The Legends of Altera Vita

Terror streaked through Belisarius's veins like ice water. An Iceforged. A barbarian of the north, the ones they were supposed to be hiding from. The barbarian had witnessed their fight with the snow hounds—and now their entire mission hung by a thread. Without a moment's hesitation, the northerner spun and disappeared into the forest, forcing Belisarius into desperate pursuit. No rest for the wicked they say, and he was quickly understanding what they meant.

"Contact!" he heard Kira shout behind him. "Secure the wounded! Kael, Thenn, with me! Everyone else stay alert!" Her commands faded as Belisarius plunged deeper into the wilderness, his boots crunching through snow as he tracked the barbarian's trail.

Every second felt like an eternity as he wove between ancient pines, their branches heavy with snow threatening to blind him with every brush past. The barbarians tracks were clear in the fresh powder, but they were moving fast, too fast. If they reached their main force, if they managed to raise the alarm... everything would be lost. Not just the mission, but the lives of every scout in the other two parties currently spread across these hostile lands.

His lungs burned in the frigid air as he pushed himself harder, black armor glinting between shadows cast by the canopy above. The stakes were beyond personal now. If they failed here, if this single barbarian escaped, the Crimson Blades would lose their only chance to gather information on the Iceforged. Aegisgrad would remain blind to the threat building in the frozen north until it was too late.

Through the pounding of blood in his ears, he could hear Kira's swift footfalls behind him, keeping pace. Ahead, a flash of movement - the barbarian vaulting over a fallen tree. They were gaining ground, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. And somewhere ahead lay more barbarians, maybe their fortifications, their armies. This chase would end, one way or another, and soon—the only question was whether it would end in success, or in the death of everyone he had ventured out with.

Belisarius jumped over the fallen tree and saw a clearing just ahead, which the barbarian had ran into, screaming gleefully. Slowing down, he caught his breath and observed what he saw. A group of Iceforged, twenty or so, and what looked like humans, huddled into a circle around a goliath of a man, a dead human laying just nearby, having its body viscously crunched open.

This was not good, the odds were stacked against him, and yet he walked forward, slowly.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The Iceforged watched him as he approached, with what he assumed to be their chieftain stepping forward to confront him.

"Only one?" Said the large barbarian, a wicked smile on his face. "How pathetic. You must have come to offer your soul to Karnath. No matter, I am sure our Lord would love to have you."

Belisarius' mind tingled at the name Karnath. His head still pulsed every once in awhile, and this particular mention itched to think about.

"...Who in the name of hell is Karnath? I feel like I recognize that name. Ahh whatever, who even cares."

Why should he waste his time thinking about what the name meant, right now, he needed to focus. There was only one of him, and although there was only one barbarian currently challenging him, he was a lot larger than Belisarius was.

The behemoth roared in rage, his voice filled with fury. "...you would dare mock our Lord? IN FRONT OF ME?" He hefted a massive great axe from his back, charging at Belisarius.

Belisarius dodged the initial swing, feeling a rush of air as the massive axe narrowly missed him, the edge whistling past with deadly force. He slid under the strike, the snow crunching beneath his body, and with a flick of his wrist, delivered a precise cut to the barbarians forearm. The steel bit into flesh, drawing a thin line of blood the behemoth merely sneered at, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

"You can barely even scratch me WORM. I am Sargoth, Butcher of the Frostspire peaks, chieftain of the Frostspire tribe. And you, will sate my wrath." Sargoth taunted, his voice a deep, mocking growl.

Undeterred, Belisarius maintained his calm, the gears in his mind turning rapidly. He knew he couldn't beat the man in a confrontation of power. The sheer power behind Sargoth's strikes was enough to cleave through trees, let alone a man. His advantage lay in his speed, his cunning, and his use of the terrain.

Sargoth, fueled by arrogance and rage, swung his axe again, the massive weapon crashing into the snow with a force that sent tremors through the ground. Belisarius danced out of reach, each missed strike leaving deep craters in the frozen earth. Snow flew into the air, a blinding spray that added to the chaos of the moment. The sound of the axe meeting snow was a deafening crash, each impact a reminder of what would happen if Belisarius mistimed a single dodge.

The two combatants circled each other, Sargoth's frustration growing with every missed swing. The giant's breath came in heavy, angry puffs, visible in the frigid night air. His eyes were wild, the thrill of the hunt driving him to madness. But Belisarius was calm, his movements deliberate, his muscle memory several steps ahead. He was leading Sargoth, coaxing him closer to the treeline where the towering trees would limit the giant's movements.

