Author’s Note: Final part, and first outing with Alf. He’s my only Watcher who would have been active during the Battle of Cordoire.
Bard’s Note: How you know that someone has been reading the Wiki: They call the Overnight Defense by it’s official historical name, The Battle of Cordoire. XDDD I mean, tehnically speaking, the Battle of Cordoire specifically refers to the standoff that took place immediately outside of Cordoire, while that overnight Defense refers generally to both that battle and the other raids and events that took place that night in the buildup and aftermath. Anyway, nerdy lore facts aside, thanks to @theshapeshifter100 for this submission!
Head’s up, as with the last two stories, this is the Overnight Defense, which means it’s about to get intense. TW for an actual battle, detailed descriptions of monsters, corpses, and puppets, blood, etc. It’s a FANTASTIC depiction of The Overnight Defense, probably the best in the AU to date, but just so you’re aware, if this was on AO3, this would 100% get a “Graphic Depictions of Violence” warning. Consider yourselves warned.
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Alf puffed out a breath, watching the small fog float up in front of him. He marched outside the walls of Cordoire, leading a small group of Watchers around the walls, keeping an eye out for, something. Shadowy figures, lone people wandering around, any groups spotted.
The snow was thick on the ground, making it harder work than it would usually be to walk through. Under his armour he could feel his calves beginning to complain.
Lanterns lit up the walls, the occasional snowflake fluttering in and out of the light. Inside the walls were crowds of people, mingling, eating, drinking and generally having a good time. They didn’t know, or didn’t perhaps think, of the potential threat.
He had not been in the meetings to determine this, he had not been asked to nor did he have an interest, but he had agreed with the conclusion that had been shared. The man who had been known as Mage Antonius Septimus, now just ‘The Enemy’, had attempted to take the King’s life before around this time of year, he may do so again.
He may also wish not to make this a pattern, he had seemed like a dangerously clever man if Alf remembered him correctly. Not a man you’d want to make an enemy of, although perhaps not a man you’d want to entrust with too much power.
Either way, Alf wasn’t sure what to expect tonight. A big show, a silent attempt, or no attempt at all. He would just have to find out. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was hoping for, if he wanted to handle a potential assassin, or have the night pass peacefully. Really the first one was a selfish idea to show his skill. The ideal scenario would be that nothing happens.
The night plodded on to the beat of armoured boots trekking through snow. He could hear disgruntled mumbling behind him, and Alf tugged his green cloak closer, one hand close to his sword hilt.
He looked up at the sound of a croaking raven call, and said raven glided in, half masked in the darkness and looking for somewhere to land. One Watcher held their arm out and the raven landed on it before stretching out a leg, which had a roll of parchment tied to it.
“Company! Halt!” Alf barked, although most of them had already stopped anyway. Some of them grumbled as he gave the command, something about this ‘being the Watch and not the Guard’. He didn’t really give a damn, old habits die hard and they listened to him when he did it.
Alf turned on his heel and went up to the Watcher with the raven. Their arm trembled a little bit under the weight of the bird, and Alf untied the parchment as quickly as possible so the bird could hop to the ground.
He unfurled the small message and stood under the nearest lamplight to read it.
‘Large group spotted from northwest. Appears similar to earlier skirmishes, but army sized. Assemble immediately.’
It took a good minute for that message to sink in. Creatures similar to the skirmishes in the Western Forest? But the size of an army?
He reached for a charcoal stick in his cloak and scribbled a quick reply, stating that his group would be on their way. Part of him told him that this was a distraction, that an assassin could easily sneak in with an army sized distraction.
Well, if that was the case, hopefully the mages inside the walls, or hell, even the Coalition, could deal with that.
“We are to head north west!” he projected to his group, rolling up the message. The raven hopped back onto the previous Watcher’s arm and allowed Alf to tie the message to its leg before it flew off again. “You have no doubt heard talk or read reports of skirmishes with The Enemy’s forces in the Western Forest. Now, according to this message, an army of them is marching, and we are to meet them!”
As expected, there were nervous looks and mumblings. They were a mixed group; some were part timing with the Syndicate like Alf, a couple were ex Knights, and more of them were Watchers who were just trying their best.
Alf marched to the front of the group, feeling sympathy, but also not likely to let anyone desert.
“Look lively!” he barked. “Forward!”
With some apprehension, his group followed.
If he knew where he was, and he was pretty certain that he did, he guessed it would take a couple of hours to get to roughly where he needed to be. Part of him considered going through Cordoire itself, but dismissed it. His group didn’t need to cut through like that, it probably wouldn’t shave off any considerable time.
Several hours later they reached the north west side of the capital, since that was more or less where they’d started from. A large crowd of Watchers in armour and green cloaks were getting organised, someone had arrived with more weapons and was handing them out.
There was a large group with spades several tens of metres in front of the wall, digging a trench. Nearby were some more Watchers sharpening spikes as fast as they could and planting them in the trench.
“IF YOU’VE GOT A LONGBOW GET TO THE WALL!” someone bellowed in the milling crowd.
“SHIELDS UP FRONT!”
“DOES ANYONE HAVE A HORSE?!”
“MESSENGERS SPREAD OUT!”
The Watchers were spread out along the wall, archers between the wall and the trench with arrows ready in the ground, and infantry spread all the way out into the slums. People in the slums watched them with suspicion and curiosity, but otherwise stayed in their homes. It seemed like they had been warned.
Alf went to find someone who seemed to vaguely be in charge. That was his only issue with the Watch, there wasn’t much of a chain of command. Normally this wouldn’t be much of a problem, but now, it really was. Anyone could shout out an order and someone would follow it.
