Northern Terror
By: Erik Prefer
The snow was stained with crimson. The cleric dragged his mangled, bleeding body towards his mace, fingers scraping against the cold steel weapon. With a savage roar something grabbed the man from behind. The cleric was violently shaken and flung onto his back. Staring down at him was a loose-jawed rotting corpse. The corpse’s flesh was wrinkled but preserved by the freezing temperature. The creature laughed “And so, holy man, you are the last one of your little band to die.” The man coughed blood to clear his throat and croaked, “One has survived, and she has the favor of Miria. It is you and your little band who will die.” The creature chuckled “Maybe. But you shall die first.” With that, the foul creature opened its jaws and lunged at the old man’s throat.
…
Claire inhaled sharply and breathed out gently, watching her breath form into frost. Her silver eyes looked up at the sky, absorbing every star and northern light she could. The half-drow had lived above ground for only a portion of her life so the sky never ceased to amaze her or to tickle her interest. Even in his nap-like state Kerthir chuckled at the half-drow’s interest in the stars. Kerthir lived among nature his whole life, and he was not interested in the stars anymore. They were a common sight to him, not something to be cherished, like they were to Claire. Everything above the surface amazed her, the warmth of the sun, the way wind tickled Claire’s light ash colored skin and sent chills down her spine, the sound of gulls by the sea, the sight of a rose in spring.
Finding a half-elf and a half-drow travelling together was a rare thing, but these two young adults were rare individually. Claire was a runaway from a drow colony, the daughter of an unhappy couple. She had the grace and beauty of an elf, yet her eyes held a savage fire only a drow could harbor. She was a light grey lily that stood alone, an impossible lily that bloomed the best in spring and survived the best in the winter. Claire was stubborn and could not be sent off course, an arrow that ignored breezes and storms. Kerthir was not unlike Claire in how he was born, he was the illegitimate child of an elven noble. The affair did not last long, but his existence gave the affair a physical form and caused shame for the family. Ironically, it was not his birth mother that cared for him; it was his adoptive father who loved him more. Kerthir was bright, full of energy and cheerful, and his father could not hate the child, even if he wanted to. Kerthir’s mother ignored him, attempting to forget her disgrace. Kerthir’s siblings bullied him for not being a full elf, sometimes stealing half his food, or half of his clothes, to remind him he was only half as good as they were. This created many long fights between Kerthir’s father and mother, Kerthir’s father defended Kerthir against the entire family, breaking up fights between the children when they attacked Kerthir and trying to talk his wife into accepting her half-elf son. When Kerthir’s father died, his mother took a small interest in caring for the boy, in honor of her husband’s wishes. Kerthir grew into a strong juvenile, who towered over the childish bodies of his half-siblings. Unable to physically hurt Kerthir, his siblings still tried to torment him emotionally. Feeling no love, Kerthir left home and decided to live in the woods.
Claire looked over to see her friend had fallen asleep in his seat; she couldn’t believe how Kerthir could sleep in snowfall. That was another thing that amazed her, how the people of the surface could sleep so easily. Claire shoved the druid’s shoulder and said “C’mon get up Kerthir.” The half-elf sighed, stood up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. In the snow his blue eyes seemed to glow. He sighed again and looked at his friend “I thought I told you to not wake me until after we reached Northport.” The half-drow giggled, “We are in Northport, look!” Kerthir rose and grabbed the ship’s railing to lean out and look at a port in the distance. “Claire, when I said ‘At Northport’ I meant in the harbor.” The half-elf scolded jovially. The half-drow threw her arms around her friend and hugged him “Aw, did I wake the baby.” She pinched his cheek, like a grandmother would do to her grandson. Kerthir ducked and escaped his friend’s grip and growled in irritation, making Claire laugh.