Chapter 2: The Blizzard

Osric and Spiros finally arrive at the city's entrance. Like on his last trek through the streets, the thoroughfare is quiet and nearly empty; the cold snap has driven the people indoors. The produce vendors are gone now and a scarce few citizen’s scurry along the walls trying to avoid the wind, but the basket woman is back at her post proclaiming her new, improved 'winter baskets'; likely the same baskets with a cheap cloth liner.

They turn onto Black Lane towards the guardhouse and Osric notes that the junkie from before is gone. The duo enters the guardhouse and announce their presence, but captain does not respond. Instead another guard, Corum Abato, enters the room. Corum is still a young dwarf who only recently completed his training as the captain's page and is currently assigned to post at the guardhouse.

"Guardsman Dracht. Guardsman Falka. It's good to see you. But, why are you both here? Are you not on post at the north watch stand?"

Osric unties the head from his waist and motions to Corum to look and see. “Corum, I know it’s odd we are both here but it is too risky to be alone right now. There are undead about.” Osric emphasizes the writing bag in his hand. “This is a head from one of them, I shit you not. We have to talk to the captain and get the city secured. There has to be more than one”.

“Undead? You mean like zombies?” Corum reaches for the bag hesitantly, but pulls back quickly.

“Ugh, you too?” Spiros groans.

“I’d really like to help, but... Captain Eulis isn’t here and I don’t have the authority.” Corum shrugs.

“Well then where is the Captain? He needs to see this... this...” Spiros stumbles his words while waving his hand through the air, “evidence.” The bag wiggles on its own.

“Uhh,” Corum seems uneasy watching the bag. “I’ll tell you what, the Captain left for the Squeaky Snake pub a short while ago. There was something going on there with that Triskelion mage who’s been in town. I actually just sent Guardswoman Kerrum there; maybe you can catch up.”

“Damn, I bet that mage is connected. But if they’re not, maybe through some witchery they can divine the source. Let’s go Spiros. And Corum, be sure to lock up. Take no chances. This could become our only base of operations in the city if shit starts flying.” Turning back to the door Osric shouts, “Be sure to tell the others!”

"Uh huh," Corum confirms without confidence. "Good luck out there; the weather's turned."

While Osric faces out the door, Corum looks wide-eyed to Spiros in questioning disbelief to which Spiros returns a grimace and a shrug before following him out to the street. Together, Osric and Spiros work their way through snowing backstreets and alleys further into the center of Korci towards the Squeaky Snake.

Spiros breaks long, the snow muffled silence, "Hey, Osric? Are you doing alright? You seem... more on edge than normal. I mean... understandably for someone holding a head, but what do you think is going on? What was with that back at the guardhouse?"

Osric slows his pace and looks at Spiros. “Yeah I’m... I’m fine. I guess to everyone else this kind of thing is pretty new. It’s hard to explain...purely because it relates to the darkest time of my life but also because it is something that could push everyone away from me. I truly appreciate all the trust you have put in me, Spiros. You are a true friend. If you want to know more, I can explain maybe a few things that can help you understand”.

Spiros nods, “Yeah, let’s start with that. How come you and Corum have heard of these zombie things and I haven’t. I’m an open-minded guy, it doesn’t seem fair. What’s the deal?”

"Honestly,” Osric shrugs. “I don't know how Corum knows about zombies. Maybe he heard it growing up.” Osric stops and leans against the alley wall to let out a sigh. "I'm from a town to the North. Deep in the mountains. Didn't get too many visitors up there. It was a small mining town with little in valuable minerals, you see. We mainly made enough to get by. Everyone knew each other and I was... the son... of the blacksmith. My Pa made the mining and building implements for the town. There was always work to be done. Everything seemed to be on the verge of breaking..."

Osric stares at the stones of the building across from him realizing he was rambling about a time he had never talked about before. "A man came to town... he told me later that it was because it was the 'optimal location for studies'. That bastard. Words cannot explain how vile he was." He looks to Spiros slowly raising his eyes and in a hushed voice "Have you ever heard of Necromancy?".

Spiros exhales slowly through puffed cheeks, “Yeah, I think I heard about it once from some Whitecloaks. Didn’t pay much mind to it since I figured they’re all a bunch of loonies anyways.”

