Blood of the Forgotten Gods

Through Mud and Storm

The journey toward Iron Hollow began under an ominous sky. The clouds, heavy and dark, loomed over the patrol as they left the safety of Westwatch. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if it held the weight of the wild lands themselves. Even before the first drop of rain had fallen, Dan could feel the tension in the air, the gathering storm that mirrored the unease settling over the soldiers.

The path leading out of the Bracken Hills twisted through uneven terrain, winding between jagged outcrops and dense, foreboding woods. The trees here were taller, darker, their branches arching overhead like claws reaching for the gray sky. The ground, usually firm underfoot, was beginning to soften as the storm threatened to break.

Dan walked near the middle of the group, his eyes scanning the path ahead. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and distant rain. He could hear the faint murmurs of the men around him, though no one spoke loudly. There was a kind of collective anticipation, as if everyone felt the same sense of dread but didn't dare voice it.

Beside him, Gareth adjusted the strap of his pack, his face pinched with discomfort. "Doesn't feel right, does it? Heading out in weather like this."

"It's not just the weather," Dan muttered, his gaze flicking to the thickening forest. "It's the Hollow. Feels like we're walking into something we don't fully understand."

"You think the command knows more than they're telling us?" Tomas asked from Dan's other side. His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, a kind of nervous energy that made it clear he was already on edge.

Dan shrugged, glancing at the darkened sky. "Maybe. Or maybe they're in the dark, too. But something feels off."

They trudged forward, the weight of their gear making each step heavier as the wind whipped around them. The sky rumbled, a distant roll of thunder that sent a shiver through Dan. Storm's coming.

The rain started slowly at first—light droplets that seemed more like a warning than the real storm. It was enough to make the air damp and uncomfortable, the chill setting into their bones. The first half-hour of the journey had been difficult but manageable, the terrain rough but familiar. But as the rain picked up, the path began to change.

The dirt under their feet turned slick, the once-solid ground transforming into mud that made every step a challenge. Boots sank deep into the muck, and more than one soldier slipped as they tried to maintain their footing. The wind howled through the trees, bending their branches low, and soon, the light drizzle turned into a steady downpour, hammering down on their helmets and cloaks.

Dan wiped a hand across his brow, the rain stinging his eyes. The wind lashed at him, and his cloak whipped wildly around his legs, soaked through within minutes. This storm... It wasn't just the rain or the wind—it felt alive, like it was part of the wild lands themselves, pushing them back, warning them away.

Ahead, Corvin led the way, his silhouette barely visible through the sheets of rain. He moved with the same steady purpose, though even he seemed to struggle against the rising storm. Dan could see him gesturing to the soldiers behind him, urging them to stay close, to press on despite the worsening conditions.

"We should've waited," Tomas grumbled as he slipped on a patch of wet leaves, barely catching himself before he fell. "This is madness. We're going to get caught out here."

"We've already come this far," Gareth muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "Turning back now would make it worse."

Dan didn't say anything, but he agreed with both of them. The storm had made the path almost impossible to traverse, but at the same time, they were too deep into the wild lands to turn around easily. The Bracken Hills were treacherous even in the best conditions, and with the mud and rain, heading back would be just as dangerous as pressing forward.