[ IP ] Un Immortalis

The forest was thick with miasmatic green mist and the unmistakable smell of magic. 
 
 Lion drew the bolt of his crossbow back until it clicked, cupping it in his arm. The sudden need to be prepared was palpable. The mog of old trees, alive and dead, had a foreboding to it unlike anything natural, and he misliked the watery green glow. The very air seemed to glow as if a storm was coming, but Lion had only ever seen the air take on this quality in daylight. It was night now, a green night, a dead night. 
 
 His brother Drion had been missing for two days. He had gone hunting with a small party of his own men -- but really `` party'' had been putting it lightly. Drion took Lather and Almy to hunt for boar in the Ghost's Forest. It was as good a spot to pick up boar as any, but all men, even courageous men, in the castle all knew that there should be no hunting in the Ghost's forest after dusk. When Lion said as much, Drion just smirked. 
 
 `` You're afraid of ghouls and wraiths,'' he said, almost breaking into a chuckle. `` But never considered that the ghouls and wraiths should fear us.'' 
 
 When Drion and Lather and Almy failed to return that night, Lion's stomach turned. 
 
 They had sent out hunting parties after that, using Lather's own dogs to pick up the scent. Lather's dogs made quick work of it, and in a thin rain Lion's party came upon Lather's wet corpse, worm-ridden and sopping with the green muck of the earth. Worms crawled out of his ears, his skin had gone gray, peeling off like pulp. Dusk approached, and the party returned to bury Lather in the king's yard. Lather had been the houndsmaster at Castle West, and deserved a proper burial. 
 
 The second day went uneventfully as the dogs refused to take the scent. They had sniffed out Lather quickly enough, but now they seemed lost, only sniffing out a raccoon hiding underneath a log. When Lion over turned it, a whole colony of maggots and worms turned and dripped from the log, and the raccoon went shooting back into the Ghost's Forest. As dusk approached, the dogs started howling and whining, until the whole party turned back. Then the dogs kicked their heels and tested the strength of their leashes, eager to get back to the castle, an hour's ride. 
 
 After preparing their horses, Lion turned to the new kennelmaster, Baris. 
 
 `` Leave my horse. I think I'll stay the night.'' 
 
 `` My lord?'' said the fat man. 
 
 `` I mean to stay here until I find my brother,'' said Lion. `` Or at least Almy -- or even another clue.'' 
 
 `` But, there's ghosts,'' chimed in Eddleton, a castle guardsman and experienced hunter. `` No one stays in that forest past sunset.'' 
 
 `` My brother did,'' said Lion. `` And Almy. I owe it to them. Go. I'll not ask you to trouble yourself, but I'll ask you to leave me the horse. If aught goes amiss, I am just an hour's ride along the tradesroad. It's well lit.'' 
 
 Eddleton clamped his teeth down -- plainly he did n't like what he was hearing -- but he had known Lion too long to protest when he got that look in his eyes. They saddled away, into the copper sun, setting in the west. 
 
 Now it was dark, and Lion wondered if he had n't made a mistake. 
 
 There was no mistaking that the Ghost's Forest had a way of frightening even the heartiest of men. The castle's old veteran, Glimy the Ranger, had been as brave as anyone Lion ever knew, and he even refused to venture into the forest when it was anything other than a clear bright morning. Lion considered himself brave, maybe even as brave as Glimy, but the thought of Glimy sitting safe in the castle now made Lion wonder if he was being brave or simply mad. 
 
 The stories they told about this place were as ancient as the wood itself. A great prince had ridden through here on his way to Castle West, it was said, and a tourney. He brought his mistress with him, sneaking off before the King could express his disapproval. Most men went along the trades road, which cut south along the Ghost's Forest. It was a longer way, but dry and well-lit by regular torches, even then. The prince went through the forest, showing off to his mistress, but when he went missing, the tourney was cancelled and a hunt was called. The king himself lead a party that night to find his son, but all he found were Ghosts -- and soon the king was a Ghost himself. Their souls still loitered these woods every night, it was said, and no one had ventured the wood at night. It was always the tradesroad. 
 
 The chill of goosebumps rolled up Lion's arm when he remembered the story. The ground seemed to move. Insects, maybe, or the thick fog clogging up his head. It had been a warm day, but now it was *cold*. And rank, though it had n't been that day. 
 
 But he grew hope when he saw a faint green light flickering like fire, and a shadow of a figure feeding it. *Almy*? He thought. *Drion, even? * The figure tossed sticks into the fire, and it whooshed up in silence. 
 
 `` Drion?'' he called. 
 
 The shadow stood from the fire, and at once Lion's heart caught in his own chest. The figure was no shadow, but some creature wearing a tall hood of a helmet, with great horns about to each side. It seemed to float on the mist with octopus' legs, and its features were sharp, as if carved armor. Under the hood was no face, but only blackness. And when the creature breathed deep, an electricity shout out of every point and ever blade, lighting the woods with that green glow. 
 
 Lion brought his crossbow down to his shooting hand, but kept it pointed at the ground so as not to provoke. 
 
 `` Who are you?'' he shouted. 
 
 *I know you*, the thin whispered, as if giving the forest its own voice. 
 
 `` I do not know you,'' said Lion, though the words came out awkwardly. 
 
 *I know you, * came the whisper again. *Lion of Castle West, son of Artherion. Brother of Drion. * 
 
 The hairs on Lion's neck tickled at the mention of his brother. `` You know Drion? Is he in these woods?'' 
 
 `` Aye,'' came a fearless voice from behind the figure. A man stepped out, clad in silver mail. His red beard gave him away. 
 
 `` Almy?'' asked Lion, gasping. 
 
 `` Aye,'' he repeated. `` This thing took Lather,'' he said, patting the huge shadowed figure on the shoulder with nary a care, `` or at least the thing under this hood. But then we took it.'' 
 
 `` We,'' repeated Lion. 
 
 `` Aye,'' said Almy. `` Me. And Drion.'' He looked up to the figure, and the iron glove, fashioned into pointed blades, lifted up to the hood-helmet and revealed Drion underneath. 
 
 `` I told you, brother,'' said Drion, his face smiling that familiar smirk. `` They should fear us.''
