Chapter 38

Wintersplinter

Conjured wind whipped rain into the eyes of Dyson and Fabian before they wiped it from their brows and focused on their foe. The leader of the forest folk stood before them, illuminated intermittently by the pulsing green light from the wicker Strahd's heart, slender build, large antlered headdress, and fearsome bleeding black staff held high in their hands. Their resonate voice rang over the others, leading the folk surrounding the statue in chant, and through Fabian's enchanted ears she made out their meaning "Wintersplinter, rise, rise wintersplinter." They mean to awaken the statue, she told her friends, and glanced sternly to Dyson who gave a kurt nod in understanding. He broke off and ran hammer raised at the nearest chanter, and with the leader left to her, Fabian passed her hand over her blade igniting it in holy flame. Her lips pursed in an unmoving line she plunged forth.

Over the hill came the light of the warparty, at least ten in number, and the beast of Erros roared with a tinge of excitement at yet more eager prey. The berserking survivors of Pieron's fireball fell upon him with slashing blade, and the speed of his ferocious movements quickly obscured him in the scuffle. With a raking claw blood spattered across the dirt. A berserker clutched their throat and slumped to the ground. Cast iron blades and blunt wooden cudgels sliced and hammered into the beast's hide, each a lethal blow, but every cut instantly sealed, and the beast's broken bones snapped back into place. Hulking brutes broke off from the warparty in a mad sprint for their bretheren. They seemed to know the foe they faced, but fought regardless in fanatical fury. When the beast landed a ripping bite on the charging berserker, the poor man showed fear and disgust at the curse they knew they now bore, but only threw themselves into the fray more carelessly just to be beaten to death by the un-killable bard they had not the tools to slay.

Pieron watched the battle from afar and thought to herself that perhaps they fought fearless to the death if only to distract the beast and safeguard the ritual. Stopping it fell to them, and from her wellspring of the arcane she launched energetic missiles into the chanters. They staggered, burned, but chanted still, though cowering now as best they could from another volley. Dyson beat back one of the chanters and whipped his head in the rain soaked dark and barked an arcane command. From the inky black Cyclone's binding sigils glowed a soft white, gears whirled into action to execute it's maker's command, and from behind the wicker Strahd it belched flaming napalm to drench the wet wicker and set it ablaze. A groan sounded from within the statue, almost a cry of pain. The light pulsed faster, arrhythmic, like a struggling heartbeat, but amidst the chaos Fabian saw only her adversary and through impenetrable shadow beneath the bone of their antlered mask she felt them return the stare. With martial prowess she struck the leader across their cowering shoulder, shifted the blade then pulled it back for an unpredicted second strike that glided through flesh to sternum. Instantly brilliant fire leapt from her blade over the leader so far obscured in shadow, as if they'd been soaked in kerosene it magically spread to engulf them fully, but still, with stifled scream, the leader chanted on, snaking flames now woven amidst the antlers to form a brilliant but fleeting radiant crown. They staggered back, Fabian rebalanced, shifting her palm to the pommel of her blade, and with all of her weight falling into the strike she delivered the coup de grace. As quick as it appeared the flames sputtered out and the chanting from the leader stopped. Tenderly, Fabian used her off hand to lower the lifeless body to the ground, sliding it free from the sword which pierced it's heart. The mask she pulled back and saw beneath the face of a young woman not older than herself, alike in many features though still now in wordless death. The staff she left where it had fallen in the mud, and she rose in hopes the ritual had been thwarted. But the storm raged on, and the chanters scattered to the shadows, chanting still.

Dyson donned his latest invention, piercing through the veil of night the forest folk hoped would hide them, and pressed into the dark after them as the storm above raged on. Fabian spun about and saw the carnage of the battlefield, saw the beast they knew as Erros brutally kill man after man, and still the chanting did not cease. Her heart raced, in sync for a moment with the pulsing green light above and she turned to face the towering Strahd, looming over the violence and destruction, it's heart beating ever faster. Of course. Wordless she jumped into action and hand over fist she clawed and scrapped her way up the wicker leg and chest. As Cyclone's belching flames licked up the statue's back, she reached the epicenter of green light, and saw deep within the shimmer of a green stone. The branches that made such excellent holds now barred access to the gem, but Pieron had watched the ascent, and called out for Fabian to duck. She threw her arm up and sent motes of arcane static sailing through the air. One, two, three blasts hit the statue's chest with impossible accuracy, drilling deep through the wood and raining splintered sticks down on Fabian's head. They exchanged a nod of thanks, then Fabian thrust her sword into the cavity, ablaze with radiant fire. The gemstone was there, emanating pulsing roots of living plant growth that snaked about the wicker like a network of arteries, anchoring it firmly in place. But the honed edge of Fabian's blade sliced cleanly through, and a blast of fire burst from within, causing her to duck down and out of the way. When she looked through the smoke the gem was gone, tumbling now through Strahd's innards until it rested near it's hip. In it's place the vine's pulsed faintly and withered, pulling back in the throws of death as fire continued to consume them. The forest folk chanters shrieked and chanted what Fabian could only assume were the final words, moments after the gem fell. For a brief moment, Dyson and his foes stopped and stared up at the statue, which groaned now and shuddered. The three hoped this was the final moments of whatever false life the forest folk had nearly summoned that night, but in the stillness their attention was captured by a shout from the center of the stone circle where the beast still waylaid the bulk of the forest folk.

