Isle of Mists

   Year 785

         Jogrian Era                                                                          I

 The King clenches his jaw, as his stark bronze eyes fix their gaze upon the familiar yet mystifying land. His lust for wonder, to seek out the unknown, grew visible as clear as the morning sky as the blood of curiosity gushed to his pale, fleshy face. If not for one of his subjects, Jarl Erhiem, the King would have not given any second glance at the strange stone monoliths littered all around in the near distance in front of him.                    

"What do you make of those, Jarl Erhiem?" asks the portly King of Raejkund, Harrion.                     

"Savages, Your Majesty. It would be best to take precautions before we tread inwards", answers the Jarl of Svealin, while his cautious eyes looks around for any signs of life.                     

Harrion was unpleased with the answer. 

   "Let go of our ancestral stigmas, Erhiem. Do not be so ignorant about the unknown. You may be right about the people here being savages, but not until we witness them firsthand." stated the King in his ever so stern voice.

                      The Jarl of Svealin's plead for apology was interrupted by a misplaced rustling of dry leaves and twigs. King Harrion ordered his men to a jittery halt. Murmurs of confusion and soft clangs of their blades and shields soared only to swoop down when an un-illuminated apparition caught the attention of Harrion's keen bronze eyes. Once a seasoned warrior, who's battle cries raged all over Raejkund, from the northern great mountains of Svaliks to the south, echoing in the cursed Forests of Bones, Harrion felt his hand quiver as he grasped around the hilt of his sword. 

   "Looks human enough" mutters Jarl Erhiem under his cold breath. He turns towards his King, only to find him slowly pacing backwards, with his eyes fixated on the supposed humanoid shadow. A sense of horror engulfs Erhiem's face as he swiveled at the shadow only to witness nothing but the ancient trees that cover the woods around them. 

"I saw it disappear. Into thin air. Into fucking thin air it vanished. There were tentacles behind that... that thing" Harrion exclaims, smothered by fear.                       

"Jogrun damn these savages." Jarl Erhiem felt troubled, just as a gust of freezing wind made their bones shudder. He looked up at the sky. Gloom clouds of a storm to come lour towards them, from the direction the apparition was looming about.                       

"We should look for shelter, My Lords" advises Gerrick, one of Harrion's scouts. 

 King Harrion grew pale as ever, trying his best to fathom what his eyes witnessed just a moment ago. He could not hear Gerrick. He lifted his finger to point at that ghastly direction. "Gerrick, i want you to take four of the other scouts and investigate immediately", that stern voice was shaken by disbelief.

                         Their expression of unwillingness was put an end to by Jarl Erhiem himself, as he convinces his King for allowing him to accompany the scouts. "Be careful Erhiem, for i am unable to comprehend what we saw. We might be exaggerating the situation, or the sea has finally latched onto our minds after such a tedious sail." says Harrion, as he begins to regain his composition.

 "Its better to be aware of what lies in front of us regardless, Your Majesty. Do not fret, for i have not yet lost my ability to wield my own blade. Whether its the sea, or some incoherence of this land that poisons our mind, i will make sure we rest the night easy" Erhiem consoles Harrion, just as much as he tries to console his own self.                          

"Kvetak be with you", speaking of the God of war's name helped Harrion regain his courage, as the Jarl of Svealin marches on with Gerrick and four other scoutsmen. 

                           Erhiem squats down where there seems to be a visible pressure of feet on the ground, but he cannot make out any shape out of those, not any that he is aware of. Dark clouds have cloaked the land almost in its entirety. The cold wind is rustling the leaves, almost as if mimicking some incomprehensible music. 

                            "My Jarl, what did His Majesty mean when he said he saw tentacles? asked Gerrick in a curious yet confused tone.

                            "Its the sea I tell you" Erhiem answers almost instantly, still trying to figure out the impressions on the ground.                         

  "As a child, My mother used to tell me stories about these ancient Gods that reigned over the abyss, for centuries. She said these Gods were not of any familiar shape or form, but just entities made out of black clouds and ...they could manipulate mortal minds, make them see visions, and..."                            "Those were childrens stories, Gerrick." interrupts the Jarl, "Besides, those Gods you speak of have long been banished by Jogrun. I dont see how those Gods of the void have to do anything with what we are facing at this instant."                           

"But where were they banished to?" murmurs Gerrick to himself under his breath, for he knows conversing with Jarl Erhiem about it will bear no fruit.                            

