The cold night settled over Zorim Field, the moonlight casting long shadows across the open terrain. Inside the hastily constructed barracks, the atmosphere was a mixture of tension and focus. The building itself was long and spacious, yet the makeshift walls spoke of urgency\u2014no comforts or finer details, just bare necessities to accommodate the soldiers. Though the barracks were stripped of amenities, the soldiers worked tirelessly to ensure their weapons were sharp and their armor pristine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9 sat at the edge of one of the crude wooden tables, his black armor glistening faintly under the dim light. His loose hair framed his face, his piercing obsidian eyes scanning the room as he took in the busy scene. He was accustomed to the discipline of Shanda-Wold\u2019s rituals, but the air in this makeshift camp was heavier\u2014laden with the weight of an uncertain future. He and Brynda had been waiting for their orders. No one knew exactly when the battle would begin, but it was clear the soldiers were readying themselves for something inevitable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Beside him, Brynda adjusted her Soulsever Sword, her green eyes alight with a quiet determination. The sword\u2019s holy aura was a sharp contrast to the grittiness of the barracks. She occasionally glanced up, noting the soldiers around her, though her mind was undoubtedly focused on the task ahead. Like Alvinnu\u00e9, she had no idea when the battle would start, but the silence of the night made it feel as though the conflict could ignite at any moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund, the veteran warrior, approached them, his powerful figure cutting through the sea of soldiers. He walked with a heavy, deliberate stride, his rust-brown hair and muscular frame commanding respect. He paused as he reached them and looked at both of their faces, his own weathered expression softer than usual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow are you both holding up?\u201d he asked, his deep voice carrying a note of genuine concern.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda gave him a small, forced smile, but her green eyes betrayed the nervousness simmering beneath her calm exterior. \u201cI\u2019m ready,\u201d she replied, her voice steady but with a hint of tension. \u201cBut\u2026 I can\u2019t deny I\u2019m a bit nervous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9 shifted slightly, his dark gaze fixed on the floor as he thought for a moment. He wasn\u2019t one to show weakness, but his inner turmoil was hard to ignore. \u201cI\u2019m ready,\u201d he said, his voice low. \u201cBut I\u2019m not sure if I\u2019ll survive this. There\u2019s always that uncertainty in battle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund chuckled, a sound that was more rumble than laugh, and clapped Alvinnu\u00e9 on the shoulder with a force that made the younger warrior wince slightly. \u201cTrust in your skills,\u201d he said, his tone reassuring. \u201cYou both have what it takes. Brynda, your holy powers will give the undead more trouble than they can handle. That Soulsever Sword of yours will make short work of them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He turned to Alvinnu\u00e9 next, his eyes sharp and knowing. \u201cAnd you, Alvinnu\u00e9, your shadow skills will be more than enough to confuse and cripple them. The undead won\u2019t even know what hit them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda took a deep breath, her posture straightening slightly as she absorbed the veteran\u2019s words of encouragement. Alvinnu\u00e9 met Gorimund\u2019s gaze and nodded, a quiet resolve forming within him. The road ahead was uncertain, but they had the tools to succeed\u2014and the trust of those around them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll make it through,\u201d Alvinnu\u00e9 said, more to himself than anyone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda, her fingers still resting on the hilt of her Soulsever Sword, glanced over at Gorimund, curiosity shining in her green eyes. “So, are all warriors from Darven-Imus like you?” she asked, her tone light but filled with genuine intrigue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to shake the air around him. “Aye, pretty much,” he said with a grin. “Dwarven warriors see many battles throughout their long lifetimes. It\u2019s in our blood, in our very bones. We don\u2019t just fight to fight\u2014we fight to survive, to protect what’s ours.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9, tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied the veteran dwarf. “Is that it then? All dwarves just live for the fight?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund\u2019s expression softened as he leaned against a nearby wooden post, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Not exactly,” he said with a thoughtful look. “Fighting isn\u2019t the heart of a dwarf’s life. What\u2019s most important to us is the God of Fire\u2019s blessings. We live by his will. Working the forge, shaping metal into weapons and tools\u2014that\u2019s what gives our lives true meaning.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda nodded, absorbing the gravity of his words. “So the forge is your life\u2019s calling?” she asked quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund smiled, though it was a more somber smile this time. “Aye. But a warrior\u2019s skills are more than just how well he swings an axe or holds a shield. It\u2019s about endurance, resilience. I was raised in the forge, yes, but my skills as a warrior far surpass my smithing.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s brow furrowed in curiosity. “So you don\u2019t miss it? The forging, I mean?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund shook his head, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Not in the way you might think. The forge gives life meaning, sure, but it\u2019s the fire of battle that forges the heart. That\u2019s what makes us strong.