Before...
Seven riders rode out from the pentagonal ring of greenish grey felgrieve way stones, the coarse dark fur of the great wolves they rode upon bristling with the meandering flow of energy coursing through the ancient stones. The rider’s cloaks and heavy hoods, festooned with layers of verdant vines and leaves, waved in the rush of the breeze as they urged their mounts onward, quickly! The great wolves barked and howled as they leapt forward! From the sanctity of the felgrieve ring, an old man in humble brown robes, frayed and mud-skirted, watched after the riders, one silvery-white eye open to witness their passage, the other of brilliant green orb open to the sights privy to but a select few, for there approached in this time a reckoning…
For there was a ring of ancient stone on the eternally-evergreen groves of the great Evawyld Woods in the central region, and beyond the frontier where the stones kept their vigil, there was a wide, shadowy valley to the east where thunder rolled in the gathering gloom, minus clouds, and cries were heard in the gloom, minus voice, and everywhere upon that blighted field that the old man looked, there was a dawning menace minus a master…
The leader of the riders threw back her hood, keeping a strong grip on the horn of her saddle, her eyes narrowing as they peered ahead towards the distance. Her protruding tusks, dark, spiky locks, and greyish skin spoke of her savage heritage, but her eyes searched the way ahead with a discerning eye. With her free hand, she motioned for her fellowship to gather their strength…as one, the riders reached back and drew long green-black felgrieve-bladed swords, hammered on the altars of the Ansidhe themselves, from sheaths of dekkaren oak wrapped in blackleaf, the long, elk-bone handles bound in the gut of the first foe each rider had defeated as they earned the right to wield such a blade with full honours! They held them back and away from them in the stance of the ess’edda, the ‘reaping wind’, their blades poised to strike down and sweep across any foe to bestow disaster!
“To me, my Andouil, to me! We ride for our lords! To me!” their leader cried!
She withdrew her own blade, a long, curved sickle of the same make as her fellows, and held it on high!
From ahead, deeply sunken into the valley, she could see that the gloom had gathered with a pregnant glee, and in that woeful jubilation, a twisted working had begun! Sprouts of many bright hues began to burst from the ground to wrap around each other, each twisting member twice the height of a man and barbed with nodules that flowered with flailing spines…they fell upon each other, writhing and cavorting, the nodules bursting with a heavy flow of blackened ichor that sizzled upon the ground as it sloshed and splattered! The spines tore at the flesh, and each sprout fell with a finishing wound, turning from bright hue to a dull, wretched white as their vitality was spent. As they quivered in their final throes, the ichor began to pool about them.
“Lords, no…” the leader of the riders whispered as she beheld the blasphemous birth unfolding.
She uttered a savage cry as she desperately urged her mount onward, and the words echoed as the elder language spilled from her lips to break the gloom!
“Ess quen’a anna uentalith pon ques’kanna, eas ess daena ada mar essa dankenna elowim!”
Her cry spurred her fellows forward with fervent devotion, and their wolves howled as her words touched their bestial hearts with the spark of and age long forgotten…
We are the precious light of the world…
The gathered ichor began to boil, oily bubbles growing like unseeing eyes and bursting as forsaken power slithered across the surface in rainbow-slickness!
Cast to deny the growing dark…
The bubbles increased as a single bulge began to grow and lift from the centre, and the cries without voices grew louder!
We will defend it with our dying breath…
The bulge burst forth, showering the earth around it with sizzling ichor! The black droplets fell and rained down as the gloom of the valley deepened! The riders drew ever closer!
And with the courage of our living hearts!
A pale-skinned woman, giant in stature, her naked young flesh slick with the oily resin of her afterbirth, rose from the ground to stand in the valley. The gloom began to gather around her, an encompassing wreath of ominous intention. Rich, dark veins of purple and black pulsed beneath her skin, and onyx horns protruded from her forehead to form a jagged crown. As she opened her violet eyes to look upon the world, the gloom wrapped around her in folds of night, leaving her arms and head bare…
“A Comorag! Lords protect us!” one of the Andouil cried!
“Ess’quen, antalith!” their leader rejoined, “To me, to me!”
