Hernjal the Hunter
On a fire-blackened church tower, soaring high up in the air above the other buildings of the battered Merchant Quarter, Hernjal the Hunter lowered his twisted bow. Then he laughed, long and hard, his yellowed canine teeth flashing in a face that had the texture of rotting tree bark. That had been a great shot! One of his best he'd dare say – right into the heart from more than three hundred paces away. It was always good to see that death had not dulled his skills...
His two ferrets Hensel and Gretel seemed to think so too, for they stuck their heads from the large hole in his right pectoral, chittering animatedly to one another. As usual, Gretel was praising him, her brother pretending to be less impressed.
"Oho, so you think you could have done better, my little friend?" Hernjal said, looking down, big smile still on his face. "How about you take the next shot then?"
Hensel retreated into Hernjal's hollow chest cavity with studied disinterest, chittering something about, "Too easy."
Hernjal laughed again, shaking his big shaggy head, the sharp ridges of the horned bone-crown jutting from his skull glistening in the rain. He reached back, pulling one of his special missiles from his quiver. To call it an arrow would be giving it too much credit, though. It really was but a branch taken from one of the many dead trees that stood in the wasted gardens all across Covenport. A twisted and ugly thing, really, but to his bow Seeder this did not matter. Seeder was one of the Weapons of Old, one of these exceedingly rare and ancient armaments that had survived the Forgotten Ages. A relic of days long past, a weapon powerful beyond hope and sanity. His weapon...
Truth be told, he might be overselling it a bit, but he was very fond of Seeder – and honestly, who wouldn't? Even though the bow didn't look like much. Crooked and twisted, with patches of moss here and there, both laymen and expert might dismiss the weapon as some sort of a crude joke, but Seeder was anything but. The bow had been a finger to a mighty treant once. It was still alive, even after ten thousand years or more. An unusual weapon to be in the hands of a Deathlord, for sure, but one must make use of the tools given to one.
He placed the branch onto Seeder's string, watching as within a moment, the wood straightened, forming into something more akin to an arrow. It still wasn't really straight, but it would fly so – missiles shot from Seeder always did.
"Gretel! You call the next shot: head or heart?"
The white ferret chittered its answer, retreating into his hollow chest cavity until only her nose looked out so that he could draw back the string without snagging her. Not too long ago during their fight to take the city, Hensel had latched onto the string while Hernjal had taken a shot. The Gods of the Wild alone knew what had driven him to such foolishness and a moment later, he had been sailing after the released arrow, a high-pitched shriek escaping him. It was a good thing Hensel had already been dead at that time, otherwise the way he splattered against the wall would have made a quick ending of him. Hernjal nodded his big shaggy head, clawed fingers drawing the taught string back. "The heart then. Why am I not surprised? You're so sentimental..."
A muffled chitter roughly translating to "What's that supposed to mean?" erupted from his chest and Hernjal had to suppress a laugh.
Above him, a piercing cry erupted and he looked up in time to see a winged shape glide over his position – the shape of a bird of prey, large even though two hundred feet above him. Red was ready and so Hernjal touched the mind of one of his oldest and dearest companions. Immediately his gaze overlaid with that of the enormous butcher hawk and he saw the city stretch out before him. It was a sight that would have been dizzying to other men, but Hernjal was used to it, had been long before he left his life behind and gained the ability to see through the eyes of the dead as well. The sight his companions allowed him was different though, more like an extension of himself. Natural. Right.
His gaze swept over the ravaged roofs of derelict houses and to yet another guard tower of the Golden Holt. He quickly spotted what he was looking for as Red flew closer, the hawk's sight much sharper than even his was. A score of Marschen soldiers stood on the parapet, eyes, and mouths wide open, dumbstruck by the sight of an actual tree breaking through the roof of their brother watchtower further down the parapet. He quickly singled out the biggest of the lot, a bearded man almost as bulky as the fellow Hernjal had killed mere moments before. Though killed may not be the right word.
Seeder did not kill in the actual sense of the word but rather used the life-energy of anyone it mortally wounded to transform him. In this particular case, it did turn the man into an oak, massive and gnarled, just as the fellow had been. Sarge... that had been the brute's name. Thanks to his proxy, Hernjal could hear the agitated screaming of the other two, Ulli and Harald, inside the guard tower he'd attacked. He'd gotten quite acquainted with them over the past few days thanks to their former undead captain that now lay mutilated at the bottom of their very tower.
His name had been Markus Stiller in life and judging by the pitiful remains of his mind he had not been a good man. Probably he had deserved the shove over the wall and his subsequent gruesome death. But being constantly spat at as part of a game? That wasn't right. Not right at all.
The dead should be respected.
