The Howling Glade

A snowy trail wound its way down from the cavern entrance along the rim of the glade. By skirting the perimeter of the mountains it turned what would have been a steep climb into a more reasonable hike. It began to grow darker as Azalon descended further down into the glade. The thick trees blocked the sunlight and even most of the snow from reaching the ground.

The howling wind was constant, but muffled somewhat underneath the canopy. Other than the wind though it was eerily quiet. There were no birds, no small rodents scurrying about in the underbrush. The glade was cold and lifeless.

The atmosphere was having more of an effect on the pixie than it was on Azalon. She seemed unreasonably frightened, clinging to the back of his shoulder as he walked down into the woods.

“I don’t like this place.”

Azalon nodded, but there wasn’t anything he needed to add to that sentiment. The trail had leveled off, ending in a small rocky patch. The canopy above was open enough that some snow had accumulated in the center of the small clearing.

The fox took a moment to gather his bearings, pausing as he looked into the trees in the distance. Now that they were down in the forest he only had a vague sense of the direction they should be traveling in. The trail that the others had left disappeared some time ago.

“What’s that?”

He looked over at the tree Willowing had pointed to. Something was hanging from one of its branches. He walked over to get a closer look, but he could already tell he didn’t like what he was seeing. A seemingly random assortment of bones were tied together and dangling from the tree. He was close enough now that he could hear them clatter against each other as they swayed in the breeze like some kind of macabre wind chime.

“I’m not sure… some kind of fetish?”

“Oh, I get it. It’s hanging from a tree so that must be… asphyxiation. Breath play right?”

Azalon smiled and shook his head, amused that she was still able to make the occasional dirty joke, despite her terror. “No, not that kind of fetish. Something more like a magical talisman. Something to ward off evil, maybe?”

“You think that thing’s going to ‘ward off’ evil? Looks more like a skeleton man’s dinner bell to me.”

He chuckled and after a moment’s pause he added, “Or… it could be a trail marker. If I had to guess, the branch it’s hanging from might be pointing towards the graveyard.”

“Fucking hell.”

“I think that’s in the right direction at least. Let’s find out.”

Azalon started walking into the trees and after a moment’s hesitation the pixie followed, taking her place at his shoulder. He didn’t make it far though before he noticed something else, the breeze carried the unmistakable stench of decaying flesh. It was just barely noticeable, but it still triggered a primal sense of unease within him. Turning to the pixie he asked, “Do you smell that?”

“No, what?”

He shook his head, not wanting to bother her with unnecessary details. It was clear his vulpine nose was more sensitive than hers though. “This is definitely the right way…”

✦ ✦ ✦

It took another ten minutes of walking through the thick forest before Willowing noticed the smell. By that time the rancid odor of rotting meat was strong enough that Azalon could tell they were almost on top of whatever undead horrors were lurking among the trees.

He had his dagger drawn, but held it down at his side as he walked. It was the only weapon he had that was going to be of any use. The few spells he had were all mental magic, useless against anything mindless like basic undead. His stiletto too, while excellent at piercing flesh and even some armor, wasn’t going to do much against something without working internal organs. With his fairy companion being equally unsuited to this kind of fight, he was hoping the enchantment on his dagger would be enough to get him through this.

He was tempted to avoid them altogether, find some way to sneak around this group, but the biggest danger when fighting undead was getting outnumbered and surrounded. Sneaking past them would only put him in a situation where he was deep in the middle of them, fighting them all at once rather than in small packs like this. At least, he hoped it was a small pack.

Azalon finally got a glimpse of one of the undead as it shuffled aimlessly between two trees. It was definitely a zombie, unexpectedly large and completely nude. Its face was swollen and rotted, but there was one thing about it that caught his attention.

His voice was a mixture of fear and wonder as he whispered, “It’s a human.”

“What? But they’ve been dead for like a thousand years right?”