He ended up leaving his group behind as he wove his way through the throng.
“Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” he snapped at what looked like a teenager, holding a spear like they’d never seen one before, and holding the business end out very haphazardly.
They yanked it back and probably apologised, but Alf had already moved on, a man on a mission.
Finally he found someone he thought might in some kind of actual command. An older woman by the largest cache of weapons and tools and a pile of papers, with a hastily erected tent behind her. He strode up and she glanced in his direction.
“One moment,” she turned to who he assumed was another squad leader and handed them an armful of spades before sending them off. “Yes?”
“Are you who I need to report to say that my group has arrived?”
“Might as well be,” she sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Alf Powell,” he answered with a slight pause.
“Got it got it,” she wrote something down. “Is your group armed?”
“Mostly. Mostly sword and shield, a few crossbow wielders.”
She nodded. “Sword and shield up front of a line with the polearms, crossbows to the sides near the back. Put a couple of sword folk with each crossbow. If they really don’t want to fight, they can dig or guard our archers.”
“Understood.”
She looked Alf up and down. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you were in Tandeli’s Royal Guard, when that was still established.”
“I was indeed,” Alf tried to ignore his heart beating a bit faster in his chest. “The accent gave it away didn’t it?”
“Yes, it did. That and the walk. You walk like a Knight, but you have a Tandeli accent,” she frowned slightly. “Would you prefer I call you by your Chosen Name?”.
“Alf is fine.”
“Very well,” a small smile grew on her face. “Sadly, there will be no naval warfare here, are you going to cope on land?”
“I will be just fine on land.”
“Good. Get yourself, somewhere, Mr Powell. Head out into the buildings and find the closest line.”
He nodded curtly, keeping mum about the vague order, and marched back to his group. He quickly split them up according to the higher ranking Watcher’s orders, and he headed to a rough position.
He ended up in an infantry line, mostly in the slums and no longer able to see the trenches and archers. Given how late his group had been getting here, he was by far nowhere near the front lines. Those, he would guess, were further away from the city, ready to meet this oncoming army.
Above him on the roofs of the small, battered houses, sat two crossbow wielders from his group, with two others wielding swords to protect them. Around Alf were various pole arm and sword wielders, clustered together in a loose formation that stretched out through the muddy streets.
He was normally a single sword kind of person, given his previous position he had always been a solo fighter. Here he was using a sword and shield, something he had been training with in the Syndicate. Still, the shield felt heavy and cumbersome on his arm.
He understood the logic, but fighting in army was not how he had been trained. Although, he doubted many people here had.
There was surprisingly little talking, must people just muttering under their breath and shifting to stave off the cold as the snow spiralled around them. There were some conversations, mostly folks trying assuage each other’s fears. That it was going to be fine, that of course it was going to be fine.
The necessary lies and half truths.
He couldn’t see anything from his position, just houses and mud and scared eyes peeking through doors. In the near silence the thud of hooves was deafening, and a green cloaked Messenger appeared from the darkness.
They stopped at the front of the line and leaned down to speak, and Alf could hear what was said, but a ripple went through his line, and everyone tensed as whispers shot through. Dark mass on the horizon. Weird movement. About to hit the front when the Messenger left.
Alf felt something stir in his belly. It took him a moment to recognise it as a combination of fear and anticipation. His shield arm trembled and he glared at it. He had a lifetime of training under his belt, he of all people, would be fine!
The last time he’s been in a major conflict, Ida died.
Welcome to conflict Powell. People die, get used to it.
The Messenger trotted off carefully on the slick ground, no doubt to warn the lines further behind. The silence was deafening and the tension palpable. They all knew this army was coming, and everyone probably hoped that the front line would catch it.
A shout came from the crossbows on the roof and the group tensed as one. Faint shouting and ringing of metal could be heard ahead of them. An order echoed through the informal ranks, but there was a ringing in Alf’s ears. He didn’t quite catch it. Around him people drew their swords and raised their shields, and he followed suit without realising.
Then he noticed that the darkness ahead of them had deepened, and was moving.
Arrows soared overhead and into the mass that suddenly in front of them, and whatever formation this line of the Watch had dissolved.
With some unspoken word his entire section charged and Alf had to charge with them or be trampled. They half ran, half slipped over icy, muddy and slushy ground, roars and yells ringing in his ears.
The first monster popped up in front of him and he had run it through before his mind had truly caught up. A worryingly human looked creature was impaled on the end of his sword, too skinny to be healthy.
It’s neck juddered and cracked and it looked up at him, a tangle of greasy blond hair falling over glazed over eyes. Alf let out undignified shriek and flung his sword around like he was trying to shake off a spider.
It landed with the splat on the ground, leaking black fluid from the stomach. It started to get back up and Alf stabbed down with his sword. Again and again and again until it was more hole than being.
The Watchers around him had split off, leaving Alf to stare at this creature. It wasn’t human, and he wouldn’t call it a Changeling either. He had vaguely heard reports of creatures like this, but reports were one thing, seeing it in a fight was quite another.
A crossbow quarrel thudded into the ground by his leg and startled him into moving on.
The night deepened and the fight went on. Sweat soaked every part of him, his armour was scratched and stained and bruises were flaring up underneath. Still, this army showed no sign of stopping.
He had no idea what was happening outside his little bubble. The majority of the army could have invaded Cordoire for all he knew. He had ended up in some dark part of the slums, mud, snow, blood and ichor mixing together underfoot to become a slippery nightmare.