In addition, Hernjal had put some of his consciousness into the zombie to spy on the men inside and thus, they had spat on him as well. And he couldn't let that go without retribution. The big bearded fellow he'd now aimed at also partook in the game, if only just in passing, so truly, he too deserved all that was coming for him.
Hernjal let loose of the arrow, the missile speeding through the air faster than a bullet, vaporizing raindrops and pressure-blasting aside others. The sight was quite marvelous, carving an instant-tunnel into the wall of falling rain. It hit the bearded soldier in the chest with so much force that it launched him from his feet and would have nailed him against the wall if another soldier had not come across the corner in just that moment. As it was, the arrow skewered them both, then pinned them both against the wall.
"Ha!" Hernjal yelled in sheer delight. "Ha! Did you see that! I'll be damned! Two with one arrow! What do you say now, Hansel?"
Sullen chittering came from within his chest.
"Bah! You're such a sore loser."
On the parapet, the second man screamed as the transformation began. No mortal wound in his case, so technically he had still time before the change happened in him too.
He could pull himself free... He could... but he didn't.
As the first man transformed, his limbs turning to gnarled trunks, his flesh to wood, and his feet to roots that cracked the stone of the parapet, the second soldier perished as he was squeezed to death between the newborn tree and the stonewall. A rock and a hard place scenario if Hernjal had ever seen one. The result of his demise was as sudden as it was spectacular. Upon the moment of his death, the Arrow-Seed captured his life energy and began the transformation, birthing a second tree.
What a sight. What a splendid, splendid sight.
Hernjal's goal had been to block the parapet on this side so that no reinforcements could easily come to this section of the wall, but this was even better. Much better! Even from three hundred paces away, Hernjal could hear the ancient bulwark of the Golden Holt scream as two rapidly growing oaks tore it asunder. A wall of the tower's upper story collapsed inwards with a thunderous crash, taking a large portion of the roof with it. Then a whole section of the Barbican broke away and came crashing down on the street below. He believed he could see two soldiers falling alongside with the rubble.
Priceless! Utterly priceless!
"Let's see how you get past these little barricades, my fellow countrymen," Hernjal shouted, mirth plain on his face. He looked down. "What do you think? Good enough of a diversion, or should we crank it up a bit further?"
Hensel and Gretel both chittered in the positive.
Apparently, there was no such thing as overkill for ferrets.
Hernjal smiled and reached for the twisted signal horn on his hip. He raised it, took a deep breath, inflating the one remaining lung he still could make use off to its maximum and blew as hard as he could. Its forlorn bellow thundered over a dead city. It was just the noise you want in order to unleash an army of Bloodmaws and Undead.
Instantly, the buildings across the street of the now defenseless section of the Golden Wall began vomiting hordes of monstrous abominations: packs of snarling ghouls, mechanically moving zombies and bellowing Bloodmaws swinging weapons too large for most men to hold with even two hands. A pack of Thorn-Ghouls took the lead, launching themselves at the walls, then proceeding to climb up like prickly spiders. They needed neither rope nor ladder for the task and should quickly take out any remaining soldiers on the wall.
It sure would be a spectacle to watch!
Hernjal sat down onto his haunches, letting his feet dangle over the rim of the tower ledge. Hensel and Gretel were soon peeking from the gaping wound in his right pectoral, chattering animatedly while he hummed a happy tune. He placed Seeder beside him, the twisted wood of the ungainly recurve bow glistening from rainwater. He then reached inside the satchel at his side, retrieving a human hand.
Hernjal smiled and then started to nibble on it, pulling away strips of raw meat with his sharp teeth and chewing with gusto. Perfect. Just the thing you need after a job well done. The hand was still somewhat warm, he'd only taken it from one of their captives in the Ravenhold less than an hour ago, so not all life-energy had fled it. It would not do much to sustain him, only living flesh could do that, but he had to admit to himself, he'd developed quite a taste for human flesh. Next time, he would barbecue it and see if it actually improved the taste.
While he was eating, he idly remembered the times when he had wondered why the undead spurned normal food in favor of living flesh. The answer really had been quite simple: life energy. That was what sustained, what gave power. Well, he'd gained all the flesh and power he needed from that unfortunate soul already. Still, waste not, want not, as the good Sarge used to say.
Smiling, he tore off another strip of flesh and then held the hand towards Hansel and Gretel. "Finger food?"
His little friends tore in with gusto.
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There's nothing like a bit of finger food to enjoy the sight of a battle - don't you think?
;)
That being said, I do apologize for leaving you out dry last weekend without an update. I did it for good reason of course since I was instead working on another special update relating to a Dark Fantasy Contest currently going on. Without wanting to spoil to much, I think you will very soon be able to enjoy the start of a new Tales of Ruuin Volume.
Till then, friends!
M.
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