Prelude: A novel based upon the MOD "Nord Invasion" PG 13 + (adult content)

[Shaman Oren of Staghelm]

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    Barreling thunder and howling rains made the night before their descent far worse than any before.  Tents flooded, horses were let loose, and supplies were ruined in the wake of this mighty storm.  Yet the people endured this as any other task that was placed upon them.  The banging of thunder and crash of lightning soon becoming common to their thoughts in this place known as the valley of drums.  Throughout the night the winds howled and many were unable to sleep as their thoughts wandered to dark places.  Life was hard and unforgiving in this place and it's trials many and difficult.  Yet still they forged on.  Fires were smothered, their supplies salvaged, and gear packed for the deep dive into the earth that would take them many a night to complete.  As with all deep places of the earth, there were rumors... rumors of evil things and beings hungry for the flesh of humankind.  Word spread of trolls, born of ice and mud that lurked in the dark and forgotten realms of the world.  Fears of the monstrous beasts that would drag you away in sheer blackness where no man could see.  That their very presence would smother torches and plunge the entire army in the abyss. 
The rumors continued to spread, of Isyr thane the frozen graves, where the dead would arise and attack the living to steal their flesh as a suit that they may walk among the living without being discovered.  These rumors grew and grew and got dark... morbid and grotesque.  Soon they reached the ears of the Jarl and His brother, their now trusted Knight Joseph William and the Pandion Knights who guarded them. 
“These rumors will poison the people and cause panic Jarl... they must be quelled before they become an inferno of lies...”  Oren pleaded with Asgrim as he donned his light plates.  The Gothi had traveled many places of the world and knew of the abominations birthed by darkness and sin...
“I agree... this must not continue”  He nodded to the woman commonly called “hench'girl” the one who had shown and suggested the path they now took.  Her real name was Victoria Lionel, a renowned mercenary of the far south.  She nodded and her raven hair bounced with a  sheen before she spun on hard leather heals toward the camp, her legs long, hips taught and curvy.  Her body was a testament to feminine beauty with supple breasts and ivory skin. 
“I don't like this woman... She smells of suspicion...”  Artisia looked up at her lover Oren with a worried expression.  It was not jealousy that drove her to dislike the new woman, merely the way she carried herself.  A stride and jaunt that resounded of prideful secrets.  Art looked back at her other lover Murrow and frowned.  Murrow, now in full commitment to the couple returned the look, worried for Oren's trust and Art's stress.  She had come to adore the camp, falling in love with Art and letting go some of her barriers.
“Arti... just... keep an eye on her.  I don't like her, she seems the kind of woman who would put out for a sweet roll... she's a snake...”  Murrow sneered as she watched Victoria disappear amongst the camp to perform her duty.  Having let her hair grow out, Murrow seemed now a bit more lady like, much to the chagrin of the stray hand that found her backside... leading to a swift broken finger or tooth knocked loose.  It was common knowledge, the moans and squeals of the two women becoming part of the normal camp noises at night.  Their love was something of fairy tales, devoted, never satisfied, un-compromising.
Oren watched the two women prepare Dawn-stride for the journey.  He himself was still unused to the situation in his life.  They both loved him without question... they both wanted him and no other man, yet still they gave themselves to each-other.  His mind had never grasped such a thing where two women gave themselves fully to a man and woman without conflict.  He did not object to their devotions, neither to him nor each-other.  He couldn't imagine the reprimand and mockery he would be subjected too if he did not truly enjoy being fucked by two women near nightly...  As he pondered his thoughts he was approached again by Murrow.
“Listen to us... we know this type of woman and she's bad news Oren... Please, don't listen too much to what she says, alright?”  Murrow leaned forward to kiss his lips as he thought, her warm tongue snaking into his mouth to play and tug at his...  With a gentle nod he acknowledged her, the feeling of her lips always welcoming and soothing to his burdened mind.  She tugged him forward roughly and grabbed his ass before popping her tongue out of his mouth and snickering.
