Frozen Echoes: The Last HallowFrost

Chapter 13: The Wilting Soul

Vilethorn

One night ago...

The Elder Wyrmwood sighed heavily as his ancient body walked through the darkened, moonlit forest, his joints popped and snapped with nearly every step. A bitter cold lingered in his chest, like a HallowFrost had breathed down his throat, a part of him hated what had come over him, this new... feeling was gnawing away at his brain. Vilethorn... that was his name... wasn't it? 'Why can't I remember my own name? I'm three hundred years old... and yet now, my memory begins to fail me...'

He vaguely remembered overhearing a dark, hissing voice deep in the forest just the other night, the taste of rotten flesh in the back of his throat... it was an ugly taste, but why did it taste familiar? 'It's like I've tasted it before... but I don't eat rotten flesh...'

"...It tastes familiar, hmm?" Hissed a cold, dark, rumbling voice, causing the Elder Wyrmwood to freeze to the spot, his deep green scales losing their dull shine as darkness closed in around him, the shadows shuffled closer. "Why do you think that?"

"Why do I think it tastes familiar? Because, lately, many have reported tasting that, and yet we've found nothing... until now, it seems." Vilethorn rumbled, whirling around to face the heinous beast, the Elder was met by cold, dead white eyes and a warping black body, those dead orbs gazed into his ancient jade eyes, which flicked towards the dragon's various features.

The being had pillar-like legs and scythe-shaped talons, and a prominent, searing white scar was visible just between the beast's eyes. 'I sense that a battle had taken place between it and someone else... but what caused that kind of scar?'

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He spat, "it still hurts, that horrid dragon's power almost destroyed me entirely!"

"Yes, actually- I would like to know. Tell me, beast: what transpired for you to get that scar?" Vilethorn asked with bitterness in his voice, the black dragon laughed in an otherworldly tone.

"Why aren't you afraid of me, Wyrmwood?" He hissed with a crazed chuckle, avoiding the dragon's question. "Surely I would've scared you off by now, everyone else has turned tail upon hearing my voice, and yet here you stand, speaking with me almost normally... why?"

"I'm three hundred years old, I'm pretty sure I've seen just about everything in this world, and you are no exception, dear SchattenSeele," he gave the being the tiniest of smiles, "and I've not much to lose at this age anyways, so I'm not too scared of someone such as yourself..."

Unbelievably, the SchattenSeele's eyes lit up with a spark of something akin to awe, as if he couldn't believe the Elder's audacity to say that, his mouth very slightly agape.

"Hmmm, you speak truthfully, I sense it... how odd of me to thank you for being honest... huh, I still have a bit of humanity in my wretched body after all..." he muttered to himself, some bits of his sentence seemed forced, as if he wasn't entirely sure of his word choice. "Perhaps you and I aren't as different as I thought..."

Vilethorn raised an old brow, "whatever do you mean, SchattenSeele?"

"I mean: it seems I've found someone who could help me accomplish a... particularly important task." He smiled cruelly. "Maybe you could help me, and in return... I could help you."

'Whatever he wants, it's not good,' he thought, noting the greedy glimmer in his white eyes, 'but what other choices do I have?'

"There are no other choices, Vilethorn..." he smirked, getting uncomfortably close to the Elder. "Either you except my offer..." he whispered, gently tracing a wicked talon over the pulsing jugular vein in his neck before purring: "or you die... it's up to you, really..."