið! (Hold your ground! They must not enter the village!)"
As the village chief, the men stood behind him, ready to follow Sigurd into battle. Today wasn’t the first time they fought together, and they would make sure it wasn’t the last.
The first clash was brutal. Two wargs leaped at Sigurd, but with a powerful swing of his axe, he sent one sprawling while the other clamped onto his arm. With a roar, Sigurd pried the beast off and struck it down, cleaving his battle axe through its skull.
"Fyrst blóð! Áfram, bræður! (First blood! Onward, brothers!)" He roared, rallying his companions.
“RAAHHHH!” The other warriors yelled and charged forward, ready to meet the wargs head-on.
The cold wind seemed to fuel the wargs' ferocity, their hunger palpable in the icy night.
As Zayzal and the other warriors pushed against the warg onslaught, it became evident that their numbers were far greater than they'd anticipated.
Each warrior held their ground, their training and instincts taking over. Arrows whizzed through the air, piercing the thick hide of the oncoming beasts.
Every time a warg fell, two more took its place, their eyes glowing with malice.
Zayzal ducked as one lunged at him, its massive jaws snapping shut just inches from his face. Using the beast's momentum against it, he thrust his spear through its heart.
As it fell, another closed in with its claws slashing. But before it could strike, an arrow embedded itself deep into its eye. Zayzal, sensing the opportunity, thrust forward, piercing its chest.
Sera, living up to her earlier bravado, was a whirlwind of motion. Her shield deflected the snapping jaws, while her axe cleaved through wargs with brutal efficiency.
Yet, for all their prowess, the villagers were outnumbered. Slowly, they were being pushed back, closer to the village's heart. The wargs seemed relentless, almost as if they were driven by something beyond their primal instincts.
In the heat of the battle, Zayzal found himself back-to-back with Sera. Their surroundings had become a whirlwind of chaos, and they were forced to trust in each other’s capabilities.
However, seeing their earlier performances, both were confident that the other person was experienced enough to keep up with one another. The synergy between their weapons and the way they choreographed their moves was as if they had trained together for years.
With each approaching warg, the duo showcased perfect harmony in their combat styles.
Zayzal, with his spear, would fend off and parry the lunges, allowing Sera the opportunity to strike with her axe.
On the other hand, whenever a warg attempted to flank Sera, she would block with her shield, setting the creature up for Zayzal's lethal thrust.
A particularly menacing warg, larger and darker than the others, leaped straight at Sera.
But before its fangs could close around her, Zayzal lunged, his spear catching it mid-air, diverting its trajectory. Sera quickly capitalized on this, bringing her axe down with a powerful swing, severing the creature’s head.
“Good teamwork,” she panted, flashing him a swift grin amidst the turmoil.
“You too,” Zayzal responded with a smirk, even as they continued to face the oncoming tide of adversaries. However, he was concerned about how quickly he was adapting to her fighting style.
It was as if his body was reacting before his mind could process things.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t given the luxury to ponder over this as another wave of wargs stormed the village.
Everyone put their strength together and valiantly rushed into battle. However, despite their fierce resistance, the warriors found themselves getting overwhelmed by the sheer number of wargs.
But just when things seemed the bleakest, a new, more sinister shriek pierced the night. From the forest's edge, small, blue-skinned goblin-like creatures started emerging, their eyes gleaming maliciously in the moonlight.
The villagers were now faced with a two-fronted attack, and panic began to set in. These goblin-like creatures, though smaller, moved with an alarming agility and viciousness. They were quick, darting between the wargs, making it difficult for the villagers to focus on one threat.
Sigurd, witnessing the chaos, roared, "Safnið sárum ok vígið! Myndið vörn línuna at bygðar miðju! (Gather the wounded and retreat! Form a defensive line at the village center!)"
Zayzal and Sera, still back-to-back, found themselves fighting off not just the monstrous wargs but these nimble, blue-skinned creatures. With every thrust and swing they took down enemies, but the relentless tide seemed endless.
