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The mist hung heavy over the fields of the Norlanden, shrouding the landscape in a ghostly veil. Every step the woman took was accompanied by the soft rustle of grass and the faint crunch of damp soil beneath her boots. The lantern she carried cast a weak light, unable to fully penetrate the haze that had claimed the field as its own. The air was damp and thick, muffling even the faintest of sounds save for the occasional chirp of unseen crickets. She paused mid-step, steely eyes narrowing as her gaze caught something dark and amorphous through the swirling mist. It was distant, still and out of place. A shadow against the silver grass, lying motionless. Her heart quickened. She tilted her head, studying it from afar. Her breath curled visibly in the chilly air. Was it an animal? A rock? No, the shape was far too large and far too unnatural for either.
With cautious steps, she advanced. Her hand instinctively brushed against the hilt of her blade. Each stride brought her closer. The shadow took on an increasingly grotesque form as she neared. Her lantern cast a dim glow over the scene, revealing enough to make her stomach tighten.
A body.
Crumpled and lifeless, sprawled across the damp earth. The mist still curled around it like pale, ghostly fingers. Refusing to reveal the whole picture. The stench hit her first. A sickly but somehow sweet aroma of decay mingled with the metallic tang of blood. Her free hand rose to cover her nose, though the effort was futile. Her gaze remained locked on the figure. The corpse was massive, unmistakably that of an orc. Even in death, its frame was imposing, though now bloated and distorted as decomposition began its relentless work. The orc's features, though partially obscured by the mist, seemed vaguely familiar. Her fingers tightened around her lantern, casting its dim light over the body. It was only then that she noticed the wounds. Jagged gashes ran across its torso, the flesh torn and mangled. The cause of death was brutal and savage. She glanced to the side. Large wasps flitted lazily near the corpse. Were they feeding? Or worse, had they caused this?
Her gaze swept downward to the orc's arm. A glint of something metallic, shimmering faintly beneath the grime and blood caught her eye. She crouched low, brushing aside the mist with her hand to get a better look. The arm was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Interlocking pieces of metal formed the illusion of sinew and muscle, intricate and hauntingly lifelike. Veins were etched into the design, and embedded in the knuckles and palm were gemstones that glowed faintly even in the dim light. The energy radiating from the prosthetic was.. oddly alive. She tilted her head as her lips curled into a grim line. This was no ordinary prosthetic. Whatever its origins, the arm was valuable.
Powerful.
A rare find in these cursed lands. She reached out tentatively and let her fingers grazing the cold metal. The aura it emanated sent a shiver down her spine but she didn't recoil. Instead, she tried to tug it free. It wouldn't budge. The connection to the corpse was too strong as the metal was fused tightly with the orc's flesh. Her frustration mounted as she gave another tug but the prosthetic refused to relent. Her gaze darkened as she straightened, unsheathing her blade. If it wouldn't come willingly, she would take it by force. She knelt again. Her blade was poised over the joint where the prosthetic met flesh. The first cut was slow as the blade sliced through the decayed tissue with relative ease. A foul stench rose from the open wound, nearly making her gag. Her hands remained steady as she worked, ignoring the black ichor that oozed onto her gloves and dress. The dull squelch of tearing ligaments and snapping sinew filled the air.
Finally, with one last decisive cut, the arm came free. The woman held it aloft, examining it with intrigue. The gemstones shimmered faintly. Their glow seeming almost alive in her hands. She carefully placed the prosthetic into her satchel, ensuring it was secure. But as she turned to leave, her gaze lingered on the corpse for a little while longer. The orc's lifeless face stared blankly into the mist. A dark thought crept into her mind and surely one she couldn't shake. She hummed softly, a low, haunting tune that echoed faintly in the silence.
She knelt once more, unsheathing her blade..
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The mist hung heavy over the fields of the Norlanden, shrouding the landscape in a ghostly veil. Every step the woman took was accompanied by the soft rustle of grass and the faint crunch of damp soil beneath her boots. The lantern she carried cast a weak light, unable to fully penetrate the haze that had claimed the field as its own. The air was damp and thick, muffling even the faintest of sounds save for the occasional chirp of unseen crickets. She paused mid-step, steely eyes narrowing as her gaze caught something dark and amorphous through the swirling mist. It was distant, still and out of place. A shadow against the silver grass, lying motionless. Her heart quickened. She tilted her head, studying it from afar. Her breath curled visibly in the chilly air. Was it an animal? A rock? No, the shape was far too large and far too unnatural for either.
With cautious steps, she advanced. Her hand instinctively brushed against the hilt of her blade. Each stride brought her closer. The shadow took on an increasingly grotesque form as she neared. Her lantern cast a dim glow over the scene, revealing enough to make her stomach tighten.
A body.
Crumpled and lifeless, sprawled across the damp earth. The mist still curled around it like pale, ghostly fingers. Refusing to reveal the whole picture. The stench hit her first. A sickly but somehow sweet aroma of decay mingled with the metallic tang of blood. Her free hand rose to cover her nose, though the effort was futile. Her gaze remained locked on the figure. The corpse was massive, unmistakably that of an orc. Even in death, its frame was imposing, though now bloated and distorted as decomposition began its relentless work. The orc's features, though partially obscured by the mist, seemed vaguely familiar. Her fingers tightened around her lantern, casting its dim light over the body. It was only then that she noticed the wounds. Jagged gashes ran across its torso, the flesh torn and mangled. The cause of death was brutal and savage. She glanced to the side. Large wasps flitted lazily near the corpse. Were they feeding? Or worse, had they caused this?
Her gaze swept downward to the orc's arm. A glint of something metallic, shimmering faintly beneath the grime and blood caught her eye. She crouched low, brushing aside the mist with her hand to get a better look. The arm was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Interlocking pieces of metal formed the illusion of sinew and muscle, intricate and hauntingly lifelike. Veins were etched into the design, and embedded in the knuckles and palm were gemstones that glowed faintly even in the dim light. The energy radiating from the prosthetic was.. oddly alive. She tilted her head as her lips curled into a grim line. This was no ordinary prosthetic. Whatever its origins, the arm was valuable.
Powerful.
A rare find in these cursed lands. She reached out tentatively and let her fingers grazing the cold metal. The aura it emanated sent a shiver down her spine but she didn't recoil. Instead, she tried to tug it free. It wouldn't budge. The connection to the corpse was too strong as the metal was fused tightly with the orc's flesh. Her frustration mounted as she gave another tug but the prosthetic refused to relent. Her gaze darkened as she straightened, unsheathing her blade. If it wouldn't come willingly, she would take it by force. She knelt again. Her blade was poised over the joint where the prosthetic met flesh. The first cut was slow as the blade sliced through the decayed tissue with relative ease. A foul stench rose from the open wound, nearly making her gag. Her hands remained steady as she worked, ignoring the black ichor that oozed onto her gloves and dress. The dull squelch of tearing ligaments and snapping sinew filled the air.
Finally, with one last decisive cut, the arm came free. The woman held it aloft, examining it with intrigue. The gemstones shimmered faintly. Their glow seeming almost alive in her hands. She carefully placed the prosthetic into her satchel, ensuring it was secure. But as she turned to leave, her gaze lingered on the corpse for a little while longer. The orc's lifeless face stared blankly into the mist. A dark thought crept into her mind and surely one she couldn't shake. She hummed softly, a low, haunting tune that echoed faintly in the silence.
She knelt once more, unsheathing her blade..
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