He had three monsters around him, all appearing desperate to see him cold and bleeding on the ground. It looked like they had practice too, judging by the dark stains on whatever passed for hands.
One leapt on his back and scrabbled at his neck, clawing and biting. With a roar he ran backwards and slammed himself repeatedly against the nearest wall. The other two leapt at once and he slashed out at one with his sword and held up his shield to catch the other.
The sudden weight on the shield sent him staggering, and the one on his back hadn’t stopped, so he slammed his back against the wall again before using the sword to stab the monster on his shield enough to get it off.
The remaining creature shrieked and came out him again, eyes glowing green. The eyes were so bright and the scream so shrill that Alf had to close his eyes and shake his head to clear it, dropping his attack.
He then screamed as the monster on his shield reached over and slashed at his face. He stumbled away from the wall, backing into the one that wasn’t already on him and slipped on the slush, crashing on to his back. He managed to land on two of the monsters, and flung his shield away to get rid of the last one.
There was a crunch underneath him and a screech that pierced through his ear and straight into his brain. He yelled in response and rolled away, head ringing with the noise.
The creatures he’d landed on weren’t dead by any means, but they appear to have broken enough bones to not be getting back soon.
He grabbed his sword and dispatched the creature on his shield. With a groan and a shake of his head, sending flecks of his blood all over the place, he turned back to the two on the ground and stabbed them until they stopped moving.
For a moment, the night was still, and he took a moment to get his breath back. His head throbbed like one massive bruise, while the entire left side was on fire. Red hot liquid dripped down his face and for a moment his vision swam. Nausea rose up and he doubled over, breathing deeply and slowly and waiting for it pass.
He collected his shield, shoving it back on his arm, and walked off to find more monsters.
The sun nervously peeked over the horizon, and with it the remaining monsters retreated. Alf staggered back to where he hoped the original meeting point had been. He was exhausted, dragging his feet behind him.
He’d lost his shield somewhere, his shield arm hanging limply by his side and throbbing with pain. Everything looked the same and his head pounded like someone was using it as a drum.
The blood had stopped falling down his face, hardening and cracking every time a muscle twitched. It itched like an army of ants, but he barely had the energy to scratch at it.
There was a forest green blur and someone’s voice made it past the ringing in his ears.
“…ear me? Can you hear me? What’s your name?” there was a slight sting as they appeared to be tapping his face.
“Alf…” was that right? It felt like there should be more to it. It fell half finished from his lips as his mind tried to catch up.
“Okay Alf. I’m going to help you back to the wall, okay?”
Alf nodded, and groaned when the movement made his head pulse in pain.
“ ‘S alright, I gotcha,” someone wrapped Alf’s arm around their shoulder and helped him walk back.
Everything after that was a blur. He was sat down somewhere, his bad arm suddenly against his chest and something making his face sting.
People came and went and voices drifted through one ear and out the other. He may have slept, he wasn’t entirely sure until he realised he was looking up at a cloth tent ceiling with some of his vision obscured.
He managed to sit up with one arm and found a cup of water on the ground next to him, which he grabbed and drank in three gulps. He put it back down and got a better look at his surroundings.
He appeared in some kind of medical tent, hastily set up from the lack of beds and everyone lying on the ground. There were two rows of patients in the tent, with a large table in the centre groaning under the weight of bandages, poultices, herbs, pestle and mortars, and weighing scales.
Two people were running around between patients and when one of them spotted he was awake, ran out of the tent. They were quickly back with the woman Alf had reported to last night.
She looked as bad as he felt, worse even. A large swatch of bandages covered her left eye entirely and it was clear every step caused some pain. In her hand she carried a piece of parchment and she looked down it at as she came to a stop at Alf.
“Good to see you with us Mr Powell.”
Alf tried to sit up straighter. “Good to see you, ma’am?” he suddenly wasn’t sure which honorific she preferred.
“Don’t worry about that,” she waved off. “Only reason I’m here is because people seem to think I’m charge. Don’t ask me how that happened. I’m looking over this, can you confirm that you had 15 in your company yesterday?”
“Excluding myself, yes.”
She tried to keep a stoic face, but her mouth clearly turned down. “I see. Once you are on your feet come and find me. I don’t have a nice job for you, but it’s necessary one.”
“Understood,” Alf didn’t nod this time, remembering that that might be a bad idea.
The woman nodded sharply, wincing slightly before turning on her heel and leaving.
Over the next few hours Alf got breakdown, in drips and drabs, about what had happened, the aftermath, and the extent of his injuries.
In his case his shield arm was definitely broken, and the scratches on his face had only just missed his eye. In fact he was told to keep a close watch on those injuries in case there was an infection that spread to the eye. As he suspected there were more cuts, bites and bruises than could be counted, as well as general exhaustion.
Although apparently, he was one of the lucky ones.
A large chunk had made it back, some in more pieces than others. Some were no longer among the living, and some had just vanished into the night.
No one knew what happened to them. Alf assumed desertion, and for the first time in his life, he did not blame them. No training in the world could prepare you for what happened last night. Most people are trained to fight other people, not, monsters.
After some food and a bit more rest, Alf was considered well enough to leave the tent, as long as he came back, or to another doctor or medical professional to check on his worst injuries. It didn’t take much for him to find the now one eyed woman, and he really needed to get her name.
He didn’t get much of a chance immediately, as she marched him to a secluded spot by the moat. It would almost have been idyllic, if not for the blanket coverings arranged in neat rows.
Alf took a deep breath, and the woman he was with nodded slowly.
