Forest of angels

** Big thanks to Luke Karls for your support**

The screams and pleas of the villagers echoed everywhere without end, only finally coming to an end once the sun decided to grace the earth with its presence.

Its rays pierced through every crevice vanquishing all that remained of the darkness, with the suns rays all could easily view what Arthor had created. Numerous wooden poles were planted into the earth with the crimson fuel of life snaking down its body and seeping into the wood.

Upon the various wooden hanged Arthor's victims, hanging of the the wood by their writs. Their frozen, twisted expressions of pain and suffering were illuminated by the rays of light. Alongside the deafening silence that engulfed the surroundings the scene was both morbid and holy, terrifying yet beautiful.

Under this strange scene, stood Arthor bathed in the red. His eyes closed with his axe held tightly at hand, after what seemed like an eternity Arthor opened his eyes and began to walk back to his people.

Eyes were trained on his every movement as Arthor took slow but steady steps into the village. Wherever he went the people parted like the ties, his journey was brought to a halt however when Harwood didn't move. Looking up Harwood and Arthor locked eyes, Harwood took in the figure of his son as though seeing him for the first time.

The two remained standing for a few seconds before Harwood relented and moved aside, allowing for Arthor to continue the trail of blood behind him growing with each step.

********

"Chief, this people are here for you. They claim to carry important news"

"Is that so?" A voice carried out of a large tent, A man walked out with a full beard with his bald head covered in tattoos of various runes. The chief took a quick scan of his surroundings ignoring the crowd which had been attracted by the small group before him.

The group was led by a man in his mid-thirties, he possessed a lean and wiry build, weathered skin, and calloused hands. His clothes were tattered and stained with sweat, dirt, and blood much like the group behind him. The man was panting heavily, his chest heaving with each breath, with his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes were wide with fear, and his face contorted with anguish.

"Go on, out with it. What news is so grave you rushed to my village before the cocks had sung their horrid songs."

*huff* huff* struggling to gather their breath, the man began with news that caused the chief to loose the last bit of sleep that tug on his consciousness with promises of comfort. "Ylfing has fallen."

"How?" was all the Chief could say, Ylfing was a now a simple clan. They had proven themselves the last winter and now to be told they were suddenly no more... "what happened?"

"They came without warning, one moment everything was normal, the next they were upon us. Their numbers greater than any other clan we had ever seen, we could not do anything... we... we..." The mans fatigue had caught up to him making it difficult for him to string together a sentence.

"Call for the healers, have them nursed back to health. I would hear from them once they awake"

"Yes Chief" one of the men gave a nod and moved to call for the healers. The Chief seeing this moved to another man, "get Brandon, tell him to send a message. From the looks of it they barely managed to escape which means there is a high chance he wasn't thinking of his destination"

"So ask him to contact the others around us perhaps some other survivors headed there."

Saying all that the Chief turned to another Wymar, "Wymar you will take some of the men and head to Ylfing see what remains and who is responsible. Spring is upon us, this is a time for peace and yet someone dares to wage war"

"We will not stand for this" Hearing this Wymar nodded, "Yes Chief before gathering a few men to go and scout"

Two days later every clan around had the same news the forest of angels Arthor had created.

'The high chief of the woodlands' was a title on the minds and tongues of every man.