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a brief silence as Alvinnu\u00e9 and Brynda mulled over his words. The tension in the barracks seemed to lessen, if only slightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Seems like your life has been shaped by both the forge and the battlefield,” Brynda said, her voice full of respect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund gave a quiet nod, his eyes distant for a moment, as if lost in memories of battles fought and fires stoked. “Aye, lass. And one wouldn\u2019t be worth much without the other.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund fell silent for a moment, his gaze drifting down to his Forgefire Axe and Stoneguard Shield, both resting at his side. His large hands gently ran over the worn wood of the shield and the cold, sturdy metal of the axe\u2019s blade. The weight of them seemed to anchor him in the present, but there was a distant look in his eyes, as if the memories of countless battles passed through his mind like a flickering flame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy younger brother,\u201d Gorimund began, his voice softer than before, \u201che\u2019s the gifted one in our family. More than I ever was.\u201d He gave a slight shake of his head, though there was no bitterness in his tone, only pride. \u201cHe was always the one with the hands that could shape the finest steel, the one who forged the weapons you see here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda and Alvinnu\u00e9 exchanged a quick glance. There was something in Gorimund\u2019s voice\u2014perhaps a touch of admiration for his brother\u2014that made them both pause and listen intently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe Forgefire Axe,\u201d Gorimund continued, his fingers now tracing the edge of the axe blade, \u201cand the Stoneguard Shield\u2026 they were forged by him. I\u2019ve carried them into every battle I\u2019ve faced. They\u2019ve protected me through so many dangerous ordeals that I\u2019ve lost count.\u201d He lifted the shield slightly, the faint glow of the forge’s magic still lingering in its surface.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey were made with such care, and with the finest craftsmanship. My brother didn\u2019t just make them; he imbued them with strength. They won\u2019t ever shatter, won\u2019t ever break. Not in battle, not even against the toughest of foes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s eyes widened, a note of awe in his voice. \u201cSounds like your brother is more than just a smith\u2026 He\u2019s a master.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. \u201cAye, and a good man, too. I\u2019d trust him with my life as much as I trust these weapons to keep me standing. There\u2019s no doubt in my mind that, without them, I\u2019d have fallen many times over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda\u2019s voice broke the silence, soft and respectful. \u201cYour brother\u2019s work is proof to both his skill and his love for you. Not many would craft something so durable for another.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund smiled faintly, a trace of warmth in his eyes as he looked at the axe and shield again. \u201cAye. He may not be a warrior, but he\u2019s been my shield in more ways than one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9 watched Gorimund with quiet curiosity, the firelight flickering across the dwarf\u2019s weathered face and the polished metal of his axe and shield. After a moment, he tilted his head and asked, \u201cWhen was the last time you were home? To Darven-Imus?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund let out a breath, slow and heavy, as though the question stirred dust from old memories. \u201cIt\u2019s been a long time,\u201d he said, not looking up right away. \u201cToo long, if I\u2019m honest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. \u201cI\u2019ve been with the Geldanos Army for about seventy human years now. Joined up when King Meldran still ruled\u2014Edmon\u2019s father. The old king was a fierce one. Stern, proud, and never afraid to get his hands dirty. Reminds me a bit of Edmon\u2026 though the son\u2019s got more fire in him, I\u2019d say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s eyes widened slightly. \u201cSeventy years? That\u2019s nearly a lifetime for most humans.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAye,\u201d Gorimund nodded with a small grin. \u201cBut for a dwarf, it\u2019s just a long chapter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a brief silence, filled only by the distant clang of steel and the hushed murmurs of other soldiers around the barracks. Then Alvinnu\u00e9 asked, his voice thoughtful, \u201cIf you survive this battle\u2026 will you go back home?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund looked up at him, his expression softening. The firelight caught in his eyes, and for a moment, he seemed far away\u2014perhaps already walking the stone halls of Darven-Imus in his mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat sounds like a great idea,\u201d he said, the hint of a smile tugging at his beard. \u201cMaybe it\u2019s time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda smiled at Gorimund, her voice warm despite the chill of the night. \u201cYou should go back home, Gorimund. After all this, you\u2019ve earned it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She glanced at the Forgefire Axe resting beside him. \u201cAnd you should get your brother to fix up that axe and shield. If they\u2019ve protected you this long, imagine what he could do with a few upgrades.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing off the barracks\u2019 wooden walls. \u201cAye, I\u2019ll be holding him to that. He\u2019s probably been waiting to hammer on these old things again. Might even lecture me on how poorly I\u2019ve maintained them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He chuckled again, then his gaze turned thoughtful as he looked toward the far wall, beyond which stretched leagues of dark, uncertain land. \u201cIt\u2019s a far journey, though. My home lies to the east, past the Elven Lands of Ansell-Vend, beyond the towers of Tharmatur. Through mountains and memory.