The Skardians moved with purpose beneath the looming sky with Fjora at the head, her colossal club resting across her shoulders. Skalr trudged alongside her, his boots squelching in the mud as the faintest frown rested on his face. Above them, the storm’s intensity had waned into a steady drizzle punctuated by distant thunder. A distant reminder that the gods were watching. Or meddling, depending on one’s perspective.
“Do you reckon Exile enjoys showing off, or is it just part of the job description?” Fjora mused, her voice loud enough to be heard over the patter of rain.
“Both, I suspect,” Skalr replied dryly, glancing up at the cloud-arrow that still hung above them. “Though I can’t say I appreciate being guided by celestial doodles.”
Fjora laughed heartily, nearly slipping on a patch of wet leaves. “Better than nothing! I’ve seen less helpful signs, like that time a goat wandered into our camp. Turned out to be an omen of famine, according to the priests we asked a week later. Lot of use that was. By that time, Logar had already eaten all the rations and caused the so-called famine.”
“Or it could’ve just been dinner serving itself up,” Skalr muttered, earning a snort from Fjora.
Behind them, the Skardian warriors trudged in disciplined silence, their eyes scanning the forest for any sign of pursuit. The earlier victory had been a morale boost, but every soldier knew that elves didn’t take defeat lightly. Skalr’s grip tightened on his blade as they entered a particularly dense stretch of forest. ‘This would be the perfect time to ambush us.’
A shout from the rear brought the column to an abrupt halt. Skalr and Fjora spun around, weapons at the ready, as a scout jogged forward.
“Movement in the trees, Captain,” the scout reported breathlessly. “Couldn’t get a clear look, but it’s not natural.”
“Elves?” Fjora asked, her fingers flexing around the handle of her club.
“Could be,” the scout replied, his face pale. “Or worse.”
“Worse?” Skalr arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think there was much worse than elves lurking in these woods.”
The scout hesitated, glancing nervously at the shadows that seemed to press in from all sides. “The forest feels… wrong. Like it’s alive, watching us.”
Skalr exchanged a glance with Fjora. Both of them had heard stories of ancient Skardian woods harbouring spirits and monsters that even the gods didn’t dare disturb. Still, neither of them was the type to let superstition dictate their actions.
“Keep moving,” Skalr ordered. “Whatever’s out there, it’ll regret crossing us.”
The column pressed on, though an uneasey air settled over the warriors. The underbrush seemed thicker here, the trees gnarled and twisted as if shaped by some malevolent force. Skalr couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being herded, the path narrowing in ways that felt less like coincidence and more like design.
It wasn’t long before the first scream cut through the air.
The column erupted into chaos as warriors drew their weapons, spinning towards the source of the sound. Skalr sprinted towards the rear, his heart pounding in his chest. He arrived to find a soldier lying prone on the ground, his body unnaturally contorted. Above him loomed a shadowy figure, humanoid in shape but wrong in every other way. Its limbs were elongated, its movements unnervingly fluid as it turned its eyeless face towards Skalr.
“Skalr! What is that?” Fjora bellowed as she arrived, her club already swinging towards the creature.
The figure moved with impossible speed, dodging the blow and disappearing into the trees. Skalr barely had time to register its departure before another scream rang out, this time from the front of the column.
“We’re surrounded!” someone shouted.
Skalr cursed under his breath, his mind racing. “Form up! Shields to the front, spears ready! Fjora, keep that club swinging! Whatever these things are, don’t let them get past you!”
The Skardians scrambled into formation, their training taking over even as fear threatened to overwhelm them. Skalr stood at the centre of the line, his sword at the ready.
“Exile,” he muttered under his breath. “If ever there was a time to stop showing off and actually help, now would be it.”
The sky rumbled in response, but no divine intervention came.
The shadowy figures struck again, darting in and out of the trees with an eerie silence. Skalr swung his blade at one, but it melted into the shadows before his steel could connect. Another warrior wasn’t so lucky, a shadowy claw slicing through his shield as if it were parchment.
“Hold the line!” Skalr shouted, though his voice sounded more desperate than commanding.
Fjora let out a feral roar as she charged towards the nearest figure, her club swinging in wild arcs. One of the creatures lunged at her, only for her weapon to connect with a sickening crunch. The thing’s form disintegrated on impact, leaving behind nothing but a faint wisp of smoke.