The two guardsmen step out onto another empty road and are blasted by a gale of freezing wind. It’s the coldest weather Osric can remember since even before arriving in Korci. Spiros shouts over the howling wind, “So you think this has something to do with that Tower Mage? I don’t think they’re known for that kind of stuff.”

Osric lets out a soft chuckle and uses his cloak to block the wind from his face. Osric yells, "For the time being, just know I lived in a town as a sort of a ward to that man. Not by choice. He forced me to learn and kept me prisoner. Part of his 'experiments' I guess. To see how much I could take.”

“Undead were common around town. During the takeover they attacked people but once the population was sufficiently ‘turned’, the necromancer put them to work doing the jobs they did before they died.”

Osric pauses to breath, "He called himself the 'Mayor of the Damned' as a sick joke. There were only ten of us still living when I left. No idea how many now. When I escaped, I couldn't take anyone with me. I know there are good and bad people in this world. I am hesitant to throw all magic users into the same boat, but I just want to be cautious around this mage.

Both men slip into the alley on the opposite side of the street, Spiros pulls down the covering from his own face. “Geez, Osric. That’s some pretty heavy shit. Why haven’t you told me before? Did you think I wouldn’t still want to be your friend?”

A pair of wool-bundled dwarves pass by the alley’s exit in a hurry. Osric watches them hurry away, “Yeah, it’s not something you share. Don’t tell anyone, please. It can only stir fear. Let’s see what these two are scurrying away to, Spiros.”

At the lip of the alley Osric spies the folk from before heading inside a building down the street. A long, segmented sign hangs above its doorway depicting a serpent in seven parts. Each segment is tightly hinged, causing the snake to squeal in the harsh wind. The Squeaky Snake, at last.

Guardswoman Yanna Kerrum leans against the wall near the tavern’s door, hugging her arms for warmth. Yanna wears her own fur lined cloak which covers her guard’s uniform and the short sword resting at her waist. Her black hair is pulled into tight braids.

“Dracht. Falka. Been a while. Your shift over already? Hard to tell today.” Yanna looks towards the clouds and shrugs.

"Hey Yanna, actually no," Osric motions to the bag at his hip. "We might have a bit of a problem. Spiros and I were attacked by a man that stumbled to us from the Northern forest; this is his head. Bad omens as well... massive group of crows flying from the trees. No travelers save one carriage that flew by. We went to the garrison, I told Corum and he told us the Captain came here to talk to the mage. They need to see this. Do you have any information before we go in?"

Yanna looks at Osric with a wide-eyed stare. The silence between them grows letting commotion inside the tavern can be overheard. She closes her eyes and takes a slow deep breath, then exhales. “Please tell me you didn’t chop of some junkie’s head.”

Osric’s eyes widen and meet Yanna’s. “Nope definitely not a junkie. He climbed up the watch tower, fell off, his neck was broken and he still climbed BACK UP and THEN I chopped his head off. All of this while saying ‘hungry’. For the love of the gods his head is still moving around in this cloak at my hip!”

Yanna grits her teeth and scrunches her nose, “Now listen here Dracht, I didn’t spend all day chasing after that wagon in this weather ‘cause of your superstitions just to have you raise your voice at me and spread that Triskelion woman’s nonsense.” She steps off into the street, “Why don’t you go in there and raise another panic? I’m not sticking around for this to go south again; I’ve already given my report.” She notions to Spiros, “You mind your friend, Falka. He’ll drag you into trouble.”

Yanna storms off into the growing winter storm back towards the guardhouse. Within the Squeaky Snake Captain Eulis can be heard calling over the crowd to quiet themselves. Osric stands close to the closed door listening intently. Trying to overhear what Captain Eulis is saying before going in. Osric looks at Spiros while listening. Through a frown Osric whispers “It’s easy to discredit someone when you call them crazy. I’ve tried to live a normal life. I’ve given nobody cause to think my past is littered with dark arts.”

Clearly audible through the tavern door are the stern words “Everyone settle down”. The chatter becomes muffled and the Captain is continues speaking, but the rest words of the words are too muffled to make clear. Osric slowly pushes the door inwards to let Spiros and himself inside, fighting against the wind to keep the door in his control and not interrupt the speech. The tavern is packed full of Korci’s citizens, and those nearest to the door are scowling at Osric for letting in more cold. In the opposite corner of the room Captain Eulis has taken the small stage typically reserved for performers and is addressing the crowd.

