[Valland] The Shattered Peaks

The initial journey northward would be easy. Knight of Vengeance would cross green valleys, farmlands, freshwater rivers, and forests before arriving at the Shattered Mountains. From where he stood the mountain range stretched far, disappearing in the east and the west. They reached so high into the sky that their peaks were cloaked in clouds. An eerie howl resonated from the wind-swept slopes of the mountains, and the crash and thunder of storms and avalanches battered the rigid formation.

Ashvir would find a number of minor trails heading into the mountain range. These were not used by travelers or adventurers, but rather crooks and raiders. The Mountain Tribes would appear and reappear thanks to these pathways.

The further Ashvir trekked into the Shattered Peaks, the harder it would be to see. It was so cold that any normal man would buckle under the frigid temperatures. But even a man like Ashvir would find the cold overwhelming. Hours would pass but no enemy or cave entrance would be seen - although the day grew dark and any traveler, whether they could see in the blinding snow or not, knew that darkness approached.

It would only get colder.

Ashvir needed to find a way to stay warm - but first his path diverged in two. One path seemed to head downward, and was laden with the footprints men - while the other seemed to head upward; something - like a sled or similar to drag something on - had been used to traverse this path recently. Which path would he choose?

On the downward trail the wind seemed to die down. In reality, the path simply cut through the mountain and so he was sheltered on both sides. Despite this, the storm maintained its assault on the Knight of Vengeance . Snow whirled around, essentially blinding him; he could only see a few feet ahead.

Little did he know - or perhaps he expected it - he was being tracked. The Mountain Tribes had tagged him the moment he stepped foot in the Shattered Peaks. Already he was surrounded by at least a dozen, if not more savage warriors.

The ambush revealed itself when a bola was launched at Ashvir’s legs. More would be thrown in succession, just in case the first one failed or missed its mark. He would suddenly be surrounded by the savages of the Shattered Peaks.

The ambushers were clad in fur, and wielded iron and and steel tipped spears. They were pale-skinned, wild-eyed, and snow-covered barbarians, taller than the Knight of Vengeance, but wiry in build. If Ashvir could see well, he would see blue paint adorning their bodies.

The Mountain Men never made a move to hurt the Knight, but they did threaten him with their spears, urging him to stay put. It seemed they were waiting for him to respond, or at least speak up first.

The Mountain Men kept an eye on Ashvir, but looked around at each other shrugging. They began to yell at each other in a language that the Knight would not recognize. Evidently, they could not understand each other.

Two of the tribesmen behind Ashvir approached and put their spears on the Knight’s shoulders, pushing down as it to make him get on his knees. Perhaps they wanted to take him back to their village unhurt - or maybe something far worse awaited him. One thing was certain: if they wanted to kill him they would have already tried.

The Mountain Men removed Ashvir’s sword and began to lead him towards their outpost. The wind continued its endless torment, throwing waves of snow and ice in every direction. On the Knight of Vengeance was pushed, his primitive captives keeping a close watch on him; the cold weather did not seem to bother them in the slightest.

Ashvir would hear words spoken amongst the party, once again unintelligible, and then….

Peace.

The snow, wind, and hail just vanished. Or rather, only in the area they were in; the Mountain Tribes were using something to create a ‘saze zone’ in the blizzard. Looking around, the Knight of Vengeance would see a fortified encampment nestled in the mountainside.

Looking within himself, Ashvir would find his magic completely removed. Anti-magic. It appeared the blizzard was a magical force, and here in this calm spot anti-magic kept it at bay - and also disabled the magic of individuals…

They pushed him on inside the camp and took him down the main path. The camp was full of other warriors who all looked away from their task to cast ugly stares at Ashvir. Ultimately they came upon a man sitting in a tent at the rear of the camp.

“And who might you be?” he’d ask in the common tongue, before sipping on some beverage.

“Ashvir, eh?” the man inquired, taking another sip from his drink. He appeared disappointed and looked into his cup. “Empty!” He began to yell something in another language and some of the warriors in the camp rushed over to pour him some more drink. “Better,” he would say, smiling.