At one point, a goblin managed to slip past Zayzal's defenses, its sharp claws aiming for his throat. However, a swift arrow from a nearby archer took it down before it could strike. The two warriors exchanged a knowing nod, the trust between them solidifying.
But as they retreated, Zayzal couldn't shake off a sinking feeling. These creatures, especially the goblins, didn't attack like wild animals. They moved with purpose.
Once they regrouped in the village center, Sigurd quickly formed a plan. “Særa, safna nokkra af sterkustu meðal okkar. Vér þurfum at finna upphaf þessara veraur ok enda þessa skrímslamiðju. (Sera, gather some of the strongest among us. We need to find the source of these creatures and end this monster tide.)”
“Já, faðir! (Yes, Father!)” Sera nodded.
Sera swiftly began rallying a handful of the village’s best warriors, barking out orders and forming a semicircle around the village center. Their numbers might have dwindled, but their determination remained unyielding.
“Zayzal,” she beckoned, her gaze piercing yet confident, “With me.”
“Alright.” He nodded, ready to fight alongside her.
The connection they shared in the thick of battle was undeniable, and Sera wanted to harness that synergy to her advantage.
Around them, the wargs and goblins continued their onslaught, their chaotic roars and shrieks filling the night. The torches around the village had started to wane, casting eerie shadows that danced with every gust of wind.
The scent of fear and sweat mixed in the air, but among it, determination and resilience stood out.
Sigurd took charge of the frontlines, with the archers set up behind him, their bows drawn tight, arrows nocked and ready to fly. The village's children and elderly were moved to the innermost houses, barricading the doors with any furniture they could find.
Meanwhile, Sera and Zayzal led a smaller team, preparing to find the source of their problems and flank the assailants. They moved stealthily, using the village structures as cover.
With every step, Zayzal could hear his heartbeat echo loudly in his ears.
The thick layer of snow muffled their footsteps, but the distant roars and shrieks of the creatures kept the group on edge.
There were 6 in total, counting Sera and Zayzal. Each man was a seasoned warrior handpicked by Sera for this mission.
As they navigated the village's outskirts, the group kept a keen eye on any potential threats. Fortunately, the enemy seemed too focused on the village to notice them.
After what felt like hours but was likely mere minutes, the group reached a vantage point atop a snow-covered hill. From there, they could clearly trace the path of destruction the monsters had left behind. The trampled snow and torn vegetation provided a clear trail back to their point of origin.
Following the path of destruction, they soon stumbled upon a sight that seemed utterly out of place amidst the vast expanse of snow and ice: an intricately carved stone entrance hidden into the side of the mountain.
The gate was made of dark, weathered stone adorned with ancient runes and symbols that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.
Large stone statues of fierce-looking warriors stood sentinel on either side, their stony gazes forever fixed forward. The doors themselves were ajar, revealing an eerie bluish glow from within.
From this entrance, monsters continued to emerge, their footprints marring the pristine snow, leading directly towards the village.
The entrance, surrounded by the sheer icy cliffs, gave an overwhelming sense of foreboding as if it was a portal to another, more malevolent world.
It seemed entirely out of place, like a gate to another world. The heavy doors were ajar, allowing a faint, eerie glow to escape. And most importantly, monsters marched out in an inconsistent stream. Around it were other smaller entrances that had goblins exiting.
Sera’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen this before.”
“There were stories,” Einar, an experienced tracker and archer, whispered, recalling tales Sigurd used to tell around the bonfire. "Legends of gates hidden by the gods, holding secrets and challenges. Sigurd always said they were just tales to teach us courage, but maybe..."
One of the warriors whispered, "Einn gudanna skjóla. (One of the gods' hidden shelters.)" The others nodded in agreement, some making the sign of the cross, others muttering prayers under their breath.
A brief pause ensued as everyone processed the gravity of their discovery.
