The north was cold, and the winds dulled Jon's senses. Every breath bit at his lungs, freezing his throat. This was a mistake, he was sure of it, but he would never dare say it.

"Master, please, I'll freeze to death if I walk any farther."

Kalil, a short man captured not long ago spoke softly to the behemoth in front of Jon.

His master, Sargoth, was a cruel being. The man supposedly had Giant blood, a product of the Jotun's diplomacy with The Iceforged Clans. Standing at 8'5" with muscles that struggled to break out of his skin, Sargoth led his men, the Frostspire Tribe around Aegisgrad's northern border with the Wastelands, pillaging and killing any he came across. It did not matter who he killed, as long as he could sate his Lords desire for death.

Sargoth's pace slowed, then stopped. His head turned to Kalil, eyes darker than midnight, an expression colder than the icy wind.

Kalil had erred gravely, and he knew it.

"I-I-I am sorry master. I spoke out of line."

Sargoth's lips curled into a chilling smile. With deliberate, measured steps, he approached Kalil. Jon and the other human slaves averted their eyes, their heads bowed in submission. Out of sight, out of mind.

Sargoth whispered "Oh no... Oh no, no, no, no, no." Directly into Kalils ear, bending over until his head could reach, His smile widened, full of cruel anticipation. 

"Oh no..." 

With slow and steady motions, Sargoth's arms wrapped around Kalils body in a hug, his arms thicker than Kalils torso. Slithering up to his head, Sargoth's right hand cradled itself around the back of Kalils head, his left arm locking behind his back. 

"Please... Master..."

Kalil pleaded, desperation hidden behind the façade of calm he attempted to exude. "It was a mistake."

Jon, eyes frozen to the ground heard Kalils voice break into a whimper, the sound of air steadily being pushed out of his chest.

Tears streamed down Kalil's face as his vocal cords struggled to create more than a wheeze. Jon heard the distressing sound of Kalil's breath being squeezed out of him. His eyes darted around, seeing only the indifferent faces of the other slaves. The Frostspire tribesmen gathered, eagerly watching, their expressions reflecting a twisted enjoyment of the impending bloodshed.

"Shhhhh..." Sargoth cooed, slowly tightening his grip around Kalils head.

Jon did not know how to describe the popping sound, a sudden crack and then a sickening squish, the sound of liquid dripping. Kalils body dropped and the snow was tainted red, flowing softly from his broken body. Sargoth giggled with glee, enthralled by the thrill of a gruesome death. His thirst for blood remained unsatisfied, and he yearned to continue his carnage. He wanted to do it again. He WOULD do it again.

-----

Jon's mind raced as a barbarian clansmen held his head to look at the body of Kalil, his life seeping into the snow. He had been captured a month ago from outside Aegisgrad's Northern Citadel, a measly beggar who was unlucky enough to be caught in a raid. Surviving thus far had not been easy, the role of a slave within the Frostspire tribe consisted of carrying their belongings and being slaughtered for entertainment. Not the most enjoyable life.

As Sargoth savored the final seconds of his killing, disappointment creeping onto his face, he saw Jon. Like a child on Christmas Eve, his face brimmed with life, eager to extinguish it. Jon would die today, he knew it.

Creeping towards his prey, Sargoth walked until he was standing over top of the clansmen and slave, ushering the barbarian away.

"What is your name, little one?" Sargoth asked, his voice dripping with malevolence.

"Jon... Master." Jon managed to stammer.

"Ahh, a nice name. We had a young boy with that name once, he was... Incredible."

Jon did not believe that a smile could grow any wider, Sargoth's eyes turned into upside down crescents while his gums bled from the stretch of his smile. Petrified, Jon could not even blink as his legs grew weak and gave out, falling to the ground in terror. Sargoth giggled, delighted in his quarry's fear. He would savor this one much longer. 

Suddenly, a barbarian rushed up to Sargoth. "Chieftain, puny Southerners are approaching. Our Lord has blessed us!

The tribe stirred with excitement, their faces lighting up with anticipation. In the distance, a figure emerged from the treeline—an average-sized man wielding a short sword and a gilded gauntlet with long, claw-like fingers. His black armor and flowing hair, darker than night, contrasted sharply with his pale white skin, giving him an eerie, spectral presence.

Step.

Step.

Step.

With measured strides, the man advanced. The Frostspire tribe gathered, awaiting him. Sargoth's anger boiled over.

"Only one? How pathetic, you must have come to offer your soul to Karnath. I am sure our Lord would love to have you." Sargoth's words dripped with poison as his blood boiled, beckoning the man to fight him, itching to kill.

