Skirmish At The Hellsmouth

The wild winds of the Rimelands whipped Kellick’s wolfskin cloak behind him, blowing like a great fur flag in the frigid breath of the mountain. Kellick rolled his shoulders against the tug of the cloak, as if the wolf’s spirit was trying to pull away from its owner and finally run free into the snowy mists of the twin peaks. These twin peaks, The Bear and The Wolf, created the snow swept valley Kellick and his group of unfortunate souls now traversed against the building storm. They had been chosen from a lottery to travel to the Hellsmouth, and no journey to that sacred place ever ended without tragedy.

The springs and summers of the Rimelands were something to behold. Brilliant emerald seas of grass swayed in the sun, spotted by erupting northern flowers of any which color. The life cycle of this land was short and without warning the Rimelands would descend into a long winter, as if there were no fall. Kellick’s village, Woodsline, lay to the south behind them, on the edge of a deep coniferous forest. With the forest at their backs and full of life, there was more than enough resources to keep the town thriving throughout the long freezes. Rodents and deer fed the people, the trees of the forest powered the town.

The Hellsmouth however, provided the people with something the forest could not in the long cold nights of the Rimelands, greens for their diet.

In the northern reaches of the valley between The Bear and The Wolf, was the charred and steaming Devil’s Horn. A dwarf in size to its siblings, The Devil’s horn was the runt of the three mountains, and cursed, some would say. The Devil’s horn spilled stinking gases and waters from its crevasses and caves, which converged in a steaming lake at its base - the Hellsmouth.

It was true that the tiny peak stuck out like a scabbed wound on the landscape, but the warm and mineral rich waters of the hot demon breathed eternally, and breathed life. Any number of fauna spawned in and amongst the waters edge of the basin year-round.

Delicious scarlet-red berry bushes the townspeople aptly named the “Devil’s Balls”, algae that could be mixed into a healing salve and even some black skinned root vegetables could be found in the burning paradise. There were, however, dangers lurking within the black horn of the Rimelands - the steaming waters were diseased. Once drunk, it was said the devil’s madness was to come next, and the only cure to the crazed mind that followed was death. Or so the legends said.

Kellick’s gaze followed the sounds of a wolf howling in the distance to the barely visible reaches of The Wolf. The blizzard was making its final approach and he knew that the pack would not be far behind it. He reached across his body with a leatherbound hand and pulled his cloak back over his body, it was time to move.

“Can’t these stinking snowox move any faster!” he cupped his gloved hands and yelled against the snowy winds, “We’ve got to get a move on or the storm will be the least of our worries! The Wolf will have its children upon us before we can reach the Devil’s Horn! Move!”

He saw several of the cartmen acknowledge his indirect order and whip their reins against the snowox a little harder, the snowox groaning in protest, but increasing their pace through the knee high snow no less. To his left, he saw his war-brother Fenrix battle through the snows toward him. Fenrix was better looking than Kellick, abnormally well groomed, with a red trimmed beard and long flowing flames of hair, dotted with battle-braids. He had a massive frame and wore a similar bear jerkin carapace to that of Kellick, with wolf fur keeping him warm. However, Fenrix preferred an axe and Kellick preferred a sword.

“Brother!” Fenrix yelled over the increasing attacks of the winds, “One of the forward cart snowox has collapsed, what shall we do?”

“Leave it!” barked Kellick, “This will be a distraction for the wolves. Tell the cartman if he does not keep up, he will become a distraction for The Wolfkin as well.” Kellick finished with a toothy smile.

As the small detachment made their way through the approaching storm, the Devil’s Horn could be seen in the distance, salvation was close. The heats of the runt peak would warm them, and they could camp in the dangerous paradise warm and protected.

Kellick watched as a cartsman ahead of him toppled over stiff as an iceberg, frozen solid from swelling snow squall. He screamed into the blistering cold ahead at one of the other five war-brothers escorting the caravan.

“Wulvar, get the fuck on that cart! You are now a cartman, I cannot wait to tell your wife about this!” he chuckled loudly , “Leave the body, it was foretold by me that there would be a second distraction for the beasts behind us.”

He watched the fur covered warrior begrudgingly pull himself into the pilot’s position that the fallen cartman had just occupied, shaking his head as he did so. Kellick made out what seemed to be a sneer as Wulvar gave him a glance before whipping the snowox into action, rejoining the pace of the rest of the caravan.

The blotted out sun was setting as the frozen escort broke through the storm and into the warmth of the Devil’s Horn. The mountain seemed to have its own weather, the heat of the place causing a protective heat shield around the basin, dulling the screaming winds of the blizzard and the snow melting and falling as warm rain on the caravan as they unpacked and set up for the night. Kellick began howling orders, breaking the brief moment of tranquility.

“Wulvar! Cartsman!” he laughed, “Take Lokan and Killtar around the basin and scout out the area. We do not want to be surprised by any unwanted visitors, man or beast.”