“A dungeon…” Zayzal muttered. Although he couldn’t be sure, every dungeon he’d seen in fiction looked eerily similar to the thing in front of him.
Still coming to terms with the situation, he said, “We need a plan. Charging in blindly is not an option.”
“I agree,” Sera responded, her eyes never leaving the stone entrance. “We sneak in, figure out what’s causing this, and put an end to it. If we can cut off the source, the village will have a fighting chance.”
The warriors nodded, their faces determined. Despite the odds, their trust in Sera's leadership was unwavering.
Silently, they began their approach, using the natural rock formations and crevices to hide their advance. Every now and then, a creature would exit the dungeon, but the group would duck and remain hidden until it passed.
Reaching the entrance, the eerie glow became more pronounced. It seemed to emanate from deep within the dungeon, its pulsating light beckoning them inward.
The group exchanged nervous glances. One of the warriors, a tall man with a bushy beard named Einar, whispered, “It feels... alive.”
There was a deep, almost magnetic pull coming from the depths, an allure that was both intriguing and terrifying.
Without a word, Sera gestured for the group to follow and led the way into the dungeon.
The wind picked up, howling as fiercely as the incoming beasts, and sent shivers down the spines of the villagers. Snowflakes danced erratically in the torchlight.
Zayzal gripped the spear he had used earlier, feeling its cool wood against his dry, frosty palm.
His heart felt like it wanted to race, but the rate at which he was adapting wouldn’t allow for that.
He glanced at Sera, who was intently watching the approaching shadows. The golden hue that had previously surrounded her eyes had disappeared, likely due to her expended energy, but her stance was unyielding.
Clearly, her strength didn’t come from her magic.
“They’re smarter than regular wolves,” she whispered. “And they’re used to hunting humans, not like other packs.”
Zayzal nodded, taking her words seriously. Readying his spear, he prepared to attack.
“Any tips?” Zayzal asked, keeping his eyes forward.
Sera grinned, smacking her shield against her axe, “Reiða þér höfuð þeirra áður en þau nái þitt. Take their heads before they take yours.” She laughed at his incredulous expression, turning her attention back to the front.
The other warriors laughed along with her, not bothered by the fact that some of them might die in this next encounter.
Zayzal couldn’t help but be stunned by their ideals. ‘Am I back in the Viking era or something? What’s wrong with these people?’
The thick tension in the air was palpable as every villager readied for the inevitable confrontation.
The first of the wargs, as Sera had called them, entered the torchlight, revealing its monstrous form. This was larger than any wolf Zayzal had ever seen. Its fur was matted with dark red streaks and its eyes a haunting shade of yellow. Its teeth, exposed in a snarl, looked sharp enough to tear through steel.
Behind it the pack followed, their growls a chorus of impending doom.
Sigurd stood at the forefront, his powerful voice rallying the villagers. "Halda stöðu! Þeir mega ekki komast inn í þorpið! (Hold your ground! They must not enter the village!)"
As the village chief, the men stood behind him, ready to follow Sigurd into battle. Today wasn’t the first time they fought together, and they would make sure it wasn’t the last.
The first clash was brutal. Two wargs leaped at Sigurd, but with a powerful swing of his axe, he sent one sprawling while the other clamped onto his arm. With a roar, Sigurd pried the beast off and struck it down, cleaving his battle axe through its skull.
"Fyrst blóð! Áfram, bræður! (First blood! Onward, brothers!)" He roared, rallying his companions.
“RAAHHHH!” The other warriors yelled and charged forward, ready to meet the wargs head-on.
The cold wind seemed to fuel the wargs' ferocity, their hunger palpable in the icy night.
As Zayzal and the other warriors pushed against the warg onslaught, it became evident that their numbers were far greater than they'd anticipated.
Each warrior held their ground, their training and instincts taking over. Arrows whizzed through the air, piercing the thick hide of the oncoming beasts.
Every time a warg fell, two more took its place, their eyes glowing with malice.
