Fantasy Hymn of the Shroud [Invitation Only]

[Kayso]

HYMN OF THE SHROUD

​

It has been a mere 90 days since news of the first attack spread. Beginning in Svartre at the end of a shining summer, it is now well into the beginning of winter, and the attacks are more numerous and in nearly every town east of Midfell. They say that neighbor attacks neighbor, brothers turn on one another, and even the royal families are not spared, for the High Baron’s wife has been acting strangely. With this seeming unrest, the other barons suspect that Vorak of Svartre is somehow to blame, as they all know that the baron feels slighted and is unhappy with his lands and position. They have attempted to make communication with him, but messengers disappear, allegedly due the treacherous nature of the mountain pass. Tensions are high and unrest is rampant, for people feel that they can no longer trust their neighbors or even their own family members. Some of the other kingdoms are considering intervention, but many individuals have also taken it upon themselves to figure out what is happening before civil war sweeps the country.

 

[Kayso]

SVARTRE
Vorak, The Young Baron of Svartre

Spoiler: Vorak

​

Vorak's Theme

Spoiler: vorak's theme

The wind was cold, as it always was, but the recent months had been growing colder and darker it seemed. Deathly quiet, too. Now that he thought about it - actually and truly considered the cause - the explanation was simple: everyone was dead.

No, not everyone, but so many people. Svartre was doomed from the start, and even if his father had actually tried to do something about it, he would have failed. The earth here is just too cold, the air too harsh, the mountains too unforgiving. He had to give considerable credit to the people who had lived here so long - they were sturdier than most and their will was enviable. But in the end, it couldn’t save them.

Vorak continued reminiscing about his late father, Tielgun, as he shrugged on a warmer fur-lined cloak and sat at the desk in his study, listening to the howling of the constant wind.

Had he just accepted Barstein’s help-anyone’s help-they may have made it a little longer.

His people had suffered a massive famine and lack of resources a mere six months ago, and Tielgun's requests for help had been met with silence. “I will build this land up from the snow-crusted filth that it is into the most powerful kingdom in Roseheim, and I will show them how little I need of them!” his father had said after weeks of nothing. Vorak’s memory filled with both pride and loathing at his father, for it was a noble thought, but a deadly one, for nearly half the kingdom had perished from the famine, which led to sickness, which led to fewer people to work and keep their households fed and warm, until so many of them reached the same end: death. This was why the kingdom grew dark, for less firelight glowed from windowpanes. And the quiet - well, that one’s obvious.

Vorak sat up straighter and began to write yet another letter that he assumed would be delivered but not answered. He didn’t know why Barstein refused to write back to him now, when before the famine letters arrived more than once weekly, asking his father to let him send supplies. But now, as Vorak attempted to alleviate the sufferings of his people as much as possible, his letters remained strangely solitary, the voices of the outside kingdoms as silent as his forlorn land.

Perhaps I will have to leave my home and make a personal appearance after all. He thought.

His thoughts always returned to this possibility, though it was not a desirable one. The mountain pass was notoriously dangerous during the winter, and even if he were to brave it, he didn’t think it wise to leave his kingdom so unattended in their time of need; his widowed mother and little sister would hardly be well on their own. Perhaps he could send for someone in one of the villages to make the journey. Perhaps he simply needed to examine his couriers more dutifully. Whatever the case, he knew he needed to find out why all of his recent communication attempts continued to provide him with nothing but a dreadful, hollow stillness.

 

[Kayso]

Halvøst
Mikhel Rask, Healer

Spoiler: Mikhel

Laer, Healer's Apprentice

Spoiler: Laer

Mikhel sighed as he worked his way down the spiraling stone steps leading into the depths of the castle, listening only to the sound of his footsteps and Laer’s heavy breathing behind him. They had been summoned to the Baroness’ quarters nearly a full hour ago, roused from their already-thin dreaming by the current watch, to be notified of yet another attack. News such as this was not infrequent, and the people of Halvøst were terrified. A farmer had called guards over when he heard disturbances coming from his neighbor’s home, too afraid to check on him himself, and for good reason. The home was immediately investigated only to reveal the deceased body of the farmer’s neighbor.

