The raven spread its wings and caught the frigid gale as it screamed the past, throwing itself up into the gray sky above. It let the icy gust carry it, silhouetted against the malevolent skies above, dodging and diving through the dancing snow that encircled it. The decrepit trees below, long bereft of leaves, reached up towards it like groping, hungry fingers. The main road beneath it weaved through the sparse foliage like a great serpent heading towards the city of Wyllmochvar. Moving along this road was a modest merchant caravan, its three wagons pulled by overtired horses desperately working through the ever thickening snowfall. A merchant, along with his wife, young daughter, and household guard, rode alongside the wagons, urging the horses on and digging out the wheels when necessary. Unbeknownst to them, though clearly visible to the dark bird gliding above, figures moved into positions flanking the road, their footfalls muffled by the treacherous snow. The raven cawed loudly and pushed off higher into the sky, willing itself to be whisked away by the cold winter’s wind.
“I’m telling you we should have stopped at that roadside inn when we had the chance, Mattias. I know we’re close, but especially with this snow, I doubt we’ll be there before dark now. It’s already nearly dusk!” Diedre brushed her jet black hair away from her face, her blue eyes flashing with frustration, yet softened slightly by concern.
“Come now, Diedre, we’re not that far off now. If it wasn’t for the snow we’d see the towers by now! Besides, wouldn’t you rather be in a nice feather-bed than a straw mattress infested with gods-know-what?” The merchant, Mattias, red-faced and shivering from the exertion and the cold, his beard covered in snow, looked sternly at his wife. “Besides, any additional time in the city is good for us. These crystals are going to sell big there; the mages are crazy for them!” He looked at his daughter, Emily, who sat shivering on a Chestnut horse. His expression softened and he looked to the wagon nearest him, pulling off some of the tarp protecting his wares and handing it to her to at least break away some of the wind chills. “Ah, you’re probably right. Well, look. If we’re not there in another hour we’ll make camp wherever we happen to be standing. No point in freezing for a few lousy coins.”
“We may freeze anyway at this point, and it’s going to take time for us to set up the camp. Why not start now and make sure we have the fires going when it gets even colder than it is already? I mean look at Emily, she’s barely staying on the horse.”
“I suppose I…”
Suddenly a figure, dressed in leather armor and a drab green cloak, began walking out onto the road. He was a tall, slender man, with a simple longsword at his side in a well-worn and scratched leather scabbard. He moved into the center of the road with long strides, cloak billowing about him in the fierce blizzard. He cupped his mouth with his hands and cried out “Stand and deliver!” Mattias froze, his guards snapped their attention away from the wagons, some to the figure on the road, some to the tree line. “You are surrounded, sirs and ladies. If you hand over your valuables peacefully and without issue, there will be no need for any foul violence.” The figure showed off a crooked grin, confident that this small caravan would cave in with no problem. The merchant family’s 6 guards, armed with long spears and kite shields and wearing nasal helms with a protective mail coif, moved to protect the family in a tight shield wall formation, crouching down so Mattias could still converse with the bandits’ leader. “Alright, alright, easy”, yelled Mattias against the howling wind. “We don’t want any trouble.” His heart pounded, fearing for his wife and daughter far more than any of the treasures he carried. He was an absolute fool to try and make this trip in such conditions. These bandits would never have gotten the drop on them without the snow cover. “You can take whatever you want from the wagons so long as you don’t harm any of us, alright?”
One of the guards was a much younger man than the rest of his brethren, untested by battle. He kept the shield wall well enough, but the youthful fire in his blood didn’t want to see Mattias lose all of his possessions to some lowly thieves. He was ready to defend the family and show what he was truly made of. Slowly, he reached to the side quarrel where he kept a few javelins handy. Their leader wasn’t too far off, only about 20 feet. All he needed was one good throw, and the thieves would scatter like vermin. He pulled forth the javelin, keeping the movement hidden behind his kite shield and his spear held underneath his arm, propped up against the shield. Then he suddenly snapped into action, dropping his spear and launching the javelin towards the bandit leader. His superior’s cry of “Don’t!” was far too late, and the world seemed to hold its breath as the javelin sailed towards the man. The bandit easily side-stepped the javelin, thrown off course as it was by the fierce winds, and snapped into a crouch yelling for his men to open fire.
