INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

RORAN, OF HOUSE PIKE

While it was still cold they faced muddy roads and slush-covered grass, which Roran preferred over feet upon feet of snow. The sound of movement was heard behind him as his force traveled into the destroyed village.

Upon riding closer, the smell the animals had picked up met his nose. It was a cruel thing, damp and heavy, as if it was not a smell at all, but something tangible, something that had to be fought off.

The village was found in a clearing, many of the trees that surrounded the area had been cut back, and as Roran rode forward he saw stumps of felled oak between pockets of dirtied snow.

Above, the sky was a gray soup of haze, sun shining weakly behind a film of grim color. The village itself was even more unremarkable from a close distance as it was from afar.

Poorly built buildings, constructed of wood and stone, formed a circle around what Roran assumed was some sort of communal firepit. Stakes from the pit rose high over the town, charred and weathered but still standing. The hooves of his steed crunched on half-burnt slabs of timber as he patrolled the doomed settlement.

The rest of his men set up perimeter around it, while Lorgainn rode up beside him once space allowed.

Bodies littered the area. Horribly mutilated, some with skin hanging from bloodied faces white with exposed bone.

Homes were broken into and ravaged, the families who once lived in them cut down before the eyes of their houses.

Suddenly, Lorgainn vaulted from his horse. Roran jumped in surprise, watching as Lorgainn walked briskly over to a body lying face first in wet ground. There was a red mark on the back of the corpse, swirling and savage. It appeared to be a bird, but Roran couldn't tell exactly. Whatever it was, it filled him with a sense of unease, of some evil that desired nothing but the death of all living things.

He shivered.

"What is it?" He called from his horse. Lorgainn flipped over the body, and stepped back as he was greeted with the front side of the corpse, which was cut and carved in the same style as the marking on the corpse's back. Lorgainn looked up at Roran, locking eyes with him.

"It is plain to see that Urgals have been attacking these villages. But . . . this . . ." He trailed off.

Roran bore into Lorgainn expectantly.

"Well?"

"I know this seal. It is a sacrificial summoning. It is similar to the styles of Bloodmagic . . . but this . . . it is wrong. Something about this . . . "

Roran felt fear creep into his mind. Lorgainn stared at the body for a moment longer, and then climbed back up his mount, his animals sniffing at the body curiously.

"We should continue to the next Lord." He advised.
Roran tensed. Lorgainn was always cool and calm, but something about the body unnerved him.

"There is something dark at work here." Roran muttered, eyes scanning the village, bodies strewn about like garbage. Not even wild dogs touched these fallen souls.

It was then that a guttural bellow came howling into the still air. Roran looked at Lorgainn, and his mouth turned downwards.

"Urgals."
Roran nodded wordlessly, wheeling his horse around as he left the village, Lorgainn behind him. All around, his men rode to him, and one man with a weathered face and a red scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face presented himself.

"They're pouring out of the wood." He said breathlessly. Roran unclipped the heavy hammer from his belt. Directing his horse with one hand on the reigns, he looked ahead, past the village and into the dark expanse of the woods beyond. Sure enough, he saw the movement of the massive gray beasts as they lurked into view, hunched and hulking. Horns curved from their heads, some dangling with rope and beads that chittered as their bodies swayed heavily. They held axes of stone, large spears and massive iron greatswords. Unarmored, their thick hides gave adequate protection.
Some of them were even naked, their bare bodies filling Roran with disgust.