“I think you know what I need you to do. I’m sorry.”
Alf puffed out his cheeks and let out a long breath. “Very well. I will do my best. Before I start, may I ask your name?”
“Natalia,” Natalia responded. “I will walk with you if you need. I can keep note of the names.”
“Thank you,” Alf swallowed uneasily and began to walk around.
Welcome to conflict Powell. People die, get used to it.
With a pit opening in his stomach, Alf hoped he never would get used to this.
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Author’s Note: Alf has the Influence Curse. Keeps his eye but sometimes gets green floaters and flashes in that eye. Sometimes his head pounds and he needs to lay down in a dark room for a day
I doubt that there was one leader. Most likely every few hundred metres someone would go ‘that on, they’re in charge’, and that person would have to put up with it.
General plan was, walls make an excellent last line of defense, have a line of archers there, a little raised up, spiked trench in front of them. Lines of Watchers sent out through the slums, depending on who was there first and who got themselves organised first. Alf’s group took two hours to get back, and some sent out earlier on patrols, some later, some deployed at different points. So some got back earlier, some got back later. Majority of the infantry lines are sword and shield bearers, and pole arms, not really enough shields or confident shields for a shield wall. Crossbows wherever you can get them, and they need to be guarded because crossbows take forever to load in comparison to a longbow.
Bard’s Note: Psssttttt Holly, you mind if I use this to flesh out some of the lore about the actual specific events of the Overnight Defense? Specifically that last paragraph of your author’s notes in particular.
Anyway, HOLY CRAP. I think I mentioned this a tiny bit in the last submission, but Holly, you are SO GOOD at writing the more intense elements of this world and actually diving into the critical, complex dynamics of it in a nuanced way. Things like the organization structure of The Watch feel realistic because you treat them realistically; saying “yeah, this isn’t the best structure in the world” makes it more believable than saying “IT WORKS BECAUSE WE SAY IT DOES” which is… sorta how I started out when I was initially developing the idea that The Watch doesn’t have a strict heirarchy structure? I made it better over time, but still, I think the way you talked about it here made it feel the most real out of everything so far. And the way you write the raids and such! I always write them from such a critical, historical point of view- reports, historical analysis, cause and effect, big picture stuff- but you get into the nitty gritty of how that affects the PEOPLE of this world and oh my gosh IT’S SO GOOD.
Author’s Note: Second part of the three part series. I never previously thought much about the Masons during the Overnight Defence, but given how prone they are to raids and how far out they are from Slinad (an hour by horse and cart) they are pretty vulnerable.
Bard’s Note: Thanks again to @theshapeshifter100! Once again, this is the Overnight Defense, so standard trigger warnings apply, most notably blood, injury, horrifying unnatural monsters chasing people, and similar horror elements. As always, let me know if I need to put any more warnings up here; we don’t touch upon the horror of The Enemy’s attacks very often (Holly is by far one the best writers on the subject) but needless to say, it’s intense.
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Rufus stomped his feet on the path, holding his cloak hood out to block out some of the sleet coming down. It was not a nice night to be out, but that made tonight’s plans all the better. Everyone at home for a meal that his Ma and Pa had been working on all day. This included the farm hands who were still here during the winter and several of them had been helping.
Now, Rufus was tasked with waiting for Dunla to get up here. He knew why he wasn’t waiting inside; the path was dark and if he held up the lantern when he saw Dunla she’d know where to go. Still, he desperately wanted to be inside, in the warm, a slow roasting side of mutton in the aga with vegetables they’d grown and bought from the market.
He grumbled under his breath and swapped hands on holding up his cloak hood, shoving the cold one under his shirt to warm it up.
Finally, finally, he saw the wobbling light of another lantern. He grabbed the one on the ground beside him and waved it in the air, and other bobbing lantern came towards him.
“Dunla! Hurry up! It’s freezing!” he yelled.
“No shit!” Dunla yelled back up, taking great strides to meet Rufus. She seemed to be walking oddly, favouring one leg over the other.
“You alright?!”
“Fine! Just, weird shit in Slinad.”
“What are you talking about?” Rufus turned to walk the remainder of the path up to the house.
“I don’t know. People are muttering about monsters and being antsy, I swear I saw something out of the corner of my eye on the way up here.”
“It’s not Hallow’s Eve, enough with trying to scare me.”
“I’m not messing with you!” Dunla shoved his shoulder. “Whatever. Let’s just get inside,” she shoved past him and half jogged up the path, her leg clearly giving her trouble.
Rufus swallowed his grumbles and followed her up the path. Barking burst from the side of the house, startling both of them. From the stable the horse let out a panicked whinny, and Rufus called up to Dunla.
“When you said you saw something…”
Dunla looked back at him, eyes were wide, and without waiting she sprinted unevenly up the path, Rufus in her wake.
He risked a glance over his shoulder, and felt his heart skip. There was something there.
It skittered from the lantern light, eyes reflecting in it like a cat. It was far too big, and moved too weirdly to be a cat.
“…Dunla…”
The barking increased in volume and Rufus shot his head around to look at the side of the house, the lantern following just behind. He got a glimpse of a white face and black hair before it shrieked and skittered away from the light. Up the wall.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Rufus screamed and bolted. Dunla shrieked and the two ran for the door.
“Ma! MA OPEN THE DOOR!” Rufus yelled, certain he felt hot breath on the back of his neck.
The door burst open and Aris Mason stepped out.
“What is going on out here?” she asked, pushing her glasses up her face.