Zayzal ducked as one lunged at him, its massive jaws snapping shut just inches from his face. Using the beast's momentum against it, he thrust his spear through its heart.
As it fell, another closed in with its claws slashing. But before it could strike, an arrow embedded itself deep into its eye. Zayzal, sensing the opportunity, thrust forward, piercing its chest.
Sera, living up to her earlier bravado, was a whirlwind of motion. Her shield deflected the snapping jaws, while her axe cleaved through wargs with brutal efficiency.
Yet, for all their prowess, the villagers were outnumbered. Slowly, they were being pushed back, closer to the village's heart. The wargs seemed relentless, almost as if they were driven by something beyond their primal instincts.
In the heat of the battle, Zayzal found himself back-to-back with Sera. Their surroundings had become a whirlwind of chaos, and they were forced to trust in each other’s capabilities.
However, seeing their earlier performances, both were confident that the other person was experienced enough to keep up with one another. The synergy between their weapons and the way they choreographed their moves was as if they had trained together for years.
With each approaching warg, the duo showcased perfect harmony in their combat styles.
Zayzal, with his spear, would fend off and parry the lunges, allowing Sera the opportunity to strike with her axe.
On the other hand, whenever a warg attempted to flank Sera, she would block with her shield, setting the creature up for Zayzal's lethal thrust.
A particularly menacing warg, larger and darker than the others, leaped straight at Sera.
But before its fangs could close around her, Zayzal lunged, his spear catching it mid-air, diverting its trajectory. Sera quickly capitalized on this, bringing her axe down with a powerful swing, severing the creature’s head.
“Good teamwork,” she panted, flashing him a swift grin amidst the turmoil.
“You too,” Zayzal responded with a smirk, even as they continued to face the oncoming tide of adversaries. However, he was concerned about how quickly he was adapting to her fighting style.
It was as if his body was reacting before his mind could process things.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t given the luxury to ponder over this as another wave of wargs stormed the village.
Everyone put their strength together and valiantly rushed into battle. However, despite their fierce resistance, the warriors found themselves getting overwhelmed by the sheer number of wargs.
But just when things seemed the bleakest, a new, more sinister shriek pierced the night. From the forest's edge, small, blue-skinned goblin-like creatures started emerging, their eyes gleaming maliciously in the moonlight.
The villagers were now faced with a two-fronted attack, and panic began to set in. These goblin-like creatures, though smaller, moved with an alarming agility and viciousness. They were quick, darting between the wargs, making it difficult for the villagers to focus on one threat.
Sigurd, witnessing the chaos, roared, "Safnið sárum ok vígið! Myndið vörn línuna at bygðar miðju! (Gather the wounded and retreat! Form a defensive line at the village center!)"
Zayzal and Sera, still back-to-back, found themselves fighting off not just the monstrous wargs but these nimble, blue-skinned creatures. With every thrust and swing they took down enemies, but the relentless tide seemed endless.
At one point, a goblin managed to slip past Zayzal's defenses, its sharp claws aiming for his throat. However, a swift arrow from a nearby archer took it down before it could strike. The two warriors exchanged a knowing nod, the trust between them solidifying.
But as they retreated, Zayzal couldn't shake off a sinking feeling. These creatures, especially the goblins, didn't attack like wild animals. They moved with purpose.
Once they regrouped in the village center, Sigurd quickly formed a plan. “Særa, safna nokkra af sterkustu meðal okkar. Vér þurfum at finna upphaf þessara veraur ok enda þessa skrímslamiðju. (Sera, gather some of the strongest among us. We need to find the source of these creatures and end this monster tide.)”
“Já, faðir! (Yes, Father!)” Sera nodded.
Sera swiftly began rallying a handful of the village’s best warriors, barking out orders and forming a semicircle around the village center. Their numbers might have dwindled, but their determination remained unyielding.
“Zayzal,” she beckoned, her gaze piercing yet confident, “With me.”
“Alright.” He nodded, ready to fight alongside her.
