1 Prologue
Leaves were falling from the trees, a sign of the cold winter arriving. The leaves fell, some with small insects that were having it for dinner, and they flew with the wind. They flew passed a beast in the woods. The wind that carried the leaves across its forest, had a certain smell that the beast was inhaling.
It moved its body accordingly to where the smell came from, its legs turned, and broke a branch that fell sometimes from a tree. The grass, trees, and bushes swayed by the wind, following the direction of the airflow.
Along with the smell, a sound also was heard in the distance. Of creatures howling and screaming. Their sounds were louder than the birds that sing, of leaves thrashing, and louder than the beast's breathing.
Once again, it inhaled. The smell was from the creatures that howled through the day. The smell was too familiar to the beast. They were from a human, elves, and one other that he believed was a halfling. The smell of wolves also went through its nostrils. And the smell of blood.
It ran through the forest on all four, clad in armor from many races, and some armor from its own.
Its claws were sharp and ready, but those claws would not shed blood, because they were hidden with gauntlets that his ancestors once forged and wore. Its gauntlets were sharp as its claws, coated with gold and other ore. These gauntlets could make any creature bleed, even some of the mightiest dragons that lived on mountains and volcanos. It could pierce through the toughest of armor, and powerful magic barriers.
Its long tail was dragged along the grass and mud, marking the grounds, saying it was once here, along with its bare feet.
Branched broke when it ran through them, leaves scattered when it ran by. Birds started flying away when they noticed the oncoming beast.
Then after going through the forest, that it is occupying for the moment, it arrived at where it smelled and heard the commotions.
It hid behind the trees and bushes, gazing towards the battle that unfolded in front of him.
There were elves. One with a bow, while the other had knives. A human with armor of steel and held a sword. A halfling robed and casted magic through his hands.
This group of adventurers were fighting wolves. To gather their pelt and teeth for the quest they took.
Most of the wolf pack were already laying on the grass, dead. Only two remained alive, and one of them was quite big, the alpha of its pack.
The elf with the bow fired its arrows at the lesser wolf, while the other with its blades dashed towards it. As the wolf went high, aiming for the neck, the elf slid down and pierced the wolf's own neck, killing it.
The alpha was occupied by the human with heavy armor, its teeth were unable to go through. Fire magic was flown towards it by the halfling. The alpha roared and bit down hard with fury in its eyes, and it actually managed to go through this time. The human's arm bled, and he gritted his teeth.
He swung his sword down from above, and with all his strength, he killed it. The alpha was already hurt from the sharp knives and arrows. It wouldn't have survived against him.
He took off his armor around his arm and bandaged the wound.
„That must have hurt, but that's good, it shows that you are successfully taunting them to target you," the elf with the bow said.
„Yeah, I hoped none of us would have taken hits, but we can't be this lucky. Why don't we have a healer with us?" The human turned towards the halfling. „Why won't you learn any healing spells?"
„I have been telling you guys, we should've asked that beautiful young maiden back at the tavern to join us! She has many spells for your wound and broken heart."
The elf with daggers was already starting to skin a wolf, then turned towards his group.
„Can you guys shut up and help me here? The sun has already passed its high point in the sky."
They started helping the elf, gathering up the sharp teeth and pelts.
The beast has gathered the information it needed, his kill will be rather easy. And his hatred and anger will be satisfied, but only for a moment. It walked out of the trees that it hid in.
One of the elves seemed to have noticed the sound and turned. His thoughts were blank only for a moment, then his face went pale.
„It's him! The beast!" he yelled, readying his bow.
The thing he called a beast stood tall with his strong legs, just tall enough for its shoulders to hover over the average humans head. Its gauntlets were out and sharp, ready for its kill.
They turned to see what he was talking about, only to have the same reaction.
„The lizard! The lizard that has killed so many people!"
A lizard indeed. A reptile that had a head like a crocodile, teeth that can pierce like dragons', eyes sharp as a hawk, snout that can smell like the greatest wolf.
„The cold-blood! Oh god, it's him!"
Its blood with the same temperature as its surroundings, the blood that filled it with rage. It had armor from many races, but also had scales that was tough as the greatest shields and armor the dwarfs made.
„Calm yourselves! All of you! We are four, we can take him on!" The human called out to his party members. He was pale only for a second when he saw the beast before him, but he quickly calmed himself and rallied them together.
The beast's mind was red as its blood. He went down and dug into the dirt with his claws. It closed its eyes.
Not only did the cold-blood have the gauntlets of his ancestors, but it also had weapons forged by them. Three spears on his back once were held by Olthin, a great lizard that could barely miss his mark. Two axes, held by his belt behind him, which once were owned by Eskiask, that fought brutally across the plains and forest. Two daggers on his thighs, which Sigrurth used when she assassinated a great leader of her enemy. Then the gauntlets, held by none other than the greatest leader of the cold-bloods, Ardao.
He could feel the words from the gauntlets, Ardao spoke to the lizard.
„Tear them apart, give our ancestors their lives," Ardao said.
On top of a large tree, a leaf started to fall. Its momentum was slowed by the wind. A caterpillar was biting into it as it fell.
It agreed with the words of his ancestor without hesitating. Its eyes opened up with hatred. Then it lunged forwards, straight for the human that was already swinging his sword.
The human brought down his weapon and stepped to the side, trying to dodge the attack. His armor was scraped by the claws, his armor breaking easily, bits of steel flew.
Ignoring the strength of the beast, he aimed and swung. The lizard dodged by a strand of hair, and then its gauntlet pierced through the chest of the human.
He wanted to yell, scream, and cry. But he was already dead, with a gaping hole that poured down his blood.