The guards had been instructed to bring him to a holding cell beneath the castle at Innsjøst in order to study his condition and see if they could learn anything about the sickness. He was to be inspected in an attempt to determine the cause of such a condition, in case it was the sickness, now come to be known as 'stille forsvinn'. To this end was Mikhel making his way below ground yet again, his apprentice at his heels.

“I trust you have prepared accordingly?” He asked Laer, the intelligent but hasty youth as they reached the bottom landing.

“Of course I have.” Laer replied, minor distaste evident in his speech. He had been rather short with Mikhel lately, which was a little uncharacteristic of him, but they had many late nights these days, and he was probably just as tired as he was.

“Good. We will proceed as usual with the procedure.”

Upon reaching the door directed to him by the guards, Mikhel and Laer soon found themselves standing before a small cell, very faintly lit by the torches that lined the walls of the main hallways. This was not a prison per say, but a sort of “in between” when holding was necessary for petty crimes and common skirmishes. Proper lighting wasn't as necessary here, so the oil was saved.

The guards opened the door and the two healers stepped inside, the door remaining open with the guard standing right outside. Mikhel began to examine the man that lay on a low, flat platform, still slightly warm from his initial collection.

“Laer, the anise and the calamus, please.” The young man handed a small pouch to the elder, untying the leather cords as he did so. Mikhel applied the powders to various parts of the man’s forehead and neck. “The knife please, and the dish.” Laer quickly handed these tools to him in silence, and the healer began to sample the patient’s blood and skin. Finally, he passed the tools back to Laer and rubbed his temples. They would need to wait before they could receive any results, but there was still work to do. He washed in a basin and rubbed his eyes, preparing for another long night.

“Sir Mikhel, my master.” Laer quietly broke the silence. “You have been worked through the night too many a time. Why don’t you go back to your bed and I’ll finish up here. I have run the tests with you enough to know the motions by heart. It will be nothing to me.”

“Laer, I thank you for your kindness, but you have been working by my side nearly every minute, so you are just as tired. I can stay-”

“Go.” Laer interrupted. “I am younger, and not half so tired as you; I promise. It will be well.”

Mikhel rubbed his eyes one final time before muttering, “All right then.” He stood slowly, considering whether or not he should really allow his apprentice to work in such a delicate situation alone. He was capable though, and did indeed know all the motions. “Send someone for me if I am needed.” he concluded, lifting a heavy hand to Laer’s shoulder, a height slightly above his own. It felt sinewy and slight under his fingers, and Mikhel thanked him and made his way back to the stairs. As he dragged his feet upward, yawning, he thanked the gods for having an apprentice still. Laer had gone missing a couple weeks ago, and as they searched, all were worried that perhaps he had become a victim of the next attack. When they found him shortly after, he was a bit disheveled, but otherwise healthy. He said he had been cornered by a wolf, a confrontation that was verified by numerous scratches and a few gashes on his shoulder, but expressed that he would soon recover. And he did. Mikhel thanked the gods again, for he needed all the help he could get.

 

[Kayso]

SVARTRE
Vorak​

As Vorak contemplated his duties and grew more and more angry at his impossible situation, he barely noticed a young woman enter his study and place a wooden tray of simple foods at a small table abutting his desk. She barely made a sound, and her greeting was so quiet it couldn’t interrupt his clamorous thoughts. It was only as she reached the door that he realized this was not the same person that usually delivered his food each day. Perhaps she had also died.

If this is going to continue, then I won’t stand a chance myself.

As she turned to leave through the doorway, he called to her.

“Miss, come back!” he nearly barked, his voice tinged with something sounding vaguely of impatience. “Lyse, the woman who prepares the food - where is she?”

The woman looked at him, unanswering. Not out of fear, but out of confusion. She looked as if she shouldn't have to be answering this question. "She is ill, Baron."

"Ill, of course." he said gravely, his suspicion disproved, but only for the present. What a stupid question it was. "So then... she may not... "

After a brief moment of silence, the young woman understood. "She may not be back, Baron. I am sorry. If you need help with anything in the meantime, please let me know." She exited his quarters and the room was filled with the cold silence yet again.

