Surviving Darkveil Forest
"Come on!" Roared Burkhard.
He tried to blink away the blood running into his left eye. The cut running all the way up his forehead and over his shaved head had exposed the bone, and his unkempt blond beard was red with blood dripping down onto his bare chest. Burkhard was a tall man with sharp angular cheekbones, bright yellow lupine eyes and a heavily muscled frame. A single coil of plaited hair snaked over his right shoulder, circling his neck and bit into the base of his skull. His heaving breath made the mural of swirling blue tattoos writh around the curves of his shoulders and chest, with his battle scarred black hide armor and boots protecting his legs giving testament to the four unrelenting days that he had endured.
A fast regenerating, green, ape-like giant lumbered forward on tree trunk legs, crushing a huge fallen tree under rooted gnarled foot. It's skin was covered in scales of gray, flaking bark, it's eyes were bottomless black pits and the cables of slobber dripping forms it's stone teeth smelled like rotten garbage. It swung one of its boulder ended arms at Burkhard's head. He desperately caught the fist, half the size of a highland cow, on the cheek of his ax and with great effort diverted it over his head. Using the momentum to make up for his lack of strength, he swung into a smooth sweeping counter stroke, to behead the blundering beast.
Burkhard sighed with momentary relief, as the heap of hardwood laced flesh thudded on top of the mist wreathed brush of the forest floor. His frustration flared again as he saw new bones and muscles already extruding from the stinking oil slicked neck stump as the monstrosity's head knitted itself back together.
Burkhard shifted his exhausted eyes to six more forest trolls emerging from the gloom on all sides, buckling trees to reach him.
"Just can't get enough of me, can you," he said, trying to make light of the situation.
Burkhard considered running again and looked up to the cliff at his back. The sight made him absently probe the fresh wound across his scalp with a wince as he remembered the hurled tree that ripped him from the slippery, white and gray rock face the last time he tried to escape that way. His wound was already closing, luckily Burkhard knew he was as hard to kill as these dim behemoths, but he was reaching his limits and he was outnumbered. They would likely eat him if he let go of consciousness. At that moment slipping into unconsciousness seemed so very appealing. His whole body ached, his breath came in ragged gasps and fatigue blotched his peripheral vision with honeycombed black spots. All he had to do was let go and it would be over.
No, he was determined to exit this world with honor. Giving in now would be to dishonor his ancestors and himself. The full moon must be close, perhaps it was that night, he had lost track of the days in his battle frenzy. If tonight was the night and he could just hold on till dusk, six trolls would be child's play.
"Come get me then toad scum!" he bellowed and raised his heavy ax to a ready position. "Take a bite out of my tasty rump if you can."
The challenge was more to keep himself motivated than to draw any kind of reaction from the trolls. They showed no sign of comprehension anyway, for either his words or his gesture, and they continued steadily rolling towards him like an inevitable tidal wave, crushing everything in its path. How many were there anyway? He had cut down at least twenty that looked different, though they were hard to distinguish, and he was pretty sure he had beheaded the one at his feet on at least three prior occasions. He smirked as he considered how it was like the game he played with his friends as a child. Randomly sticking a finger up through the holes in loosely woven wicker chairs while the other children tried to swat it back down with their palm before it got retracted.
Around the oncoming threat, the Darkveil Forest was a wide spectrum of early autumn color, only mildly dimmed by the fog. The trees in this part of the woods were ancient and tall. Below them, a wide variety of ferns, briers, large multicolored mushrooms and berry bushes fought for fertile footing among gray moss ridden boulders and fallen tree trunks. Many of which had been trampled, crushed or warped in the trolls' assault on Burkhard.
Four days. Four long days of being smashed against the rocks, over and over again by this unstoppable force of nature. Not once had he even caught a scent of saber in the air, never mind seeing a giant white saber in the area. Not for the first time, Burkhard wondered if Saxa knew that there was a troll clan here, and if she sent him to his death intentionally? Burkhard couldn't be sure one way or the other. It didn't matter much at that moment anyway. The odds of him surviving to ask was approaching zero.
The first of the oafs was near and he steeled his resolve for the inescapable clash. With both oak stump sized arms raised, the aping horror slammed down on the location where Burkhard had been a moment before. As Burkhard completed his defensive roll to end on the other side of his attacker, he saw another lurched up to vomit it's wretched bile at him. He let his momentum carry him along further, angling his body under the stinking moss covered armpit of the hurling monster's outstretched arm. A sharp, split bolder hidden under the leaf litter carved into his lower back, parallel to his spine. Burkhard cussed at the burning pain but didn't hesitate. He whipped himself around to hack the creature's log leg off at the knee. As it toppled, he followed it down with his ax and stopped the acid fountain spewing out of its mouth, by separating it from the source.