Every child in Raejkund has heard of the tales of the Ancient Gods of the abyss from their mothers, and how they were defeated in battle against the might of the Gods who rest at Ethere, banished by the Higher God Jogrun Himself. Or so the babes believed. No one alive in the known world knows the truth to the tales. Or so the people believes. The great old battle is told to have continued for thousands of years before the Gods of Ethere ushered in the new ages.                            

 Erhiem notices the trees around them starting to envelop them as they marched in deeper, and the unexplainable music of the wind and leaves is growing louder ever since. 

AAAAAARGHH!!!

A blood curdling scream pierced through their eardrums from the way up ahead. Erhiem and the five scouts unsheathed their blades as the clanging of steel cut through the air.                             

 "Keep the pace", instructs the Jarl, as he jogs towards the source of the scream. The scoutsmen follows behind, only to come to a halt, as Gerrick glances ahead. What he sees baffles his mind.                            "A cliff? Here? But are we not on plain ground? We haven't tread uphill or anything of that sort ever since we docked our ships."                            

Erhiem is as confused as the others.                            

"Look down there. Is that a village?" he exclaims as he tries to make sense of the whole situation in his head.                            

"My Jarl" calls one of the scoutsmen, and they all turn towards him. He is facing the other way, from whence they came. Now there are stone monoliths littered all around the path. The same strange monoliths they noticed on the shore.  The branches of the trees ahead start to wriggle like snakes. Like tentacles.                                                         

                                                                        II

                               King Harrion takes a bite out of an apple, while his men start to set up camp, few yards north from where Jarl Erhiem and the scoutsmen marched on with their investigation. Several torches were lit so as to let the scoutsmen know their whereabouts. He cannot make out the time of the day, since the black clouds blanket them still. Behind him, preparations continues on for the night. Men putting up tents and skewering pots, some resting on the ground, trying to wear off the tiresome journey they had. General Ivar Fjordson was seated atop a wide boulder, with one hand holding one of his boots and the other thumping on it to get rid of the sand and dirt. He is a man in his fifties, and yet as brave and strong as he was twenty years ago, when he became the General of the Regal Army of Raejkund under Harrion's father, the then King Harathor. A seasoned warrior, fought in more battles than he even cares to remember, and near unbeatable with his spear that he received as a gift from Harathor for his valor in battle.   

   "Some shit luck we've got, wouldn't you say so, General Ivar?" asks King Harrion, now facing towards his men, as he continues to eat his apple.                             

"I don't know about luck, Your Majesty, but I sure don't want to linger on this cursed land any more than necessary." replies the General without looking away from his boots, as he starts to clean the other one. "I... I need to get back to my Karla safely in one piece. There's a baby on the way, and, I have been away for too long. That is all I can care about for now"                           

  "You will General. As soon as Erhiem comes back with his scoutsmen we all will set sail back for home. I do not want to keep you away from Karla any longer"                            

 Harrion sits down beside General Ivar, atop the boulder. "I have no intention of losing my men, let alone you, here on some mere expedition on this strange land. I will make sure all of you return home safe in one piece. I had no notion about what this land might have in store for us, we sailed here unprepared, with few men. But I will come back. I will gather more men and come back here."                             

Ivar Fjordson now looks straight at Harrion's bronze eyes. "There are some places that are best left unexplored, My King."                           

 "I understand your concern, General Ivar, I do. But this is my calling. I have made a mistake of underestimating the dangers of the unknown. But that will not happen again. Next time, we will be prepared."                            

 King Harrion finishes his apple and gets up. The General puts back on his boots, grabs his spear and follows him. Even with the clouds above, they can tell it has been quite a long time since Jarl Erhiem and the others had left. One by one, the soldiers are starting to give in to their weariness.                               "Rest up men." says Harrion, "You too, General. I will stay up with one of my men to keep the torches lit, and wait for their return."                             

