Hunting Death.

[Kroom]

(Closed to Eldric, Tobias Stalt, and Kroom.)

Noon sun beat down over a half-living city, like a passing merchant smiling at a starving urchin. Figures crawled over the city like ants; men, elves, dwarves, and even an Orc or two here and there. Though they passed over the top, the crust, the upper rind of this vast and haunted city, it was the warrens and delves beneath where their quarry lay. This was the ruin wrought by Xem'Zund, a part of it. Once a thriving metropolis of the Elves, the sorcerer's black magic had turned it into a necropolis of the undead.

Now it swarmed, not just with the leftover abominations cast from the sorcerer's hand, but with elves and the mercenaries they had hired to help them purge the haunted city. Bands roved from camps set up throughout the city, dropping into chasms and vaults to exterminate the nightmares hiding there. The sun greeted them again with blood on their faces and blades, thinned ranks, and harrowed eyes. Night saw the men holding their palisades and barricades against those wandering ghouls which walked the unlit streets. The whole haunted city was a warzone.

Welcome to Eluriand.

"Shut up, for your own damn sake!"
"Why? Not my fault the Skav's too dense to play knuckles!"
"Four hells Bal, shut up!"
"What's he gonna do, ah?"

Jak clenched his teeth and kept his hand firmly planted against Balmar's chest, checking every few heartbeats to see that the Skav - what was his name, Elric, Erlend, Erling? - wasn't coming for both of them. He'd been naive enough to play knuckles with Balmar, and he'd lost, of course. Now the Coron was mocking the Skav's confusion, and the Skav was growing only more aggravated. Balmar was a thick, tough man, and his sword had earned every nick and notch, but everybody in Duggan's camp had quickly learned not to fuck with the Skav. Everybody except Balmar.

The smith was unceremoniously pulled aside as the Skav stepped forward with a genial grin. He raised his hands as if to clap Balmar on the shoulders. Not realizing his peril, Balmar pointed and laughed.

"See? Fine as wine!"
"Me Eldric," the Skav intoned in a thick accent, "me smash!" Balmar had time to widen his eyes before Eldric's calloused fist flattened his lumpy nose. The mercenaries standing by howled with laughter while Eldric cleaned his blooded hand on Balmar's trousers. Jak counted it a blessing when Balmar grinned. The Coron against the Skav was not a fight he wanted any part of.

"The FUCK are you shits at?! Grab kit and form up! Patrol leaves in the half hour!"

Ormong was Duggan's second-in-command, a wiry man with black hair, wild eyes, and a voice like bellowing cattle. A perfect drill sergeant. Jak had heard that he'd been drummed out of somebody or other's army for some reason or another, but the martial air clung to him like plague to a rat. Ormong stomped about the camp, roaring orders as he picked men for the patrol.

When his name was barked, Jak had only to close his rucksack and sling it over his shoulders. He’d eaten, and his weapons were tucked at his belt. He grinned at Eldric as the Skav buckled on his sword.

“Ain’t been on trot with you yet, Skav. First time?”
“Is it yours?” the Skav growled in reply, though without hostility. The halfwit tone he’d affected a moment since was fully evaporated. Jak chuckled.
“Just make sure to watch out for the dark spots. Boggarts in there.”
“I won’t let them rape you.” This time Jak’s chuckle held more wince than laugh. Skav bastard’s sharp. Ormong’s bellow cut over them all.
“STEEAAAAAAALLLLLT!! Kit up! You’re on trot!” Tobias had been on the last shift of watch before sunrise, and he groaned and muttered as he was kicked to wakefulness. “What was that, Stalt?! You want Rute to hold yer hand?!” With flat eyes, Tobias stood and smirked.
“Aye, sir, I’m still dizzy from fuckin’ yer wife’s arse all night!”

Jak stifled a guffaw. Ormong blinked, then grinned and nodded, moving away to assemble the rest of the patrol. Life in the dead city was off to a good start today.

[Tobias Stalt]

He knew he'd pay for it, later if not sooner. As the officer strode off without a backward glance, Tobias' lip twisted up in a wry smirk. "Worth it," he muttered low, which met with a howl of laughter from Jak and Eldric. The two larger men shook their heads as they finished kitting themselves and Jak pointed down at Tobias' waist.

"Her juices' still drippin' from ya, Tob," the Smith jested. Red faced, the rogue stared down and remembered that he'd relieved himself of trousers before bed. "Put some pants on, mate, we're up." Stalt snapped to with some vigor, pulling the black trousers over his manhood and buckling them.

"It was a good night," Tobias protested emphatically. "Though... I can't say if it were his wife, or something else."