“See? They’re not so tough!” Fjora bellowed, though her expression betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.
Skalr wasn’t so sure. For every one Fjora smashed or Skalr cut down, two more took its place. And then there was the forest itself, the oppressive darkness growing thicker with each passing moment.
“This isn’t working,” Skalr muttered as he parried another attack. “We’re going to be overrun if we don’t…”
Before he could finish, a blinding flash of light illuminated the battlefield. Lightning struck the ground mere feet from Skalr, scattering the shadowy figures and sending a shockwave through the forest. When the light faded, a figure stood where the bolt had struck.
Exile.
The god’s arrival was anything but subtle. His figure crackled with electricity, and his eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. He raised a hand, and the storm above responded, a web of lightning danced across the clouds.
“Skardians! Gather to me!” Exile’s voice was impossibly loud, carrying over the din of battle like the roar of a tempest.
“About bloody time,” Skalr muttered, though he couldn’t hide the relief in his voice.
Exile smirked as he stepped forward, his presence alone seeming to drive the shadowy figures back. He gestured towards the Skardians with his free hand, and a surge of energy coursed through them. Their wounds healed, their fatigue vanished, and their spirits soared.
‘This is the work of a God,’ Exile glowered at the shadows. ‘They’re strong, whoever they are. It took some time to break through the barrier. What the hell is going on here?’
“Show these creatures what it means to cross Skardians under my protection,” Exile commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
With renewed vigour, the Skardians surged forward, their weapons cutting through the shadowy figures with ease. The creatures that had seemed so invincible moments ago now fell like autumn leaves, their forms exploding with divine light from Exile’s buff to warriors.
Fjora let out a triumphant laugh as she brought her club down on another shadow, shattering it into nothingness. “Now this is more like it!”
Skalr, for his part, didn’t bother hiding his gratitude. He fought with a newfound ferocity, his blade a blur as it cut through the remaining creatures. Within minutes, the forest was silent once more, the last of the shadows vanishing into the darkness.
Exile surveyed the battlefield with a satisfied expression. “Well, that was something.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like them,” Skalr replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion. He sheathed his sword and turned to face the god. “Thank you for the assist. We’d have been done for without it.”
Exile waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t thank me yet. This little skirmish was just a warm-up. The real battle is still ahead.”
Skalr frowned, but before he could ask what Exile meant, the god gestured towards the horizon. The storm clouds parted just enough to reveal a distant mountain range, their peaks shrouded in mist.
“That’s where you’re headed,” Exile said. “And trust me, you’ll need every ounce of strength you’ve got to make it through.”
‘And then some,’ Exile thought as his senses picked up a nova of divine energy. ‘I may need some backup.’
Fjora clapped Skalr on the shoulder, her grin was as wide as ever. “Sounds like a challenge. I like challenges.”
“Of course you do,” Skalr muttered, already dreading the journey ahead.
As the Skardians regrouped and prepared to march once more, Exile disappeared in a flash of lightning. Skalr couldn’t help but shake his head.
“Show-off,” he muttered.
But even as he grumbled, he couldn’t deny the sense of hope that had been rekindled among his warriors. ‘Shouldn’t the Gods be more… Godly?’ He couldn’t help but sigh. There were times that Exile’s speech reminded him of an ordinary mortal. But his power was undeniably a higher one.
‘Were the old stories wrong about how Gods act?’ Skalr couldn’t help but question that belief at this moment. Every time he interacted with Exile he felt a headache coming on. However, his faith in his God was unshakeable. There was no way he would ever speak such heretical thoughts aloud. ‘If this was just a warm-up as he said, what’s waiting for us over there?’
“Why are you pouting? It’s unbecoming of a Runelord.” Fjora chuckled as she nudged him in the ribs. “You heard the Almighty. We’ve got work to do!”
“I’ve always wondered why you show Exile so much respect. You’re not even his chosen hero.” Skalr said as he shot her a glance to distract her.
“Isn’t it obvious? My God takes orders from him. Exile sits on the throne of the Pantheon. Doesn’t that make him the greatest God? Besides, I wouldn’t want to be his hero. It seems like there’s too much thinking involved. Just point me at an enemy and let me smash them.”
Skalr stared at her for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘Figures. As simple as an animal.’
“Let’s go…”