With an inhuman bound, Burkhard shot back over the first troll's head, burying the blade deep in its frog-like face. Using his momentum and the hook of the ax blade, he dragged the monster down to the ground before tearing the blade out through the back of its skull with a fountain of rank, tar like gore. The flood of exhaustion, which followed the over the top move, caused him to slump down and lean on his ax for support. He cursed himself for being so flamboyant. There wasn't even anyone to impress, what was he spending his last shreds of energy like that for. He wondered if perhaps it was some kind of unconscious urge to hasten an end to all of this. He chuckled with a black humorous laugh and looked back at the remaining four.
Burkhard's smile vanished as he noticed several more towering shadows hobbling in the murk of the Darkveil Forest. They were closing in from every side. Was there any honor in dying this way? Fighting until extreme dehydration and fatigue caused you to black out so that your enemy could eat you alive. He assured himself that fighting until your body had no more to give was the embodiment of honor, though at that moment the notion felt hollow. He had always pictured himself dying in battle, but beheaded by the blessed rune sword of a mighty champion or in a blaze of dragon fire. Not by passing out and melting away in the stinking bile and stomach acid of a giant arborous-ape. Perhaps these were just deserts for his vanity.
He looked up to gauge time through the dense mist. He didn't need to see the moon, he just needed to be able to feel her presence. Unfortunately, telling the exact time was impossible, but by the color of the gloom he guessed it was still about an hour away. Damn, he was not sure he could last that long. Blood was making his grip slippery on his ax handle and even though his wounds closed rapidly, the pain, lack of water and extreme hunger had severely weakened him.
Well, if this was going to be his end, he could at least make these trolls think twice about cornering a mano beruehrt warrior of the Wulfher clan in future. Sure, that was more vanity, but right then, it was helping. He drew a long hunting knife from the sheath on his left side and readied a dual weapon posture for his last stand. Drawing on all of his supernatural strength he howled loudly to secure his resolve.
The unexpected red glow of falling fire jarred Burkhard and he snapped back to the cliff face. He looked round, seeking an explanation for the sudden color shift in his surroundings but found none. A lit torch had landed on the far most of the two trolls Burkhard had slain, and the highly combustible heap was already catching flame. The potent stench of burning tar was nearly overwhelming to his canine senses in this rundown state. He sneezed. There might even have been tears in his eyes if his body could spare the water. A second torch dropped on the tinder infused flesh mound directly in front of him and this time he followed its trajectory to the source.
A hundred feet above, at the edge of the cliff, obscured in the dense fog, he saw a figure smearing something onto a battle ax. From all the way down where Burkhard stood he could smell a sharp, alcoholic sting radiating from the substance. Burkhard looked back to the trolls in front of him and he noticed they had stopped their advance, some even retreating from the building heat of the blaze. Who was the person on the cliff, Burkhard looked back up, was it Cyneweard? Had he been sent to find Burkhard when he had not returned? Burkhard had only been away from the fortress for a fortnight, not nearly enough time for anyone to worry or even catch up with him.
Movement from above re-engaged Burkhard's drifting focus. He realized that the person on the cliff was leaping down. With a deft roll, the man whirled his ax through the fire that was dancing on one of the massive corpses and continued on to smash the broad side of his burning weapon into the arm of the closest living troll. The surprised monster yowled in fear and retreated from the quickly escalating heat climbing up its bulbous shoulder.
The man stood to his full height, equal to Burkhard's own seven feet. His bald head was encircled by a jutting crown of purple gray hair that looked like extended ears. If the effortless, hundred foot drop had not been enough evidence, his bright yellow lupine eyes, gleaming with sharp intellect certainly marked him as a beruehrt. A disheveled short beard framed his face and flared out from the corners of his jaw. Despite his exceptional height, he looked stocky, with his shoulders spanning four times the width of his already broader than normal head. Over his right side he wore part of a thick brown bear pelt as a shoulder guard. The head of the bear rested peacefully on his thick pectoral muscle. Around his neck a leather and bone necklace rested loosely over his wide clavicles in a rugged bed of chest hair. His forearms and legs were wrapped in pieces of the same bear pelt that was covering his shoulder and each foot sat in a large iron shod bear paw boot. For a moment, Burkhard thought he was looking at Cyneweard's father Grimwald but it was not, though the resemblance to the two Wulfher clan champions was undeniable.
