Darkness descended upon the Krag's base, smothering the usual rough-and-tumble noise that should have accompanied a victorious raid. Instead, it began to reek of unease, and palpable tension that hung heavier than the freezing air.
Even with the oath of secrecy, it seems her fellow Krags eventually started to notice the dark atmosphere that was building up. One would say a collective feeling dread had seeped into their bones like the coming winter cold.
Everyone had began to look cautious, their eyes, sharp and watchful, darting towards the, shifting tree line, as they instinctively formed groups of three or more.
Varga didn't like this, even though her own stomach was tight in apprehension; the point of the secrecy was to avoid looking tense and given signs that they were aware. She doubted that the rest leaked the plans, more like everyone just sensed something was wrong, a primal instinct warning of a predator's approach.
Whatever the reason though, everyone was clearly not acting normally.
Thinking of the plan, her mind went to Arieus orders that the watch be more cautious, but still avoided increasing the numbers of watchers to not show weakness.
He had also ordered for traps to be set outside and within the camp, pits of sharpened wood and prepped snarls all spread around the edges of the camp. He even went as far as to arm some Krags who would usually be armed with their blades to now be armed with heavy, brutal-looking hammers instead. It was this newly armed Krags that were standing together to the side.
The weapons must have come from the weapons that Arieus had taken from the raid. Normally Hammers were a popular weapon of choice for the krags. Their crushing force able to break shield and bone, but not many carried it within this particular warband, due to axe being a better choice when it comes to it's versitablity in the white wilds.
As they were useful in cutting down both trees and heads with equal, brutal efficiency.
Varga observed all this from the center of the camp, her breath pluming in the frigid night air, she gazed at shouting to her left as Tarlak and another young Krag by the the name of Jorik was digging a large hole, their muscles straining with each shovelful of frozen earth. It was already deeper than they were tall.
"Come on boy, put your back into it" another older Krag, whose name if she remembered correctly was Harken barked at Jorik, his own voice sounding tired.
"You can come and help me, instead of standing there like a dying tree. Old man." Jorik replied while taking a pause from shoveling snow and dirt while breathing heavily, his green face flushed with effort.
"We don't have time for this, the others are almost done with theirs" Tarlak snapped at the two Krags, his own patience frayed thin, while glaring at the older one who was not shoveling.
"Calm down, am just taking a break will be back to it soon." The older Krag gesturing in a calming manner while he picked up the shovel laying beside him. "But I do wonder why we are digging holes in the damned snow, my aching bones are telling me something bad is coming."
"You will know soon enough, just get back to it." Tarlak grunted as he went back to digging, the thunk of his shovel biting into the ground a sharp, and rhythmic.
This digging scene was happening around the camp as some krags were given orders to dig holes, with shovels, their axe or even raw, their hands.
Nothing had happened yet, but everyone seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation, the waiting a torture in itself. Soon, it grew dark enough that it was hard to see, the world shrinking to the circle of firelight, that were lit to brighten the clearing, their flames dancing wildly against the darkness.
Finally, the pit was finished. It had been dug deepper than a Krag was tall, and was wide enough for a five Krags, its bottom lost in inky shadow. After they were done, Varga moved towards Arieus.
The war chief was standing in front of the building holding the injured, were femi was currently laying unconscious and gazing out into the dark woods, with a calm expression. His white fur cloak billowing softly in the cold wind, the pelts stirring like restless spirits.
The stench of rotting flesh and the sharp tangy smell of various herbs reached her as she approached, a truly sickening combination. She reached his side and turned to gaze at the woods too, feeling the weight of it presence.
"So...what do you think?"
She didn't reply immediately instead she kept scrutinizing the woods at the edge of the clearing, searching for any flicker of movement. The light from the fires pushed the shadows back all the way to the trees but didn't penetrate them, leaving the forest a wall of secrets.
"The plan is the rational choice, as long as you don't mind risking the lives of your injured warriors," she replied with a frown.
"Ah well, some one as to draw them out, and we both know the injured and dying are the best baits for them." he answered her, a cold and ruthless expression appeared on his face.
Varga growled in displeasure at that.
"I expected as much." She replied crossly, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
"Just take your position and wait, varga. If you're worried about your ratling then just make sure you do your part well," he replied calmly as he turned back towards the woods, dismissing her.