He starts walking around the camp to make sure everything is in order, and finally stops beside one of the torches tied up a wooden pole that has been stuck to the ground. The soldier who was picked to stay up with him is holding his sword near his chest and vaguely staring at the forest around them. Harrion is weary as well. The camp grows silent, with only the crackling of the torches and a few murmurs of the soldiers reach his ears. That is when his fear comes back to gnaw at his heart once more. He remembers the shadow, and how it had tentacles. He tries to rationalize it, maybe it was indeed the sea playing tricks on his mind. Harrion's mind races. Jarl Erhiem, Gerrick and the others have been gone for too long. Maybe it was all his own fault. He can see the fingers pointing at him, blaming his lust for such expeditions as the reason behind this ungodly situation. But he is the King now, as much as he never wanted to be one, he is now regardless. He is not answerable to anyone in the whole of Raejkund. His life of constant battle is over. He wants to scour the world. This is his calling after all. He remembers the night he stormed out of the High Castle after a clashing of words with his father Harathor, who was on his deathbed, trying to convince him to don the crown. Harrion wanted his younger brother Haxos to be the King, for his own heart is too wild to bear such grand responsibilities. His father could not allow that since Haxos was too young to rule. In the end, he did honour his father's dying wish, by making it officially known, reading off of a sealed letter Harathor left beside his bed. This was ten years ago, and now Haxos is overseeing the throne while Harrion is out on his journey. The King has not settled down for a Queen yet, for he thinks family will hinder his frequent travels. His mind keeps on racing from old thoughts to new fears as his eyes start to fall into slumber. He tries to stay awake, this isn't the time for sleep, he reminded himself, but he gave in gradually.                           

His eyes are still hazed as he wakes up to a groaning noise. Harrion searches around for the other soldier, as well as trying to find the source of that noise. He hurries up from the ground and looks towards the giant, ancient trees. The groaning stops and Harrion notices something at the foot of one of the trees. He takes the torch from the pole in his hand and walks in that direction. His vision grows clear and he can now almost make out whats in front of him. It seems like someone is sitting at the foot of a tree with the back leaning against the trunk and legs stretched out front. Harrion taps the legs with his foot, thinking this is surely the soldier who was supposed to stay up with him. There is no response. He sighs and brings the torch in front of him, leaning in for a closer inspection. The crackling fire lights up the face of the soldier, the bloodshot eyes wide open and staring right at the King. Harrion gasps and takes a step back in shock, as he notices the blood, smeared all over the soldier's armour like some painter splashed red paint over a canvas in a hurry. The soldier has his arms flailed to the sides, with one of them over the hilt of his sword, dripped in blood lying on the grass. He notices the deep gash in the soldier's throat, as he gathers some courage to move in closer again. The wound is still pouring out blood. Harrion feels horrified. He lowers the torch near the ground. There are drops of blood and red footprints leading into the forest.                             

Harrion rushed to the camp and ran into General Ivar's tent, waking him up with a jolt. Ivar grabs his spear and looks at the King.                              

"We need to wake everyone up. There has been a murder!" exclaims Harrion, catching his breath. "The soldier who was supposed to stay awake with me has been killed by ...by someone, or something and I believe the murderer fled into the forest. We have to find the killer."                              "I am going to alert my men. This is it." General Ivar paces outside, but stops near the entrance. "We are going home"                             

"Wait, General, we cannot leave now. Jarl Erhiem is still out there, and there is a murderer on the loose. How can we go home now?" Harrion grows impatient.                             

"Don't be delirious, Your Majesty. We don't know what's out there and our number is small." the General tries to convince him.                             

"You are right, I am the Majesty. I command you to stay put with your King here" the stern voice retorts.                             

"Forgive me, my King, but this time, I cannot obey your command", General Ivar walks out, and wakes everyone up with his call.                             

King Harrion is starting to lose it. He cannot help but feel guilt just by the thought of leaving Erhiem and the others behind. This was supposed to be a simple expedition. He steps outside.                          

    "Ready the ship, we are sailing for home" he heard the General shout.                             

"But General, what about Jarl Erhiem and Gerrick?" asks one of the soldiers.                             

"This is treason, General Ivar. You cannot disobey me, or you will face the consequences once we reach home." shouts the King, pointing his sword at the Ivar.                             

The soldiers choir along in agreement. Harrion's bronze eyes start to shine, maybe he isn't a bad king after all, he has his men's support.                              