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He turned back to Brynda and Alvinnu\u00e9, a sly glint in his eye. \u201cYou two should come with me. After all this business with the undead is done\u2026 maybe it\u2019s time we see a little more of the world. You\u2019ve both got the makings of fine travelers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda exchanged a glance with Alvinnu\u00e9, a smile slowly spreading on her face. For the first time in days, the weight of the coming battle seemed a little lighter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The low murmur of soldierly chatter was broken by the rhythmic echo of boots on the wooden floor. Heads turned as a figure approached, his stride purposeful, his presence commanding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Adjutant Cenric entered the barracks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His grey eyes swept the room with practiced precision, his expression serious\u2014grave, even. The chatter fell into silence as soldiers subtly straightened their posture. Cenric was known for his discipline and clarity, a man who spoke only when something important needed saying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda stood immediately, her body rigid as she brought her fist to her chest in a sharp salute. \u201cAdjutant Cenric,\u201d she said, her voice crisp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cenric nodded in acknowledgment, offering a brief but respectful glance toward the trio. \u201cBrynda. Gorimund.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then his eyes settled on Alvinnu\u00e9. Without breaking stride, he approached and withdrew a sealed parchment from within his coat. The wax bore the insignia of the Geldanos Army\u2014a lion\u2019s head before a blue shield and green field.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAlvinnu\u00e9,\u201d Cenric said, his tone firm but not without respect. \u201cYou have new orders.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He extended the parchment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou are to act as an advanced scout,\u201d he continued. \u201cYour task is to track the movement of the Army of the Undead. You leave tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The room fell into complete silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9 took the parchment from Adjutant Cenric with a silent nod. His expression was unreadable, but a flicker of tension crossed his face as he looked over the seal. He didn\u2019t open it\u2014there was no need. Orders were orders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His eyes shifted to Brynda and Gorimund. For a moment, the three of them simply looked at one another, the camaraderie of the last few hours settling like a weight between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell,\u201d Alvinnu\u00e9 said quietly, a faint wryness in his voice, \u201clooks like I\u2019ll be leaving the group for a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda’s brow furrowed immediately. She opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted a hand gently, his voice calm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry. I\u2019ll return safely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gorimund narrowed his eyes slightly. \u201cAre you sure about this, lad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before Alvinnu\u00e9 could respond, Cenric spoke again, his tone confident and resolute. \u201cThe command tent watched your sparring session earlier today. Your movements\u2014your precision\u2014it was clear to all of us. You have the best chance of locating the enemy without being seen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cenric’s gaze was sharp, but not unkind. \u201cYou are not to engage. Track their movement. Confirm their direction and numbers. Then return to camp immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda stood frozen, her hands clenched at her sides. \u201cAlvinnu\u00e9\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He gave her a small nod, the kind that said more than words ever could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then, without another word, Alvinnu\u00e9 turned and walked toward the barracks door. The dim light caught the edges of his black armor, and his silhouette faded as he stepped into the cold night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And just like that, he was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The barracks remained hushed long after Alvinnu\u00e9 vanished into the night, the wooden door swinging gently behind him. Brynda stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the doorway as if willing him to walk back through it. Her grip on the Soulsever Sword tightened slightly, the soft hum of its holy energy echoing her unease.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cenric, still standing nearby, noticed the look on her face. He stepped closer, his expression softer now, the edge of command giving way to a quiet empathy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe\u2019ll be fine,\u201d Cenric said, his voice calm. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t have delivered the orders if I didn\u2019t believe he could do it. I\u2019ve seen scouts break under pressure\u2014but Alvinnu\u00e9? He\u2019s something else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda turned her eyes to him, uncertainty flickering in the emerald depths. \u201cHe tries to hide it, but he\u2019s still young,\u201d she said. \u201cYou really think he can make it back safely?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cenric nodded slowly. \u201cI\u2019ve served under two kings, traveled through half the kingdoms, and I\u2019ve seen warriors born for this kind of work. He\u2019s one of them. Precise. Focused. Quiet as a shadow.