Rufus saw movement above the door and his heart jumped into his mouth. Black hair dangled over the top of the doorframe, just missing the top of his Ma’s head.
Dunla had clearly seen it too, as she scrambled to a halt. “SHUT THE DOOR SHUT THE DOOR!”
Ma frowned. “What are you two…?” she paused, and looked up. She screamed.
The creature shrieked back, revealing a face that wasn’t quite human before it scrambled backwards up the wall like a spider. It’s face was the colour of old milk, with black eyes that took up half it’s face.
“Inside. Inside quickly!” Aris ushered Dunla and Rufus in and they wasted no time sprinting in. Aris slammed the door shut behind them, the door rattling in the frame.
Rufus and Dunla doubled over and leaned against the wall respectively, getting their breath back as their hears pounded.
“I told you,” Dunla snapped, before freezing. A second later Rufus heard it as well. A soft tapping, almost like rainfall. Also like fingernails tapping against wood and stone.
Aris looked up at the ceiling, face pale. “Dunla, check the windows are shut and latched downstairs. Rufus, check upstairs.”
The siblings, tracking slush and mud into the house, did just that. Rufus bolted upstairs and checked each room. All of the shutters were shut, and he checked that they were all latched together and bolted into the frame.
“Hey!” Liam cried as Rufus bolted into his room. “I’m not ready to go downstairs yet!” the 9 year old was half in his nightclothes and half in his day wear.
“Just get dressed and go downstairs!” Rufus didn’t mean to snap, but he did as he checked the window and bolted out again.
He clattered down the stairs and met Dunla at the bottom.
“All checked?” they asked each other at the same time. “Yes,” they both responded.
Their Ma let out a long breath nearby. “You two stomp your boots off as best you can and leave your cloaks close to hand, then move to the kitchen with everyone else. I’ll get Liam and Lara.”
Rufus and Dunla nodded and did as Aris said. The kitchen was alive with activity, their father Brian was in charge of watching the roast while the farmhands finished up with the last of the other dishes. With the noise and chatter in here it was impossible to hear what was going on outside.
Dunla and Rufus looked at each other as plates were shoved into their arms and they were charged with setting the table.
Aris soon shepherded in Liam and Lara, the 4 year old having clearly insisted on riding on her mother’s shoulders and the Liam properly dressed now. Aris still looked pale, but nodded to Rufus and Dunla before going over to her husband and muttering in his ear.
Lara was too busy looking around at what everyone else was doing to listen, but Brian stiffened and nodded to Aris. He went over to one of the burlier farmhands and tapped them on the shoulder, muttering something to them.
“Rufus,” Brian inclined his head. “Dunla.”
The two siblings looked at each other and got up to follow their Pa.
The four of them huddled in the hallway, and worryingly, Rufus couldn’t hear the tapping anymore. He could hear the dogs barking still at least.
“You two, how fast was this thing moving?” Brian asked.
“Not sure,” Rufus started, but Dunla continued.
“It seems to move in quick bursts,” she informed. “and it kept up with me on the way up here. Must have done,” Dunla shivered, face going a bit pale. Rufus felt his own face pale, realising that at any point Dunla could have been attacked by this thing, and they’d never have known.
Brian opened his mouth, then his eyes went wide.
“When were you going to tell us about that?”
Rufus followed his father’s eyes to Dunla’s leg, realised that some of the mud and sleet on her clothes, was not mud, or sleet.
Dunla also looked down. “Oh. I, um.”
“Sit down. On the stairs.”
Dunla staggered back to sit down and Brian went over to assess the injury.
“Rufus, Cordelia, grab Aris and Robin and check on the dogs. Watch each other’s backs.”
Rufus ducked his head into the kitchen, trying to ignore the image in his head of the gash on his sister’s leg.
Aris looked concerned as she left the two youngest in the care of some of the farmhands, and grabbed the farmhand Robin. In the hallway they cobbled together the vague plan.
Rufus and Cordelia were to have the lanterns, with Robin leading the way to the kennels, and Aris at the back with a kitchen knife. What a kitchen knife was going to do no one wanted to ask.
If anything it was darker outside now, the sleet coming in at a sharp angle. Robin swallowed and grabbed a boot from by the door, holding it up like they would bludgeon the creature with it.
Rufus kept looking up at the walls of the house, searching for the thing. It seemed to avoid the light like before, but that didn’t stop the group from jumping at the slightest noise.
They reached the shelter by the side of the house where the dogs were when not up at the shepherds hut. A fenced pen really with a sloped roof to keep the rain off. The dogs immediately went crazy when they heard them coming. All of them started barking and whining, pacing in circles.
Rufus and Robin ran to the dogs, opening the gate to get to them with Cordelia and Aris standing nearby with a lantern and a knife. The dogs rushed to Rufus, whining and clustering around his legs as he got a good look at them. All the ones huddling around him seemed fine, if spooked, but he did a quick head count and realised there was one missing.
“Lark?” he called. “Here girl!” he began whistling repeatedly.
The other dogs went still and began growling at something outside. Robin was closer and so took the lantern from Rufus and went outside.
Rufus heard them yell and he ran out of the pen. He quickly scanned for Robin, who wasn’t far, just to the left of the pen, and he ran over, following their gaze. The sight made him want to either vomit or cry.
Lark had clearly gotten out of the shelter and tried to fight off the creature. It hadn’t ended well for Lark. In the dark, it was hard to tell where the blood ended and the dog began.