The leader rose and leapt from her wolf, her killing blade held on high as her cloak trailed falling leaves upon the wind! She drove towards the giantess as her wolf lunged! The giantess frowned and shouted!
“Ess…quen…alish…sidhe! You bleat like a frightened lamb…”
She batted the wolf aside with an effortless backfist, and with the other hand, grabbed the Andouil out of the air! The leader struck at her arm with her blade, sinking it deep into the flesh. The giantess showed no notice as the wound dripped! The six other Andouil came bounding in, striking at her from wolfback!
The felgrieve blades splintered and scraped along the folds of the giantess’ night-black gown, and only a few struck true enough to cut her flesh! The riders began to rally behind her, and she turned to address them.
“Bleat, little lambs!” she cried.
She lifted their leader up, and drove the woman down upon her jagged crown, tearing the worthy blade of the Andouil from her flesh in the process! The horns pierced the leader’s flesh, and she gasped as the wicked barbs found her heart…a forlorn sigh escaped her lips as she implored her fellows one last time…
“To…me…”
The Andouil rushed like an angry river towards the giantess as she cocked her head to one side to accommodate the dead weight of her vanquished foe. They struck at her in a rage, their blades a whirlwind that bled chipping stone and blue-black fluid! They had left their wolves, abandoning them to strike hard, to land mortal blows! In moments, the giantess was a ruin, her pale flesh hacked savagely in a dozen places, pieces of her crown struck off, and her gown wispy as the darkness began to unfold…
Around her, the Andouil stalked, preparing their blades to strike as she faltered! She smiled as ichor dripped from her wounds.
“Can you feel it, now?”
The Andouil moved to strike—
“For I can feel you.”
They stopped, and they noticed that they were now covered in the ichor, spilled in their desire to close in and destroy her…traces of it coated their arms, blackened their cloaks, and even the wolves barked and snarled as the gooey stuff clotted in their fur! Wherever it touched, it moved to reach their flesh! The Andouil tore at themselves trying to remove it…some even struck at their own limbs to rid their bodies of the creeping blight!
The giantess cackled as the Andouil around her fell to the earth, their bodies either succumbing to their wounds, or twitching with the new life that roamed inside them to find purchase…
“Oh, my little black sheep…how I will delight in you…to me, now...”
The giantess bent over and planted a loving kiss on the ruined cheeks of the former An’douil and caressed the oily fur of her new furry abominations. Pale eyes opened to behold their new mistress and swirled with the chaotic energies of the monstrous being. She rose from bestowing her gifts upon them. She turned her head westerly, and her eyes became fixed upon distant stone…step by step, she began to move towards them…
The old man in the brown, faded robes closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. The energy below his feet quavered, and the stones began to sing with the approaching doom. He stepped deeper into the circle formed by the stones, into a deeply set series of felgrieve rings that focused his power, the ancient runic language of the Ansidhe etched along every inch of the rings, forming the song of life that had woven together this very land. The threat of the Comorag, long forgotten in living memory, was real, as he had always said, and it was here. Their agents had moved back into the land and gained a foothold while the ignorant continued oblivious of the danger, and the voices of the wary became small, and seldom heard…
“There is still time,” he whispered, stepping into the centre ring, “Time enough to send word…”
He focused on the deep wells of power underneath the circle and bowed his head. His spirit fell through the earth, through stone and root, and grasped with will alone towards the flow that ran through all such places…here he was not old, not young, not…himself. Here, he was the will, and he rose back up to his body bathed in the brilliance of his power!
“Go forth, upon the air,” he shouted, his head raised to the sky, “Ess-et shia quen ela’breta! Gather the ones who would stand! Seek to all corners! To the north, to the south, to the west and east! From the rocks of distant shores to the forests deep, to gentle lands not yet beset! Bring word! Hearken to them and let them believe!”
As he ranted and raved upon the wind, his body began to vanish! As he spoke, each piece of him became luminous and white, and tore off to become birds and butterflies, each astonishing in their pure and brilliant hue! They erupted from the ring of stones in a rising spiral, soaring and fluttering ever higher…as they flew, they began to break apart, each drawn to a different destination! The illumination filled the fields with a sudden brightness that touched each blade of grass, and then, it was gone.
Of the old man, nothing remained…and the stones were quiet.
