A curled tongue of snow licked across the icy Flats, whisked by wind. Bodlut tucked his fur coat tighter to himself as his eyes scanned across the white horizon. Above, auras danced across the night sky, a glowing orgy of ever changing colors, opaque and thin like a curtain. They were by far a most strange sight. However, Bodlut was anything but unacquainted with strangeness.

Just over the Flat’s horizon sat the blackness. The Wall. It stared back at Bodlut. Through him. Through everything that walked along the ice. Everyone along the Flats felt the presence of the Wall, always just over the horizon. No one knew what it was or had been up close to it. And those that did never returned.

Soft crunches approached the warrior from behind and Bodlut turned to see his fellow tribesmen, Hulfr and Fijlnogh, slug up to him, “How does the wind blow?” Bodlut yelled over the roaring air, a greeting of his people.

“Soft on my face and icy on my arse,” Hulfr grumbled, a giant even to the other two warriors.

“Aye,” muttered Fijlnogh, narrow face sullen as normal, “my willy’s halfway up itself by now.” Bodlut could never tell from his tone whether that man had a sense of humor, only time he had ever heard actual expression from the warrior was when he talked to his son and wife. The latter most surprising to the men of the tribe.

“Aye,” Bodlut nodded, “what’d Scraela say?”

“She said a village had reported increased activity up northeast,” Hulfr coughed, meaty fist pounding his barrel chest. “The Mayas sent a couple of their strongest warriors to a tribe out there. Never came back,” he spat a thick dollop of phlegm onto the snowy ground.

“Frost eaters?” Bodlut asked, narrowing his eyes, the scars on his face going cold and itchy.

“No,” Fijlnogh mumbled with the slightest shake of his head. “Cligs.”

“May the Wall fall on us all,” Bodlut cussed through gritted teeth.

Cligs. Little was worse than them. The most severe of his scars may have been from the frost eaters, but the majority of pink strokes were painted by the blades and claws of cligs. Bodlut shuddered as the image of them popped in his head; pink skin taut against grotesque tendons and muscles, jaws jutting outward with fat, yellow and green lips. Curled, snarling teeth poking out and up to their flat-ended noses and tiny black eyes, hairless heads and shriveled ears. He could almost hear them over the roaring wind; a horrid sound of screeching honks and sharp clicks. The warrior chewed his lip as he looked out across the icy Flats.

“So what do we do?” Bodlut asked.

“You know the drill,” Hulfr growled, clenching his furry cloak tight against the wind.

“Look out for each other,” the wind was so loud that it was a whisper from Fijlnogh.

“Anen,” Bodlut sighed, both in the prayer and name that their people had gone by for generations.

For they knew the cold. For they lived in ice.

The trio shuffled, each lightly checking their weapons and rations. The three had known each other for dozens of cycles. They’d been through the trials and each forged of their own fire; Wea men made warriors, knowing never to pass a moment to check equipment. Like the old man would say, a sword is useless if it doesn’t have a hand to swing it and completely useless if it doesn’t have a warrior to take care of it.

“By the blow of wind,” Fijlnogh nearly gasped.

“And the shadow of the Wall,” Hulfr finished with a grunt, glaring at the wooden spikes of the town’s wall, stabbing up into the night sky.

The group had barely found the village, as there was not a lit torch in sight, nor any guard at the oddly open gate. The flags of their tribe hung from the sides, black and dark blue colors battered by the arctic wind. The trio had tried calling out, but there had been no signs of life from the village, and it was hard to not hear Hulfr’s booming voice. Each of the men looked at each other, eyebrows raised on what to do. Bodlut shrugged, shouldered his pack, and pulled his match and flint out. There was a clack, spark, and sizzle as the tip of Bodlut’s wooden match blew up with a small but bright blaze. A wiff of rotten eggs filled the air before being quickly blown away from the arctic air. Bodlut looked at his friends once more before stepping up towards the gate; snow crunched crisply, freezing wind roared, and three men held their breath, ready for a fight. But framed by the open gates and its wooden arch, was the village.

Empty with not a single body in sight.

The dark, wooden huts of the Anen stared at the men, cold and empty of any torchlight, standing in the same spot they had for generations. Bodlut grit his teeth and looked around with focused vision, hoping for a flame, maybe a scratch in the wood of one of the buildings, blood on the ground. Any sort of sign. Nothing. The shadows seemed to reach out to the men now, and each felt the ominous layer of quiet beneath the dull wind outside. The Flats was a land rife with strange sights, and the warriors were anything but unacquainted with strangeness. The three had their share of memorial scars to help make sure of it. Nonetheless… Bodlut didn’t like this. And the Wea man could tell from the shifting steps of the other two that they didn’t either; A whole village and plot of Maya warriors gone. Without so much as a footprint.