The lizard cleaned the red liquid by quickly shaking its hand, even though knowing it would get poured by blood again.
„You bastard!" The elf's voice was shaky but strong. He started firing his arrows towards the beast that stood above his friend's corpse.
The arrows hit its scales but did nothing. The tiny dent was one of many on his scales, counting the many times he was struck by a blow of arrows or swords.
The halfling helped, firing off his fire spells. But the elf with the daggers didn't move, he stood there with intentions of running away.
„We can't beat that thing. Not even twenty seconds in the fight and we already lost a man," the elf thought to himself.
The fire hit the beast but did nothing, it didn't even notice it. The halfling didn't have weak spells, rather it was the aptitude of cold-bloods. Withstanding even the strongest mages spells and runes.
The lizard ignored the mage and went and attacked the bow wielder. He frantically tried to load a new arrow, but accidentally dropping it. He turned and ran, only to hit the corpse of a wolf, stumbling to the ground and hitting the grass face first.
He turned to face the lizard with damp eyes. His fear rose as the beast stood tall above him and growled. The elf lost his grip against the bow. The lizard tore apart his chest then face, blood gushed around the once green grass.
Fire magic continued to barrage towards the lizard with no effect. The cold-blood dug down into the dirt with his claws on his feet and hands. Then thrusted forward with great momentum and speed.
The halfling tried to cast one of his greatest spells, but as he was about to cast it, the lizard clutched his small hands with his, covering the spell with his own hands. The halfling foolishly unleashed the magic, it erupted and melted the caster's hands.
He screamed in pain and writhed in the ground, staring at his hands that showed bones.
The lizard, with his unscathed hands, ripped through his neck, ending him quickly.
„He's a monster. Nothing can kill it," the last remaining elf muttered.
The cold-blood with eyes that raged stared behind him at the elf, glaring deep into his soul.
The elf ran and didn't look back. He jumped over fallen trees, brushing against bushes. He stumbled but still kept going. He called upon a spell that hides oneself from view.
The elf has gone completely invisible, but that couldn't stop the beast. He saw the fallen leaves move, and branches forcefully sway. The lizard ran at top speed but surprisingly couldn't catch up.
Not only did he use invisibility magic, but he also used a different one that hastened his speed.
As the lizard ran, his ancestor, Olthin, called to him.
„Give me his blood, use the weapon I once bore to stop him from fleeing!"
He respected his words and drew out one of his ancestor's spear. He aimed through the forest, through the leaves that were falling. Closing his eyes, letting Olthin guide his throw.
With all his might, he threw the spear, piercing a leaf, piercing the wind that blows against him, and pierced through the chest of the elf, and went to the other side. The spear landed and got stuck on a thick tree.
He fell, clutching his open chest, and wept. He tried crawling away, his invisibility wavered throughout his body. He felt like he was on fire, his heart was racing to give him more blood. His mind full of fear, thinking not of his friends or family, but thought of the beast that stood tall over him, so tall he might have thought that the lizard was as tall as the castle in the city he called home.
The lizard grasped the elf's head and lifted him up. The elf groaned. He tried to slice at the beast before him, but his daggers never reached.
He saw through the beast's eyes, hatred, anger, and rage. And, of course, he knew why that was.
A hiss came from the mouth, then a growl. The reptile opened his mouth wide, its teeth showed its last lunch.
The elf screamed, trying to cut through the arm of the beast with no luck. Its scales were as hard as the greatest metal, only weapons that are forged from great smiths could break through, not his feeble elven daggers.
It bit down, hard. The elf's skull broke and caved in. No motion came from him anymore. His daggers dropped to the grass.
The lizard released the head and the body fell. It didn't eat him, it spat out the flesh. The taste isn't great from them.
The elf was the last to die, but only the last of this group. There will be no last until the lizard, the reptile, the beast, the cold-blood, dies.
The leaf that fell from the tallest tree finally reached the grass, caterpillar still latched on, and feasting. Many more were still falling, until the last surviving leaf was still hanging, waiting until it was its turn to fall. But it won't, It will survive longer than it's brothers, it will survive the cold winter. And once his brethren emerge once again. It will finally fall in honor. It will fall until the kin it longed for emerges from the graves.
The cold-blood growled and tied the bodies of its prey, slung them over its back, and followed its footsteps back to its camp. And there it waited, an urn.
An urn that had engravings of the lizard's ancient tongue, small figures of cold-bloods ran across the urn sides, holding their weapons. Shapes of flames also showed above and beneath the cold-bloods figures.
The cold-blood placed the body adjacent to the urn. It took the dagger from its ancestor, Sigrurth, and stabbed the human, coating it with blood. It let it drip down onto the urn, its magic glowed as it sensed the blood. It waited for more.
Cleaning the blood with cloth, it stabbed the next. Then continued until it gave the urn its final sacrifice. The urn wanted more, but no more came.
It glowed with magic, and the lizard called to its ancestors with its ancient tongue of cold-bloods.
„My name is Michukha, son of cold-bloods, son of a great nation that once thrived across these lands! I give you the gift of souls of the races that we wish for dead! May they be the progression of your revivals!"
The urn shook and accepted the offering, but the glow of energy faded. It wasn't good enough, the souls of the sacrificed were too weak. The urn didn't consume them.
Michukha knew it wouldn't work, but he always tried nonetheless. He has tried on so many races, but to no avail. He saw through his ancestors, a vision, that this urn would bring them back from their extinction. But he would need more and stronger souls than from these lessers adventurers.
He roared through the night that just arrived, roared for his kin that he lost so long ago. He will be guided by his ancestors through his tough life. But not alone, he already has sensed a new scent from one of his ancestors, calling to him. He will follow it, and there he will find what he needs to grow stronger.
