Ruins

Chapter I The Old Grove

He moved and rested with the nomads for what he guessed to be roughly 2 weeks, the nomads stopped at a small trading center in the middle of the woods, along the River Lance on the northern border. The nomads rested here and organized a hunting party, he volunteered as it was the least he could do in return for their charities. The wind blew ferociously as they took the climb up the hill as the trek set out, he felt the cold in his fingertips already.

The trip was long, before they got far, the forest got dark, dark and cold. It was true what he heard about the north, it was a harsh and unforgiving place, ruled by the wild and governed by the cold. as the party sat around a fire, eating the rations of today's yield, they sung songs in honour of the gods and told ballads of victory. His closest thing to friends were the twins, Jon and Rorick, both had dark hair and strong features as their mother hailed from the north. however the two couldn't have been more different. Jon appreciated the fine arts and was a brilliant archer and wrote tales in his spare time. Rorick was the best swordsman in the whole nomadic tribe, and by some accounts, the whole west. they would often be together, rarely apart, they did everything together, finished each other's sentence and thought the same thoughts, one hell of a team.

The group nestled down for the night, jacob taking first watch, he was a man about 40, rarely talk but seemed overly protective of the group. he was a giant amongst men, towering over others and carrying a heavy double bladed sword. It was in his watch that it happened. A faint sound of breathing, then a twig snapped, then out of the abyss of the old ancient forest came the wolves. The dire wolves. Wolves the size of a bear, 3 times stronger 5 times smarter. The ancients of the north were said to ride into battle and decimate the enemy's, not out of steel or muscle but they were harbingers of fear, death and destruction. You could see the fear in everyone's eyes as the wolves pounced. that's when Jacob struck, taking the first wolf with a single blow. this gave the group hope and they charged. Blades swung and axes fell, the direwolves fur absorbing most of the damage, almost no blade pierced there hide. The tribes ranks broke, their numbers dwindled as their brothers and sisters were dragged off into the dark. there gang of 20 now pushed 5. He could feel the end was near, despite the loss and suffering. He did not raise his blade, merely standing there, frozen by fear. Jacob was a trooper, he had broken his sword hilt deep in the alpha and wielded the other blade in the face of the darkness. The wolves ran off as the sun peaked over the mountains. Jacob fell, scarred and bloodied, Jon dove to catch him but was halted when he saw the full toll on the campsite and what was left of his brothers and sisters of the tribe.The tents and the surrounding thicket were set ablaze by the embers carried by the breeze. there was messes of unrecognizable gore that was there former friends or the trails of blood and handprints, leading into the old forest.

It was a long, silent, cold walk back to the trading post. no one was willing to speak of what happened or what to do next, but he knew they were all thinking the same thing. Revenge. As they approached the encampment, the tribesmen ran out to greet the hunters, smiling and laughing, until they say the twins carrying Jacob and Markus, the tribes main hunter clutching above his right cheek, where his eye was before the encounter. it was horrific. they had a tribal meeting the next day as soon as the survivors were well enough, aside from Jacob who was in the infirmary tent, unknown if he was to ever wake up. The tribal elders decided that revenge was to be had, the whole village was to find the wolves and kill this weed at the root.

As they approached the campsite, the air reeked of death. They noticed that the blood trailed off into 3 directions, just as they were about to move out, a voice echoed through the trees,it was Romeo, or at least thats what they called him. he was one of the hunting party, one of the last to be dragged off, he spoke of the one he managed to kill as it dragged him off and that all trails lead to the same area, just different entrances. The plan was decided, they were to split up into 3 divisions and flank the wolves.

He was placed in the first division, the Vanguard, they had the most tribesmen as this entrance was the biggest. He had never used the blade, at least not that he remembered, so when he found out that he was in the primary fighting division, he was less than happy. As they approached the cave, they heard screams, screams they recognized, it was a painful process of not being able to do anything but let there loved ones die.

They stopped right outside the cave, unprepared for the things they may see inside. As they charged in, praying to the gods, alive and dead, for the privilege to leave this cave alive. The entire first rank was dropped in a matter of seconds as the wolves dropped from ledges and out of tunnels but the second wasn't as soft, they had spears raised and swords readied. They hacked and stabbed at the wolves with little, but some, avail. the wolves started to fall, but so did their own. The used the heavy torchoak shields to pushed the wolves back, they were now fighting in the grand cavern against some bigger wolves, unfortunately the shields didn't hold, the shear weight of the animals pushed the claws through the wood and into the arms of the tribesmen. Then the miracle so many were praying for happened, the wolves retreated, the other groups must still be alive. They ran them to the very end of the cave. The old Grove. The grove was opened to the light of the pale autumn sun, a huge thicket grew behind a wall with what looked like animals carved into it.

That's when they saw it, the image of death itself. a huge monstrous black direwolf, the size of a horse and a half, with ice cold blue eyes, halting every soldier in there tracks. Dropping some with fear others with a simple roar. with all hope lost, he accepted death. Then they saw it, the other two divisions. They stormed the pack from 3 sides, striking wolves left and right, fighting to the last man. He made his way to the circle of alphas surrounding the black one. He got over confident and took a stab at a ghost white one, it took his arm in its mouth and threw him into the thicket.
He Laid there bleeding and blacking out, hearing screams and yelps, he looked at his torn up arm and noticed it was barely attached to his shoulder. that was the last he saw. For the fight raged on without him, the vanguard was at its breaking point as was the other divisions, the twins were dueling with the black one. it was a living nightmare. the twins were the perfect team, always knowing what the other was thinking, preforming perfect combos as Jon takes them out from afar and Rorick takes out the ones he doesn't. the black on was however too much. he had swatted away Jon and held an unconscious Rorick in his mouth. Just as he was about to bite down and end the twin, he dropped him and went limp.

The fighting stopped. the wolves stopped. what was left of the tribe stopped mid swing to witness what happened. amidst the chaos no one noticed him sneak through. It was Jacob, he had what was left of his sword hilt deep in the black ones underside. it was victory. the wolves were defeated.