Suddenly from both sides of the forest came the unmistakable sound of crossbows being fired, sending hails of bolts towards the caravan. 2 of the guards went down instantly, bolts lodged deep in their necks. The remaining 4 split into 2 groups facing either way, walking the family towards the horses that might allow them to escape. These were well-organized bandits, however, and another barrage came in from reserve crossbowmen at each side of the road while the first group reloaded. Meanwhile, two large men barreled towards the caravan, each carrying a fierce bardiche with him and making straight for the guards. The bandit leader whistled harshly, prompting a beautiful white horse to leap towards him through the falling snow. He got on quickly and began riding towards the caravan, longsword unsheathed and ready. Mattias rushed over to one of the fallen guards and picked up a spear, aiming to close the gap that the leader was rushing straight for. He grabbed the weapon just in time, the freezing snow biting at his hands as he did so, and got up into a kneeling position with the spear braced against the ground. The bandit saw this and pulled the horse away, causing it to rear and the leader to fall hard to the ground below. The guards were too busy fighting the bardiche-men, who fought like madmen with barely any regard for their safety, so Mattias ran to the fallen bandit leader, spear in hand. A quick jab with the spear was all he needed, and maybe this nightmare would end. The leader was up and on his feet in a flash, however, easily dodging around the spear point. “I’ve yet to see a merchant who fights alongside his hired help. Good on you!” The bandit leader made a quick slash towards Mattias, forcing him to parry and allowing him to move closer. “All’s more the pity I suppose.” There was another slash; another step closer. Mattias was sweating now, desperately parrying with the spear. Suddenly the leader feinted, getting around the spear’s deadly point as he stabbed directly into Mattias’s chest. Mattias felt the sudden shock of pain and the freezing steel of the sword in his innards. His guards were mostly dead, cut down by either the crossfire from the bandits in the forest or the madmen with the bardiches. Diedre and Emily were making for one of the horses, Emily screaming for him as they went. “So sorry about this friend, times are tough. You understand. They’ll fetch a good price, though, the both of them.”
Mattias looked down, watching for what seemed like hours as his blood soaked through his cloak and down the curvature of the blade to the snow beneath. He was in shock, and soon once the adrenaline stopped pumping through him, he’d be in agonizing pain until he finally breathed his last. He suddenly looked up at the bandit leader, who was still smirking to himself. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, even if he only distracted him slightly, he needed to…
“Pardon me”, a figure said in a slightly chilling voice. Both the bandit leader and Mattias looked towards the figure walking past. It was an old man, dressed in a tattered dirty red robe and carrying a silver staff with a green orb atop it. His face was wrinkled and careworn, yet his brown eyes sparkled in the dim light of the dying, overcast day. The old man kept walking, leaning on the beaten and scratched staff that gave off a light that made one’s skin crawl. “Horrible weather today isn’t it?” The bandit leader looked down at his sword in the chest of the dying man, then to the back of the retreating man. He looked to the tree line to see one of his captains there, shrugging. “I… what…”, the bandit leader stammered, completely perplexed. The old man looked back, “Hmm? Oh, I was merely commenting on the weather.” The old man looked around at the blizzard with a droll, satisfied expression. “It’s simply dreadful”, he smiled to himself as he continued on his way. “Now listen here, you’re not just going to walk off and tell the city guard about this, you prattling git!” He finally managed to get his sword out of the merchant, letting the perplexed man fall to the ground. The leader wiped the blade off on the man’s clothes.
The old man stopped, “Harriet! Where did you learn such language?” The bandit leader looked around at his men, all of whom (except for one of those armed with a bardiche who was going to make sure the woman and child didn’t escape) were staring at this stranger wondering what in the world he was talking about. “A prattling git? I never!”
The bandit leader approached a tad closer, “It… it was me that said that, you loon. Who’s Har–… nevermind. Just hand over your valuables and then we’ll see if you survive or not.”
“Who…?” The old man turned around slowly and seemed to see the scene for the first time. “Oh, I see. You. Yes, that makes far more sense. Nightcrawlers can’t talk, you see. What’s going on here? I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important?”
The leader shook his head incredulously and laughed to himself. “Do you even know where you are, old man? Look, just hand over your things and you can go. You probably won’t even remember this anyway.”
“Hand over my things? Whatever would I…” At that moment a scream rang out from the caravan and one of the large men came from around a wagon, carrying Diedre and Emily, one over each shoulder. “I… Who are they and what are you doing with them?”
“None of your business, friend”, the leader replied with another crooked grin.
The old man looked past the leader to the corpses of the guards and the dying Mattias. The sparkle in his eyes seemed to darken. “Oh, I do think it’s my business now, ‘friend’. Not only did you call me a… what was it… git? Yes, that was it. It seems you and your not-so-merry band of thieves have waylaid this simple caravan. I don’t even think I want to know what you plan on doing with that woman and child.” The old man looked at the child as he said this. “Thievery is one thing. Even murder in some cases I could overlook. This is butchery and madness.”