“Everyone, please. There is no army marching on Korci. I can assure you that if there was, I would know.”

“Nay!” A woman shouts from the bar in a heavy southern Roux D’ouri accent. “There is. An army o’ tha dead is coming an’ they’ll be here sooner than not!” She’s climbs on a short stool over the crowd who has once again risen into a clamor. Her dark, violet clothing sticks out from the crowd, representative of a Tower Mage uniform. “This weather is a sign. The blizzard hides their movement. You need to leave the city before it’s too late.”

“Miss Gærr, cease this at once!” Captain Eulis rails again.

Osric uses the woman’s distraction to slip through the crowded room towards the stage. The patrons yell over each other in worried tones as Osric waves the Captain to lean down to him. Captain Eulis hides his confusion at Osric and Spiros’ sudden appearance and lowers himself so that Osric may whisper into his ear.

“Captain, I fear what she says is true. We spotted a man coming to the city gates. He attacked us in our tower. Neck broken he still came at us. I beheaded him and I have his still gnashing head here at my hip as proof.”

Still hunched down after hearing the words, the Captain stares into Osric’s eyes for any doubt or emotions. While the crowd grows ever rowdier, the Tower Mage glowers at the Captain and the two guards. Captain Eulis quietly commands, “Through the back exit. Say nothing. Both of you.”

“Yes sir.” The two men respond as Captain Eulis stands again to meet the Mages gaze

Osric and Sprios exit back door into a small covered area outside that protects that from the gathering clouds that darken the skies prematurely. They stand together under a dim candle-lit lantern until they hear someone approach the door.

The wooden door creaks open to reveal the Captain, the Triskelion woman, and another man who Osric assumes is the one from the rumors. He is not quite as large as others have portrayed him to be, but he is a rather muscular man just shorter than the Captain and noticeably lacking any Triskelion styled clothing.

The Captain does not introduce the two and is avoiding looking at the guardsmen, or rather the makeshift bag at their hip. He holds his hand out to Osric, motioning to give him something. “Alright, hand it here.”

Osric carefully unclips the makeshift bag from his belt and Captain Eulis takes the bag and passes it to the mage, keeping his eyes on the awning. She takes it and looks inside.

“It’s as I said, Teryn. Din’t believe me now?” Asks the woman.

Pinching his brow, the Captain sighs, “Yes, Miss Gærr. I believe you. Destroy it, please.”

She tosses the bag into the alley and wiggles a finger. Suddenly, the bag ignites in flames, slowly burning the head inside.

“Guardsman Dracht,” the Captain continues. “Please report how you and Guardsman Falka came to possess this.”

Osric knows it is critical that the Captain believes him and doesn’t think he is being superstitious. In the most composed manner he can muster, Osric recounts the events at the guard tower; the haggard appearance of the man, how he ignored pain, and how he and Spiros burned the body.

“See’s someone rown’ here knows what their doing,” The exasperated woman throws her arms out. “Maybe if you’d be more like your man here, Teryn, you’d not have a situation like the one in there.” She spins around towards her partner by the closed door and shakes her head.

“Miss Gærr, I’ve already asked you to refer to by my title.” The Captain cranes his neck back, exuding the feeling these two have been arguing for most of the day.

“Aye,” She whips back around and wags her finger at Captain Eulis. “And I asked you to call me Cortina; just as I asked you to evacuate the city, but it seems it’s Korci tradition to not listen to others.” Spiros audibly winces, sucking in air through his teeth. Cortina’s partner fails to suppress his amusement.

“And if I did as such,” Captain Eulis barks. “I would have sent the entire city into a panic! My duty is to keep the peace ‘Cor-ti-na’, not usher a stampede.” It’s rare that Osric ever hears the Captain raise his voice. “You two, did Guardsmen Laird and Eastman say anything to you when you relieved them this morning?”

Spiros stiffens and looks to Osric. Shakily, he reports to the Captain, “They... were not present this morning, Sir.”

“I can confirm Captain, they were not there when Spiros and I got there. We actually had not thought anything of it, until now. Captain I would also like to tell you that I showed the head to Corum and advised him that he should keep his eyes open and to consider anything abnormal as a threat.”