"Best keep off the bottle, Stalt," Eldric warned, "or ye'll be tryin' t' fuck Jak 'ere by nightfall." The Skavian giant bellowed a laugh at both of their expenses. The trio were newly formed and enlisted by this mercenary company, but already they seemed to be forming close knit ties. Tobias had observed early in his days with Jak that the man found kindred spirits among men he worked with. It was a quality he coveted.

"Ah, y'bloody Skav, I'm more worried about you havin' a go at me arse," Jak jested with a grin. He pointed a blade toward the Salvic man and glanced down the edge, testing it for proper weight and sharpness. "I'll say this for them," he muttered, "they know well enough to keep their weapons keen."

"I'll wager it's the walking dead what inspired them," Tobias drawled sarcastically. The trenches that prowled out beyond the makeshift barracks were laden with weak fires that had somehow survived the night. Smoke billowed skyward in a daily routine as man made clouds blotted out the sun. Tobias frowned as the first of what promised to be a lengthy day of fallen was carted past him. "Smells like the enemy," the youth grimaced disrespectfully.

"They'll burn all of them before eventide," Eldric wagered. A chorus of 'aye' was all the conversation they needed on the topic.

Tobias strapped his long knives to his belt and fastened the jerkin about his chest. "Let's not dally," he reminded them, "he's like to have all our asses if we don't have the same amount of nothin' to show him as everyone else in two hours." A snort came from somewhere behind them, but Tobias shrugged it off. "Same course, to the far end of the main street and loop back when we're certain nothing wicked this way comes?"

Jak was the first to begin the trek. "Why do anythin' different?" It was a valid point, but Tobias frowned.

"They've been growing bolder," the Tactician called out.

"Fine by me," Rute intoned with a wide grin. "More to kill."

"Can't kill as what's dead," Tobias grunted.

"Then we make 'em stay dead," Eldric spat. "And that's that."

"I knew I liked you," Jak laughed as Eldric caught up to him. Tobias strode several paces behind them, letting himself take in the burnt out battlefield that was their new home. Sunlight peeked through gray and black clouds, only to illuminate the horrors that war left in its wake. The youth gulped. Elven corpses, their ashes scattered along the dirt path, still flickered with trace amounts of warring, mystical power. Tobias frowned.

"Even in death," he sighed, "magic won't let them rest."

[Eldric]

Eldric's gaze cast about restlessly at the vacant ruins lining the street, one hand resting on pommel of his longsword. It had been nearly a week since the various mercenary companies had set up shop, and he'd walked this patrol daily since then, yet just being in the city made his hackles rise. The littered corpses and crumbling metropolis brought back too many memories of his first campaign in Raiaera, and all that accompanied it.

Jak began whistling something as they walked their usual route, a jaunty tune that Eldric didn't recognize. No doubt it had originated in some tavern, but with the ruins of the city crowding in on all sides it took on a melancholy sound. The Skavian felt his grip tighten on his sword hilt.

Behind him, Tobias groaned and stretched without breaking stride. "Between the sergeant's wife and my last patrol I hardly slept."

"Figured," Eldric said without looking back. "You look like shit."

"You wound me, ser." Tobias clapped a hand over his heart and grinned. The Skavian snorted humorlessly by way of reply, his attention already returning to the vacant buildings lining the street. With the noonday sun blazing overhead and the shadows banished, Eluriand was little more than a run-down city, more pitiable than menacing. The three mercenaries picked their way down the avenue, stepping over corpses and rubble alike with a familiarity born of repetition. Any of them could walk the route blindfolded by now, and that worried the Skavian.

A complacent man is a dead man, his father used to tell him, and after selling his sword for almost a decade, Eldric was inclined to agree with him.

Another thirty minutes passed in relative silence, the only sounds their booted footfalls and the wind sweeping forlornly through the city. Eldric felt himself gradually relax as he adjusted to the patrol. The feeling of dread had long since dissipated in the sunshine, and though they saw no shortage of corpses, not a single one tried to take a bite out of them. In this accursed place, that was reason enough to smile.

The Skavian's brief good mood lasted only until they came to the mouth of the alley. Jak's hand shot up, and instantly the trio became as still as statues, hands on their weapons. Eldric eased free a few inches of steel, loosening the sword in its scabbard as the smith peered around the corner. When the wind died down he could hear what had caught the man's attention: a shuffling, scraping noise that echoed and distorted between the narrow walls. There was a moment of silence, and then a guttural moan that lifted the hairs on his arms.

"How many?" Tobias asked grimly.

Jak unslung his bow and plucked an arrow from his quiver. "Just one, and it's in bad shape already. I'll take it."