As they neared the trees, Sargoth's strikes became more erratic, the dense forest closing in around them. Belisarius darted between the trunks, his smaller, more agile form easily navigating the obstacles. Sargoth, however, was a lumbering beast, his eight foot tall frame ill-suited for such confined spaces. His axe, so deadly in open ground, now became a hindrance, its enormous blade barely cleaving through the smaller trees. The forest seemed to close in on him, the once-mighty warrior now caged by the very environment.

Belisarius saw his opening. Luring Sargoth toward an especially large tree, its ancient trunk thick and unyielding, the behemoth, blinded by rage, took the bait. He swung his axe with all his might, aiming to split the tree—and Belisarius—in two. But the blow was poorly aimed, the edge of the axe burying itself deep into the wood, wedging tightly. Sargoth yanked at the handle, trying to free it, but the weapon was stuck fast. A moment of panic flashed in his eyes, the realization of his mistake dawning too late.

Belisarius disappeared into the shadows, the night swallowing him whole. The sudden silence was deafening, the forest holding its breath as if aware of the impending kill. Sargoth's eyes darted around wildly, searching for his elusive opponent. But Belisarius was a ghost, a phantom that moved unseen.

With a predator's grace, Belisarius reemerged from the darkness, his presence revealed only by the faint glint of moonlight on his blade and armor. In one fluid motion, he dropped to a crouch and sliced through the back of Sargoth's knees, the short sword cutting cleanly through tendons and muscle. The giant let out a guttural roar of pain, his legs giving out beneath him. He tumbled forward, the force of his fall shaking the ground as he crashed against the tree, his body pinned awkwardly by the trunk.

Sargoth lay there, helpless and vulnerable, his once-imposing form now reduced to a broken mass of muscle and bone. His breaths were ragged, each exhale clouding the cold air. He tried to push himself up, but his legs refused to obey, the searing pain in his knees paralyzing him. Belisarius stood over him, expression unreadable, the cold steel of his short sword reflecting the pale light of the moon.

The behemoth's eyes met Belisarius's, a mix of fear and disbelief in them. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. He was the hunter, the conqueror. Yet here he was, brought low by a smaller, faster opponent who had outmaneuvered him at every turn.

Belisarius didn't say a word. He didn't need to. The silence was more powerful than any taunt or insult. He slowly knelt beside the fallen giant, the tip of his sword hovering inches from Sargoth's throat. The moment stretched out, time slowing as if the world itself was watching the execution unfold.

Belisarius pushed the blade into Sargoth's jugular, the sharp steel slicing through flesh and muscle with ease. Blood welled up around the wound, spilling down Sargoth's neck in dark, crimson streams. The giant tried to speak, to cry out, but all that emerged was a low, wet gurgle as his life ebbed away.

Even as Sargoth's body convulsed, Belisarius wasn't finished. With grim determination, he reached up with his clawed gauntlet and drove his finger-claws deep into the giant's eyes, piercing through to the brain. The once-mighty behemoth let out one final, shuddering breath before going still, his life snuffed out in an instant.

The forest was deathly silent, the echoes of battle fading into the night. All that remained was the soft thud of snow falling from the disturbed trees, a quiet reminder of the violence that had just occurred. Belisarius stood, pulling his blade free and wiping it clean on the giant's fur cloak. He took one last look at Sargoth's lifeless form, then turned away, walking back towards the clearing.

-----

In the frigid night air, the Iceforged warriors stood frozen, their eyes fixed on Belisarius's approaching figure. His obsidian armor seemed to drink in what little light remained, the gilded edges catching pale moonlight. The black blade in his hand still yearned for blood, while his clawed gauntlet dripped with fresh crimson, their chieftain's life dripping from it.

Moments before, these barbarians had been roaring their approval, certain of their leader's victory. Now, that confidence shifted into horror as the reality of Sargoth's death settled in. The mighty chieftain, Butcher of the Frostspire Peaks, lay cooling in the snow, his life bleeding out of him neck.

Kira appeared at Belisarius's side, her twin blades catching the weak northern light. A grim smile played across her face as she assessed their situation. "Well I'll be damned," she said, her eyes still on the stunned barbarians. "Thought you were one of them spoiled nobles. Good to know I'm wrong." She glanced at Sargoth's corpse, "Baron Belisarius, butcher of the butcher. Or whatever that guy called himself."

Standing side by side, the two nodded before they started their advance, Belisarius with his sword and gauntlet, Kira with her dual swords, approached the barbarians in front of them.

"Kira, we're stalling for time until Kael and Thenn arrive. Ikit, kill them all." Belisarius commanded, knowing the ratman was waiting somewhere nearby, his voice cold as he advanced on the remaining tribesmen, who, in their grief and rage, charged at him with reckless abandon.