“I expect someone with a heart like you to listen to the women that love him...”  Murrow spoke with a snide but consoling voice to those who could hear it.  Her leather clad body turning with a wink at him before strolling over to her pack.  Nearly everyone had packed up entirely and was ready to move out and Oren couldn't help but wonder what darkness lie ahead of them.  Was it the lack of light... or the howling dark in the hearts of men that they should fear.  His worse thought was of the Isyr legend itself... the beast that had been sealed down in the depths long before man had tread upon this forgotten ground.
Soon the caravan was entirely packed and began their walk to the mouth of the tunnel.  It was a long path, down into the earth that would lead them under the mountain and out the other side to a frozen land near the ocean.  It was fairly straightforward without any detours or delays.  As the caravan approached the entrance they lit dozens of torches and clung close to their loved ones.  The rumors and tales had grown wild and terrifying and even the Pandion knights were reluctant to put themselves in such a place.  Yet onward they strode, slowly moving hundreds of people into the dark maw of the earth, swallowing them hole in blackness till not a soul remained in the valley of drums. 
There they stood, looking down at a slow descent into the mountain.  Torchlight flickered and slowly began to play tricks with the shadows as gremlins and goblins darted between stalagmites sticking up toward the cave entrance.  It was cold, stagnant air that smelt of earth and torch-smoke that filled their lungs, crunching gravel beneath their feet.  Moving forward the caravan seemed uneasy, whispering dark nonsense that only fueled their minds growing torture. 
“I'm not letting that bitch out of my sight...”  Murrow whispered into Artisia's ear as she sat snugly behind her in the saddle.  Victoria had been riding next to Oren for quite some time as they spoke, just out of ear shot.
“If she touches him I'll take the hand... don't you worry”  Art responded jealously.  She did no welcome the thought of a buxom woman drawing Oren's attentions from her.  She knew his business was regarding the army and not her body, yet still she couldn't help her jealously protective nature. 
“I should just fucking shoot her right now...”  Murrow growled, fingering her bow slowly as she entertained the delicious thought over, and over again.  Both women went silent for a bit as they watched, wishing they could hear the conversation.  It was likely regarding the cave ahead of them, even they knew this, but they didn't care... she seemed threatening for some dark reason that they couldn't understand...
While riding next to Oren, Victoria kept a sly smirk hidden under a polite smile.  Her voice was a velvety smooth song and seemed to keep the older brother of the Jarl well attended to her words.  She kept the topic slow, almost dull, to be sure that he would speak more instead of listening.  Her eyes however kept glancing ahead.  It had been seven hours since they started in and they were nearing her destination.  Oren did not notice the suspicious behavior, his thoughts trailing to the bedside from the night before where he was sent into wiles of blissful orgasm time and again by his lovers, all the while in cadence with the thunder and lightning. Thus she did not worry about him noticing her bright blue eyes darting ahead, her raven hair flickering in the torchlight with slight turns of her head. It was all perfect... her plan was finally coming to a head.
The Jarl rode at the head of the formation, Oren and Victoria a dozen yards behind.  The spacing was her own obstacle, easily avoided. 
“Excuse me Gothi, I have words for Asgrim”  She smiled and with a turn of her head she trotted forward, whispering into Asgrim's ear before secretly sliding a hand up his leg.  He grinned and nodded back to her and the pair road toward the back, Asgrim winking all the while at his brother.  As they passed Oren sighed with a shake of his head, urging Art and Murrow to ride next to him and talk.
“She's... odd... boring really”  Oren confessed to them after they had inquired of their conversation.  He smiled at them in the torchlight and continued.
“She struggles to really keep my attentions at all.  My mind could only think of the thunder in...and out of our bed last night...”  he grinned while nodding to them from the saddle.  They in turn snickered, Murrow pinching Art's waist from behind playfully.
“However, my brother will put himself inside anything wet and warm... as what appears to be happening soon with him and this new woman...  He doesn't tend to ask questions when his cock is grabbed in secret...”  Oren shook his head knowingly as he stared forward, terrified to see what may be transpiring behind him.  Thus onward they rode, the rumors still spreading, Oren and his two companions trading loving looks, and Asgrim near the back, trying to disrobe while astride a warhorse.
“damned... cloak...”  Asgrim grunted as he struggled with it.  He had been embarrassed as he fought his own clothing for freedom, attempting the clasps time and again while steering his horse forward.  Victoria rode next to him with a mirthful grin, laughing inside as the Jarl struggled to get naked for something to simple as a quicky from horseback.  Her smile hid only bane however as she glared at the target she had failed to slay with her bow.  It was disgusting to her that she had to use her own body as a means to kill what was in her mind, a simpleton. 
