Deathless Reign
Chapter 3
By: Noobwriter96
Blanhce's village had no name for itself. That was not so strange as a dozen more or so like theirs littered this part of the realm like grass. It was but a mere collection of houses that did not exceed fifteen at times. Peasantry who ventured from different parts of the continent settled on these parts to stake the land as theirs. There were no Lord Collectors and land was aplenty.
The region surrounding the forest belonged to no one. Not even the Grand Lord himself.
Which left the surrounding petty nobles and bandit-lords to create their own little 'kingdoms'. They would come to these nameless villages and recruit men of fighting age to earn coin for as little as five copper pieces.
Most never come back.
As was the case of Blanche's father and older brother. With the Undead Blight worsening each passing winter, supply routes were strained and petty dominions were in constant need of fighting hands to stave off the worse of the undead onslaught. Nameless villages were no better off. If not for the Blight sucking the life out of the very soil, then it would be the Risen Horrors that would assail the peasant folk.
Sons, fathers and brothers all left the village, taking up arms in the hopes of earning food for their starving kin.
All that was left of their little village was the young women, the widow and the old.
When every able-bodied man had left, they had at the time only to worry about the failing crops.
But come next winter, dead things began stalking the lands nearby of Blanche's village. The villagefolk didn't have enough able hands to defend should the dead come rising from their graves. The best they can do was bar the doors and shut the windows, praying for the gods that they may be spared.
And there were other horrors that come in with the mists. Ancient horrors. The Lichlord of the Northdread have grown in power with each passing winter, calling upon powers from beyond or so what meager word travels.
With some grant of mercy by whatever gods left to hear their prayer, the sun's light pierced through a gap amidst the clouds and the villagers took it as a chance to venture out of their barricaded homes. Women armed with makeshift clubs stood at the ready as they took stock of the carnage that occurred outside of their very doorsteps.
Smashed heads of skull and flesh decorated their streets in streaks of red-purplish strokes. Scattered dead limbs torn asunder from their sockets for too many to account. A few even dangled atop the roofs and rafters. Living dead or not, there was no way they would still rise from that. Once they made certain that all was safe, they gestured the rest of the village to come out of their walled up homes. Young women, on the cusp of womanhood still clung to their mothers as if they were toddlers. And lastly, they brought out their elders. Old men deemed no longer to fight, much less walk. These carried chipped and rusted swords and axes, their spirit willing but their bodies frail and weak.
Never had they seen such a thing.
Half a hundred undead amblers obliterated.
What had done such a thing? They asked amongst themselves. There were mutterings but no clear voice rang out. And then from amidst the crowd, a young woman of nineteen stepped out. She had straight swathe of flaxen colored hair so smooth and shimmering it seemed to glitter in the fading light of day. A small pang of pain erupted within Blanche's head as soon as she heard that voice.
"Perhaps an angel sent by the gods! A savior!" proclaimed young Ayleth, dressed in a calm blue cloak made of good sheep wool signifying her faith in service of the goddess Nymella.
"No! it was no angel!" blurted Blanche, unable to hold the pressure anymore. The veins popping from her forehead at the senseless babble that came out of the girl's mouth.
"What makes you say so?" said Ayleth. It was the way she said it that made Blanche grit her teeth together.