 "Alright, then let us stay here longer!" General Ivar raises his voice. "This is a land we know nothing about. From the moment we set foot here, we have been surrounded by ungodly instances. How long have we sailed to get here? How many days have passed? We parted from our families to follow a shimmer of light in the dark. An expedition? Ask yourselves men, is this cursed expedition worth your lives? Is it worth for you to never return to your wives, your sons, your daughters ever again? We sent out Jarl Erhiem, Scoutsman Gerrick and four others and they are not back yet, in search for whatever demon we saw back then. For all we know, they all might be dead by now, just like the poor soldier over there, rotting away, never to get back to his family. There is a murderer out there in the forest, and Jogrun knows what else. We are few, with no knowledge of the forces at play. If this seems treason to you, Your Majesty, then so be it, I'll stay with you. But realise if anyone else loses their life here, your people, their families will see their blood on your hands"                                 

Those last words stings through King Harrion's mind. He remembers the fear he had before he fell asleep, fingers pointing at him. Maybe the cunning noblemen of Raejkund will not care, but the commoners will, and what is a King without his people. "You speak the truth, good General. I will have ten of my men ready the ship. But it is my duty as the King to look after all my subjects. While the ship is being ready for sail, I say the rest of us follow the blood trail into the forest, but not too deep."                                 

Ivar Fjordson sighed, "Aye, Your Majesty"                                  

The sky seems to have given up all hopes of pushing away the black clouds. Ten of the soldiers rush towards the ships, as the others pick up torches and approach the lifeless soldier. The whole ground surrounding the body is red now, and from that red, footprints and drops of blood lead inwards. General Ivar and King Harrion are leading the soldiers into the forest, as the wind grows strong. It is nighttime, evident from the moonlight breaking through the black clouds somehow and lighting their way forward, as if something wants them to go on ahead. Ivar Fjordson looks up in doubt and stops in his track, pointing his finger at the sky. One by one they all look up. Two giant holes adorn the clouds, through which the moonlight is showering constantly. As if the eyes of some giant, looking down at them, smothering them with its white, haunting gaze. A strange mist encroaches onto their path, as distant howling of wolves grow loud. The footprints continues forward, and so does the men.                             

    The men came to a sudden halt one more time as King Harrion raises his hand, signalling to stop. A silhouette of a man has become visible in the mist in the way ahead. The man seems to be on his knees, but neither Harrion nor Ivar can tell which way he is facing.                                    

"Ready your weapons men" orders the General, and looks at the King for a command.                                   

"Hold!" says the King, and asks them to slowly follow him. He addresses the mysterious man, "Who are you? Show yourself this instant. I will not ask again!"                                  

 "Don't think he speaks our language." General Ivar says to himself, when suddenly the man moves, and a faint whisper of a voice reaches their ears. It sounds like some otherworldly chants, with heavy breaths following every beat.                                  

 "Gerrick?" asks one of the soldiers, hoping for a familiar answer. He walks up to Harrion and Ivar. "Your Majesty, General, we should go help him, that is Gerrick, I can sense it"                                     "Most likely not, hold your position soldier" instructs the General. But he is too late. The soldier lunges forward, calling out for Gerrick. "No, stop!"                                     

 Before anyone has the chance to comprehend the situation, the soldier's loud agonizing scream echoes around them. The knelt down man rises and rises, taller than Ivar, growing taller than any man they have ever seen. The soldier appears to have been impaled by his own sword and the silhouette figure starts to become one with the mist. In desperation and anger, they charge at it with swords held high, screaming to drown out the death cry of another ill-fated soldier. Just as Harrion's blade lands, the figure disintegrates into the mist, now turning black with every moment. The impaled soldier falls face first on the ground right at the King's feet. An unholy growl echoes in the mist and the wind grows stronger than ever, trying to push the people away.                                      

 "We have to go, now my King" says the General at the top of his lungs.                                       

"Carry him men, we can still save him" commands Harrion, with the old fear visible again on his face.                                       

"He's dead. Please, come along, a storm is upon us, we have no time to waste" retorts Ivar Fjordson, as King Harrion lets out a cry of despair. "Let the Gods take his soul to Ethere"                                        The storm is rushing at them like a foul beast on all fours and they all run towards the ship.

The body is gone by the time they reach the mouth of the forest. The wind rages on behind them still. Dust starts to cover their vision gradually as they pace forward. Everything seems brass now, only silhouettes of those old monoliths guide them toward the ship.                                         

"THIS WAY, YOUR MAJESTY" cries of the ten men by the ship reach them. One by one, they all get set to sail away from this cursed land, for now. King Harrion removes his helm and notices something on the deck as General Ivar shouts "READY THE OARS, TO RAEJKUND" 

It is Jarl Erhiem, covered in blood, unconscious on the deck. The giant white eyes in the sky are no more. No more moonlight, as the dust and storm has blanketed the entire island. The growling grows fainter and fainter, until its no more.

-Sourish Dutta