By Son_Of_Hochland
Frederich felt the roughly hewn wood beneath his hand as he grasped the edge of the parapet and looked out from the battlements of the half-stone, half-timber watchtower nestled atop a barren rise on the outskirts of the Forest of Shadows. In the distance the sun was setting below the horizon, giving a bloody tinge to the Middle Mountains far off to the west, and a gloomy hue to the rest of the forest stretching out in front of him. Off to the east, the glowing form of the greater moon of Mannsleib was rising, being illuminated by the sickly green light emanating from its smaller twin, Morrslieb, which was rising behind it. Both moons had barely peaked the edge of the earth to the east, but already Frederich could notice the bilious green glow of the lesser moon.
Turning his face away from the cold, starless horizon, Frederich brought his attention back to the depths of the forest. The forest was an evil that had bedeviled his people and country from time immemorial. A dark, dank place, comprised of incredibly gnarled and incredibly ancient pines and conifers, it provided the perfect lair for Beastmen and other darker, fouler creatures. His dark brown eyes scanned the edge of the vast undulating expanse of the Forest of Shadows, searching for any sign of movement that could belie the presence of the Beasts. The dark spread of woods remained silent and still, the only motion being a chill wind blowing in from the north. Upon its current, Frederich could smell the earthy scent of the vast wood. A faint yet pungent trace of pine could be smelled upon the breeze, but mixed in with something darker, something stronger. It brought to Frederich’s mind the smell of a freshly interred grave, the scent of moist earth mixed with that of decomposition. It smelled to him of death. The wind continued to blow, stirring the dark needles of the pines, making the trees move and groan as if the pines conifers themselves were possessed by unearthly daemons bent on his destruction.
At the thought of daemons, a cold chill ran up Frederich’s spine, and he let go of the battlements with an involuntary shudder. He pulled his red wool cloak tighter about his shoulders and grasped the wooden shaft of his halberd closer to his chest, making the sign of the Hammer to ward off any evil he may have attracted. He all too clearly remembered the dark tales his mother had told him, of the depraved evils that lurked in the forests, of creatures that would carry him away if he was not a good boy. At the time, Frederich remembered, he shrugged off such tales as ruses to get him into doing the things his mother wanted him to do. But out here, out by the great forest’s primeval border, such tales held truth.
Trying to take his mind of the thought of daemons, Frederich turned his mind back to the forest. As he looked out on the darkly majestic sight of the Forest of Shadows, Frederich noticed for the first time that there was a subtle difference in the coloration of the tall conifers nearest him and those stretching off into the distance. The hue of the pines nearest him was a dark forest green. This in itself was not unusual, Frederich thought, for forest green is, and should be the normal color for evergreens everywhere. But as his gaze on the vast expanse of greenery lengthened, the trees began to show a deeper and darker tint to their needles the further and further north they seemed to be. This in itself disturbed Frederich greatly. It was as if the forest were reflecting the evil that could be found within its depths, the shade of the needles not only giving the forest it’s namesake, but also measuring the level of baneful energies pulsating from it’s heart as well. Living instruments that gauged the vile energies that seemed to pour forth like blood pumping from a gaping wound.
In the deepening shadow, the forest began to take on deeper, more sinister air. Tendrils of mist began to creep and spread forth from the boggy low areas surrounding the watchtower, pouring forth into the woods, melding field with forest until both seemed to be one. The mist remained low; turning small rises of land into what looked like islands in a sea of fog. The rising moons cast an eerie glow across the entire landscape, creating shadows that moved and slunk about like scavenging animals at the slightest breeze.
Frederich paced back and forth, becoming increasingly nervous with the growing presence of the mist surrounding the watchtower. He briefly considered going back down below and asking one of his fellow soldiers to come up and keep watch with him. He was sure that Karl wouldn’t mind coming up, and neither would Lars, especially on a night like tonight, but the rest might look upon it as cowardice. Not wanting to show weakness to his comrades so soon after joining the state halberdiers, Frederich resignedly shook his head and turned his attention once more to black depths of the forest beyond.
Save for the menacing swish of the wind through the branches of the pines, all was silent. Frederich thought that he could even hear the beating of his own heart deep within his chest. A low lub dub, lub dub, lub dub, murmuring in the depths of his person. The breeze picked up and with it so did the beating of his heart. Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. A cold shock of fear rushed through Frederich, as a look of horror passed over his face. The beating he had heard came not from his heart but from drums. Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. Drums whose heads were stretched with human skin, and beaten upon with the femurs of the dead by abominations of man and animal. Frederich’s breath came faster and faster, clouds of breath forming with each exhalation. As the beating increased in both volume and tempo, Frederich saw movement in the tree line beneath the tower. He then knew, save an act of providence from the Gods above, that neither he, nor his companions would see the light of the morrow’s dawn. The Beasts had come.