"Mhm, that was probably for the best." Captain Eulis rubs his brow and finally looks at the flaming lump in the snow. He sighs, "I fear the worst for my men."

"What do you mean?" Cortina asks quietly.

"My page announced that Laird and Eastman relieved the evening watch last night, but neither reported in this morning. I had imputed their absence to an early trip to the bar. When Guardsman Dracht returned for an impromptu status update I started to have other thoughts." The Captain throws down a hand in frustration.

"Falka. Dracht." Captain Eulis turns towards the mage and her companion. "Miss G- Cortina, would you please go with my guards to the North Guardhouse and relay to them what you shared before. I'll go back inside and calm everyone down, then I'm going to convene with Commander Rossos at the West Guardhouse to decide on what to do. Could you do that for me?"

Cortina is briefly stunned by the sincerity of the Captain’s tone. "Aye, I can." Cortina resolves. "But, are the two of you up for this?" She asks both guardsmen calmly.

Spiros nods “Of course. Standing around isn’t an option. Please, let’s hurry”

Osric tells Cortina as they start to walk away, “It is nice to meet you. My name is Osric.”

“And I’m Spiros,” he adds to the introduction. Captain Eulis heads indoors now that the two have taken control.

“Cortina Gærr, though I suppose you’ve already figured that one out. This here’s my partner, Tomas.” Now that Osric can look at him without the immediate comparison to the Captain, he sees that Tomas is quite imposing in his own right. His head is shaved and his skin is very pale, almost a greenish hue. A large, one-handed axe with a crescent moon blade hangs at his waist over his thick, brown winter wear.

The wind suddenly turns and slips into the shelter. “If it’s alright with you,” Cortina continues. “I’d very much like to get back indoors as soon as possible.”

Agreeably, the four return to the guardhouse in the increasingly worsening storm. Inside the heated guardhouse they find Corum has started a fire in the iron furnace. He joins the gathering in the main room where Spiros explains to him the situation. Complacent, Corum resigns the situation to the others and Osric presses Cortina to begin.

“Just so you know, I normally wouldn’t share this information. But times being what they are...” Cortina sits down for what Osric feels is going to be a long story. “Nay about six months ago I was investigating reports on some disappearances regarding a mountain a way north. The locals called it Ice Mountain. Thing of it was, someone was spreading rumors about a treasure hidden on the mountaintop an’ the folk who went looking never came back.”

“That in mind I went up the mountain with my familiar to investigate. Turns out it’s called named Ice Mountain for a reason. A nearly endless blizzard enveloped the peak year-round, but when I reached the summit it fell away to reveal a single cabin at the center of a graveyard. Under that cabin is where I found a most retched temple.”

“Inside I found devices for torture, records of ritual sacrifice, and tombs filled with hundreds of coffins. The deeper I dove the more secrets I found until I was attacked by a creature made of ooze. I quelled it, but I believe doing so set off a chain of events that began to raise the dead within the temple.”

Corum asks surreptitiously, “What did you do?”

“I ran away, of course.” Cortina scoffs, “I may be Triskelion trained, but I can’t fend off that many undead at once. No, I escaped the mountain carrying as many relics from the cabin as I could. I had them sent to the Tower and waited for backup. I stayed in the area to warn the villages but the numbers were too many and the villages were too spread out. Now I’m here trying to warn this city, but I’m afraid I’m too late. We’re going to get trapped here by the blizzard.”

Spiros and Corum are speechless. The fire crackles in the dim guardhouse, and the whipping storm winds sing above through a small window.

Osric looks at Cortina and in a low voice “How are they created? Is it magic, a curse, are they necromantic puppets? Can this blight spread?” Osric shifts his eyes around the room.

“Well. I can’ say I’ve truly seen ’em, but I have heard ’em. There were these figures in the storm that I could nearly make out, some rode horses, one stood massive above the others. Seven in total as I could count.” She grows silent for a brief moment. “Whatever, whoever, they are, they were there when it started at each village. I’ve heard ’em twice now, just before we fled the villages. They have a horn, or something like one. It blows loud over the blizzard gales, and it’s one I’ll never forget in this life or the next. As far as I can tell they must have come from the temple. My theory is they were part of some ancient death cult.”