\u201d He paused, letting the words sink in. \u201cThat sword he carries? The way he moves? He\u2019s trained for things most of us would never attempt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda let out a breath she hadn\u2019t realized she was holding. \u201cStill,\u201d she murmured, \u201cit\u2019s the undead out there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd that\u2019s exactly why he was chosen,\u201d Cenric said. \u201cBecause he doesn\u2019t just have skill\u2014he has restraint. He won\u2019t fight unless he has to. He\u2019ll observe, track, and return. You\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brynda looked toward the door once more, then finally nodded. \u201cHe promised he\u2019d come back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cenric offered a faint smile. \u201cAnd I believe he will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The vast fields of Zorim stretched endlessly beneath the night sky, their stillness broken only by the occasional whisper of wind sweeping through the tall grass. At the farthest edge of the field, where the land gave way to the Unclaimed Lands beyond, Alvinnu\u00e9 lay motionless, his black armor blending with the shadows. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, scanning the dark expanse as if seeking out movement, a flicker in the night that would reveal the Army of the Undead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The quiet of the night enveloped him, and for a moment, the weight of his task seemed to disappear. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath in the silence that surrounded him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Above, the twin moons hung in the sky, casting a gentle light on the fields below. The silver moon, high and steady, gleamed with an ethereal glow. It was the moon of protection, a constant presence in the lives of the Shanda-Wold people. It represented safety, the watchful gaze that kept them from harm when darkness fell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Beside it, the crimson moon loomed\u2014a sharp, burning contrast. The moon of vengeance, known to the Shanda-Wold as the symbol of retribution. Its light bled across the sky, a reminder of the wrath that could be unleashed if provoked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s gaze flickered between the two moons. His thoughts, usually sharp and focused, wandered for a moment. He had never been one to shy away from the darkness, yet tonight, something felt different. He couldn’t explain why, but the anxiety that had gnawed at him earlier had faded. The stillness of the night, the quiet stretching out around him, felt like a cloak, wrapping him in a sense of safety.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He lay there, still, as his thoughts drifted. The dark had always been a comfort to him\u2014an old friend that never let him down. The shadows had been his refuge throughout his training, his life, and here, in the heart of Zorim Field, the darkness felt more familiar than anything else. It was in the dark that he truly felt at peace, where his mind could clear, and his skills were most at home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Perhaps that was why he had always felt safest under the twin moons\u2014one symbolizing protection, the other vengeance. Both were part of him, part of the blood that ran through his veins, the legacy of his people. But in this moment, with the night settling around him and the world stretched out in quiet anticipation, he understood why he had always been drawn to the shadows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They were his to command.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alvinnu\u00e9 narrowed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There\u2014movement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His pulse quickened as he caught the subtle ripple of motion against the horizon, far beyond the quiet grasses of Zorim Field. What at first looked like a shimmer of mist began to resolve into something more defined. A great mass\u2014dark and crawling\u2014was approaching with dreadful slowness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The air shifted. The cold deepened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A creeping sense of foreboding settled over him, as though the very earth beneath him held its breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He rose carefully from his position, not making a sound. Every step he took was deliberate, measured, silent. He moved toward a rise in the landscape\u2014an uneven hill marked by jagged rocks jutting out like broken teeth. Without hesitation, he began to climb, hands and feet finding familiar balance along the stone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the summit, he crouched low, wind stirring his cloak. With one breath, he centered himself, and then activated Shadowsight<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Darkness fell away like a veil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before him, the plain was no longer just distant darkness. Alvinnu\u00e9 saw with the clarity of his bloodline\u2014ghostly hues of movement, shapes where no living thing should walk. Thousands of figures stretched across the terrain like a tidal wave. The Army of the Undead\u2014countless, unnatural, and unrelenting\u2014marched silently under the twin moons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His breath caught.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had never seen anything like it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The undead did not falter, did not stray. They moved with purpose. With direction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His shock passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 steeled himself, his obsidian eyes sharpening as he adjusted his position on the hill. He would not panic. He would gather what he could\u2014numbers, direction, formations\u2014and return.