“Aye, war-brother.” Wulvar growled as he waved a beckoning hand at Lokan and Killtar, still not amused by Kellick’s cartsman jests, his black hair drenched and slick over his bearded face.

Kellick watched as his three war-brothers headed through the warm rains and north towards the mountain's edge, disappearing into the green thicket. They would traverse the basins-edge against the slopes first and circle around to the camp on the eastern side of the pond.

The basin itself was about half a mile round and steamed and stunk of rot, although there were no signs of its cause. As darkness overtook the Rimelands, the pool of algae and waterweeds blackened, and shadows crept upon the camp like the obsidian blood of some otherworldly beast.

“Get a fire started!” Kellick urged, “Nightfall is upon us and if we do not have light, we cannot fight!”

The cartsman and other town gatherers selected for the journey had already begun prepping several large fires, but Kellick’s warning hurried their pace. They knew that if the cold did not kill them, something else would, and they needed to give the war-brothers the best fighting chance possible. Kellick heard Fenrix, the logistics man he was, as he began to break the townspeople into gather groups.

“Just because the sun god closed his eyes doesn’t mean we can’t forage.” Fenrix said with a smile, “You lot, find some Devil’s Balls would ya! You bunch spot some sprout roots! You five, go start harvesting that gunk for the healing salve at the lakes edge!” He continued pointing to the basin, “And don’t drink the stinkin’ water!”.

An hour later, the camp had been settled. Makeshift snowox skin tents had been pitched, fires burned bright from the forest logs brought over in the carts and there was snow squirrels pitted over the dancing flames. The rich smell of the perfectly cooked squirrel wafted through the camp, as warm rain pattered against Kellick’s tent. He felt as if he was in some far-off land, unconquered, one ripe for the taking of by him and his war-brothers. But, where were his war-brothers?

Kellick rose to his feet, unclipping his damp cloak and gingerly placing it on the ground in the tent. He mustn’t anger The Wolf. Too massive hands, still gloved, pushed back rain slicked dark hair and tied it into a bun. He shook his body, rain drops flickering and glinting in the campfire light, and then stroked his beard. “Fenrix,” he said to his brother sitting across the fire from him, “where are our brothers? Can you hear their movements across The Hellsmouth?”

Fenrix ripped a chunk of juicy meat from his roasted snowsquirrel and also rose to his feet, his gaze scanning the horizon towards the basin. “I do not.” He said plainly, unconcerned.

Kellick exited the mouth of his tent and wheeled towards the hissing basin. He stopped at the waters edge and peered into the darkness, the firelight from behind him causing his viewing distance to flicker and fade with the fire's crackling song. Then he heard it.

Echoing menacingly from across the basin, a wild scream made its way into the camp. The sound moved slowly, as if letting its cry have time to drive fear deep into the minds of the men of the caravan. Kellick’s head darted north towards the base of the mountain as another wail sounded, screeching across the bubbling lake. Then another, and another, and another. The screams sounded like a murder of grotesque crows sounding a chorus after a kill, and they were coming.

Adrenaline pumped through Kellick’s veins now and he could hear his heart pumping in his ears. The rains from the melting blizzard had stopped, but there was another storm coming. Kellick’s hands dropped to his scabbard on either side of his waist. He could feel the elegantly smithed handles in his palms, one a wolf’s head with gleaming blue eyes made of crystals found in The Wolf – the other a bear’s head with eyes of the darkened purple cave crystals of The Bear. He drew both Wolf’s Gaze and Bear’s Leer, their eyes glinting in the firelight and their blades polished steel dancing with the reflections of fire and shadow.

“Cartsman! Gatherers!” he yelled, “Form a defensive circle at the fires, Fenrix with me!”

Kellick did not need to look behind him to know what was happening. The cartsman and gatherers were forming a tight guard with whatever could pass as weapon, even the civilians of Woodsline would fight to the death. He also did not need to turn to know that Fenrix was already approaching his side.

“Kell,” Fenrix said, panting slightly, “what do you think they are?”

“Only The Bear and The Wolf know, Fenrix.” He said, glancing at his friend, smiling. “But I haven’t had a good fight in awhile.”

“Aye,” Fenrix replied, “not since I made you eat dirt last time we sparred.” The giant said as he brought his two-handed battle axe to hand from his back. “Bear’s Fury has not tasted blood in some time.” Fenrix finished with a smile.

Although he joked, Kellick could see the fear in his mighty war-brother’s face.

The screams had stopped, but there was continued movement from around the steaming body of water, like a hive of crazed insects rising to protect their queen. Kellick listened as the brush and ferns from either side of the basin hissed and snapped with movement as the beasts trampled their way towards the camp. Except they were not beasts.

From his left, a shadow enveloped figure broke through the ferns and came stumbling to a halt, shadowy fingers dancing against it. A set of crazed blackened eyes stared at Kellick in the firelight. Tattered hair, milky skin and ripped linens were all that remained of a once beautiful woman. She stopped, barefoot at the light's edge and wavered, her head twitching sporadically back and forth as if deciding to continue on or head back into the brush. Then she charged.