"Who in the name of hell is Karnath? Ahh whatever who even cares."

"...you would dare mock our Lord? IN FRONT OF ME?" Sargoth's voice was venomous as he brandished a massive axe, larger than even he could comfortably wield. He charged at the smaller man, swinging the axe with tremendous force. The ground beneath him was torn asunder with each strike.

The man nimbly dodged Sargoth's powerful swings, sliding under one and cutting into his forearm.

"You can barely even scratch me WORM."

Each swing of Sargoth's axe created small craters in the snow, the sheer power of his attacks making it almost impossible for the man to approach him directly. Despite Sargoth's brute strength, he was unable to land a decisive blow as the man deftly avoided him.

As Sargoth fought the man, slowly making their way back into the treeline, only too late did he realize that he would not be able to swing his axe. Sargoth grew frustrated and started swinging recklessly, chopping down trees in his path. The man, unfazed, continued to evade him, retreating further into the treeline. Chasing the man still, the Frostspire tribe urged their Chieftain on, beckoning a swift victory to show his devotion to their Lord.

Annoyed by the pest he was fighting, who hadn't said a word or attempted to attack since the start, Sargoth swung again. The force of a Stonehorn hit the barbarian as the tree he had struck did not fall, his hands numb from the vibration, axe lodged deep inside of it.

Distracted by what had happened, he lost sight of the puny worm. A sharp pain in Sargoth's legs made him fall to the ground. The man, with a cold, indifferent expression, stood before Sargoth, his sword poised inches from his neck.

As Sargoth struggled, the man drove his sword through the half-Giants neck, with only a low gurgling sound emerging. He could not believe what was happening, but it would not matter for long either. The final blow was swift and decisive, the claws of the pale mans gilded gauntlet piercing Sargoth's eyes and into his brain.

Death had claimed Sargoth, and Karnath's halls would soon be filled with the souls of another Iceforged Clan. 

-----

Jon watched in stunned silence as the Frostspire tribesmen stood in shock, their chieftain dead. The man, sliding his sword and claws out from within Sargoth's body, turned to look towards the crowd. From the forest, he was soon joined by another figure emerging from deep within the woods. The two approached Jon, who remained paralyzed, witnessing the chaos unfold.

The tribesmen, enraged by their leader's death, charged at the pair, infuriated that their leader had been robbed of the ability to gift their Lord even bloodier deaths.

Jon's fellow slaves, seizing the opportunity, fled into the woods, realizing they had been abandoned, leaving him alone to witness the battle. He had been with the tribe the longest and knew what horrors awaited those who ran to the woods. The slaves would never make it to the Northern Citadel, the Demon of Pestilence had unleashed a horror on the Wastelands that only the Iceforged Clans could survive. Sargoth's tribe were the only reason he was still alive, and the only hope for his continued survival.

So, he sat down and waited. 

Jon's mind raced as he tried to grasp the impossible, watching the ensuing chaos. The battle before him was a grotesque dance of death, with tribesmen falling one by one. Yet, it was not the visible attacks that were causing the casualties. The duo, despite their prowess, had not landed a single blow that Jon could see. It was as though the air itself was turning against the barbarians, each death a silent, invisible strike.

Every time a tribesman fell, Jon's eyes darted around in frantic search for any clue, any sign of the attacker. His gaze settled on the movement in the periphery, shadows that seemed to twist and blur in the corner of his vision. Each time he tried to focus, the shadowy figure vanished, only to reappear elsewhere, its presence fleeting yet deadly. The shadows moved with a predatory grace, slipping through the melee with an eerie fluidity that defied natural movement.

As the shadowy figure reappeared to slit another tribesman's throat, Jon's breath caught in his chest. The figure was shrouded in darkness, barely discernible against the snow and the night, moving with a precision that was almost supernatural. It was as if the very darkness had taken shape and was striking with a vengeance. Jon struggled to understand how something so elusive could wreak such havoc.

The unsettling reality of the shadow's existence made Jon's skin crawl. Each time it struck, it left behind a trail of silent death, the tribesmen collapsing before they even knew they were in danger. Jon felt a deep, primal fear, a sense that he was witnessing something beyond the realm of the ordinary. The shadow seemed to be a force of nature itself, a living embodiment of dread that lurked just beyond comprehension.

"Well hello there little buddy, having fun?"

Jon's blood turned to ice as he looked up and saw a Diu elf gazing down at him with a disturbingly friendly smile. The elf's calm, almost casual demeanor terrified him, a stark contrast to the violence around them.

"I think ill join in on the fun too, care to join me?"