“Suit yourself, then.” The bandit leader stepped back and put one gloved fist up in the air, prompting all the crossbowmen to train their sights on the old man. “Oh, I think I will”, replied the old man with a smile. The crossbowmen opened fire. There wasn’t a single reaction from the man as the bolts found their mark. The sickening thud of metal piercing skin resounded even over the surrounding storm, yet he didn’t even flinch. That’s when the façade began to melt away as the man let go of his concentration on the Incognito spell. The man’s skin began to seemingly melt and reform, his hair lengthened and whitened, and spiders began to crawl back into their homes inside. Flesh began to retreat away from the thing’s face till the nose, the lips, even the eyelids were all gone as if by the sudden ravage of time. All that was left was a skull, with bits of flesh hanging and struggling to stay attached to the desiccated form. Its brown teeth were encased in a gory and visceral frame of ruined and ripped “lips” that hadn’t had enough skin to serve any purpose in centuries. The stench, muffled by the smell, began to waft towards the bandits, causing a few of weaker constitution to relieve their stomachs right then and there. The lich before them stood straighter and taller than the old man had, and the ruined red cloak billowing fiercely about him in the howling maelstrom did little to hide the horrible injuries nature had inflicted on the decaying body. “Gentlemen”, the figure said, the voice far deeper and seeming to come from deep beneath the world, “my name is Thanxeros. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Screaming, the bandit leader began scampering back towards the caravan, slipping and stumbling in the snow as he did so. The reserve marksmen opened fire on the lich again in desperation, but it still had absolutely no effect on the undead. Thanxeros raised his staff aloft and began to chant, calling forth magical energy to rip a hole into his current dimension. Emerging from this hole, which opened like an oozing wound into the world, was a being of pure shadow. This darkness elemental forced itself into the world and stood before the lich, waiting for orders. “Be a dear, would you?” Thanxeros said, mouth unmoving, “See those men in the forest on the left? Go kill them, please.” The being turned slowly to face the left side of the road then, contorting itself into a ball, shot over into the forest, issuing a high pitched screech as it went. The screeching was soon drowned out by the screaming from the panicked marksmen as the elemental ripped into them with savage glee.
One of the bardiche-men charged up to the lich, aiming to impale him on his broad blade. “Oh, please”, the lich said, exasperated. He waved a hand and said only a single syllable. The man collapsed to the ground, suddenly pummeled and overwhelmed by negative energy. He looked on in horror as his skin began to peel away and die. He didn’t have the strength to scream as the rot overcame him. Thanxeros turned his attention to the marksmen to the right of the road and, pointing his staff towards them, let loose a fireball. It cut a steaming path through the falling snow, melting layers of ice and sleet as it went plummeting into the tightly packed ranks of crossbowmen. The group of marksmen dispersed as they ran desperately to put out the fire and stop their musculature from boiling. “See, Harriet? As I said, around 162 degrees or so is just right.” He turned as the second bardiche-man charged him, and held out his hand. The man stopped, grabbing at his throat. He let the bardiche fall to the ground as he brought both hands up, desperately trying to breathe again. “Don’t worry, I won’t be that cruel”, said the lich in a calm voice. A resounding snap was heard as the lich twisted his fingers, causing the man’s neck to snap to an unnatural and nauseating angle. The body then fell limply to the ground, its legs twitching slightly. Finally, there was only one bandit left: the leader. He came from around one of the wagons, holding the child around the throat, a stiletto pressed against her neck. “You come one step closer, you… you monster and I’ll… gods, I’ll…”
Thanxeros wasn’t listening to the man. He stopped listening the moment he saw the knife up against the child’s neck. Something deep inside him clicked, then. He felt an emotion he hadn’t felt since before his death. It wasn’t anger, no. Rage was the term he would use. For the first time in centuries, Thanxeros felt rage course through him as never before. A single word, a quick gesture, and the bandit leader seized up, a scream stifled in his throat. The girl moved away quickly, scrambling in the snow for purchase. Thanxeros said nothing as he approached, merely adding another hand to the gesture. His fingers moved deftly, pinching, pulling, twisting. He knew the Pain Spike spell very well, though he had little cause to ever use it. He would make an exception in this case, however. The sword fell from the bandit leader’s limp hand, landing with a wet thud in the snow. He began to collapse, not having the strength to scream. The lich stood over him for a few minutes, taking his time with the spell, adding in a few gestures and words from the Strangle spell as well for good measure. It was then he realized that the woman and the girl were still there, paralyzed with fear at the creature before them. He realized this most likely wasn’t an appropriate event for children to see. He leaned close to the bandit leader and whispered, “We’ll talk later. I’ve had need of a human test-subject for a while and I believe you’ll make an excellent candidate.” The lich took off his glove and, with a single touch, poured negative energy into the bandit, paralyzing him utterly. Thanxeros, slipping the glove back on, then turned to face the two survivors. “Erm… Greetings.”
The woman looked at him, panicked, face covered in tears. The child was sobbing uncontrollably. “I…”, the lich began but was interrupted by a wheezing from the road. He turned to see the merchant, writhing in agony. He was in the last throes of his life. He looked back to the woman and her child, both watching him fearfully. He took 2 large steps back. “Go to him. He hasn’t long.” Hesitantly, they began to move towards Mattias. Thanxeros moved behind one of the wagons, dragging the bandit leader with him. He would give them their privacy. He looked up at the gray sky above. A raven flew overhead, watching the scene end with detached boredom. Thanxeros remained quiet, listening to the soft caress of the snow landing around him.