A berserking forest folk bellowed a warcry and with alarming strength she struck the beasts temple with enough force to shatter it's skull, but like every other hit Erros' beast healed in an instant and slashed back unturned. He did not know however that the berserkers were indeed buying time, not just for the ritual, but for the late arrival of a small druid from the back of the warparty. Skin wrinkled and cracked beneath soot and tattoos, she stood behind her mighty folk and wrought a spell. Far above, a bright light caught the beast's eye, and he starred for a moment at what seemed like the moon, somehow piercing through the clouds. The full moon, brighter than the beast had ever seen. About the battlefield everyone saw the singular pillar of light, bright silvery moon light that beamed down from the heavens and engulfed the beast like a spotlight, radiantly searing his skin. Erros saw it too, the bright white light, even from the depths of his wolf dream. It filled his vision, the beast writhed in pain, cowered from the light, and for Erros, as his eyes adjusted, he felt the chill pelting of rain, and saw suddenly himself surrounded by enemies. His beast form had burned away in the bright light of the moonbeam, and he desperately drew his rapier as blows rained in from all sides.

They hadn't accounted for something like this, Pieron thought from across the field. She'd known the plan was risky, but Erros's invulnerability felt certain. With a keen eye she counted the paces, they were well within range, clumbed together so carelessly after her last explosive blast. She could muster another. As she rose her arm to point she held herself and watched in horror as Erros' body fell, bleeding and broken. Pieron couldn't fire now, perhaps he's still alive, he wouldn't survive something like this. She could hear his callous voice, so stalwart, matter-of-fact, telling her to do it, that he was as good as gone, that it's what he would do in her place. She weighed the options, did what calculations she could and fired, but at the last moment she pulled left and incinerated half the group in explosive fury, her dome of death just missing Erros.

It didn't matter. It was too late. Erros quietly breathed his last and slipped away. The wolf dream filled his mind once more, but the path ahead ended in a wall of sentinel pines, and he paused. He knew running into the forest would be the end, he would never find his way back out, never leave the mists or see his ancestors or his friends again. But he felt content with that. Cool mountain air, rabbits and deer to hunt. It's who he was now, and nothing of who he used to be mattered for shit. But just as he sprang into the trees a voice behind him gave him pause. He turned and found he was not alone, a woman stood before him, a mighty towering woman, plump as a pumpkin with pasty white skin that showed the deep blue of a million veins underneath. Her fat fingers were cinched tight with sparkling jeweled rings as they plucked effortlessly on the strangest looking stringed instrument he'd ever seen, but the eyes were what drew his gaze the most. Blue eyes the size of pomegranates, pupils like pin-points, she stared right threw his fur to the man still curled up underneath, and when she smiled the hazy sunlight glinted off hundreds of perfectly white teeth. She said her name was Shami-Amourae, the silver tongued, though behind her teeth she didn't seem to have one, and she held out her hand to him with a warning: that way lies oblivion. Come seek me out at my temple child, high amidst the cold of Mount Ghakis, past Tsolenka pass. I'm trapped here same as you, but I can save you from this fate, if you save me from mine. Erros knew those directions matched what Fabian, and Athrin, and Dyson had been told before him, and they accompanied quite the same offer, though given by such strange and different entities. He thought over his life and the trajectory he thought it would lead and he decided it would have all just ended here anyway, so he turned from Shami to run. If you save me, I can save Julia. He grabbed her hand, and Shami smiled a horrid grin as it all faded to nothingness and Erros opened his eyes in the land of the living once more, if that phrase makes any sense in Barovia.