He nodded, “Well, it’s not a real one. Just something the dungeon made, but it’s the first one I’ve ever seen.”

Willowing’s voice was harsh and demanding as she whispered, “Whatever, just go kill it.”

He nodded, slowly sneaking up on the creature. It still hadn’t noticed him, but then they weren’t the most observant of foes. While physically similar, the human was larger than most elves. Even though it wasn’t much taller, it seemed much… thicker; both rounder in the middle and more heavily muscled. Thicker elsewhere was well, but he actively tried to ignore the undead monstrosity’s dick as it wobbled in front of him. The rot swelling his body had filled his cock as well, making it stand out, turgid, in front of him in a distressingly aggressive manner.

Azalon breathed through his mouth as he got closer. The stench of the creature was too much for his sensitive nose to handle. He got within ten feet before it finally seemed to register him, though the only change in its behavior was to let out a low moan as it began to slowly shuffle towards him.

The fox bared his teeth and charged, quickly closing the distance as he lunged. His dagger pierced its flesh easily, sinking deep into the monster’s gut. The zombie didn’t react to the wound in any way, but as soon as Azalon’s arm was within its reach it tried to grab at him. He had expected that though and leapt back, pulling the blade firmly against the wound in its gut to further deepen it. With its middle fully sliced open the thing’s intestines began to pour out of it, landing in a pool of black blood at its feet. Azalon nearly gagged from the stench but the zombie didn’t seem bothered by the wound at all. It made another lunge for the fox, stumbling forward with its arms outstretched. Azalon dodged to the side, cutting into its forearm as he deflected its grasping arms with his blade.

He backed away, letting the creature come to him. It was slow, but capable of a quick lunging motion once it got close enough. Azalon noted that it had only been trying to grab at him. Though it was considered a weak undead, the thing was still bigger and stronger than he was. It if got hold of him, it would kill him. The paralyzing enchantment on his blade didn’t seem to work against them either, but the blade at least seemed to cut better than a normal one would have.

He lunged again with the dagger, thrusting it forward like a fencer before backing away quickly. He struck it near where its heart should have been, but he was really just guessing when it came to human anatomy. If he assumed they were big round eared elves essentially, then that should have been a fatal strike. Seeing again that it didn’t react at all though, he realized that attacking its body was useless. He needed to attack the magic that was animating it.

Again he put some distance between himself and the corpse stumbling towards him, and cursed when he noticed movement in the trees to the left and to the right of him. The sound of the fight must have attracted others. Fighting one of these things was bad enough, but four at a time was going to be difficult.

The zombie to the right was alone, so he circled towards it, moving so they wouldn’t be able to flank him. They weren’t able to think strategically about their positioning, only moving in straight lines directly towards him. By shifting his position he’d be able to herd them, keeping them from surrounding him. He was already feeling winded though, this fight was taking too long. Simply running around them, dodging in and out with each attack, was going to exhaust him. He’d get slow, sloppy, and then it would be all over. He needed to kill them quickly.

Perhaps he did have something that could help. While the Arcanum of Secrets didn’t have any kind of attack spells, it did have the Mana Sight skill. He only needed to concentrate for the skill to become active, and soon the bodies of the zombies began to glow with a sickly green light. The one closest to him had been a woman when it was alive. She must have been beautiful, with a lush body, wide hips, and large breasts. Ignoring all that for now though, he watched the way the mana flowed through the corpse, seeing that the densest concentration was in its head.

The brain, that was the weak point. Destroy it and the enchantment breaks.

The zombie lunged for him and he met its grasping hands with his blade, cutting its hand in half. The fox sneered at it, twisting the blade and watching as its thumb and two fingers fell to the ground. Ignore the body, disable the limbs, and attack the head; that was his new strategy.

He dodged to the right, knowing it would have a hard time grabbing him with half a hand. With that side being less of a threat he was able to get in close, swinging his dagger in a high wide arc aimed for its neck. The blade bit deeply, and while it wasn’t enough to sever its head, the disruption to its mana flow did seem to stun it. Long enough at least for a follow up strike that took its head.