Varga frowned, but didn't reply and turned to leave, in resignation.
"Take care, Varga." Arieus said.
Varga stopped, his words giving her a moment's pause, " you too." She said simply and continued walking towards the pit were Tarlak was.
"So, when do you think it would start." Tarlak asked, his voice a low whisper, while his fists gripped his axe tightly
"Very soon, just keep your senses sharp and ready," she murmured back, her own ears still straining against the silence, waiting for the first sign of the eventual storm to come.
Varga and Tarlak went their separate ways, a brief nod passing between them, going to their various positions. She then headed over to a wagon, its wood splintered and weathered, that had been placed in front of some crates, forming a makeshift barricade.
Once there, she took a seat on one of those crates, the cold of the wood seeping instantly through her furs, where she could see most of the camp but was hidden from sight. She grabbed her bow, a new one after her last one was broken by the amoured bear.
One made from dark wood, it was given to her by Arieus upon his return, it felt smooth against her palm and had a good draw. On her lap, Ova's axe,its weight always promising violence.
After checking her tools, she went still, her breathing slowing to a shallow, almost imperceptible rhythm.
She waited.
The cold Norths wind blew her hair softly, carrying the scent of danger, the forest was ereliy quite, a deep, watchful silence that felt more threatening than any noise.
The camp slowly ground to a halt, all normal activity ceasing. As agitated and cautious as most of the Krags were, the majority of them couldn't sleep as they all watched and waited, their hands never far from their weapons, eyes gleaming in the firelight.
Some hunters patrolled the border of the camp in groups of three, their footsteps crunching softly on the snow, making sure nothing slipped through unnoticed, a thin line of defense against the encroaching unknown.
Varga continued to seat there, like a statue, but her mind wondered. Ahead the patrol was avoiding the part of the camp were the injured where, giving the building a wide, berth.
"Concentrate varga, clear your mind."
She sighed, calming her thoughts as she continued to wait, every sense stretched taut like a bowstring.
Time passed, the moons climbing higher in the star-flecked sky, as the campfires began to die down, their light fading to a dull, ominous glow, varga felt a chill, a deep, unnatural cold that had nothing to do with the wind, and opened her eyes, she scanned the forest, her gaze piercing the gloom, and watched a group of krags emerge from the dark woods and strolled into the camp.
Varga leaned forward, her muscles beginning to coil, watching the new group of krags carefully. She slowly took her bow, the string cool against her fingers, and fasten her axe to back, the leather strap snug across her chest.
One might think every thing seemed normal, and they were just coming back from relieving themselves in the forest. At least that's what one might think if not for there being seven of them, which was to many and in addition as they moved closer to the dimming light of the fires Varga notice several more oddities, details that screamed of wrongness.
It was hard to notice in the darkness, with the firelight dancing and distorting shapes, but these Krags were wrapped in little more than rags, tattered cloth that fluttered like banners in the wind.
The next odd thing she noticed was how this Krags were unnervingly in synch. It was subtle, they moved like they were aware of each other at all times, their steps perfectly matched, like one single being
It was unnatural.
This strange Krags had already gone the camp entrance and headed towards the injured, their pace unchanging. A small gust of wind blew past varga, stirring the snow at her feet, and brought a new scent with it, foul and cloying.
Rot.
She strung an arrow to her bow, the feather fletching brushing her cheek. Then, rose to her feet, her legs protesting from the long stillness, and sighted on one of the creatures aiming for its center mass.
The call of a night bird, issued from varga's lips mere moments before an arrow flew from her bow with a sharp thwip. The arrow hissed through the air and impaled itself into the chest of one of the strange Krags with a sickening crunch, knocking it down to the ground with a hollow wet sound.
Soon, another dozen arrows leapt out of the darkness from other hidden archers towards their targets. Her bird call had been the signal to attack.
The sudden shower of arrows fell upon the creatures with deadly force. Arrows slammed into their bodies and heads, thudding into unresisting flesh. Most of them fell to the ground and twitched, jerking like broken human toys.
Just like that, they stopped moving, it looked to be over.
If only it was that easy. The thought flashed Varga's mind.
