Mistran Woods

Seraph comes upon a mysterious forest with his new companion and has to make his way through.

The rest of the journey down Yarandor was uneventful for the most part besides the fact that Seraph almost stumbled off the cliff and had to repeatedly make sure that Rambo was still behind him. Yeah, he named him Rolan to honor his brother’s death.

Seraph now found himself at the beginning of a large forest, Mistran Woods. The trees loomed over him, making him feel small. All he could see was white, the leaves on the trees were covered with snow and the ground was endless amounts of powder besides a small path that looked to be a bit more compact. Seraph headed in that direction while taking in all of the sounds: birds singing, distant howls from wolves, and the sharp winds that came every so often.

 

It has been awhile since Seraph first stepped foot into the Mistran Woods. Having not seen or heard anything in awhile, he grew suspicious. Almost a whole day had passed with nothing unordinary. Must be his lucky day.

The scenery around looks about the same, white trees tower over him that match the white ground. The only difference is is that now he was on an incline, going up. It was not necessarily steep, but it was draining him of energy. Looking up at the sky, he sees that the sun is about to fall. He has to find somewhere to camp for the night. Seraph whistles for Rolan to come, something he has been working on throughout the day. He heard a bark accompanied by the sound of his little paws scurrying through the snow. Running into his arms, Seraph picked him up and began to run. A chill ran down his spine as the thought of having to spend the night in the snow.

Trudging off the path, Seraph began to scout out the area around him in search of a potential place to rest. He looked around for a good amount of time until his right foot got stuck in the powder. It took a few minutes of wiggling and shoveling with his hands to free himself, but was finally released. Except, as his foot came out, a jolt of pain escaped in his ankle. Gritting his teeth, Seraph grabbed a stick to his side and used it to pull himself up. The Ryker took a few steps leaning on his stick for support and succeeded, but felt a large amount of discomfort in his foot. It was not enough to stop him, though.

Continuing his search, Seraph found a small cave just big enough to fit four maybe five people depending on the size. It was between two trees, leaves covering the entrance. The only reason he found it was because Rolan had jumped out of his arms and ran in the direction.

Not much could be seen inside the grotto besides a few mushrooms glowing the color of blue hanging on the walls.

The ceiling inside the cave was a bit too low forcing Seraph to kneel in order to move around. Seraph felt an unusually warm but wet surface as he touched the walls. He could just barely make out the image of water sliding down the walls from cracks formed in the ceiling. The ground was a bit wet, but beat sleeping in the snow.

Taking his bag off from off his shoulder, Seraph began to set up camp, but exhaustion quickly took over and he fell asleep accompanied by Rolan’s warmth.

 

Oddly, Seraph did not experience any dreams and he woke early the next morning just before the sun comes out feeling well rested. His dreams would usually leave him tired in the morning as they were usually about his past and what happened at Fara Moah. Ignoring the strange feeling that built up inside of him, Seraph shook Rolan and got ready for the journey ahead of him.

 

It was about noon at this time, Seraph had been walking for a few hours at this point covering a lot of ground. Rolan was asleep in his arms after having walked for most of the trip so far. Just looking down in his arms at the cub brought a warm feeling to his heart. He was not alone anymore.

A dozen pair of eyes look down at the Ryker and his companion walking, just watching. Blending in with the white snow covering the trees, the creatures were unseen to the duo. They have been trailing behind for the past few days concealed in the trees.

The pain in Seraph’s right ankle still lingers and only increased from the walking. Starting to become numb, he thought he may need to rest for a bit. Looking around him, he spotted the log of a fallen tree. Trudging over there he noticed numerous pieces of wood sticking out just waiting to stab something. Seraph broke off pieces with little difficulty. The log was hollow, signifying its age. He wiped off the snow leaving a nice seat to repose upon. Sitting down, Seraph heaved out a sigh and called Rolan to sit next to him.

The cub jumped up onto the log to his right and positioned himself so his head is upon the Ryker’s lap. Reaching into his bag, Seraph searched around and brought out a few pieces of bread. Tearing some off, he fed it to Rolan, who eagerly accepted.

“Good boy, you tired buddy?” Seraph said, the wolf, unaware what he said, just barked and git back into his position.

The Ryker looked down at Rolan and lay his hand upon his head, petting him. Enjoying the moment.

Crack!

Rolan raised his head up alerted and started to bark repeatedly, followed by him jumping out of Seraph’s arms, who jerked up and looked around from the sudden fuss.

Crack!

“Rolan, stay! Whatever it is, it could be dangerous.” Seraph said and then whistled.

Surprisingly, Rolan ignored him and continued to run in the direction from which the noise came from.

“Rolan! Here, boy!” Seraph yelled becoming nervous.

The red-eyed creatures have their gaze fixed upon a lone direwolf cub, running in the snow directly below them. All alone. In one quick movement, the leading creature motions to its allies and then lowers its legs ready to jump. Silently leaping into the air, it targets its prey. Opening its paws, the creature’s long golden claws come into view of the world.

