War for Auros: Origins

Sythigen 2

Sythigen

Chilling swathes of wind swirled softly underneath the canopy of purple and green leaves which pervaded above the forest. Large, dark Greymere trunks spouted from the ground and reached into the tenuous mist of the air. From them, brittle branches adorned with amethyst leaves and purple berries hung and creaked.

Sunlight fought hard through the dense layer of leaves above, though it was not bright enough to illuminate the Underboughs of the forest. Sythigen and Threigan both held torches against the shadows in their path, their breaths clouding into the gelid air as they walked. Behind them, two pack-horses and an entourage of miners trailed, following the dim flames of their leaders' torches like moths. No beasts had churned amongst the undergrowth thus far, and Sythigen hoped that, by the mercy of all the Deities, such predators would not plague their journey to Austhall.

Underfoot, mulch squelched and twigs from the peeling trees cracked faintly. The chill in the air was typical of the Lightless Forest; lost, invisible souls ghosted their every step. This was no comfort to Threigan, whose teeth began chattering even before they entered the shadowy grove. More from fright than gelidity, Sythigen feared.

The miners' working rags were thin, hardly sufficient insulation against the cold; the more discerning of the bunch huddled together to warm themselves. The chill was not extreme, however, but their frigidity mostly owed to how accustomed they were to the warm Hathosian sun. Persistent wind endeavoured also to add to their shivers.

"Bitterly cold." Threigan announced, grimacing slightly from the discomfort.

Sythigen inhaled the air deeply. His nosehairs tingled. "Ah, it's refreshing. And it's not going to get any warmer, so the sooner you get used to it, the better."

"Have a care, Sythigen. Look at my men; they're numbed to the core."

Sythigen snorted in response. "If a proud Whitcronian could hear you now, he'd laugh so hard that the icicles hanging from his nose would melt."

"Oh, the comedy returns. Did you bring a written list of your verbal rejoinders, so you could rack them off with greater ease?"

Sythigen laughed. "If only I did. I would give it to you. It seems you could use such help with quelling your plain social inaptitude."

The two fell silent. A tide of rustling from the sea of leaves above them provided a savoury interlude and the gushing wind above the trees was distant but foreboding. "I do find the flora of Ghosphum astounding." Sythigen spoke, his torchlight flickering and lighting the trunks of the passing trees. "You'll not find such a purple forest in Aldeon, that's assured. We're truly blessed to live on this island."

"Oh, yes, and the merciless beasts that live in that flora give us great company too." Threigan sniped skeptically.

Sythigen glanced at him, unamused, and then quickly averted his scrutiny into the shaded forest.

Stirring came from the undergrowth. "What's that?" The miners and horses stopped and Threigan stepped back, fit to tremble.

The rustling persisted in the foul brambles and bushes, but then stopped suddenly, as though it was aware of the intrusive company the forest was receiving.

Frozen to the spot, the men stood, at the cusp of the towering underbrush. "It's likely only a fox hunting a family of wood mice for his supper. Let it scavenge." Sythigen said. He began to walk, undaunted, hoping the others would follow.

"Commence." Threigan issued, possibly too loud, to his men. The horses were whipped to trot and some miners grumbled their suspicions to others. He tried not to look into the brush for fear he might see roving eyes.