Eldric drifted forward to shadow the smith as he stepped into the alley. The creak of the string being drawn was drowned out by an inhuman shriek as the corpse caught sight of the two men and broke into a drunken sprint. Jak was right: the thing was in bad shape. Its flesh was gray and bloated as if it'd been left in a river, and had sloughed off in patches from the corpse's face, neck, and shoulders. The tattered remains of a robe covered the rest of the body, but one arm had been crushed from the elbow to the wrist. It flapped uselessly as the thing ran.

His first arrow found the creature's heart with a wet thump and a spray of black liquid. It staggered and fell into the wall, but did not die. Tobias chuckled darkly as it dragged itself along the building, leaving a trail of brackish fluid in its wake. "Strike one," the golden-eyed man muttered absentmindedly before turning another circle to ensure the street was still clear.

Rute ignored him and strung his bow once more. This time he waited until the corpse was only a dozen paces from them before putting the arrow through its skull.

The three men gathered around it where it fell, Tobias with a knife in hand. No telling what all that noise might have attracted, the Skavian thought approvingly when he saw it. With a booted foot on its neck for leverage, Jak pulled his arrows free one at a time, examining the rot-smeared tips with distaste before returning them to his quiver.

"Where do ya think the bastard came from?" Eldric asked solemnly, his gray gaze fixed on the dead face.

"Hard to tell," Jak responded.

Tobias shrugged. "Hard to tell where any of them come from. In any event it's just a stray, not part of a horde. How it got this far in the sunlight, though..."

With the creature slain it was quiet once more. Eldric pried his gaze away from the corpse's blank stare and glanced toward the other entrance to the alley. There was no sign of movement; just more ruin, more death.

"We should keep moving." he growled.

[Kroom]

The city was like a shattered skeleton, Jak decided. Over the past week, as he'd gone out on patrol time and again, he'd been trying to find some appropriate symbol by which to name the ruins he wandered. Now, looking at crumbled stone bleached by the sun, he called it bone. Crushed ribs and arms lay about him on all sides, and the rotting corpses were just fragments of the city's flesh. All cities were alive, after all. Eluriand had once been flesh and blood as much as stone and wood. Now, all was dead. The crawling filth were simply maggots, feeding on the death. Jak wondered what he and his mercenary compatriots must be - carrion, perhaps, devouring the maggots? Crows and vultures? Uncanny thought. Such birds were bad luck.

The smith spat behind and to his left and made a subtle warding sign. Death was rankling in the air, and it left a foul taste in his mouth. He stared at the corpse he had ... well, killed, and reached for the small leather flask of liquor he kept in his sash. The fiery taste knocked some of the cloying necrotic stench off his tongue.

"So," he said. "Who wants to trot back and report? Walker at noon and out in the open, doesn't happen. Duggan'll want to know."

"Aye," agreed Stalt. Eldric only gave a grunt. Jak ducked to the street and picked up a piece of straw. With deft fingers, he snapped it into the appropriate lengths, then offered a pull to Tobias and Eldric in turn. Both drew long. Jak grimaced and slung his bow while the others grinned.

"Don't kiss anything lackin' lips," the mercenary called back to Tobias as he set off at a quick jog. He ignored the answering parting jibe.

Jak was almost within sight of the forum where their camp was set up when he turned a corner. Another walker, out in the open, back turned to him. The smith hissed under his breath and slid the antiquated short sword from his belt. His jog became a tip-toeing sprint, almost silent in his moccasins. The walker heard him nonetheless; but only by the time that Jak's sword was moving. The undead wheeled just in time to be cleft from clavicle to crotch, a deep rent exploding bile in the sword-tip's wake. As it toppled, a follow-up stroke claimed the creature's head.

The smith spat again and made another warding sign, flicking ooze from his blade and continuing his run to the camp - sword in hand.

[Tobias Stalt]

With a snort as the Smith departed, Tobias turned his gaze back to the glistening ruin. Ancient powers flecked sporadic areas but others were burnt out, barren. Death blossomed all around and its wretched stench polluted the otherwise beautiful disaster. "Two of them by day," he muttered as he chewed his lip. "Something ain't right, Eld."

"Ain't that the truth," the Skav grunted. "I can't smell anything different from the decay on this wind. There's so much of it."

Tobias glanced sidelong at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Eldric responded, "corpses. Lots of them."

Tobias' expression hardened like lava unearthed. "It's a dead battlefield, years untouched. That's not so strange." He furrowed his brow, uncertain as to whether the Northman was having a go at him.

"Not generally," came the calm reply. "But, the dead are scattered so far around, the stench would be this concentrated. Something is massing corpses."