“Its easy Asgrim... just do what I do...”  She spoke seductively to him as she leaned forward and allowed her breasts to peek out from a  loose fitting shirt.
“see... just let it out sweety...”  She grinned, watching his eyes stare down at her chest. 
“allow me to show you the way”  She reached over and placed a hand over his manhood before drawing a lace from his pants.  The Jarl closed his eyes and sighed with happiness at what was to come, all the while she secretly tied the lace to the saddle, binding him by the seat of his pants.
“Mmm this is going to be tasty...”  she moaned into his ear as she slid a knife from the back of her saddle.
“Don't open your eyes... imagine beautiful things Jarl...”  She continued to whisper as she readied her strike, luring him into a sense of peace and calm.  Her eyes, still darting forward, spotted the white stone she had placed on her way past and she halted their horses.
“I've never sucked on a Jarl before... I'm going to dismount so I can do this right...”  Her words came as honey, masking poison.  Thus she dismounted and dowsed her torch.  He could feel her warm hands moving into his pants, then a sharp pang of pain in his groin.  His eyes shot open and he reached down to feel a knife I his belly, he heard an evil cackle then the thundering of collapsing stones.  Back at the front of the caravan the roar of the cave in could be heard, Oren spun his horse and galloped back toward the darkness, finding Victoria running half naked with tears in her eyes.  She threw herself onto his leg and wailed with cries of mourning. 
“I was... relieving the Jarl as he commanded me too and the cave came down upon him as he undressed behind a spire!  I ran as fast as I could but its sealed off!”  She frantically cried and wailed.  The caravan was halted and immediately a search began to find the body of their beloved leader.  Hours passed and soon they realized the dire nature of what had happened.  This was solid rock that had come down... they had neither the strength nor torches to last long enough to dig... The Jarl of Stag-helm was lost...
“We cannot stay here to dig... we will run out of torches and energy and all die here if we do not press onward!”  Oren spoke to the people,their combative arguments and complaints working against him as he tried to reason.  After some time of arguing they relented and the caravan urged forward.  Time passed and soon after they found their way out of the tunnel.
Daylight now spilled over the people's faces, dirty and tired from the long trek through the tunnel.  They now found themselves at Isyr Thane... the frozen graves.  And when they had all emerged from the tunnel they all saw the reason why this place was called thus.  All about them lied the frozen bodies of men and women, children and horses who had not been able to find their way from this canyon.  It was a graveyard of standing people, frozen in time as they had succumb to the chilling ice all around them.  For the cavern walls were themselves a glacier,  the air frigid and dry.    Bright sunlight reflected off of the cavern walls and allowed no detail of the grotesque place to be hidden. 
Onward they marched.  Through statues of frozen men, their faces mournful of their own deaths, downhill between the walls of frozen waters.  It was excruciatingly freezing for the men, their skin crawling to find warmth.  Even the air itself bit and cut the throat and lungs.  It was truly miserable, trudging through deep snow, past such a horrific sight.  The woman Victoria, however, seemed nearly un-phased by the mannequins of death surrounding them all.  Her dark hair and catlike body carried themselves in the same fashion, she seemed almost content, accomplished in her mind.  Dusk came over the frozen wastes and the people began to wonder if their destination would be achieved before they joined the faces of the dead.  Fear again crept into the peoples hearts, hoping to claw its way in.  yet just as the sun winked out over the horizon a scout spotted the navy of the Rhodok kingdom, moored just off the coast of the icy shores.  Cries of triumph resounded throughout the Swadian resistance as they raced toward the coast.  The sound of gentle waves and the site of the powerful naval force was an inspiration.  They found hope renewed as their eyes settled upon their salvation. 
The cold winds whipped about Oren's shoulders as he feared the recourse of losing the Jarl.  Command needed to be taken and the army assured of its continuity.  His heart sank, pushing out mourning till he was able to rest.  Thus he sat upon the cold gravely beach, watching as Rhodok schooners ferried the survivors out to waiting warships... Their trials had just begun.