He glanced down at his letter, exasperation and frustration overtaking him finally as he re-read his inked pleas, all of which had been the same - all of which had been disregarded. In a swift and sudden movement, he stood up and thrust the letter into the fireplace, watching it burn for a moment as he leaned into the mantle, then let out a loud growl as he pounded his fist against its smooth wooden finish. He threw off his cloak and walked over to a deeply colored oak armoire where he donned a livelier coat more appropriate for social interactions, but not without its warmth and comfort. Sliding it over his shoulders, he stepped over to the desk once again, gathering the dinner tray with its contents still warm, and proceeded to walk out the door, obviously set in his mind on a course of action.

Vorak stepped lightly and confidently as he made his way through the dimly-lit halls and darkened corners of castle Greymirk. What a terrible name. He thought. But it is so very fitting. He hardly saw anyone as he passed room after room, corridor after gloomy corridor. Most had vanished - evacuated or died in the attempt, assumedly. It made him sick to the stomach to know that even those who dwelt within his own walls were so desperate for escape. The girl who brought his supper - he wondered why she hadn’t left yet. Nowhere else to go, I suppose.

Turning a corner, he came to a great wooden door stained dark and inlaid with bronze rivets and hinges, the silver emblem of a snow-hare upon the knocker. He did not wait to be accepted, but deftly opened the door himself and entered without hesitation. The sitting room was dull and shadowy, as was most of the castle, and the young baron searched about for a moment or two for anything that was hidden by the lack of light. The room was cold, not befitting a slight and middle aged woman, so Vorak set the tray down on a dainty table and began to place the scant scraps of wood and coal from their dusty pail into the ashen fireplace.

“Mother!” Vorak called into the stillness as he struck the flint and steel in an attempt to rekindle the fire. “I’ve brought you supper, and wish to discuss something with you. It is a matter of great importance.” The kindling lit and the flame began to spread, slowly consuming the straw and twigs, then latching on to the larger branches and split logs: all-consuming. Relentless. As fire always is. Light began to seep into the blackness, not quite reaching the far corners, but allowing enough vision to reveal the details of the elegant yet strangely unkempt room. As the light brightened, Vorak noticed a flutter of movement in the corner, a barely audible gasp accompanying the crackle of flame. Vorak searched for the source.

At first he merely recognized his mother. He moved toward the seated figure; she must have been there the entire time for he had not sensed movement until he lit the fire. “Ah, there you are. Why did you not answer when-” he broke off as his foot caught something on the floor. It seemed familiar, like he immediately knew what it was, even though he had never performed this action once in his entire life. He slowly turned his head downward until his eyes fell upon the pale, blood-stained locks of a young woman, her face turned away from him. He didn’t need to see the face to know who it belonged to.

“Mother… mother, what has happened?” Vorak stammered, falling to the floor beside his sister’s body as he checked for any signs of life, disbelief pricking his throat like ice, filling his heart with the frigid pang of fear. The figure seated ahead of him stirred, eyes seeming to attempt to adjust to the light. In a movement that almost seemed painful, the woman’s head turned toward him, their eyes meeting for the first time. Vorak stared, half recognizing the soft features that now possessed an edge of death. It spoke then, with no little effort. It was something like his mother’s, but then, not wholly so.

“Boy, she merely sleeps.”

Spoiler: The Queen's Theme

Spoiler: The Queen Mother of Svartre

Vorak stood, backing up as quickly as he could toward the door. “What have you done?” He cried out in horror. “You are not-” he stuttered. “Is this what-”

His mother rose from her cushioned, bloodstained chair, her hips and shoulders jerking in an unnatural fashion that made her seem doll-like, tied at the wrists and ankles with string, clumsily guided in her movements. Taking a few steps toward him, she seemed to gain her balance and more smoothly glided over the body at her feet. As Vorak watched, she almost looked more human, more alive than she had only moments ago, but as she spoke again, it was clear that something was irrevocably wrong.

“Do not fear me.” she smiled.

 

[Kayso]

IksanderHalvost Council Chamber, Innsjost Palace
The smoke from his pipe wafted sweetly up his nostrils and calmed the raging spirit he kept hidden under his stoic visage. The members of the court gathered around this table raised his temper far more quickly than any creature of the night could, with their simpering pleas and wheedling complaints to their liege-mistress. Lady Vanndra sat at the head of the table looking as serenely calm and bone-chillingly beautiful as she ever had been. She seemed to strike a mixture of both gentle grace and looming fear in the same glance, and Iksander, having watched her grow from a quiet child in his care into his unquestionable leader, knew that she was as ill-pleased with her stewards as her suffering citizens were. But he held his tongue, his place was not to command, only to obey. He would defend her if the need arose, any of these pitiful lordlings that raised their voices at her would meet his scorn as her shield, but for now he sat quietly and stewed in his own smoky perfume.