As the zombie collapsed, he saw that the other three were close behind. The one he had attacked earlier was next. It was dragging its guts in a long trail behind it, slowing it down somewhat. The fox was panting from exertion. He had to be careful here, attacking one would invite a counter attack from all three.

Having a plan in mind he attacked the one on the left, rushing past and hacking at its ankle with the short blade. The zombie toppled forward as its achilles tendon was cleanly severed. While that didn’t do any damage to the magic that animated it, there were certain mechanical requirements that were required to walk. It fell to the ground in a heap, but continued to crawl forward, moaning and reaching out for the fox.

The zombie that was trailing its guts tried to step over its fallen companion, but not having the dexterity for such a maneuver, it tripped over the crawling undead. Seeing his chance to make short work of it, Azalon gripped his dagger in both hands and plunged it downward. He felt the tip of the dagger scraping against the top of its head, peeling away part of its rotten scalp. Seeing that he had failed to penetrate the thing’s skull though he jumped backwards before it could grab his legs.

Azalon spit out a curse as he saw the fallen zombie getting back up onto its knees. Trying to stab it in the brain was a stupid move, of course its skull would deflect a small blade, even a magical one. Knowing he had one more chance he lunged in again, this time aiming for the back of its neck. The magical blade cut easily through the undead flesh. When he felt it catch on a vertebrae he forced it deeper, severing the thing’s spinal cord. He wasn’t sure that was enough to kill it though so he stabbed it again, and again; three times in quick succession.

The zombie was dead… again. But before he could congratulate himself he felt a vice-like grip take hold of one of his ankles. The crawling zombie had been trapped underneath the one he had just killed, but it hadn’t been disabled. Azalon watched in horror as the zombie opened his mouth wider than what was humanly possible and pulled his leg inescapably towards its gaping maw.

Knowing he couldn’t pull his leg free he did the only thing he could do, attack. Having his ankle in the zombie’s grasp left him off balance, and while he was still able to stab it in the neck, his aim wasn’t as true this time. He missed hitting the spinal cord, and lost his chance to stun it. His leg exploded in pain as the zombie bit down on him, its teeth easily ripping into the heavy linen pants he was wearing. Gritting his teeth through the pain he stabbed it again, then twice more.

Soon it had stopped moving, the magic animating it fading away. However, even though he had killed it, its teeth were locked around his shin like a bear trap. He looked up in a panic to see that the last zombie was nearly upon him. He was trapped, there was no way he’d be able to avoid its grasping claws.

Azalon snarled and readied his blade, but just when it looked like it would lunge down onto him, an arrow exploded from the thing’s forehead.

His eyes shot open in sheer astonishment, both at the creature’s sudden death, and because it now was toppling down onto him. He held his arms out, trying to catch the much heavier creature before it crushed him, and let out a sharp grunt as the corpse landed on top of him. He couldn’t bare its weight, but he was at least able to turn it slightly, avoiding the sharp arrowhead protruding from its skull.

He let out a long slow sigh. He was exhausted. His body ached, and not just from where he had been bitten. The life of a scholar hadn’t prepared him for that kind of physical exertion. He’d probably have a hard time moving even if he wasn’t trapped under a stinking corpse, or if his leg wasn’t firmly being held in a dead zombie’s jaws. For now though all he could do was try to get his breathing back under control, even if he had to keep breathing through his mouth to keep the overpowering stench of death from suffocating him.

In short order, though it felt like a long time to him, he saw a pair of slender hands reach under the body. The pressure on his chest subsided as the zombie was rolled off of him. Looking up he saw an elf smiling down at him. He had half expected to see Arathok, or one of the other guild recruits he had met earlier, but he’d never seen the man grinning down at him now. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with long black hair and piercing golden eyes.

“Well now,” said the elf, “What have we here?”