From the corner of his eyes, a flash of gold reflected upon his eyes. Turning his head, Seraph saw the owner. Instantly, the red eyes caught his attention. They stood out alongside the wholly white fur that covers the rest of the body. This beast, named an Albino Richter, differ from the richters that dwell in surrounding regions. In Aurora, they become albino because of the Great Haze. Despite that difference, all richters were notorious for being aggressive, especially when in a pack between eight and ten. Walking on two long legs that support its small, but wide frame, the beast’s two front paws were armed with lengthy golden claws used to strike. Because of this, they were hunted very frequently, but to little success. However, if captured, the claws could be sold for anywhere ranging from five hundred to two thousand gold, depending on the vendor and the quality of the claw. The latter could support a family for a year or two nowadays.

Albino Richters do not tend to be the easiest to kill, a man, if trained well, could take out three on their own, five, if lucky. Because of this, people usually hunt in pairs and sometimes trios when pursuing them. Seraph was by himself, though. Thankfully only one seemed to be in the area.

Seraph watches the richter fly through the air for a second, but then spotted Rolan below. That beast was aimed for his wolf!

Rolan, unaware of the creature above him, had just seen something small dig and crawl into the snow at the same spot he now stood just seconds before. Trying to mimic its digging, but with little success.

Almost in reach, the richter prepares itself having its claws aimed for the innocent direwolf. It has been too long since the creature has last eaten. The beast is very keen to taste it, having never had a direwolf before.

The richter, now in reach starts to land on the cub when a pain goes through its head. Instantly, the beast drops off of its prey. No sound came from the beast, not even a sigh.

A black arrow, now covered in red, with a green feather on one end, sticks through the richter’s head. Lifeless.

“Rolan!” the ryker yelled, trying to get the attention of the cub oblivious to what happened.

The cub, now alarmed, spotted the creature that lay next to him and jumped immediately. Rolan jumped into the arms of Seraph who made it to him after the event. It was a nice moment for him to know that Rolan was safe.

Rolan’s abrupt barks stir the area. From all around, a heap of the beasts identical to the one on the ground make themselves known to Seraph. He counted seven of the richters, each from a different tree, surrounding them.

Seraph simply put his companion down and waited, watching the creatures. Just before the first was in striking distance, he rolled forward stabbing his foe with an arrow as he went, leaving a deep gash in its side staining the snow. As a pair this time, the beasts come at Seraph. This time, he joined with them, sprinting full speed. Timing it perfectly, he slid in between the two richters on his knees thrusting both hands out at the pair and is rewarded with the feeling of resistance from the beasts as two more fell.

Four remaining.

All four jump down from a different angle, surrounding the lone Seraph. The richters, this time more aware of his skill, dodge his first attacks. However, one is unlucky and is met with an arrow jabbed through its frame. Diving and slicing in quick succession, Seraph made little contact on any of the three remaining, except for a few cuts here and there. He had taken the worst end so far, receiving a cut on his right cheek and along his right forearm. The richter had cut through his fur coat exposing skin, leaving him cold in that spot.

Sensing he was losing, Seraph began to fight more defensively, taking what the richters gave him. He blocked their claws numerously, but never had the time to counter. He dove and slid countless times, but had no time to backstab. He was simply not fast enough.

Continuing to pursuit, Seraph gave everything he had and eventually got the light of day and made contact with one of his foes, leaving two more. The ryker was getting more tired by the second, being drained from the constant movements.

As the two beasts jabbed at Seraph in every area, they were successful. Cuts covered the ryker, blood falling all over him. Ignoring the pain, Seraph kept at it and eventually hit one of them after being hit so many times.

With little energy left, the last one attacked him, mercilessly. With all that he had left, Seraph fought back, but his legs gave out on him after suffering a wound in his right hamstring. Falling down on the ground, the richter leaped on top of him. With its claws out of the way, the beast’s head hovered over him, lowering. Not giving up so easily, Seraph lifted his hands and grabs the richter’s jaw, now inches away from his face with both hands. The beast’s horrible breath fills Seraph’s nostrils followed by some drool falling in his face, making him turn his head out of disgust and cough a bit. The stench was horrific. With the little strength Seraph had left in him, he whistled.

A few moments passed with silence, with nothing but the richter’s growling and Seraph’s coughs as a sign that something was going on in the area. That is, until, a force, so unexpectedly to the beast, flew into it sending it backwards into the snow, off of Seraph. To follow up with that, the little direwolf jumped again at its foe swiping with its paws and biting the creature. It stood no chance. A few moments later, the cub stopped and turned around, looking at its owner.

Rolan, his direwolf, half the size of the richter, had taken him out probably saving his life in the process. Even though a lot could happen, Seraph knew that he made the right choice.