The business at hand was regarding the recent attacks on the surrounding lands. Several villagers had lost their senses, driven mad by some fell disease that made them a danger to friend and family alike. But Halvost was lucky, the outbreaks had been few and contained, while some of the other provinces had not fared so well. Iksander partially credited himself for the security in these troubled times, himself and the Helvete Vrede he had founded. Named for an ancient dwarven deity of wrath and fire, the Vrede were the peacekeepers, the wardens, the protectors of the lands. They were Halvost's finest rangers and hunstmen conscripted to patrol the dark roadways and treacherous borders between the villages and eliminate any threat of monsters and brigands alike, sanctioned bounty hunters and vigilante warriors all. Many came from seedy backgrounds at the chance for a pardon of their past deeds, but only the strongest and most loyal to Lady Vanndra were selected for the honour among their secretive ranks. How Iksander longed to be out among the trees and trails again, his blood boiled and his mouth felt dry at the thought of being on the hunt again rather than being forced to pander to milksop politicians and fear-mongering mayors.

The embers in the bowl of his pipe flared a dull red as he blew through the stem, the smoke creating a hovering cloud that loomed over his brow. A glance of his eye and a whisper on his tongue sent it snaking down to the floor and around the legs of his short chair at Vanndra's side. The power of ash-speech was not often used for such trivial parlour tricks, but it amused him and distracted from the droll meeting that was occurring around him. The fire in his pipe echoed the fire in his heart, calling to him, begging to be let free and to burn the air and eat the wood and melt their bones, but he contained the calling of the primal fires and contented himself with feeling the beloved heat rising up to kiss his cheeks as he blew into his pipe once more.

 

[Kayso]

HALVOST
Baroness Vanndra, Innsjost Castle​

“So taxes will be low - very low. And it’s not just because there are fewer people due to the deaths and disappearances. Families are losing their main workers, so they cannot earn.”

“And even if they could, they’re too afraid to leave their houses without necessity.”

“Aye. And when they try to make do without, they get ill, or weak, and cannot work even more.”

“The crops will suffer. Exports will be ne’er enough for our support.”

“We should raise what taxes we can. Get us through the winter.”

“My thoughts as well. No use making it worse if the workers aren’t to work.”

The senseless, selfish, vocal assault was something Vanndra would never get used to. She had always accompanied her late husband to council, and they had always participated together, but since his death, Vanndra was keenly aware that the complaints grew, the apparent problems at their heads more and more frivolous. Perhaps she was also changing; becoming more and more shrewd with the onset of each coming crisis, but, while that was indeed a possibility, she suspected it was more likely that council members supposed she could be more easily swayed now that her husband was dead. Indeed. They had scarcely given her time enough to mourn him on the violent surges of the shore that day, considering with unfathomable contempt those choppy waves that would forever hold him, until they began bombarding her with these trivialities. Even now, they persisted, though she had hardly once given into their incessant badgering. It must be done out of character, she constantly had to remind herself.

She’d had enough by now. The chattering had gone on as her mind drifted, though she knew she hadn’t missed anything important. She noticed the curls of smoke rising from the chair at her side, and knew that Iksander was as agitated as she, for smoke was his favorite gentle distraction. They both had somewhere else they wanted to be, and sitting here wasn’t getting them there.

“Do you realize-” Vanndra interrupted, not waiting for an 'appropriate stopping point' or pause for breath, “that while you sit here telling me things I already know, more of my people are dying?”

The room was uncomfortably quiet, though not without an air of distaste.

“What insults me the most is that you sit here, offering me suggestions on how to best serve MY PEOPLE, when you do no service yourselves. You even go so far as to coat them so sweetly in honey that I may think your solutions are justified when in reality they only increase their suffering.” She paused for a moment, only to allow herself to look into the eyes of every one of them.

