The Dread Wood - by Heftor - Soldier Heftor stroked his horse's muzzle, wondering how he found himself crammed into the main floor of a three story tower with dozens of farm folk and the smoldering, charred corpse of a young, comely priestess at his feet.
The tower was one of two that dominated the lands of Lord Forq. The old Lord was also holed up in the tower giving orders to the men on the battlements while interrogating Heftor's leaders. This, the smaller of the two towers, now housed a sizable number of Forq's people in addition to Heftor and his band of soldiers from Castle Helmswood and their remaining mounts. From the moment they embarked on their journey North they were harried by monstrous creatures, only to reach Forq's lands and be beset upon by the living dead. Forq's settlements had been over run by the undead, who came out in greater numbers at night, under the cover of a frightening, seemingly living fog. Forq and his people are convinced that the demon mist emanates from the Druid wood yet further to the North. He and his soldiers had fought off many of the creatures but when the plague mist arrived, he and his settlers had to retreat into the towers. His son, and a large contingent of locals, fled to the other tower half a league away. When the mist came, it was clearly no simple fog, rather, it smelled sour and carried disease with it. Few who were touched by it didn't die. Most developed large, brown-black lumps on their necks and groin, dying in agony hours later while spitting up blood. Some few lasted a couple of days, but that was no mercy. And that's when it became clear that people could spread the infection.
"Did you come from Helmswood lands?" a boy no more than 12 asked meekly. The boy was cold, and Heftor threw his own cloak about the boy's shoulders. "Yes, I've been a Helmswood man for a time."
The boy was grateful for the cloak. "Did you come here to save us?" Heftor looked around at the state of the people in the large, though squat tower and thought that these aren't the only folk who need saving now. Heftor reflected on how quickly the horrors of the last few days escalated. Ever since the Samhain celebration, now days passed everything had turned sour, like the stench coming off the mist, when fanciful reports came from Hillquarry about zombies murdering folk and eating corpses. Old Helmswood was about to send men out to investigate when a young girl appeared in Lliira. Heftor was there when the girl was questioned, and he thought about her now, as he looked in the eyes of this young boy. He remembered how the poor lass could barely speak a word and just stared ahead, even as she spoke, her voice flat and even as she described monster-people killing her entire village. She described, in that disconcertingly flat monotone, how she watched one of these monsters eat her own mother, even describing the sound as it crunched through her mother's bones with its teeth.
Lord Helmswood had already heard tales of the undead rising in the North, but the numbers were few and far between. But with the recent lack of trade caravans from the settlements to the North, especially with Castle Forq and the town of Norest, his ire had been piqued and he planned to send a delegation North. However, following the Samhain attack on Hillquarry (one of his settlements) and now the wee girl's state and frightening tale, Lord Helmswood realized that this was no task for soldiers alone. In addition, he needed folk who had experience with the fantastical. A sparse few were on hand but they stepped up boldly to lead the group: Balduil, a paladin of the god Torm, a dwarf with an uncommon accent named Brokhyr, a local Tummy lad and a young priestess of Denier, herself a comely if stern lass named Edna, from the monastery near Hillquarry. The contingent was fleshed out further with Heftor and several other soldiers from the Helmswood retinue. These last had seen battle, standing along side Lord Helmswood himself as they raised a tribe of ogres and routed goblins occupying a halfling village in months past. But this was different.
The boy tugged at Heftors tabard bearing the Helmswood heraldry, "Some people are saying that we'll be safe if we can just get out of the village and go South. It's safe in the South, isn't that right?." Heftor snorted and then caught himself, not wanting to frighten the child further. And that's when Andruan, one of the archers that accompanied Heftor's band, squealed, his eyes wild, he pinched his nose against the stench of the charred woman at the foot of the stairs. "Go South? Safe?" he hissed. "We weren't a day out of Helmswood lands when humungous frogs... yes FROGS, killed my friend. And then our camp was attacked by a swarm of wasps, the size of which a full-grown man could ride. They killed a couple of horses, carrying one off... WASPS! And then SPIDERS... what curse is upon these lands that even the simple creatures have become monsters... and then dead men ambushed us on the road, like they knew we were coming," he leaned over the child, still pinching his nose, "the flesh was hanging off their faces and, even once you killed 'em, they sprang back up! And now this!!!" he pointed at the young woman on the floor. Others started to shrink away from Andruan and the horses nickered. Even as Heftor grabbed Andruan around the throat to make him shut up he thought about what he heard less than an hour ago. The leader of these dead men had called up to Lord Forq at the top of the tower. He insisted that Lord Forq turn over some old woman and a little girl with grey eyes. Forq refused, spitting curses at the dead men and the fog that surrounded them. Then Heftor, who at the time was near the top of the stairs, felt a great whoosh of heat. The young acolyte, Edna, was screaming from somewhere atop the tower. It was blood curdling. She was still screaming as she fell into Heftor, arms flailing wildly. He tried to grab the woman but she tumbled over and over down the stairs where he screaming came to an end. Others rushed to put out the flames. But it was too late.
And now Heftor was at his wits end recalling the horrors. He threw Andruan against the wall. Andruan didn't struggle but instead began to weep. "We're going to die if we stay here, and we're going to die if we leave." Heftor let go of the archer and looked around at the others. The boy and several others sobbed in despair. Heftor whispered prayers to Helm and Tymora to protect them, and in the event those prayers went unanswered, he spat a couple of prayers to the Tumyrae god of the dead, Arawn, in hopes that if death came, it would be swift.
And that's when Lord Forq's voice bellowed down the stairwell. "Gather up and pull yourselves together, we leave at first hint of light! But first, we need provisions for the race South. By all the gods, old and new, I swear this isn't the last of our people! Who will journey to my son's tower to rally those that survive there, and to secure food and weapons for the journey?"
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