Robin cast the lantern around, and let out an ear piercing shriek. Everyone followed their gaze, and spotted the creature clinging to the wall. It skittered away from the light, but what made Rufus’s stomach drop further, was that it wasn’t alone.
His Ma yelled and flung the kitchen knife at it. It missed but it thudded solidly into a gap between the stones, handle juddering from the impact.
“Get the dogs inside!” she barked, and Rufus, Robin and Cordelia rushed to obey. They yanked the gate open and the dogs rushed out, swarming around Rufus and Cordelia’s ankles. They all barked and growled up at the wall and Rufus rushed to grab two scruffs in each hand.
He and Cordelia dragged them up towards the house, and Robin handed their lantern to Aris and grabbed some dogs. They took trips in pairs, one dragging dogs by the scruff as they tried to pick a fight with the creatures, the other with a lantern ready to tell them to run.
The carthorse crossed Rufus’s mind, but in the time he took to control and move his share of the dogs he came to the conclusion that there wasn’t much they could about the horse. The stable was far more enclosed than the dog’s shelter anyway, the horse should be safe.
The blade in the wall seemed to spook the creatures long enough to get the dogs inside. Lara was ecstatic at this, petting all the dogs as they swarmed and settled in the warm, while the farmhands not in the know looked confused.
Dunla was patched up and sitting at the table, and with everyone inside and the door locked, they could pretend nothing was wrong.
Lara was the only one not to realise something was up, at least as far as anyone could tell. Liam was a sharp one, so he noticed, and the farmhands not in the know also noticed that their employers were oddly nervous about something.
That said, it was difficult to be nervous or scared for long with a small army of dogs milling around, demanding scraps and leaning against their favourite people.
Dunla was quickly throwing around jokes, even if she occasionally held her head like it hurt. The meal went on as it usually did, and everyone tried to follow Dunla’s example, and settle in to storytelling, jokes and jabs at each.
Still, Brian, Aris, Rufus and Dunla didn’t sleep much that night. The dogs spread out around the house just in case, while the four of them stood guard.
Rufus sat in the dark upstairs hallway, back against the wall to see all the doors and windows and clutching a heavy metal ladle, for all the good it would do. The hours slowly dragged on, and he almost wished something would happen. It would be better than this waiting.
He knew his father and Dunla were by the front and back doors, while his Ma was upstairs with him on the other side of the house. The farmhands were all together in the spare room, since no one wanted to send them out to the bunk house alone.
Occasionally tapping and skittering noises could be heard across the roof, or on walls, or by the windows. Sometimes he thought he’d seen something, but it was just a dog shifting position. Rufus jumped out of skin every time and held his ladle aloft. He hated this he hated this he hated this!
After what felt like an eternity, the sun began to peek through the shutters, and he hadn’t heard the noises for a while.
He jumped when he heard the front door open and scrambled to his feet, but thankfully Brian shouted up.
“It’s fine! I can’t see them!”
“Check the walls!” Rufus yelled back down. A few tense minutes passed until Brian called back up.
“Still no sign!”
Rufus whistled for one of the dogs and went downstairs and outside, keeping an eye on the dog. The dog showed no sign of the fear and aggressiveness from last night, happily walking alongside Rufus as they walked through the slush, mud and grass.
“Ooooh fuuuck,” Rufus sighed, sagging as he felt the tension leak out of him. Was it over?
Brian patted him on the back. “C’mon, let’s rally the rest of them and assess the damages. I think the worst is over.”
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Author’s Note: Dunla was indeed attacked on the walk up. She is now my second character who suffers from the Influence Curse. She tends to get headaches and a blocked ear every now and again, which depending on how badly blocked it is, she can hear static or high pitched ringing through it, yeah guess what my ear’s doing right now
Slinad is directly north of Cordoire, and the army came from the north west, so the monsters wouldn’t have gone through Slinad. Probably might have been able to see them in better light.
Author’s Note: First in a three part series, in honour of the Overnight Watch’s anniversary. Not many of my characters were actually that affected, either they were in a major city, were lucky enough to sleep through it, or had other problems on their minds
Up first, a direct sequal to this prompt!
Bard’s Note: Thanks to @theshapeshifter100 for this incredible submission! Trigger warnings typical of the Overnight Defense abound here, guys, plus a few others: implied kidnapping/mind control, building fires, getting lost in the woods, etc. Let me know if there’s a TW I missed; this one is intense (which I LOVE but I want people to stay safe).
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Hank was having a wonderful night. The house hadn’t been this full in a while and having managed to wrangle both his siblings home at the same was damn near a miracle.
He, his Ma and his Da had gotten everything ready and all the walls were covered in evergreens from the forest, holly, yew and spruce took up most of it as well as some brightly coloured herbs. There were celebrations in Imforis proper that they’d go to later, but for now it was him, his family and Fiona, who was on her way to being family.
Her curly red hair stood out among the dark haired Greenwoods as she talked animatedly to his Ma, Nora. They got along pretty well, with his ma often going to the bakery Fiona worked to try her bread experiments. Right now it seemed Nora was giving Fiona some ideas about herbs to try.
His Da, Breas, was leaning back in his rickety old chair, having half a conversation with Hank, but the two of them would trail off to take in the atmosphere.
Hank noticed Bran looking outside, and followed his gaze through the closed shutters. The angle of the moonlight coming in was a bit different, and Mags hadn’t come back in yet.
Hank raised an eyebrow and stood up, Bran joining him a few seconds later. They only time they ever seemed to be on the same page was when it concerned Mags.
“Hank?” Fiona asked, noticing him get out of his chair.
“Mags isn’t back yet.”