“Now, Ashvir,” he continued, “any smart lad traveling in Valland, or Asgeir for that matter, knows not to travel into the Shattered Peaks. You really don’t even have to be smart! Everybody knows not to travel into Shattered Peaks!”

Once again, a sip from his drink, and once more, he continued smiling.

“So when my ‘friends’ here found you, they knew something was amiss. Normally they might have just killed you. But you my friend were different. You see, you’re not Varan. You’re not just an outsider to my friends here, you’re an outsider to the Varan!”

All of a sudden the smiling, drinking, happy fellow slammed his cup into Ashvir’s face. The smile vanished. The man just looked him in the eye with a death-dealing glare. The cup had shattered and some of its pieces might have stuck in Ashvir’s face (if he had a helmet, the warriors would have removed it beforehand). The man then grabbed Ashvir by the throat, squeezing just enough to allow him to breath and speak, but not enough to actually suffocate the man.

“Now, don't lie to me. What the fuck do you want in the Shattered Peaks?

A smile slowly crept across the man’s face. “That’s what I figured,” was all he said. He turned around and drank from a new flagon, quiet-like, as if he was thinking.

“You’re not an idiot,” he admitted. “But you must understand the way things work around here. This land doesn’t belong to the Varan - it belongs to us! They drove our people in here like livestock, and we’re forced to scratch a living out in these wretched mountains.”

He then turned and looked back at Ashvir. “We will release you. You will find the sword. And you will return here with it.” He held his hands up defensively, “do not worry, we will not take it. If you find it, then it is rightfully yours - but my people would like to… take a look. Maybe even borrow it…”

The man nodded. “The night shall past. But the storm is forever.” He got up and began to pace around the area. “You shall stay for the night. In bonds - I am sure you understand. Come morning, my friends shall release you with your belongings, and you can be on your way.”

The man squinted and leaned up close to Ashvir’s face. “Do not forget about our deal,” he said quietly. For a second an expression of fear washed over his face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

Ashvir was tied up to a stone post, forced to endure the cold - yet calm weather. In the morning the warriors would escort him to the end of the camp, and here he was met with the same man who interrogated him the night before.

“My warriors discarded your weapon up ahead. You’ll find it in the snow.” He shrugged, “they didn’t feel comfortable giving it to you here. Oh! Before you leave…” the interrogator reached into a sack on his side and pulled out an orb. He handed it to Ashvir.

The orb may have otherwise been clear, if not for a cloudy-white substance inside, which slowly moved around. It was as big and weighed as much as an apple, but the surface was smooth and felt like glass.

“Shake the orb and it shall produce a small anti-magic field around you. Shake it again to drop the field.” He pointed to the snowstorm which whirled a few feet away, “it can protect you in the storm.”

With that, Ashvir was allowed to leave the camp and continue his quest. But as he was walking away he would hear one of the warriors speaking to the interrogator: “I hope you know what you’re doing, Hemhildr.” Unfortunately, the gates would close and Ashvir would not be allowed back in.

Ashvir’s journey was easier this time around, with the snowstorm no longer impeding his movements. Across slippery slopes, iced ravines, and through short tunnels the Knight of Vengeance would go, until finally arriving at a promising sight.

A cave entrance.

A stone stood outside of the cave, just off to the side. If one was to remove the snow and frost they would find it carved with runic inscriptions. The writing was ancient and long-lost, but it was no doubt a warning. Upon further inspection of the cave entrance Ashvir would be able to make out a host of spider webs further in, but beyond that it was pitch black.

Maybe something lived within, maybe not. Ashvir could head in now, or wait a while to see if anyone - or anything - entered or left the cave.

Knight of Vengeance

Ashvir had played the game smart, and soon enough a monstrous, eight-legged monstrosity crept through the rocky corridors and towards the cave. The gigantic spider was hideous, ripped straight from a man's nightmare. In tow was what appeared to be a man, although he was wrapped in webs. The creature paused for a moment and looked around, as if it sensed Ashvir's presence, but then continued into the cave where it vanished into the darkness.