All was silent except for the sound of slick feet gushing through dampened soil. Kellick heard Fenrix gasp as he turned to witness the charging demon. With surprising speed, the woman closed the gap between the brush line and the war-brothers. When she was within ten feet of Kellick she crouched and lunged at him, mouth open bearing teeth rotted into daggers.

With a quick sidestep to his right, Kellick swung hard downward with his left sword arm and brought Wolve’s Gaze shimmering into the back of the creature’s neck, resulting in her clean decapitation. The tattered body continued to lurch past the war-brothers from the momentum of her leap and crumpled in a distorted heap behind them. Kellick was now back-to-back with Fenrix.

“What in the Gods…” Fenrix began to say in disbelief, but a scream from the north cut him off.

Twitching body after body broke through the ferns and brushes from either side of the war-brother vanguard, each figure screaming and wailing at the sight of the giant warriors greeting them in the firelight – Fenrix facing the north and Kellick the south. Kellicks head turned from one side of the basin to the next, counting at least twenty of the screeching demons. He heard the cartsman in their makeshift defensive line whimper at the sight of the two disfigured groups that now stared blankly at them at the edge of the firelight.

“Don’t you fuckin’ break ranks back there or I’ll kill you myself!” screamed Kellick, “Let them come, let them taste the steel of my blades. The Bear and The Wolf hunger!” he finished, bellowing into the vaporous night sky.

“The Bear and The Wolf hunger!” cheered the backline, with Fenrix joining in on the rallying cry.

Fenrix’s battle-axe glinted in Kellick’s peripherals as his muscled arms raised his twin swords in the air towards his foe, wrist whirling them in a display of blade mastery. Dark blood sprinkled into the night as Wolf’s Gaze released the entrails of its first victim. Then one of the creatures spoke, a gurgling whisper from the darkness.

“The Bear and The Wolf cannot protect you here.” Hissed the voice. Answering the taunt, the group of demented humans began to giggle and whine in the fluttering shadows and light. A chorus of demonic laughter. Then one by one, they began to charge, twitching and squealing as they splatted through the muck towards the encampment.

Kellick readied himself for the assault of his first two attackers, a shadowy mangled man and woman in linens matching his first attacker. The man closed the gap first and with an agonizing howl swung a long clawed hand at Kellick. Kellick parried with his right hand wielding Bear’s Leer, taking the man’s arm off at the elbow. The agonizing howl intensified as the man buckled backward, looking at his missing arm in disbelief. For a second, Kellick thought he saw the flicker of human intelligence, an immense sadness, in the man's eyes before he lost his head.

From behind the tumbling headless corpse the woman sprang, taking Kellick off-guard. He grunted as air exited his lungs, the weight of the woman’s body connecting with his chest. She let out a crazed giggle as she snapped her diseased jaws at his shoulder, only coming in contact with the shell of his bear jerkin carapace.

Kellick let Wolf’s Gaze drop from his left hand, blade down into the muck. He grabbed the woman by the back of the head and yanked her skyward with one hand by her decaying hair and let Bear’s Leer slice cleanly across her throat. He dropped the gurgling woman to let her choke on her own blood and prepared for his next victim.

Time stood still.

He could hear the rage of war around him. Demonic screams, yells of his Rimesmen falling to the onslaught. Kellick cut two demons down at the knees simultaneously and howled into the night himself, just barely making out a full moon guiding his blade from above him. He thought for a second that he had gone mad as well as he cut deeper into the endless wave of decomposing humans. With a two-handed strike he cut a gangly man wearing a woolen hood in half and the man simply exhaled slowly as he fell apart. Kellick’s blood turned cold as a Rimeland night at what he saw next.

In front of him, a ghastly Wulvar stood, and he was dead. Multiple bite marks bled from various parts of his body, glistening in the night. He still held his sword and shield at the ready, in an eternal vigilance, ready to duel with Kellick once last time.

“Brother…” Wulvar whispered in the moonlight; his dark eyes filled with nothing but the void of undeath.

From across the basin an inhuman cry echoed into the warzone, causing the dead war-brother to snap his head towards the sound. The cry made Kellick’s heartbeat slow and a shiver travel deep down his spine. Kellick widened his stance and prepared to give his brother an honorable death, but the attack did not come.

Without a word or a glance, Wulvar turned into the blackness of the night and disappeared into the thicket.

Kellick exhaled, his hands shaking. My Rimesman! He thought as he turned towards the camp. As the firelight and shadows continued their eternal dance, he saw the remaining demons retreating into the darkness. He could see overturned wagons and dismantled bodies in the camp light where the demons had broken through. He could hear cries, although he could not tell if they were human or creature. He saw Fenrix’s giant axe blaze vermilion in the moonlight and come down on the head of a possessed Lokan, splitting it in two.

Kellick looked skyward to the Moonmother above, shining brightly upon them. They would need her astral guidance more than ever now, for they would be back…