“MY PEOPLE!” She shouted, though her face did not betray her anger. “You can think of none other than yourselves and you try to tell me what to do about MY PEOPLE! What my people need is protection. Relief. Not higher taxes, you fools. We are finished.” she concluded, with a cool face and a swift wave of her hand. “Go.”

The room began to empty, though a few grumblings could be heard among the council members.

“Consider yourselves lucky that you are also my people.” Vanndra replied, undeterred.

When the room had been cleared of their suffocating stench and the doors shut softly after them, Vanndra breathed a sigh of relief, inhaling Iksander’s sharp smoke with it. She turned to him, the only person in the entire council who possessed a shred of sense in his old body, and she knew that he knew where they needed to be.

“So,” she remarked, after taking another breath of smoke. “Are you ready?”

 

[Kayso]

IksanderHalvost Council Chamber, Innsjost Palace
Iksander allowed himself a satisfied chuckle as the Wolf-Queen bared her fangs at the sheep she lorded over. Serves the flock right for doubting the shepherd. He had only the utmost respect for Vanndra, she was no weak, sniveling politician who required someone to command them, quite the opposite, she was fierce and strong and bold in both word and deed. The weak needed guidance, the strong must give it to them. That was their way in Halvost. A small smirk crossed his lips as he noticed her close her eyes for a moment and inhale the smoke he had been toying with. It was like a sea serpent on the scent of blood, he could tell she grew tired of the councils and the discussions, his Lady Wolf hungered for something worth the hunting. "My Lady Vanndra, I am always ready. I seek but your command. I hear and I obey, with my life and my honour." He clasped his empty fist over his heart in the sign of fealty and reverence, beating on his chest with a resonating thump as his bronze-coated gauntlets beat through the fabric of his shirt onto his drum of a chest. "My men bring news of our people, milady. The affliction spreads without boundary, there is no sign of cure or warning of its coming. I fear it is far more than a mere plague, some have whispered of demons with the faces of men, while others have spoken of the dead walking among the living. Necromancer or demon either, this is nothing less than an attack against your people, Lady Vanndra."

He walked alongside her, moving towards the door of the council chamber and occasionally loosing a ring of smoke from his pipe that danced towards the arched ceiling until it vanished from sight. "I have made preparations for the worst. Doctors and alchemists have been summoned to lend their aid, even now one of my trusted Vrede is taking care of a shipment of treatments which has just arrived. If it would please you, I would have you look it over and give your orders for its distribution among our people so they may be protected. I have also given orders to the Helvete which are patrolling to keep you under constant watch for your protection. Several are hidden among the city here as we speak, and many more are holding the roads to and from the city secure against any who seek entrance. I took the liberty of these commands for you safety, I pray you do not find my actions presumptuous. I know you are more than capable of your own protection, however..." Iksander's voice trailed off as he turned his face to the floor, a hint of sorrow and shame in his last words. "I have lost one liege in my lifetime, I could not bear to lose another. Your life is more valuable than my own as much as there are more stars in the sky than one can count." A plea for her caution. She would not accept it, he was sure. Vanndra was proud and confident, her fierce determination would drive her to personally destroy the ones who threatened her beloved citizens if she were given only a moment's chance. Which warranted Iksander's caution, his fears that his lady would do something extraordinarily bold and reckless were not founded on mere whim or trifling instinct. He himself had abstained from going on his precious hunts to remain by her side, as threats and rumours of the attacks drew ever nearer to Innsjost, he was prepared at any moment to fight and die for her protection from this unseen, unknown foe.

 

[Kayso]

MIKHEL RASK
Halvost, Innsjost Castle​

Mikhel had awoken suddenly, jerked away from his uneasy dreaming after only a short time in slumber.

He heard noises.

The noises were faint but steady, and he had been trained since times of war to pay attention to this sort of noise, even while he dreamt. They were not the normal day-to-day noises of the castle, and it only took a moment for Mikhel to understand and take action. Throwing on a light cloak and reaching for a heavy studded club that leaned against the wall beside his desk, he threw open the door and listened for the source of the sounds. He turned toward the sound and ran, adrenaline pushing his body forward and erasing all signs of fatigue. He instinctively made his way back to the stairs that led down to the holding cells, but as he was about to step down, the screams impossibly loud by now, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, down the hall adjacent to the one through which he had come. When he looked up, it was gone. He had no time to think on it though, for he was anxious to move downward to whatever awaited him there.

