The forest was shrouded in an almost oppressive darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight that filtered through the dense canopy of Blackwood Forest. The convoy of a dozen wagons, escorted by a small contingent of knights, moved cautiously through the narrow pass. They were unaware that death lurked in the shadows, ready to descend upon them.
The lead knight, Sir Edmund, a grizzled veteran of many battles, felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He glanced around, the shadows playing tricks on his eyes. The forest was too quiet, too still. "Stay alert," he called to his men. "I don't like this."
Behind him, the occupants of the wealthy carriage were tense. Lady Isolde, mother of the Empress, clutched the armrest, her knuckles white. She sensed the danger too, though she could not see it. Beside her, the captain of her guard tried to offer reassurances, but his eyes constantly scanned the surrounding darkness.
Gideon, hidden in the dense underbrush with his ghouls, watched as the convoy entered the kill zone. His eyes gleamed with malevolent anticipation. At the perfect moment, he dropped his hand. The ambush was set into motion with a terrifying swiftness.
From the trees, Sorin's archers unleashed a volley of arrows, each tipped with dark enchantments that screamed through the air before embedding themselves in flesh and armor. The first row of knights fell, their cries of pain and surprise echoing through the forest.
Chaos erupted as skeletal warriors and mindless zombies surged from their hiding places, a wave of death crashing into the convoy. The skeletal warriors, their bones reinforced by dark magic, wielded rusted swords that cleaved through flesh and bone with sickening ease. The zombies, driven by insatiable hunger, tore into the unprotected with their rotting hands and jagged teeth.
Sir Edmund shouted commands, trying to form a defensive line, but it was too late. The knights were overwhelmed. One knight, his visor torn off, screamed as a zombie sank its teeth into his face, tearing flesh from bone. Blood sprayed in all directions, and the knight fell, his lifeless body twitching as the undead feasted.
The knights fought valiantly, their swords flashing in the dim light, but they were vastly outnumbered. Finn, leading the charge, cut down defenders with brutal efficiency. His blade, enchanted with dark magic, sliced through armor as though it were paper. He cleaved a knight from shoulder to hip, the two halves of the body falling apart with a sickening squelch.
Gideon's ghouls moved like shadows, their claws rending armor and flesh alike. They targeted the knights' weak points with precision, hamstringing them before going in for the kill. One ghoul ripped the throat from a knight, blood spurting like a fountain as the man fell to the ground, gurgling his last breath.
The occupants of the wagons screamed in terror as the undead swarmed around them. One wagon driver, attempting to flee, was dragged from his seat by a skeletal hand. He was torn apart, his screams mingling with the wet sounds of ripping flesh and cracking bones. A woman, clutching her child, tried to run but was quickly overtaken. A zombie grabbed her, its fingers digging into her flesh, and she fell, disappearing under a pile of undead bodies.
Lady Isolde's carriage was attacked next. The captain of her guard fought desperately to protect her, but he was quickly overwhelmed. A ghoul sliced open his abdomen, and he fell to the ground, intestines spilling out like a macabre tapestry. Lady Isolde screamed, but her voice was lost in the cacophony of death.
Despite the carnage, a small group of the convoy's higher-ups managed to form a defensive circle around Lady Isolde's carriage. They fought with a ferocity born of desperation, trying to hold the undead at bay. Sir Edmund, bloodied but unbowed, led the defense, his sword cutting down any undead that came too close.
Finn, recognizing the importance of capturing rather than killing these individuals, called off the slaughter around the carriage. The undead fell back, creating a circle of death around the surviving knights and the carriage.
Gideon stepped forward, his presence commanding the attention of the survivors. "Surrender," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "Or face a fate worse than death."
Sir Edmund, breathing heavily, looked around at his remaining men. They were battered, bloodied, and exhausted. With a resigned nod, he dropped his sword. The other knights followed suit, their weapons clattering to the ground.
Lady Isolde emerged from the carriage, her face pale but composed. She looked at Gideon with a mixture of fear and defiance. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you doing this?"
Gideon grinned, revealing sharp, bloodstained teeth. "You will soon find out. Take them," he commanded his ghouls.
The undead closed in, binding the survivors with chains and ropes. Lady Isolde and the higher-ups were led away, their fates now in the hands of Alaric.
As the sun began to rise, casting a blood-red light over the scene of the massacre, Gideon sent a mental message to Alaric, informing him of the successful capture. The necromancer's cold satisfaction was palpable even from a distance.
As the undead legion began to march back to Brookhaven with their captives, the forest was left silent once more. The ground was littered with the remains of the convoy, a gruesome testament to the power and ruthlessness of Alaric's forces.
Gideon glanced back at the carnage, a dark smile playing on his lips. This ambush had been a message, a demonstration of Alaric's power. The kingdom would soon learn that nowhere was safe from the reach of the undead.
Lady Isolde, though shaken, maintained her composure. She knew that her fate was uncertain, but her thoughts were of her daughter, the Empress. This nightmare must be brought to an end, and the kingdom must be warned.
As the undead procession made its way through the forest, the survivors could only hope that their capture would not be in vain. The struggle against Alaric was far from over, and the kingdom's resolve would soon be tested like never before.