"Here," announced the newcomer as he casually threw an unlit torch, covered in the same eye stinging substance that the warrior had rubbed on his ax. "It's the only way they stay dead."
"Thanks," replied Burkhard as he dropped his long knife in favor of the handy ignitable stake. After resetting his gear, he stepped up to the nearest burning fire and plunged the torch into the flames. It caught more quickly and more aggressively than he had anticipated, singeing his arm hair and nearly his beard. He cussed and hastily backed away from the heat.
"Impressive entrance friend, and to whom do I owe my thanks?" asked Burkhard.
"Don't you recognize me, Burkhard?" responded the man, and instantly Burkhard felt both offended and ashamed. He was not sure why he felt offended, the striking resemblance to the Wolfangers and the fact that he was clearly beruehrt, already told him that he should know this man. He must be an exile, he thought. It dawned on him that Grimwald Wolfanger's youngest son had been exiled over a century ago. The name escaped him. M something.
"Forgive me," said Burkhard, forcing himself to stay his ego, and to remember that this person might be all that stands between him and an embarrassing death at that moment. "You are a Wolfanger right?" he added, using the only information he was sure of.
"Aye, once, Ermenrich they called me," Ermenrich seemed pained to say it.
"Nice to meet you, again, Ermenrich," he bowed his head, and then added, "and, ah, there is a troll aiming a stump at your head."
Ermenrich ducked under the gargantuan fallen oak sailing through the air. It sent cinders flying as it landed across the two fires and Burkhard was also forced to leap aside to avoid being crushed under its bulk. Fire leapt onto the new fuel and soon it was a roaring blaze radiating with immense heat. It was, in fact, starting to get quite uncomfortable, which coming from a badly beaten, hungry, dehydrated, exhausted and sleep deprived person, that was saying something.
"This place is getting hot, I suggest we leave the chit chat for later and find a way out of this gorge," said Ermenrich plainly as if reading Burkhard's mind, "Can you still run?"
"I am a mano beruehrt housecarl for Williric the mighty! " exclaimed Burkhard as he started to trot. Unfortunately his body didn't seem to buy into his self adulation. He miss-stepped on a moss slick rock and buckled his knee, falling face first into a patch of thorny briers. "Okay, maybe I am not at my best." he admitted sheepishly.
Ermenrich smiled, and walked over to Burkhard, he seemed unrushed by the threat of Grengar and escalating forest fire. He offered his hand, and as Burkhard accepted, he dropped one shoulder to lift Burkhard like a sack of wheat flour over his unarmored left shoulder. Burkhard thought to protest but a big part of him felt utterly spent. This seemed like as good a time as any to pocket his pride.
The power of the bigger man was immediately apparent as he bound into a flat out sprint. Taking advantage of an opening created by the firestorm, which was then in full howling swing, Ermenrich burst through the thicket of Grengar and kept running. Branches and undergrowth snatched at the two as they flew through the forest. Burkhard looked back to where the trees glowed red hot and noticed that the Grengar did not seem like they were in pursuit. Perhaps the dim creatures had finally realized the mortal danger that faced them and opted to vacate the area as well.
Honestly Burkhart no longer cared, he was too tired, and too sore to care. He felt the adrenaline fade from his limbs and started to surrender to the warm blanket of utter fatigue that was wrapping itself around him. He lost track of how long he was in that state. It seemed at once like minutes and hours. With Burkhard on the brink of blackout, Ermenrich suddenly stopped. The jerk whipped Burkhard forward, twisting his neck awkwardly.
"What in the frozen vaults!" exclaimed Burkhard, partly from bruised pride at having had to be carried out of danger and partly for the sudden pain he had experienced. He realized he was falling to the ground and it only took him a moment to right himself to land awkwardly on all fours.
"On your feet housecarl," said Ermenrich calmly, "looks like running for it is off the table."
Burkhard turned to look at what Ermenrich was talking about and immediately regretted it. Would giving up now be so bad, he had spent all he had already. If he was fresh as a spring daisy, this would be a near impossible fight, even for two beruehrt.
Rising a good thirty feet tall and nearly as wide, the largest Grengar Burkhard had ever seen stood towering over them like some sort of ancient death totem. Unlike the slow, lumbering, dim witted sort he had been fighting, this one had a spark in its eye. If the cunning smile bristling with jutting rock teeth was not enough to prove that this gargantuan ape-like tree impostor was of a sharper ilk, the crudely crafted bone armor and oversize femur it was wielding as a club sure was. Blockish branches decorated with red autumn leaves curled up from its shoulders, and where its skin was exposed, it was covered in pale white bark scales. Sharp rocks encircled its mossy head like a crude crown.