Tobias broke from the conversation and started further into the ruins of Eluriand. "Then we have to find out what, and fast. The forward patrol is headed deep into the heart of this darkness. We can't let them get caught in a trap."

Eldric sighed. "It's like that they already have been caught, Tob."

The larger man strode forward to walk alongside Tobias. "I know that," the smaller man groaned. "That's what I'm afraid of. The dead don't stir during the day. Haven't since the last days of Eluriand," he grit his teeth. "Everything about this feels wrong."

Eldric only nodded. They walked to the far end of the main path that had once been the main Avenue through the heart of Elven culture. Shattered artifacts littered the street and crunched beneath their steps. Dead wreathed in silk and linen finery lined the outsides of once gorgeous homes, and vines grew endearingly in and out of the skulls of men and women who had once tended them with love.

Overgrowth pulsed with bright white in some places, evidence of the purifying magic that once rooted deep in Eluriand. Where those pristine petals dripped dew, the ground seemed to look alive. The contrast between one side of the street and the other was stark.

"Nothin' to report," Tobias uttered nervously.

"Yet," added Eldric. "We're not done yet." Both men glanced up at the arch that still reached high above the broken city. The main causeway spanned a man made lake that once ran beautiful blue, but now stagnated as a black, bloody mire. Tobias quirked a brow and looked warily over to his companion.

"No," Tobias protested, "no fuckin' way. Up there, we're on display for every corpse from here back to Beinost. It's a killbox."

"It's a vantage point," Eldric reminded him. "Whatever's out there, we'll be able to see it. Come on, Tob. The camp needs to know about this. The other patrol needs to be warned."

Stalt groaned in defeat. "Let's hurry up and die," he sneered. "Come on then. Hop to, Mister Thormund. Make your steel ready."

[Eldric]

"Aye," came the Northman's flat reply. He had no more desire to set foot on the bridge than Tobias, but returning to camp without observing the city from a better position would be both dangerous and stupid. Something was wrong; the wind was choked with the stench of death, and the empty windows of the surrounding buildings seemed to watch them expectantly. A full week patrolling this part of the city, and never had Eldric felt such menace. Investigation was the only option.

The bridge was a thing of beauty surrounded yet untouched by the rot that infested Eluriand. Constructed of smooth stone and metal weaved together in the flowing, organic style of the Elves, it gently arced high above the dark waters of the lake. Gems studded the rails, and everywhere he glimpsed flecks of gold and other glimmering metals. Usually the sight of such excess turned the Skavian's stomach; here it brought a thin smile to his face, perhaps because all around them was naught but death and ruin.

"This city was a wonder, once" Tobias remarked solemnly. "That this bridge is the last vestige of its beauty is a tragedy."

"Most would save such a title for the dead piled in the streets," he responded. Tobias simply shrugged, and together they began the trek up into the arch's heights, both men scouring the city with inquisitive gazes. Beneath them the black water of the lake roiled and churned despite the day's calm. Eldric glanced over the side and shivered. Whatever foul corruption stewed within those waters was best left alone.

As they neared the apex of the arch the wind steadily increased and the smell of death began to lessen. The Northman savored a deep breath of air that was only slightly fresher, and beside him Tobias sighed in relief.

Wordlessly, the two men took up positions on opposite sides of the narrow bridge, casting their gaze over the city. From their new vantage point the extent of Eluriand's decay became suddenly magnified, a stark look at what Xem'Zund's necromancy had wrought. Clouds of ash swirled through a crumbling field of blackened husks. Rubble and piles of corpses, little more than gray smudges from this distance, filled the streets. The Skavian felt a pang of sorrow that he quickly buried, unsure if it was for Katariah or all the others who had fallen. Either way it would not serve to be distracted; the forward patrol was likely in danger.

Yet Eldric saw no movement within the city. The streets were empty of mercenaries and shambling corpses alike, giving no clue as to the source of the day-walkers.

"Eldric. Over here."

He turned to stand beside the smaller man, his gaze following the outstretched finger out into the distance. "Gods be good..." the Northman murmured, his face grim.

The writhing mass of bodies poured through the streets like a gray flood, an inexorable wave of reanimated flesh. Shoulder to shoulder, the corpses staggered toward them with sudden fervor. When the wind shifted it carried the deafening sound of their collective snarls and groans, and the Skav felt his jaw clench in a sudden mixture of fury and alarm.

"Come on," he uttered hoarsely, a calloused hand seizing Stalt's shoulder. "We have to get back to camp."

Without waiting for a reply Eldric started back the way they had come. He halted after less than a dozen paces, swearing a vehement oath. A single cadaver was climbing their way, black fangs dripping with ichor, pale eyes fixed upon them. How did we miss it? he thought, and then drew his bastard sword in a quick, practiced motion.

