The Chill of the Grave
A thunderstruck ripped the black night apart and the first raindrops followed soon after. The clouds were blowing in from the Sea of Serpents, which was only about four miles away. Soon the small high elf scouting- party couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead due to the massive amount of water now dripping from the sky. The forest was dark and it almost seemed like the trees closed in around the tall white clad elves, who tired (although mortal eyes wouldn’t notice), marched down the muddy road. They were 12 men strong. Six archers, five elves with spears and shields and a leader in a white armour which was covered up by a deep blue cloak. In his belt hang a shining, long sword. It looked as new as it was ancient.
Letenith was the leader of the scouts. He looked with growing worry at his men who seemed to get weaker as the hours past by. Their food supplies had run out two days ago and this forest was very short of berries and other eatable things and the roots of the tall spruces prodded too deep into the ground to reach them without having to cut down the tree. Letenith loved the woods and trees in them too much to do such a thing.
A week had passed since he was ordered to search the woods for hostiles and possible ambushes. The main army had made camp a mile from the wood. Avenir the general of the High elf force had led the army up and down Ulthuan’s western coastline for months now in search for a pack of Dark elf pirates. Their fleet had been ravaging harbours and cities for a long period now and it didn’t seem like they were going to stop. Avenir was hoping for an encounter with their twisted kind before they could do more damage than already done.
There had been rumours of entire village populatons disappearing in this area. People would discover the places empty and without any sign of the elves who use to live there. Letenith thought it to be the work of his dark cousins and were right now tracking down a trail that led deeper into the spruce forest.
It was a line of footprints, which stretched from a “deserted” village nearby. To human-eyes there would be nothing to see, but an elf could see footsteps long after they had been set. Letenith could spot at least fifty different pairs of feet which were about four days old. They criss-crossed eachother and seemed very clumsy. A few times one of the persons setting the prints had fallen flat to the ground. Maybe of exhaustion, but it truly looked like he or she had tripped. Such clumsiness seemed strange, even for a Dark elf.
The elves had followed the trail for almost a day when the trees finally dimmed out. In front of them was an old, four feet tall stone fence. A rusty iron gate blocked the entrance and on top of it was a sign. “Raintop Cemetery”. A thunderstruck lighted up the plain before the scouts. The silhouettes of dozens of gravestones appeared. They were placed in a square formation. Common elves were mostly buried in this way. Only nobles, richmen and the royalty had their own tombs. The stones were old and mossy. They seemed like they had been standing there for ages and ages (which they properly had). In the middle lay a stone tomb. It was as big as a small house, with the exception that most of it was below ground. It could have been one of a long dead champion or something like that. It seemed newer than the rest of the cemetery. Like it had been built, but a day ago. In the outskirts of the graveyard stood an old house. It was more a ruin now. The roof had collapsed along with many of the walls, the bricks, and it was almost completely covered in rotten vegetation. The windows and doors were missing and for a moment Letenith thought it looked like a prehistorical beast, as it lay there with its mouth and eyes wide open.
The muddy footsteps went through the gate and further on, into the cemetery. Carefully Letenith opened the gate and entered. His men followed, spreading swiftly out between the gravestones, taking cover behind them. Letenith unsheathed his sword and walked silently, slightly bent over towards the tomb in the middle. Half of the footsteps pointed in that way, but the other half spread out in all directions. Letenith smelled an ambush, but there were no sign of the enemy. He figured the pirates had split up and half of them had stayed here as an outpost. They had to be in the tomb. Filthy scum! He would teach them the punishment of dishonouring graves.
Leteniths men formed in front of the entrance to the monument, ready to rain death on the Dark elves within. Two elves ran up to the heavy stone door, which lock looked like it had been broken up lately. The archers readied their bows and the rest of the warriors raised their spears and raised their shields. Letenith nodded and the elves in the doorway kicked open the doors. The archers released their arrows as the others, yelling and screaming stormed the tomb.
The scouts stopped and looked around inside tomb. What they saw filled them with nausea. Around on the floor lay approximately fifty elves. They had been massacred in the most hideous, cruel ways. Limbs and entrails were splattered all over the place. Their dried blood covered the entire floor and most of the walls. It looked as if the chunks that was missing had not just been cut off. No... they had been eaten. Feasted upon. Letenith felt sick. He had never seen a slaughter that could even to compare with this… and the smell. He had to get out!
The faces of the dead stared at him. Their wide eyes accused him. Haunted him. As Letenith stumbled for the exit the hatred started to flow within him. How could even the most twisted, sick Dark elf mind ever come up with this?! Then he saw it… The spiky armours which characterised their dark kin. Leaned against the wall Letenith started to look at the dead bodies. There were both High and Dark elves alike shattered on the floor. At least a dozen pirates lay among the High elf peasants. How could this be?!
Suddenly a sound from the end of the chamber attracted Letenith´s attention. It came from a big stone coffin raised from the floor. It had a little stair leading up to it. It was the lid, which had made the noise. Slowly it was pushed aside. Letenith left the wall and walked closer, readying his sword. A clawed hand suddenly grabbed the edge of the chest like a pale spider and a dark being arose. It was about 7 feet tall and muscular and tight of stature. Letenith took a step backward and a cold chill ran down his back. He couldn’t see it clearly in the dark gloom. Only its glowing red eyes and shining sharp teeth were visible.
Slowly it made its way down the stair. The creature’s face was still concealed in the shadows. Letenith yelled: “Form up!”, but no response came. He looked back and saw in terror that his men were gone. Instead some weird hunchback ghoul- creatures had taken their place. They were armed with crude weapons and bones of the dead. The weapons were covered in fresh blood. Letenith figured that they had killed his scouts and carried them outside, without him even noticing it. He cursed his own ignorance, which now would claim him his life.
The stone door closed. Nobody heard his screams. Soon the rain stopped and the skies cleared. The white moon shone over the treetops and cast long, dark shadows over the ancient burial ground.