"Grengar king?" wondered Burkhard aloud. He had never seen such a thing, but this one's description seemed to fit the stories that he had heard.
"Feel free to ask it, 'after' we kill it, Housecarl." answered Ermenrich with a mocking tone.
If Burkhard was not already preparing to channel his violence elsewhere, Ermenrich's taunt might have attracted it, now wasn't the time though.
Burkhard roared a war cry to get his blood pumping and push the butterflies from his stomach. A blur of pale white flashing towards them showed that the stooped tower of ironwood reciprocated the intention of violence. Despite narrowly missing Burkhard and Ermenrich, the shock-wave from the blow sent them both flying.
Burkhard looked up and saw Ermenrich bound instantly back towards the armored brute to attack. It blocked his strike with surprising agility. Ermenrich followed up with an impressive display of speed as he laid into the Grengar. The exile acquitted himself well, though the Grengar king had a clear advantage in strength. Burkhard decided to himself that it was in fact a Grengar king. It had to be.
A bone crunching blow connected with Ermenrich's left side, throwing him to an explosive stop against a thick, old beech tree. Burkhard leapt forward to take advantage of the momentary opening and hacked his ax into the voluminous timber of the Grengar's hip. He brought his torch forward to touch the scales on the beast's substantial thigh, but before he could make contact, a bull sized, rock knuckled fist hammered into him, sending him hurtling head over heels into the fern underbrush.
Erupting pain overwhelmed his senses and Burkhard fought it to remain conscious. Why was getting out of here no longer an option again? What did Ermenrich have against escape, it seemed like a wonderful idea right at that moment.
With every last ounce of willpower, Burkhard forced himself to rise, grateful that the Grengar behemoth was again engaged with Ermenrich's flaming ax. The speed with which the lumbering beast evaded the deadly weapon reminded Burkhard of why running was really not an option. It would only mean getting pulverized from the back instead of the front. Yup, definitely a Grengar king, he confirmed in himself.
Like a thunderclap, the great bone club landed on its target again. This time when Ermenrich emerged from the new stone crater in the gorge rock face, it was clear that he was also starting to look worse for wear. Blood flowed freely from hundreds of cuts all over his body and his nose slumped down, like ice calving free from a glacier. Probably broken, thought Burkhard. This fight was not going well for them, not at all.
Burkhard felt the heft of his ax and closed his eyes. He thought back at Shutzfort, at his father and his people. He was proud to have been a member of the Wulfher clan and a son of the Udendar line. He was ready to join the ancestors in the next life and he was going to make them all proud of him in turn. Besides, he missed his mum who had long passed on and it would be wonderful to see her again. He noticed that his pain was fading and his limbs were feeling much stronger. Strange he thought, perhaps accepting his own death had granted him some kind of magical reprieve?
Burkhard opened his eyes and noticed that the ruby red glow of the burning forest seemed brighter in the distance. No, not brighter, nearer perhaps, and in starker contrast to the gloom. He looked up, it was dark.
He looked over to Ermenrich as he realized what was happening. He could see Ermenrich's face and bones elongate. The leather straps of his boots tore and his muscles bulged as he doubled in stature. His body hair thickened to fur and his skin turned gray. Sharp gleaming teeth extruded from his slavering canine mouth and he raised his head to howl balefully in greeting the moon goddess.
The Grengar king was stunned for a moment, he had thought himself the victor, that his prey had finally succumbed to its wounds, but now realization was dawning. This was not victory, it was defeat. The Lumbering ape burst forward with speed Burkhard would never expect from such a hulking beast. Its club slammed down in the spot where Ermenrich had been, but it found no purchase. The werewolf bound over the club, slashing butchers knife talons across the monster's neck. The ironwood entwined flesh parted as if it were no more tough than a well cooked prime fillet, though it smelled more like rotten egg.
The fight was not over yet, Burkhard let himself feel the beast within. As it touched his mind he felt all his pain vanish and his body fill with the power of the moon goddess. It flowed through him as the world's colors blurred and then reformed into high contrast deep blues and bright whites. He experienced the scent of the leaves on the trees, the acrid smoke of the burning woods and the noxious odor of the Grengar king's blood spilling over its crude chest plate as if he was able to see them. They appeared like phantoms leaving wispy trails as they moved through the environment.
Freedom and raw power had never before felt so good.
Darkveil Forest by MidJourney AI
by Midjourney AI
by Midjourney AI
by Midjourney AI
by Midjourney AI