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was what he had been sent to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was the shadow in the night. Alvinnu\u00e9 narrowed his eyes, gauging the distance between the hilltop and the ever-moving horde. They were still far enough that he remained unseen, but close enough that he knew his current vantage wouldn’t yield the full picture. He needed to get closer\u2014close enough to count their standards, discern their formations, maybe even spot a commander among them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His gaze swept the land between, and he spotted a patch of wooded terrain nestled like a shadowed veil across the rise. It would provide better cover and a clearer angle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stood slowly, careful not to stir loose gravel, and let out a steady breath. Drawing inward, he summoned his mana, allowing it to flow not just through his limbs, but into his very breath and heartbeat. A whisper, as old as his people, passed from his lips:<\/p>\n\n\n\n “True shadow is not merely an absence, With those words, Alvinnu\u00e9 became a breath upon the wind, a shimmer lost in the dark. Shadowblend<\/em> enveloped him. His body faded into the scenery\u2014no longer a figure in the night, but part of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He descended from the jagged hill, each footfall as silent as a falling leaf, and made his way toward the grove that would bring him closer to the enemy than ever before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 slipped through the wooded terrain like a whisper, his form hidden in the hush of night and shadow. The trees grew sparse near the edge, their twisted limbs reaching skyward as though in silent warning. Amid them stood an old Tymer Aspen, its pale, silvered bark catching faint glimmers of moonlight. Tall and unwavering, it was perfect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He climbed swiftly, limbs coiled with quiet strength, until he reached a vantage just below the crown. From this height, the view stretched far across the open plain\u2014and what he saw made his breath still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 had heard the tales. He\u2019d imagined them in whispers and warnings. But nothing prepared him for the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They moved in a slow, dreadful tide\u2014thousands of them, shuffling forward with grim purpose. Up close, their forms were grotesque. Some were little more than skeletons, ancient and dry, armor fused to bone by time. Others had bloated torsos of decaying flesh, limbs blackened or torn, their movements jerky and unnatural. Empty eye sockets glowed faintly with cursed mana; twisted faces seemed locked in a perpetual grimace of hunger or rage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The stench reached even here\u2014faint but sour, like earth choked with blood and rot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 felt something tighten in his chest. This was what they would face. What Brynda and Gorimund would stand against. What the army of Geldanos would soon have to fight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 narrowed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2014drifting ahead of the front ranks of the undead\u2014were shapes that did not move like the others. Ghostly forms padded low to the ground, their movements fluid, unnatural. They were wolflike, but wrong\u2014distorted silhouettes with tattered, flickering forms as if their bodies were made of smoke and rage. Their eyes burned crimson, casting an eerie glow across the deadened earth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 felt a chill crawl down his spine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He slid his pack open with practiced silence and retrieved the Creature Compendium of Shanda-Wold<\/em>, its worn leather cover etched with protective runes. Flipping quickly through the pages, his fingers halted as he found what he was looking for. A sketch filled the parchment: long fangs, a narrow muzzle, and glowing red eyes. Beside it, the text:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Netherwolf Alvinnu\u00e9 exhaled slowly. He closed the book, eyes returning to the field. The presence of Netherwolves meant the enemy wasn\u2019t just moving\u2014it was watching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The ground beneath the Tymer Aspen shivered ever so slightly. The Army of the Undead was passing directly beneath Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s vantage point now, their shuffling, scraping march like the dry whisper of leaves skittering across stone. The air had grown colder still, the kind of cold that bit into bone and made breath feel unwelcome.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 pressed himself flat against the trunk, barely daring to exhale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Steady your nerves. Silence is your ally.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He held his breath and narrowed his eyes, scanning the endless tide of death. Decrepit corpses trudged forward with lifeless resolve. Some were little more than skeletons clinking in rusted armor. Others still had scraps of flesh clinging to them, their eyes vacant, their limbs twitching with unnatural stiffness. And ahead, the Netherwolves prowled silently, spectral muzzles sniffing the wind as if catching traces of life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But it was the rear that drew his focus now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2014rising above the ranks like a dark flame\u2014floated a figure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was tall, its form draped in blackened robes that moved like ink in water. The hood had slipped back just enough to reveal the face beneath\u2014a skull, yellowed and cracked with age, but intact. Its hollow eye sockets blazed with sickly green light, a baleful glow that pulsed with ancient malice. Its jaw was slightly parted, as if forever whispering a silent curse. Runes etched along its skeletal arms shimmered faintly beneath the folds of its garment. It did not walk; it hovered, suspended by its own dark will, a stillness more terrifying than any charge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A low, droning hum filled the air, as if the very atmosphere bent and quivered with its power. A whisper of wind spiraled through the ranks of the undead, but the sound was not one of a breeze\u2014it was a breath, cold and unnatural, emanating from itself. The earth beneath seemed to pulse in time with the green glow from its eyes, and the distant night seemed to grow even darker in response to its presence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No feet touched the ground. No breath stirred the air. And yet its presence silenced even the groans of the dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A Lich.