They charged forward with wild abandon, axes raised high. But Belisarius and Kira met them with calculated precision, their movements economical and defensive. Each parry was perfectly timed, each dodge carefully measured—not to kill, but to maintain the chaotic dance of combat.

And through this choreographed mayhem, death moved on ratlike feet. Ikit was in his element, a shadow among shadows. The first barbarian fell without a sound, his life bleeding out from a precisely placed thrust to the kidney. Another dropped mid-swing, his war cry transforming into a wet gurgle as an unseen blade opened his throat. One by one, the Iceforged warriors fell, their deaths coming not from the obvious threats before them, but from the invisible killer in their midst.

Belisarius caught glimpses of the slaves fleeing into the forest, their ragged forms disappearing between the snow-laden trees in all directions. A pang of guilt struck him, they wouldn't survive out there, but right now survival demanded his complete attention, one lapse in his concentration meant death.

A thunderous war cry split the air to his right. Time seemed to slow as Belisarius caught the glint of a devastating axe arcing toward his skull, the weapon's head coming dangerously close. The barbarian's muscles bulged with inhuman strength, frost-crusted beard split in a savage grin as he committed everything to this killing blow. Belisarius's body moved on pure instinct, his armored gauntlet rising at a precise angle even as sweat froze on his brow. The axe crashed against his defense with bone-rattling force, the impact sending shockwaves up his arm that made his teeth rattle.

But the angle was perfect, the blade skidded down his gauntlet in a shower of sparks, the barbarian's own strength betraying him as he stumbled forward. In that split second of vulnerability, Belisarius's clawed fingers raked across his exposed throat. Blood erupted like a volcano, steam rising from the hot spray as it painted the snow crimson. The warrior fell down, dying in the once white snow.

No time to recover. Two more barbarians charged in, forcing Belisarius to leap backward. His boots slipped slightly on the bloodied snow, heart hammering against his ribcage as he barely deflected a sword thrust meant for his liver. The second attacker's axe grazed his armor, leaving a bright scratch in the obsidian plate. Every exchange brought him closer to the mistake that would ultimately reap his life.

Nearby, Kira demonstrated the cunning that had earned her command of the first scouting party. A barbarian twice her size bore down with an overhead strike that would have split her in half. She rolled sideways, snow spraying up around her as she dashed from the ground. In the same fluid motion, she swept her leg out, catching another charging warrior in the ankles. As he pitched forward, she deflected an attack from a third barbarian, guiding the blade down into the fallen warrior's back. Her manipulation of the battlefield was a deadly dance, turning her enemies' brutish power against themselves, but Belisarius could see the strain in her movements. They were running out of time, and a costly mistake was sure to happen soon.

The air temperature seemed to drop further as exhaustion set in. Belisarius's arms felt like lead, each parry coming a fraction slower than the last. A wild swing came too close, cutting a few strands of hair from his head as he ducked. He countered with his sword, but the black blade met only air as his target stepped back. They were losing ground, being pushed into a corner that only ended in death. Despite Ikit's work, there were still too many Iceforged for two scouts to handle.

Just as despair began to creep in, a flash of silver split the air. A rapier's blade appeared, burying itself in a barbarian's shoulder joint with surgical precision. The warrior's weapon arm went limp, giving Belisarius the precious moment he needed to recover his stance. Through the chaos, he glimpsed Kael emerging from the treeline, Thenn close behind.

"By Serenith's name, you're quick when you want to be!" Kael called out between heavy breaths, his voice carrying a slight tremor despite his attempt at casual banter. "Couldn't have picked an easier fight to run into? Or at least one with a damsel to impress?" He forced a laugh that didn't quite mask his fear, his rapier hand shaking slightly before he steadied it. "Though I suppose saving you will have to do for today's heroics."

His blade flicked out again with practiced precision, his concentration overriding his terror as he engaged another barbarian. Despite his obvious fear, he positioned himself firmly between the attackers and Belisarius, buying precious seconds for his friend to recover.

"Next time," Kael added, voice cracking as he narrowly avoided a massive axe swing, "maybe we could find some noble lady's cat stuck in a tree? Something a bit less... lethal?" The attempted humor couldn't quite hide the way his face had gone pale at the sight of the blood-soaked snow and the sheer size of their opponents.