Then, like dolls to a string the strange Krags began to pull themselves back up onto their feet, moving with a jerky, relentless energy. The arrows sticking out from their bodies didn't stop them, or even slow them down, they seemed to be merely inconveniences. One after another, the ragged figures rose, their pale eyes fixing on the living.
A cacophony of unnatural groans, filled the air, as the now obviously unnatural creatures burst forward towards their targets with unnatural speed. The nearby Krags shouted in alarm, their cries mingling with the groans.
"Hahaha" a booming, mad laugh cut through the chaos.
Arieus rushed with a laughing Goruk along with several Krags, their own war cries echoing his, rushed to meet those creatures from where they had been hidden, emerging from behind tents and wagons.
Arieus brutal looking cleaver, in his right hand and a one handed woodsman axe in the other. His white fur cloak flapped behind him and his blade flashed through the air, catching the firelight, as he lunged forward to intercept the undead, meeting their charge with his own.
Yes, for that was what this creature were, the truth now undeniable: undead rot filled, decaying corpses wearing the faces of their former kin.
Varga frowned, a snarl of disgust and fury, and leapt to her feet, the crate scraping behind her, as she grabbed her axe.
Arieus had engaged the undead in a savage melee, a whirlwind of violence. He hacked them, his movements efficient and brutal, while avoiding their wild, clumsy attacks. His cleaver sliced into them, parting rotten muscle and brittle bone, and sent spurts of unsettling black, tarry blood into the air, but that didn't stop them. They just kept coming, mindless and relentless.
"POOOOOWUUUL" a long, mournful blast encored through the camp and night.
Varga stopped, her blood running cold, and looked towards the camps entrance were the sentinels blew their warning horn, the sound echoing through the clearing. That's when she saw them, a second wave emerging from the tree line.
"There are more of them than we thought," Varga growled at the sight before her, her grip tightening on her axe.
There were twelve more creatures coming out of the woods, with seven seeming to be welding some kind of weapon, rusted swords and notched axes. Every one of them was just standing still for a moment, like a frozen state of death, and their exposed skin was a rotting and pale, like old cheese. Some were Krags others looked like deceased humans, their features blurred by decay.
Their hairless heads and horribly gaunt faces with pale white eyes that reflected their mad hunger in the fire light, glowing with a faint, sickly luminescence.
As if some unseen command was given, this new undead rushed the camp, all of a sudden. But before they met the sentinel Krags, the zombies fell for the various traps already prepared for them.They Fell into pits with sharpened stakes, or into snarls that took their feet.
Yet, some still made it through, clambering over their trapped brethren, the unarmed ones leaping at the Krags sentinels with their bare hands, fingers hooked into claws, and they made up for their lack of skill with pure speed and monsterous ferocity, a mindless hunger driving them.
Varga turned her attention back to Arieus fight, her heart pounding, to see that the undead kept throwing themselves forward in a ravenous berserk rage, while ignoring any damage they took in the progress.
Arieus ducked under a wild swing from one of the creatures the air whistling past his ear, and slashed it's head with his axe, taking it off, the skull bouncing away into the snow, and it fell down unmoving. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to celebrate, a moment of victory, because he was forced to withdraw though, as another rotting corpse came up from his other side to bash him with a fist like a lump of stone...
But Goruk intercepted it, his massive form a blur, and batted the creature away with his two headed axe, the impact sending it spinning, while returning a devastating blow to another one that tried to take a swing at him, cleaving it from shoulder to chest.
Varga dropped her bow, letting it fall to the snow, and lifted her axe as she met one of the undead Krag, its face a mask of rot, swinging at her, a rusty blade whistling through the air, but she threw herself back, her boots slipping on the snow, to avoid the blow but ended up off balance and too close to another walking corpse. Its jaws stretched wide, revealing blackened gums, as it groaned ravenously and swung a clawed hand at her side. The blow connected, the force a shocking burst of pain, and sent her spiraling across the snow, the world turning over and over.
While the creatures appeared to be a unthinking chaotic mob, they fought so well together they almost seemed to be in formation, flanking and surrounding with a terrible purpose. The pack of of the walking dead split up, a tactical maneuver, and some of them circled the krags, hemming them in, and the others broke off and made a dash, a sudden, unified sprint, for the injured still in the cabin, their goal horrifyingly clear.
"Damnit"