Escape From Valn

Part 1

The Approach of Impending Doom

         A thick, heavy layer of frost blanketed the Great Lothian Plains for the third day of what had been one of the bitterest, if not the bitterest, cold snaps since the time of The Winter Dark. A frigid wind swept out of the northwest carrying with it the threat of an impending snowfall that would likely suspend travel for no less than a week once it set in, forcing anyone caught abroad to find a suitable place to batten down for the duration, lest they be stranded out on the road without access to food, shelter, water, or warmth. Thick leaden-hued clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, blotting out the cerulean sky and casting the land in the somber monochromatic shades of twilight, though it was merely mid-day. Amid the harsh whispers and hissed threats of the icy gusts that whipped mercilessly across the land- snatching up stray grasses and leaves to send them into violent devils of swirling debris that danced and whirled across the open plains before disappearing into the blustery chaos- a thunderous rumble echoed along the borderlands of The Wilds; its growing fury speaking doom for any who heard its distant call. So profound was the ominous thrum that, a lone wild dog, whose bared ribs reflected the dire scarcity of food during this forbidding time, was momentarily distracted by the approaching ruckus, allowing its prey to escape into the low-growing shrubs that dominated the area. Dismayed by the loss of the meager hare, the feral hound turned its attention back to the rumbling chaos that seemed to be growing louder with each passing moment; however, as the wind shifted carrying the scent of imminent danger to the canine’s sharp snout, its hackles rose in fright, and the feral hound bolted for the safety of the brush, abandoning all thoughts of food or curiosity for the sheer notion of survival.

          Though the bone-numbing cold gnawed at their exposed flesh, a sense of blooded thrill coursed through the beasts of the bloodthirsty horde as they marched relentlessly along the rolling hills which served as the southern border of The Wilds. Made up of mostly orcs and hobgoblins, the inhuman host was led by an imposing warrior who sat astride a fierce wyvern, which did as much to keep the legion of chaos in order as the mighty warrior himself. Already the fell beast had devoured several orcs who had been unfortunate enough to dare venturing too close. Upon seeing this example made of their numbers, none of the others had desired to tempt their fate.

          The leader, a menacing warrior whose suit of plate-mail armor and great helm- with horns that sprouted from the cheek plates and curved around to protrude like the tusks of some ravenous beast, that gave the fierce warrior an appearance likened to that of some nameless fiend, summoned from the depths of The Abyss; looked out over the invading horde, his ember-like eyes glowed, smoldering with battle-lust as he observed the inhuman host at his disposal- Ogres lumbered amid the ranks of orcs, occasionally belching out orders in guttural, primitive voices that said much about their bestial, if bullyish nature- Bugbears filed in amid the hobgoblins; their immense size and barbaric nature setting them apart from their more militaristic kin. As for barbaric, Lord Rechtlar looked at his second in command, though not by his choosing- Vorlagg Blackskull was indeed the most vicious and vile creature that he had seen, but he was far from reserved as it was witnessed when his mount, Semnothis, had dared to snap at him as he did the orcs. The fierce barbarian felled a blow on the wyvern’s jaw with his hammer that nearly unseated the death knight and prompted a silent reprimand that warned Vorlagg of attempting such foolishness again. Semnothis, however, wouldn’t so much as look at the vile barbarian again; a minute observation that Lord Rechtlar found rather impressive.

          “Onward you pathetic pawns;” roared the daemonic death knight as he spurred Semnothis into a quickened step, “daylight is fading fast, the storm gathers on our trail, and our destination lies ahead! Whet your appetites and rally your thirst, for with the coming nightfall, chaos shall ensue and blood will flow in the winepress of your fury; now onward!” Rechtlar’s eyes ignited with a battle-born sentiment that border lined ecstasy as he urged the vile horde into a bloodthirsty frenzy that boosted their morale and hastened their march. As if to agree with the Darklord of Shadivel Keep, Vorlagg raised his mighty hammer and issued a bloodcurdling battle-cry that was felt by one and all members of the fell host. “Maybe,” Lord Rechtlar thought as he saw the barbarian’s effect on the mass of inhuman savages, “having Vorlagg Blackskull as his lieutenant wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

          The gently rolling hills of The Great Lothian Plains stretched out before the horde as they rapidly continued toward their destination. Their passing was like the rolling thunder of a violent storm as they crossed over hill and through dell throughout the rest of the day- their feet pulverizing the thickly packed and frozen earth into a trampled chaotic mess of thawed and stinking muck that would scar the land for many months before the spring rains and warmer weather would ever get the chance to repair the damage of their abject violation its natural beauty. As the diffused light of day faded and drew on into the monochromatic shades of evening, the invading horde came to a hill among the hills that allowed the host of Shadivel Keep to see their destination- a small town nestled in the small hollow between a set of knuckle-like hillocks. Smoke from the various chimneys drifted lazily into the air until it was unceremoniously snatched by the icy cold wind and pulled mercilessly to the southeast. Lord Rechtlar’s eyes narrowed as he felt the presence of the item he had been ordered to retrieve by Xalik. The death knight shifted his gaze from the quiet town in the distance to his legion- seeing the bloodlust in their eyes, he nodded his approval.

         “Soon, The Circlet of Askovar will be ours,” he said aloud, his eyes burning with the fires of chaos, “very soon.”

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