She finishes when Corum hands her a mug of hot coffee. Cortina glances across the room considering what she’s saying, but then she does a double take at Osric and stares at him for a moment. Is she contemplating why I’m are asking such questions, Osric wonders?

Under Cortina’s gaze Osric diverts his eyes to the floor. Osric thinks and doesn’t recall ever hearing anything about these horsemen. Osric shudders to think about the power of these beings. “These horsemen are death themselves. We have to at least prepare a rudimentary defense. Close the gates. Secure the inside. There just has to be some dead inside already skulking about. What do you know of their weaknesses, Cortina?”

“As I said, I fled the villages as soon as I could, so I’ve little experience with their composure. Fire seems to work well with reducing their movement.” Cortina replies.

“Funny how you know so much about how to run away, but not in how to stop all this.” Yanna leans inside the doorframe to the next room. Had she been there the whole time?

“And suppose I threw myself into the fray and died, who’d be here to warn everyone‽” Cortina stands from her seat in offence. “As far I can tell no one else had escaped this storm.”

“Well, there was that carriage earlier today,” Spiros interjects. “Yanna, what did you find about them?”

Yanna clicks her tongue, “Not much. Some stranger flew into town, immediately went to that old manor in the south district, and bought it from the owner. Payed in full with a massive bag of gold. S’far as I could find they haven’t been seen since they arrived.”

Osric wide eyed “Boy, THAT’S not suspicious at ALL” with a thumbs up gesture to no one in particular. “I volunteer to go talk to the creepy new owner to make sure we don’t have a threat on the inside.”

Yanna grunts and turns back towards the empty hall as Cortina stands. “Agreed,” Cortina says. “I’ll be going with you. I need t’ see any possible survivors from the villages.” Stoic Tomas steps forwards as well.

“Me too,” Spiros jumps up.

Osric knows exactly which manor Yanna mentioned and how to get there from the guardhouse. He nods his head in affirmation. “Let’s be off. Time to get some answers.”

The journey which would normally be brieft, stretches out for over any hour due to the snow. Osric and Sprios guide Cortina and her apparent bodyguard, Tomas, through the freezing maze of Korci. The winding streets are difficult to recognize in the snow and shadows, but after the difficult trek they arrive at the mansion.

The house sits two stories tall at the crossing of Liman Street and Orchard Way and resembles a wooden frame design. On a clearer day, Osric could look straight down Liman street and see the Harbor, but today he can barely see a few meters ahead. “This old mansion was famously home to a wealthy tradesman.” Osric explains to Cortina and Tomas, “However, after his passing the family fell on hard times. Rumors were the tradesman’s young son was in debt, which would explain the quick sale Yanna described.” The carriage he saw earlier today sits crooked in the street, and a medium sized pile of the mansion’s former contents sits near a front window.

After a moment they all begin to hear the sound of something crashing inside the manor. Osric catches a glimpse of a few of the objects sticking out the pile. Notably a few silver candlesticks and an ornate bust depicting a popular artist’s interpretation of the goddess Meter.

Osric runs up to the door and listens a bit more before announcing himself. Some scuffling is interrupted by a somewhat familiar voice, “No, you idiot! Place them at the windows.” Osric has a hard time placing the memory.

Osric scrunches his face trying to place the voice. “What the hell?”. Osric rushes, pushing the door in and striping the wooden frame around the weak latch that held it closed. Most of the furniture in the room has been shoved towards the outside wall. An immensely tall man stands in the dark holding some wide wooden sheets that perhaps where once the backing of a painting. Osric gathers that they have been covering the windows with whatever they can find, and as such have caused mansion to be nearly pitch black. A long, black coat hangs loosely over a thin, unseen frame. His face is obscured by a grey scarf and wide brimmed hat. Clearly the figure is the carriage driver Osric saw earlier today, and so far has made no reaction to the intrusion.

Cortina pushes up beside Osric into the house and looks around. “Seems someone disagreed with the decor,” she mumbles. The others pool in as well keeping the door open to allow a minimal amount of light to fall in.

“What are you doing, fool?” Osric hears the voice again come from up the nearby stairs before it begins to shuffle closer.