“Hank,” his Ma sighed. “She’s a grown woman now, she can look after herself.”
“Just, let me look, alright?”
“If it makes you feel better,” Nora shook her head and returned to her conversation with Fiona.
Bran had already made it to the door and opened it, seemingly unconcerned by the cold. Hank at least grabbed a cloak and put on his boots before leaving.
The night was still and cloudless, the moon shining down onto the frost covered grass. Bran was already squatting down, looking at it.
“She and Rena went into the woods.”
“Sorry?” Hank walked over, and looked down and Bran pointed out the frosty prints. Boot prints and small fox prints, leading right into the Western Forest. “Maybe she went to visit the foxes?”
“Maybe, they’ll all be awake now,” Bran straightened up and looked at the woods. Hank followed his gaze, and felt a shudder go down his spine.
“Something’s not right,” was it him, or were the trees darker than usual?
Bran looked for a bit longer. “We need to look for them.”
“I’ll let Ma and Da know,” Hank turned to go back to back inside, only for Breas to slam open the door and rush out. “Da?”
“You found Mags?” he asked, casting around. “No?”
“She’s gone into the woods.”
Breas cursed under his breath, repeatedly, he gestured in the general direction of Imforis as he muttered, and Hank followed his gaze.
He could see the glow of the bonfire from here. That was odd, they never usually could see it from here…
No
Nonononononono.
Imforis was burning.
Nora and Fiona sped out of the house, stomping their boots onto their foot properly and throwing on cloaks. Breas clapped his hand onto Hank’s shoulder, snapping him back.
“Your ma and I are going to help in Imforis. Come with us or look for Mags, your choice.”
With wide eyes Hank looked between the glowing horizon and the dark woods. Bran was already walking towards the woods, his Ma and Da were beginning to walk down the road, and Fiona was waiting on his decision.
He swallowed, and turned to follow Bran into the forest.
“Bran!”
He could almost feel him sigh with irritation, but his little brother slowed down for him, ponytail swishing as he looked behind him. There was a crunching of frost as Fiona ran to catch up.
“Can you follow the tracks?” Hank asked Bran, who shrugged.
“I can try,” with that he turned on his heel and began to walk into the forest.
“Don’t step on the tracks,” Hank warned Fiona before following his brother.
“I can’t even see them, but okay,” Fiona followed, hitching up her skirt as she walked.
The forest was thick, thicker than he was used to. He swore it wasn’t this dense yesterday. That log wasn’t there either, or those mushrooms.
“What the fuck?” Bran came to a sudden stop. The light had abruptly dropped, leaving all three of them blind for a few minutes as they adjusted.
“Lost them already?”
“Shut up.”
The figure of Bran crouched down again, and Hank and Fiona blinked rapidly to get their eyes to adjust faster.
“There’s no tracks,” Bran announced.
“How can there be no tracks?!” Hank struggled not to burst out. “Come back and look again!”
“I am looking! They stop here!”
“Let me look!” Hank stomped his way over and crouched down to have a look. Bran sighed irritably and stood up as Hank came to the same conclusion.
He could clearly see the intents in the frost that were Mags and Rena, but Bran was right, they just stopped. There weren’t any left or right, they didn’t appear to backtrack or jump anywhere. They just stopped.
“Bran where are you going?” Fiona suddenly cried, and Hank whipped his head in time to see Bran wandering off.
“What are you doing?! We need to stick together!” he sprung up and ran to grab his brother by the arm.
“I’ll be fine,” Bran snapped, yanking his arm out of Hank’s grip. “You two stay together,” he brought his fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. As the noise faded there was a rustling noise as foxes appeared out of the bushes and owls appeared in the trees. Bran then faded into the forest like the feral child he’d always wanted to be.
“Bran?” Fiona wandered up to where he had just been.
“I forgot he could talk to animals. He’ll be fine,” Hank groaned. “Come on.”
“Where? Hank I’m not even sure which way we came in!” a note of panic was creeping into Fiona’s voice, and Hank agreed. The forest had changed drastically in the space of a few hours, and they were in the edge of it still. With Bran gone, he suddenly felt a lot more vulnerable.
Fear began to claw its way up his throat and he stepped closer to Fiona.
“MAGS!” he called into the dark forest, his voice high pitched from fear. “RENA!”
“She won’t hear you!”
“Rena might,” he cupped his hands to his mouth. “RENA!”
He heard a faint high pitched bark and screech. There was no answering call from another fox.
“That way!” he pointed in the direction of the call and began to march through the undergrowth. “RENA!”
“Hank wait!”
“We can’t lose them!”
“We also can’t see shit!” Fiona snapped. “And how do you know that’s Rena?”
“Because they responded, RENA!”
There wasn’t another bark or scream.
“Look, I’m going to go back and get a torch. Stay here!” Fiona turned and ran back the way they came.
The dark closed in as she left and Hank subconsciously wrapped his arms around himself. The back of his neck prickled and he shot his head around, feeling like the trees themselves were watching him.
“Come on,” he stamped his feet and tried to shake it off. It was just the woods, yes there was dangerous stuff in there, but not this far towards the edge. It was fine, it was just dark. The dark always made things seem scarier.
Still, he felt an incredible amount of relief when a bright ball of light came bobbing through the trees, and Fiona returned with the torch. Once she was next to him she held it out for him to take.
“You know this forest. Lead the way.”
They wandered the forest for hours, calling out for Mags and Rena. They heard nothing after the first bark, but kept going roughly where it had come from. The feeling of being watched barely faded, and as the night drew on, they knew they couldn’t keep going.