The connection they shared in the thick of battle was undeniable, and Sera wanted to harness that synergy to her advantage.
Around them, the wargs and goblins continued their onslaught, their chaotic roars and shrieks filling the night. The torches around the village had started to wane, casting eerie shadows that danced with every gust of wind.
The scent of fear and sweat mixed in the air, but among it, determination and resilience stood out.
Sigurd took charge of the frontlines, with the archers set up behind him, their bows drawn tight, arrows nocked and ready to fly. The village's children and elderly were moved to the innermost houses, barricading the doors with any furniture they could find.
Meanwhile, Sera and Zayzal led a smaller team, preparing to find the source of their problems and flank the assailants. They moved stealthily, using the village structures as cover.
With every step, Zayzal could hear his heartbeat echo loudly in his ears.
The thick layer of snow muffled their footsteps, but the distant roars and shrieks of the creatures kept the group on edge.
There were 6 in total, counting Sera and Zayzal. Each man was a seasoned warrior handpicked by Sera for this mission.
As they navigated the village's outskirts, the group kept a keen eye on any potential threats. Fortunately, the enemy seemed too focused on the village to notice them.
After what felt like hours but was likely mere minutes, the group reached a vantage point atop a snow-covered hill. From there, they could clearly trace the path of destruction the monsters had left behind. The trampled snow and torn vegetation provided a clear trail back to their point of origin.
Following the path of destruction, they soon stumbled upon a sight that seemed utterly out of place amidst the vast expanse of snow and ice: an intricately carved stone entrance hidden into the side of the mountain.
The gate was made of dark, weathered stone adorned with ancient runes and symbols that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.
Large stone statues of fierce-looking warriors stood sentinel on either side, their stony gazes forever fixed forward. The doors themselves were ajar, revealing an eerie bluish glow from within.
From this entrance, monsters continued to emerge, their footprints marring the pristine snow, leading directly towards the village.
The entrance, surrounded by the sheer icy cliffs, gave an overwhelming sense of foreboding as if it was a portal to another, more malevolent world.
It seemed entirely out of place, like a gate to another world. The heavy doors were ajar, allowing a faint, eerie glow to escape. And most importantly, monsters marched out in an inconsistent stream. Around it were other smaller entrances that had goblins exiting.
Sera’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen this before.”
“There were stories,” Einar, an experienced tracker and archer, whispered, recalling tales Sigurd used to tell around the bonfire. "Legends of gates hidden by the gods, holding secrets and challenges. Sigurd always said they were just tales to teach us courage, but maybe..."
One of the warriors whispered, "Einn gudanna skjóla. (One of the gods' hidden shelters.)" The others nodded in agreement, some making the sign of the cross, others muttering prayers under their breath.
A brief pause ensued as everyone processed the gravity of their discovery.
“A dungeon…” Zayzal muttered. Although he couldn’t be sure, every dungeon he’d seen in fiction looked eerily similar to the thing in front of him.
Still coming to terms with the situation, he said, “We need a plan. Charging in blindly is not an option.”
“I agree,” Sera responded, her eyes never leaving the stone entrance. “We sneak in, figure out what’s causing this, and put an end to it. If we can cut off the source, the village will have a fighting chance.”
The warriors nodded, their faces determined. Despite the odds, their trust in Sera's leadership was unwavering.
Silently, they began their approach, using the natural rock formations and crevices to hide their advance. Every now and then, a creature would exit the dungeon, but the group would duck and remain hidden until it passed.
Reaching the entrance, the eerie glow became more pronounced. It seemed to emanate from deep within the dungeon, its pulsating light beckoning them inward.
The group exchanged nervous glances. One of the warriors, a tall man with a bushy beard named Einar, whispered, “It feels... alive.”
There was a deep, almost magnetic pull coming from the depths, an allure that was both intriguing and terrifying.
Without a word, Sera gestured for the group to follow and led the way into the dungeon.