“Just trying to get some information about zombies. Know anything about that, old man?” Osric shifts and looks at the pair gauging which one he knows somehow.

The man is partway down the stairs, and Osric’s eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. Finely dressed, if be a little disheveled, the man glides down the steps in a furor. His skin is so pale he could blend into the snow outside if not for his jet-black hair that falls past his shoulders. “What is the meaning of this? Agh!” He throws his hand into the air gesturing towards the broken door latch. “Look what you’ve done! Have you no sense, you...” He stops himself and slowly widens a menacing grin. He had realized at the same moment as Osric how the two know each other. He is Razvan the Necromancer; Osric’s former vampiric captor.

“Indeed, I do know of the undead. In fact, there is an army of them outside your walls. So, if you don’t mind, I have some barricades to place.” Razvan shoos everyone away with a swish of laced sleeves.

“Sir, if you could. I’m Cortina Gærr of the Triskelion. Could you tell me what you’ve seen? Or about how you escaped the villages? Anything can help.”

“If it will get you out of my house. My village was invaded by the horde.” He glances subtly to Osric momentarily. “When it was apparent our meager forces were no match I simply fled. Higher, you idiot!” He commands the figure covering the window.

Osric hides his discomfort from his party as his hand instinctively rests on the sword hilt at his hip. “Razvan...” Osric whispers through clinched teeth knowing Razvan could hear him but his party could not. “What do you know?”

Razvan does not react to Osric’s hushed questioning. Instead, Spiros pleads to the man by the window, “Are there any other survivors with you?” The man doesn’t answer either.

“No, I’m positive they’re all quite dead. Though I’m sure they plan to visit soon,” Razvan intercedes. “So, I believe it’s time that you take your leave. I’ll be needing to mend that door and that won’t happen while you’re standing in the way.”

Osric raises his voice, “So you plan to just stay in here when an army of dead are coming? What makes THIS house so safe?”.

“It’s large and came pre-furnished,” he scoffs. “Besides, it’s at the center of town and it’s too late to escape the storm.”

As if on cue the wind and snow outside stops abruptly. Once the last flake of snow patters on the banks in the street, the world is filled with silence.

Cortina stiffens and whispers, “Oh no.” She runs back outside through the broken door. Razvan himself appears to have paled even further, and Osric senses even he is struggling to maintain a calm demeanor. Tomas runs outside to stay with Cortina.

Osric looks back at Razvan. “If you truly want to survive this, help us. It’s the only way. This house wouldn’t hold you back for long. It won’t hold back them either.”

Razvan stands petrified on the stairs. He looks at you with wide eyes as you speak, but turns his head instead of answering. You’ve never seen him react this way, as he’s always been a sinfully proud man. Whatever he’s seen coming has him absolutely terrified.

Osric turns and walks outside buckling his shield to his arm as he leaves. “Cortina, you see anything?”

When he steps out with Spiros, Osric finds Cortina and Tomas looking towards the sky. “Aye. And I’m afraid what I see may be the end,” her voice quivers. The blizzard has transformed and borders the city in all directions. Black storm clouds obscure everything outside Korci by a snowy tempest. Osric wagers to himself that there may be a clearance of two miles past the walls at most. The sky directly above is absolutely clear and lets in the light of the setting sun. The amber gleam shines on the most obvious omen Osric has ever witnessed.

On the northern crest of the storm’s eye, on top of the clouds forms a massive, cumulus skull. High in the sky, the bone-like billow slowly morphs to open its jaws. The group stands in silence. Spiros asks, “What- “, but he is cut off by a horn.

The deathly horn that Osric immediately knows is the same that Cortina foretold. The long, droning horn is the only sound anyone can hear. Osric sees Cortina mouth wordlessly and Spiros staggers. The blood in Osric’s face is forced down and he is overcome with uncontrollable dread. A hollow feeling opens inside him like the marrow in his bones is shrinking.

The desperate sadness clings to his brain until a separate feeling grows inside him that keeps him from being overtaken completely. It has no physical feeling, only the sense of a memory; like some other force fighting on his behalf. The horn’s blare for two, eternally long minutes. When it ends Osric feels his heartbeat and the warmth of blood return to his body as if his heart had forgotten how to beat and is now frantic to catch up.

The Guardhouse alarm bells begin to ring from the east and west.