Upon reaching the bottom of the staircase for the second time that night, all was in a panic and not at all how he left it. A few bodies lay on the ground here and there, but the fight was still progressing, and in the center of it was the man whom he was treating earlier - only this time, he was not lying down, consumed by his own death. He was very much animated, very much alive, only he didn’t look very well. His teeth were bloody, his eyes bloodshot and the skin around them sagging. He almost looked taller, but that could not be. He didn’t look strong-in fact he still looked very sickly-but he held off six guards himself, and had apparently killed three, their throats gashed or faces bloodied as they lay on the floor in front of him.

Mikhel was not a skilled soldier, but he could hold his own in a fight and drew the club he had fastened at his side. As he did so, another man similar to the first sprung from the shadows and slashed at him with jagged fingernails, making a strange hissing sound as if a serpent possessed him. Mikhel was pushed against the wall, the claws striking nothing but the heavy cloth of his robes, for now. He recognized in the quick moments he saw the man's face that this was one of the guards who had been on duty earlier that night, but that he was clearly not himself. Infected, obviously. And very strong. Dodging the man’s ghostly strikes, Mikhel swung sharply, catching him on the shoulder and watching as he hit the bars of the cell opposite him. Another shadowy being emerged from the crowd to his right and Mikhel saw the remaining guards holding off two men instead of just one. The man in front of him charged again, apparently unfazed by the first blow, but Mikhel was better prepared this time and struck low, crushing it’s left leg. The man fell to the ground, thrown off-balance by Mikhel’s club, but still hissed ferociously and showed no signs of pain. Pulling himself up, he attempted to lunge at him again. Mikhel wondered how long he could keep this up and swung again.

 

[Kayso]

BARONESS VANNDRA
Innsjost Castle​

As Iksander accompanied her to the council chamber door, Vanndra allowed a sigh to escape her lips as she pulled on the brass handle, cooler air spilling into the room and reviving her senses. “Would that I could only have a council of you, Iksander. You get to the point, and do so while walking, nonetheless. Your service, and simply your presence, has been a remarkable strength to me, for I don’t know how long I could put up with those rabbits in coats without it.” She stopped a moment to look him in the eyes. "Iksander, I know you care violently for my safety. It has kept me alive on more than one occasion.” She put a hand on his shoulder, showing as much feeling as she could muster within herself, and beat her own chest with clenched fist. “And while I am honored, I want you to know that my priority still stands high, and that is the safety of the people in my care. Not my safety, but theirs. Most of them are very capable, and will manage without me, but I do not think there would be much left if I didn’t have them. I will be but a passing figure in their lives, as my husband was, and another will always take our places for them. They are the lifeblood of this kingdom, and it is they who need protecting. You may lower my guard and post the extras around the major cities at this point. You may keep to my side if you wish, as there is little company I like as much as yours, and no others could keep me as safe, anyway. But please,” she said with finality, “do not think for a moment that the loss of my life would be a mar on your honor. We both know that if I get myself killed, it is of my own doing-not yours.”

Vanndra pounded her heart once again before removing her hand from Iksander’s shoulder and stepping out the open door. “We will check the medical shipment now, but then we hunt.”

She stepped lightly down the hall, making her way toward the front gate when she heard it first: the distant and muffled sounds of shouting, mixed with the undeniable sounds of pain. She tensed, turning her ear toward the source, pinpointing the location so she could take herself to the fight. Readying the polearm at her side, she almost growled, recognizing an unfamiliar sound that seemed to get louder with each bated breath she took. At the last moment she turned her head to the hallway that stretched to their left, raising her axe to shield herself as a black and fast-moving figure struck at her as it charged from the corner with alarming speed. A young man with dark eyes and sagging flesh struck again and again as Vanndra searched for an opening, intent on gaining the upper hand quickly. She continued to hear some kind of struggle taking place elsewhere, but could not focus with this thing in her way. He was dressed as a regular human, but clearly was not. In fact, she thought she could recognize him, and as the realization began to be apparent in her face, she noticed the creature before her smile in a twisted, mocking fashion.