Tremors in the Earth

[Hyperdron 310]

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Tremors in the Earth

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A single light marks the Northern mountainscape as the night lays down her cloak of darkness, blanketing the snow-laden peaks in freezing mist and blackened clouds. The light betrays sounds of merriment rolling down the slopes from where it perches. Shadows dance against a ruined stone wall, a group of tattered but vitalised warriors revelling together in booze and bloodshed. One such warrior raises his voice above the excitable chatter.

 

“They say the invasion will begin soon, that the rest of the Host is soon to arrive!”

 

“Our lord has already bloodied his blade against the Southlanders, it won’t be long now.”

 

One figure, however, remains separate from the celebration. A scrawny, hooded figure, huddled in a corner far from the fire, scrabbling at the wall they leant against in a shivering fervour. Muddled mutterings spew from a pair of cracked lips, unintelligible against the cheers of their comrades. Their legs kick out feebly every so often against a sharp boulder resting stubbornly before them, dislodging small powders of pure white snow from its top.

 

Suddenly, the figure freezes. A moment passes. Then another. Silence envelopes the figure in a stifling embrace, before they call out in a comprehensible murmur, quiet but firm.

 

“They call…”

 

Another moment.

 

“The Gods call…”

 

Their cracked, wrinkled hands grip tightly at the indents of the wall as the foundations beneath them begin to shudder. What snow left atop the boulder is thrown off, the tendrils of grass once holding it in place snapping violently away as with an abrupt kick the figure sends it crashing down the mountainside. The gleeful hubbub surrounding the fire instantly dwindles - whether from the sound of the tumbling boulder, the trembling earth beneath them, or a combination of the two. Men and women alike drop to the ground, scrambling for shelter from this seemingly all-encompassing attack, but the hooded figure stands, awestruck against the onslaught, a strength in their body unseen by their comrades for many months.

 

A great moan echoes up from the dirt, assaulting those above with a deep, guttural resonance that rattles their very cores. The figure simply stares up to the twinkling sky, cracks forming in the clouds, a crazed smile plastered across their face. Their hood falls to their shoulders as the darkness parts, exposing their bloodshot visage and strangled grey hairs to the moonlight.

 

The rumbling begins to subside, yet the figure remains transfixed upon the great black ceiling. Slowly, the others push themselves to their feet, all eyes moving to witness their priest bathe in enigmatic wonder. After what felt like an age, Gharakis Bloodbrand raises his arms to the void above and lets loose a horrific cackle. 

 

“See how the Gods look upon you, warriors!” His manic gaze pierces each and every one of those assembled around him.

 

“They call for more! For carnage, for destruction!” Unfettered glee paints its mask of madness upon his features. 

 

“All to fall under the Serpent, and all to fall again!” He cackles again, voice grating against the blustering winds, clarity clouding his eyes.

 

“IT IS TIME!”

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The tremors in the earth ripple forebodingly through the Northern lands. Something is coming.

[AstriaS 3822]

Among the encamped warriors, one woman lingered near the outskirts of the gathering. In the wake of the tremors below, she turned her gaze up to the night sky above. "I don't know that a simple quake is a message from the Gods," She mumbled to herself. "But with our recent activities, it is sure to get the King's men and the tribals into a stir. We will see, I suppose, what the fates have in store."