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A true master of the forbidden arts, and clearly the one commanding this horde.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 didn\u2019t need to search for it in his Creature Compendium; he recognized it instantly. The lich was infamous in legends, known to be a harbinger of doom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s breath caught. Panic surged into his chest, but he pushed it down, hard. His hand instinctively touched the hilt of his sword\u2014not to draw it, but to anchor himself in the moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I must return. I must warn the Geldanos Army.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He began to retreat, every movement measured, careful not to snap a single branch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s descent from the Tymer Aspen was fluid, every movement silent. He remained low to the ground, blending into the shadows, the dark of the night his ally. The forest around him seemed to hold its breath, as if it too was aware of the danger that approached. He took a final glance at the army of the dead, still marching in their unholy rhythm, and felt a cold wave of dread wash over him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His pulse raced, but his focus remained sharp. He silently moved through the trees, careful not to disturb even the smallest twig. He could hear the hollow footsteps of the undead marching behind him, the rhythmic thump of their decay, but he didn’t dare look back. Instead, his thoughts were only on the camp ahead\u2014the Geldanos Army would need to know what he had seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As the last tree passed behind him, Alvinnu\u00e9 stepped into the open expanse of grass, the night air cold against his skin. He didn\u2019t slow. Drawing the shadows into himself, he activated Shadowsprint with a practiced motion. His body blurred, melding into the darkness\u2014faster than a breath, a whisper across the grass, unseen and unheard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Under the cloak of night, he raced through the darkened fields, the wind tugging at his cloak as the spell coursed through his limbs. His boots barely grazed the earth. The lights of the Geldanos Army camp glimmered in the distance, scattered like stars across the lowland\u2014but then something else caught his eye. Shapes. Moving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He skidded to a halt, dropping low into the grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There, in the silver wash of twin moons, two spectral figures prowled the terrain ahead. Netherwolves. Barely visible but unmistakable\u2014their translucent bodies shimmered, sinewy and unnatural, as if reality itself strained to contain them. Their red eyes glowed like embers in the dark. They sniffed the air, heads twitching, claws furrowing lines into the soil. Closer to the camp than they should be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s heart pounded. These weren\u2019t wanderers. They were scouts. The real attack was near\u2014perhaps within the night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He crouched behind a rock, controlling his breath. If they found the camp, there would be no time to prepare. The soldiers\u2014Brynda, Gorimund, Cenric\u2014they would be caught unready.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His hand tightened around the hilt of his Doth-\u00c9amon blade. He could slip past the creatures and raise the alarm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He exhaled a quiet, resolute breath, the shadow clinging to his form like a second skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They had to die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With a whisper, he slipped into the dark and moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 unsheathed the Doth-\u00c9amon Short Sword, its edge faintly gleaming with quiet power. The subtle pulse of mana throbbed through the blade\u2014ancient, refined, and waiting. If the legends held true, its sealing magic might be enough to banish these creatures back to the shadows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He skirted the edge of the treeline, moving with deliberate care, his form swallowed by the forest\u2019s darkness. Shadowblend flowed over him like ink in water, cloaking him in silence. The world narrowed to pulse, breath, footfall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The two Netherwolves continued their patrol through the clearing, unaware of the hunter now within reach. Their forms, monstrous and distorted, moved with disturbing grace\u2014weightless, like smoke. From a distance, they resembled wolves\u2014four legs, fangs, tails\u2014but up close, Alvinnu\u00e9 saw the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n These weren\u2019t beasts\u2014they were ruptures in the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Their fur was shifting vapor, oily and dark. Their red eyes flickered like torches behind a veil, and their maws dripped with long threads of pale, gleaming saliva\u2014paralytic, if the Creature Compendium was accurate. Their paws left no trace on the ground, yet the grass withered where they passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 crouched low, blade steady in his grasp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His breath slowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His eyes locked onto the nearest target.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And with the silence of a falling shadow, he prepared to strike.