Even with the torch it was near impossible to see and the more they walked, the more likely they were to keep irreparably lost. Hank left markers as best he could, but they didn’t seem to do much.
The two of them came to an unspoken agreement as the torch flickered, and turned around. They headed back the way they came, hoping it would take them home, and bubbling with unspoken fear about being lost forever in here.
Finally Hank’s markers became more obvious and the dark less cloying. The trees began to part and Hank could see the sides of his house.
“Finally,” he breathed, and the tension shattered as he and Fiona picked up the pace. The moon was starting to lower and when they left the trees the moonlight almost blinded them. They paused and shielded their eyes as if they’d walked into sunlight.
In the better light Hank could see the twigs in Fiona’s hair and the mud splattered on both their boots and clothes. They looked like they had been doing, exactly what they had been doing; tramping through the woods.
Hank turned to face the forest and took a few steps back, stomach churning. “We didn’t find them.”
Fiona grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare go back in there.”
He looked back at her and then at the woods. He took a step back. Then another. Then another. He didn’t stop until his back hit the side of his house.
“Fuck,” he voice wobbled. His brother and sister were still in there. Age didn’t matter, he was supposed to look after them. That was what he did.
“Hey,” Fiona put a hand on his shoulder. “You watch, Bran will have found them, and all three of them are on their way back right now. It’ll be alright.”
“…Yeah.”
“And you know, I can’t see a fire glow anymore. It’s under control in Imforis.”
“Okay,” Hank slowly sank to the ground, knees up against his chest. Fiona took the smoking, burnt out torch from him and planted it into the damp ground before sliding down next to him.
The two of them watched the woods until the sun rose.
Bran came out first, stumbling and exhausted. His face was scratched and his clothes torn from thorns and snagging branches. Mud caked his lower half and a small amount of dried blood originated from a spot on his head, where it looked he might have hit it. He saw Hank and Fiona huddled against the house, and slowly shook his head.
Hank scrambled to his feet, dislodging Fiona’s head from his shoulder and marched over. “You have to have found her.”
Hank gripped his brother’s shoulder’s in both hands, green eyes glaring into wide brown as they both blinked back tears. “You had to have done! You can speak to animals for fucks sake, did none of them see them?!”
“Hank,” Bran spoke softly, breath hitching. “Hank that hurts.”
Hank hadn’t realised that he’d been digging his fingers in, and rapidly let go, stepping back. “Sorry, sorry Bran.”
Bran nodded and tucked his hands into his armpits. “Ma and Da back yet?”
“No. Not yet,” it hadn’t occurred to Hank that they might not be coming back.
Bran visibly swallowed and looked away with an unsteady exhale.
There was a faint crunch of frost which caught all of their attention. All three heads spun towards the woods to see a figure stepping out.
“Mags!” Bran moved first, quickly followed by Hank. The brothers quickly slowed as Rena stepped in front of Mags, and they got a good look at her.
She looked pale, her clothes in a similar state of mud and disarray as Bran’s. Twigs and leaves were tangled in her hair, and her eyes were glazed over as she walked, or more stumbled.
Rena didn’t look much better, his normally glossy coat foamy from sweat and tangled. His head hung low and he was dragging his paws, but he was still trying to protect Mags.
Hank waved in Mags’s line of sight to try and get her attention. She slowly blinked and looked up, slowly registering who was there.
Hank tried to ignore the fact that her green eye looked like it had changed shade. It used to be the same shade as his, but now it was a brighter, more verdant green. Maybe it just looked that way because she was so pale.
“Hank? Bran?” she slowly signed, and began to blink. “What happened? Why are you…?” she looked down and saw the state she was in. “Why am I…? Ow my head…”
Hank walked over and pulled her into a hug, and even more amazingly, Bran joined it.
Later in the day their parents would come back saying that Imforis needed repairing, and Hank would go down and start helping. Later they would learn that Mags had no memory of the night, and if Rena did, he wasn’t telling Bran.
But now his little sister was home and safe, and that was all that mattered.
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Author’s Note: Hank was 26, Bran was 23, Mags 20, Fiona 24
Bard’s Note: Thank you SOOOOO much to @theshapeshifter100 for all of these prompts for Inktober 2020! It’s been a genuine joy to read all of these!
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It was amazing how many people that house could hold.
It was a small, one story house on the edge of Imforis, and yet it currently held Mags’s parents, Nora and Breas, her two brothers Hank and Bran, and Hank’s girlfriend Fiona.
To be fair, that house had coped with all but one of them before, maybe it was because she’d been gone for a while. She’d gotten used to having more of her own space, that house seemed so tiny now.
The door fell shut behind her as she and Rena stepped out for a moment. She felt the frost crunch beneath her boots and her breath fogged in front of her eyes. The moon shone large and bright across the garden, with the beginnings of the Western Forest a stone’s throw away.
The frost sparkled in the cloudless night, and Mags found herself not as cold as she’d feared. It wasn’t like House Jackie thankfully, now there was a place of extreme temperatures!
Rena leant against her leg and she leaned down to ruffle his ears. The night was still, with barely any wind movement. It was peaceful, almost looking like a painting with how the moonlight was shining.
Rena went stiff and his ears pricked under her gloves. She looked up and followed his gaze into the trees, where a green light was shining.
It flashed across her eyes, and her mind went blank. She remembered nothing else of that night.
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Author’s Note: Winter 1603, Overnight Defence. This is my last one, 16 days late, and I did skip a couple out of having no ideas. Been good fun!