With Kael and Thenn drawing away several attackers, Belisarius could finally look forward. His body moved with mechanical precision, each action flowing into the next, with no movement wasted. A barbarian's axe whistled past his ear—he spun inside the warrior's guard, black blade opening the man's forearm to bone. As the axe dropped from his hand, Belisarius's clawed gauntlet ripped across his face. Before the body hit the ground, he was already moving toward his next target.

Kael and Thenn were methodical and quick, bouncing around from target to target supporting each other in tandem. Belisarius and Kira were cunning, feinting, parrying and weaving until an opening showed itself, but the two speedy scouts zipped around the field with abandon. 

"Watch your left!" Kael called out, his blade singing through the air to catch a barbarian's wrist. Blood sprayed as steel met flesh, the weapon clattering to the frozen ground. Before the barbarian could even register the pain, Thenn was there, his blade finding the exposed throat with surgical precision.

"Clean kill," Thenn muttered, already moving to his next target.

With the five of them desperately fighting, Belisarius and Kira in the front, Kael and Thenn on the sides, and Ikit hidden within the middle of it all. The Iceforged, for all their fearsome reputation, fell one by one until silence finally claimed the battlefield.

In the aftermath, they collapsed where they stood. Battered and bruised, cut and bleeding, freezing in the cold, they lay. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, forming white clouds in the frigid air.

"Two fights," Kira wheezed, pressing a hand to a bleeding gash on her side. "Two fights in one day. The Great God must love us."

"Or hate us," Belisarius responded, managing a weak chuckle that turned into a grimace. "If this had been even a mid-size clan..."

"Then we wouldn't be having this conversation," Thenn finished.

Kael was the first to find his feet, though his usual grace was absent as he stumbled toward the lone remaining slave, a man who had fainted at the sight of the Diu Elf's approach earlier in the fight. Belisarius watched through half-closed eyes, knowing he should care about the other escaped slaves but lacking the strength to do more than breathe.

The night sky above them was a tapestry of stars, countless pinpricks of light piercing the velvet darkness. The cold air seemed to seek out every cut and wound, making Belisarius shiver as he finally forced himself to sit up. It was peaceful, quiet right now, and all was good in the world. Except for the blood leaking from his body. He would have to fix that.

"We need to tend these wounds," he announced, pulling bandages from Kira's pack. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency despite their trembling, wrapping his own injuries before crawling over to Kira.

Sitting up, he got to work wrapping the numerous cuts he had received, moving over to Kira to help her after he was done.

"I can do it myself," she protested weakly.

"Shut up and hold still," he replied, his tone gentle despite the words

By the time he finished with Kira, Kael and Thenn had managed to rouse their unconscious captive. The man came to with a start, eyes wide with fear as he found himself surrounded.

"Easy there," Kael said, his usual manic energy subdued by exhaustion. "We're the good guys. Well, mostly good. Somewhat good. We're definitely not the bad guys, at least." He flashed a tired grin. "I'm Kael. Kael Clove, from Clitham in the Aurion Theocracy. And you are?"

The man swallowed hard, tremors wracking his frame that had nothing to do with the cold. "J-Jon," he managed. "From Exningford, near the coast."

"Pleasure to meet you, Jon from Exningford," Kael continued, seemingly oblivious to the man's terror. "Sorry about the dramatic introduction. We don't usually murder quite so many people in front of potential friends. Well, sometimes we do. Depends on the day really. Would've been a lot more polite if you were a damsel in distress though."

"Kael," Belisarius cut in, "you're not helping."

"Right, right." Kael scratched his head. "Sorry, Jon. It's been a long day. Let's start over, we're travelers who happened upon your unfortunate situation and decided to help. The dead fellows over there were very bad people who won't be enslaving anyone else. And you're free now. How's that?"

Jon's eyes darted between them, the blood-spattered scouts, the pile of Iceforged corpses, and the night sky above. "I... thank you?" he offered uncertainly.

"You're welcome!" Kael beamed. "See? Much better. Now, once we can all stand properly, what say we get you somewhere warm and safe? I'm thinking a nice tavern with strong drinks and stronger walls."

"And medical supplies," Kira added, wincing as she shifted position.

"And medical supplies," Kael agreed. "Can't forget those. Nothing says 'successful rescue' quite like not bleeding to death afterward, wouldn't you agree, Jon?"

The former slave managed a weak nod, and Belisarius could swear he saw the ghost of a smile touch the man's lips. Perhaps it was the absurdity of it all - five battered warriors and a freed slave, trading quips while surrounded by corpses under a star-filled sky. Or perhaps it was simply the realization that, against all odds, he had survived to see another dawn.

"You're all mad," Jon whispered, but there was something like wonder in his voice now.

"Completely," Thenn agreed solemnly. "It's a job requirement."