"We need to move," Tobias warned, "now." The alarm in his companion's voice sent a shiver down the Northman's spine. He glanced back to see Stalt facing away from him, sword in hand. Beyond, the undead were quickly filling the street and moving toward the arch.

"Aye," the warrior snarled, bounding forward. The corpse in his path snarled as he approached, stretching out a clawed hand. Eldric removed it with a single stroke of his blade, then reversed the motion to cleave its head in half. The wet thud as it fell was drowned out by a sudden crash from within the nearest building, and within seconds a crowd of snarling undead were crawling through the shattered windows.

"Back!" the Northman shouted, retreating back up toward the bridge's apex. Another swing of his bastard sword took the head off the first corpse to reach them. The second tripped over its headless companion, falling flat with a screech. Eldric sank his blade into the creature before it could rise.

This is bad.

[Kroom]

"I know," Duggan growled when Jak made his report. "Main patrol's been picking up stragglers all day. Something's happening, and I don't know what it is, and I don't like it. We lost contact with Angra's troop two days ago, no word since. Scouts said their camp was wiped out." He scoffed. "Maybe the dead don't like us killin' them."

Jak's guts were knotted rope. "Sir, I need to go get my trot back -"
"Then stop talking and fucking do it, Rute! Four hells, y'don't need my say so." Jak twisted and ran to his bedroll without another word. He never went on trot with his heavy weapons, but that didn't mean he didn't have them: a long axe lay next to his roll. He snatched it up and was turning to run when a shout stopped him.

"Rute!" He groaned. Amric, the archer bitch. "Stalt's out there?" Her concern made him sick. He nodded. "I'll come with you!"
"Fine."

Amric was patent proof of Jak's poor taste in women. He'd bedded her, and as soon as she finished whispering that she wanted Jak and Jak alone for the rest of her life, she'd seen Tobias' brooding face and hurled herself after him. Jak was disgusted, and Tobias scorned her - but right now, he could use all the help he could get.

Another pair of boots joined them, and Jak turned. His breath caught. A grinning old man with one eye hidden behind a gray bandage, wearing scale armor and leaning on an old spear, a sword and dagger on his belt, and wearing a black sash across his chest. A Blackwalker. Jak knew this one. By all accounts he'd been a soldier in every battle worth fighting for the past fifty years, always rank-and-file, and always carrying that same spear.

"Y'know me, lad?" Jak nodded wordlessly, slightly awed. "Grand. I'll come too." Jak didn't dare question it. Armor jingling and weapons in hand, they set off on the quick trot.

[Tobias Stalt]

"Hells," Tobias rumbled as his blades raked across dried up arteries. He felt the tall Skav backed up to him and let out a perturbed grunt. The first few had come at a crawl; as the numbers multiplied to a staggering degree, so did their pace. Wet with viscera and hunger, the endless horde threw themselves at both men with speed previously unfathomable by the undead. No wonder so few survive the night.

Overhead, the sun mocked them. Daylight that once deterred onslaught of this magnitude now offered no protection. Scouts like Tobias and Eldric should have made easy prey for this enemy. A grim grin graced Eldric's face as the battle swept up his thoughts and his massive blade sang a sadistic song.

All around them, the corpse of Eluriand looked on in hallowed silence. The mustard colored promenade that once glowed a majestic gold echoed with somber sadness; every desiccated moan reverberated off mossy, ruined walls. Withered husks of magical power glistened with hollow warmth around the turgid pond at the city's heart.

Tobias stood entangled with one of the dead now, teeth set in grim concentration. "If'n we don't make it back," he called back to his friend, "I always thought ye were prettier than Jak."

"I'll remember tha' when we're in the clear," the Barbarian threw back in jest. "Gets lonely at night in tha' camp."

"Remind me never to compliment you," Stalt snorted acerbically.

Droves of fetid wights raced toward the lone duo at the apex of the high path. For miles ahead, Tobias discerned only a mass of black and gray where the gold bricks once spanned for miles. A garden of dead weeds had cropped up below them, and every groan was a proposition. Kill me, they begged, or I'll kill you.

With a jerk, Tobias sent three of the bodies over the side. Thrice the water slurped as it accepted his sacrifice hungrily. Three sick plops echoed just above the guttural chorus of death, then only steel rang in accompaniment. "They keep coming," Tobias huffed with exertion.

Eldric did not seem to hear. "You ok?" Stalt asked in alarm. Nothing had attacked him from behind yet, but it was always possible they were preoccupied with feasting on his friend. It made Tobias anxious. "Eldric?"