From their angle far across the field Erros lay motionless, still surrounded by berserker's Pieron had not hit with her spell he took shallow breaths in the hope they'd think him dead. Dyson saw in the faces of the chanters who stared up at the statue a growing look of dread, and they yelled amongst themselves as they took cautious steps back. Fabian could still decipher the words, they said the ritual was broken, something's not right, she's stopped it, they all have, but the terror in their voice could be heard by without the words. The statue quivered, and rumbled again. Fabian, having climbed down to the hip to retrieve the fallen gem, clung tight to the sticks and braced herself, as she heard in a horrible creaking wail something from within the statue shift and take shape. Then it burst forth with a mighty blast, a blight like none they had ever seen, towering twenty feet in the air. Wicker shot out in all directions as it emerged, a misshapen barkless black tree, dripping in inky black ichor that sloughed off steaming into the mud. It roared and lifted a thick trunk of a leg before it slammed it down on the closest forest folk, flattening them like a grape. The rest screamed and ran, yelling that they couldn't control it, the ritual had been thwarted. It slowly shambled after them, fire still licking up it's back, the mighty tree blight seemed twisted and deformed. Fabian, still clinging to the creature tried to let go, but then saw why she'd not been thrown from the explosion. Pulsing sticky vine growth had enveloped half her body and squeezed her in place, and she thought back to the poor forest folk who'd died in the cellar of the winery. She yelled down to her friends, but Dyson was already in full charge, closing the distance. Pieron shot another mote of flame and like a cannon it blasted into the creatures broadside. She ran after, but with surprising speed Dyson caught up to the blight, running up an embankment just as the creature paused and turned, timing his steps perfectly and leaping off he gave a gravely shout and raised his flaming hammer high over his head. His diminutive form soared through the air just as the blight turned to face Pieron, and brought his hammer down across the creatures face. It cracked like thunder, the monster wailed, and he landed gruffly on his feet.

All around Erros the forest folk fled and despite the obvious sounds of a horrible creature newly awakened, he couldn't help but smile that his playing dead had fooled everyone so. His hand felt cold suddenly and he opened it to feel inside a small piece of chipped amber, unnaturally as cold as ice. A gift from Shami somehow? He pocketed it quietly, but then the intense light of the moonbeam shining all around him flickered out, the spell dropped by the shaman woman as she ran, and he felt his beast form returning. A whisper in his ear presented an offering, it was Shami-Amourae, offering to hold the beast back this one night. But Erros declined, and as Shami departed his mind, he lost conciousness once more and rose snarling and gnashing his teeth. The beast charged after the fleeing folk and grabbed hold of the shaman woman's neck. She was dead before he threw her shaken body to the ground, and on he ran after the next, chasing them tirelessly from the hill, the sounds of slaughter echoing back to his desperate companions.

Wintersplinter had turned now to face the adventurers in full force, and as Pieron ran up to Dyson's side, they each lobbed firebolts and arcane missiles at Fabian's restraints. Weakened, she pushed against them with all her might and broke free, clutching onto the tree blight's oily decomposing flesh she pulled herself up by it's branches to face it directly, and stabbed it's burning face straight through what she could only assume was a wretched evil eye. The wound burst with flames and Wintersplinter roared, as she jumped down to ground level with her friends. They could all hear the fading sounds of the beast killing with wild disregard, but they could spare no more thought to that now, as the tree blight thrashed wildly with thick branch and gnarled root. Dyson was knocked clean off his feet by a sweeping arm, and Pieron tried to keep her distance, but thick roots burrowed through the rocky earth and ensnared her, then Dyson just the same, and the creature beat them each like a mighty drum as the thorny roots threatened to squeeze them of their lives. Fabian yelled at the tree blight to draw it's attention and slashed wildly at it's oily limbs. For whatever still born life this creature possessed, their flaming attacks had been devastating, and it was in it's final death throws to be sure. But in that final moment, Fabian faltered, stunned perhaps by the death they had caused, the strange likeness of the antlered leader, or the cries of Erros's combatants as they fled and begged for mercy in shouts only she could comprehend. The hesitation was all it took for the great tree to bash into her shield arm and send her flying, as Dyson, beaten bluddy and gasping for air, went still. Pieron steeled herself before another incoming attack as Wintersplinter roared, and with an arcane spell she transfigured her form. A slick mucus seeped from her pores like an eel, and with it she wriggled out of the monster's grasp, and with her final ounce of mental strength, called upon the ancestral magics flowing through her blood and shot three bolts of energy into the sky. They arched high, crested, and on their descent picked up tremendous speed before slamming one after the other after the other into the cavity she'd already blown open in the blights chest. With each hit Wintersplinter shook, body and face burning with flames, and at the last what little life held it together burst apart. Pieron was knocked off her feet, and all were blanketed in repugnant inky muck, as the world around them fell once more into the silent dark of a chill Barovian night.