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He focused on the netherwolf closest to him, its prowling gait eerily silent as it moved through the field\u2019s shadows. His breath slowed further, his body still, every muscle tuned for the strike. The chill in the air was nothing compared to the cold certainty in his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fingers tightened around the hilt of the Doth-\u00c9amon Short Sword. The etched runes pulsed faintly with shadowlight. Mana coiled within it like a serpent, ready to strike.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He crouched low behind a thick brush, its dark leaves masking his presence. The wind shifted. The netherwolf paused, ears twitching\u2014but it didn\u2019t look his way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With a whisper of breath, Alvinnu\u00e9 activated Shadowsprint<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He surged forward like a ripple of darkness, almost invisible to the eye. In a blink, he was upon the creature, his blade already in motion. The Doth-\u00c9amon Short Sword sliced through the netherwolf\u2019s spectral form, cutting through its smoky membrane. A jagged gash tore along its flank, and its unnatural glow flickered violently\u2014as if caught in a sudden wind. The sword\u2019s mana-sealing magic disrupted the creature\u2019s essence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The netherwolf let out a low, distorted snarl that barely reached the ears, its form destabilized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 didn\u2019t pause. Instinct took over, and before the first wolf had even vanished, he turned on the second. The air rippled with speed as the world slowed, just enough for him to close the distance in an instant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The second netherwolf, its eyes burning with rage, never saw the strike coming. The Doth-\u00c9amon Short Sword embedded itself between its glowing eyes with impossible precision. A shocked yelp escaped the creature as it staggered, its form flickering and distorting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The wolf whimpered once, a sound mournful and pitiful, before it evaporated in a burst of smoke and shadow, vanishing into the night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alvinnu\u00e9 exhaled sharply, the tension in his body easing as the weight of the moment lifted. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving beneath his soaked leather armor. Sweat mingled with dirt as adrenaline buzzed in his veins, but the aftershocks of battle began to settle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stood still as the last netherwolf dissolved into drifting shadow. The field was quiet again. His breath came hard, chest rising beneath the soaked armor, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning the dark. No more shapes moved. No whispers stirred the wind. Only the fading hum of mana and the weight of what nearly was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The tension eased from Alvinnu\u00e9\u2019s limbs, but his mind stayed focused. Shadowblend still cloaked him in silence, keeping him unseen beneath the night. He scanned the field\u2014no movement, no sound but the wind rustling the grass. Still, he didn\u2019t relax.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He dropped to one knee, his movements smooth and practiced. From his hip pouch, he drew a glass vial, the mana potion inside catching a sliver of moonlight. The coolness of the bottle steadied him. He uncorked it in one motion and drank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The taste was bitter, metallic, but he forced it down. Cold mana surged through him, filling the cracks left by battle. Warmth followed, his breath steadying as the dull ache across his limbs faded to a manageable hum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the horizon, the flicker of torchlight marked the Geldanos Army camp\u2014distant, but not unreachable. Every second mattered. The undead were moving. And the army had no idea what was coming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stood, blade in hand, senses stretching across the dark for any sign of movement. Still nothing. But instinct gnawed at him. The netherwolves had been scouts\u2014harbingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He tightened his grip on the Doth-\u00c9amon Short Sword.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had to reach the camp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had to warn them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With a breath, Alvinnu\u00e9 called on Shadowsprint<\/em>. Power surged through him. The world slowed, bent, and then snapped back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He vanished into motion\u2014silent, swift, a streak of shadow racing toward the distant firelight.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The cold night settled over Zorim Field, the moonlight casting long shadows across the open<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3264","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3264","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3264"}],"version-history":[{"count":29,"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3264\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3306,"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3264\/revisions\/3306"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3264"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3264"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jsantos.net\/_blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3264"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
And the night had work to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
but presence without a trace\u2014felt yet never found.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A wolflike beast from the Nether World. Its body is ethereal, shifting between realms. Eyes burn red with malice. Claws and teeth sharp enough to tear through steel. Its saliva is paralytic. These creatures serve as familiars to conjurers, often sent ahead of the main force to hunt and scout.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
So a conjurer is among the undead.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n