“Stay weary,” Bodlut whispered, the wind quiet from the wooden walls, Hulfr and Fijlnogh each giving affirmative grunts. Hulfr shifted his grip on his beastly ax, holding it vertically with tensed fists. Fijlnogh shouldered off his twitch bow and slid the sheath of his fly knife forward, one hand resting comfortable on its handle. The three moved forward.

“No blood. No footprints. Nothing,” Fijlnogh muttered like he was saying the sky’s blue, but they all knew how strange it was.

“Not even a torch lit or-” Hulfr stopped as a bang shattered the silence, each of the men tensing up, ears perked. A few seconds went by as another bang echoed out, Bodlut looking to Fijlnogh who pointed forward to their left, another boom confirming the direction. Bodlut nodded and dipped his match in the snow with a light pop and squelch; couldn’t have anyone seeing them first. As the mens eyes adjusted to the darkness of night, they crept forward, fists clenched, backs hunched, ears perked, eyes keen, and breath held in prep for bloodshed of battle. The bangs were louder now, Bodlut could see the Moon-casted shadow outline of a figure moving back and forth. His scarred knuckles went pale as he clenched his sword, still sheathed. Bodlut had seem too many of men have their sword out early, only to trip and run themselves through with their own blade. No, Bodlut kept patience around him like a blanket, or armor. As the old man used to tell him, the best weapon isn’t what you hold, it’s what you wait for.

The trio were almost on top of them now, whatever or whoever it was, just around the corner of the hut. Bodlut raised one hand and made a half circle, Fijlnogh nodded and went wide, far form the wall of the building they clung to, and pulled out some arrows, positioning himself at an angle from the corner towards the banging. Hulfr moved beside Bodlut and gave the smaller warrior a crazy grin, sometimes Bodlut believed the rumors that the behemoth of a man was born of giants. The two nodded to each other and then Fijlnogh, the three creeping forward. Any step now and they’d be in view. Blood pounded in the warriors’ ears and their chests rose up and down, oxygen a drug they couldn’t get enough of. There Another bang. Bodlut decided this was the moment and jumped up from his crouch, rushing round the corner to a swinging door. Stopping himself just short of unsheathing his sword, Hulfr getting halfway to the door before realizing what was happening. Fijlnogh was already beside Bodlut, arrows in his quiver, bow loose in his hand.

The wooden door slowly drew itself open with a quiet creak before slamming shut with a bang.

Bodlut’s shoulders sagged as he gave a long sigh. Of course.

“Opened door,” Fijlnogh muttered.

“Really?” Hulfr yelled, turning around to the other two, veins bulging against his forehead, face rushing with red. “I couldn’t tell. Thank you SO MUCH, Fijlnogh, where would I be! Honestly, sometimes-” Hulfr gasped as one of Fijlnogh’s arrows whipped past his head, tufts of his hair falling to the ground. “WHAT IN-” There was a roaring squelch as a creature behind the giant man fell to the ground, the feathers of an arrow jutting from its throat. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Hulfr whispered.

“Fuck!” Bodlut cussed, yanking out his match and flint. Shadows growled and metal clinked as creatures moved in the darkness, Bodlut felt Fijlnogh behind him, back to back, he struggled as his hands shook and he tried to get a spark to catch on the match.

“Lots of them,” Fijlnogh muttered, Bodlut fumbled and smashed the flint, the rock slipping out of his hands. “Hurry.”

“I’m trying right now, sorry!” Bodlut roared with frustration, hands wet as he snatched the rock out of the snow. Hulfr had caught back up to them and was looking around through slitted eyes.

“Don’t care if you saved me, next time say something,” Hulfr growled, rolling his fingers along the grip of his ax, Fijlnogh gave a grunt that could have been a half-assed yes or dismissive no. The flint gave a crack and sparkle as the match sizzled for a second before a bright flame blew up from its tip.

“Finally!” Bodlut yelled, raising the match before burying it by the hilt in the snow, casting their surroundings in egg-white light. “Fuck.”

Surrounding them were a few cligs, but even worse were the assortment of creatures the three had never seen. Big, almost as big as Bodlut, were the armored latter of the horde. Their skin dark green and hairy, like moss. Their faces looking more beaten than disfigured: lopsided heads; fat, crooked noses with bulbous ends; over-sized lips, spread open from two long top teeth jutted down, some broken, each yellow and sharp. Their chins were giant knots of twisted flesh, eyes dark pits with beady red and yellow dots in the center. They each held ghastly weapons of twisted metal, some rusted, a few even having big pieces chipped away, only adding to their menacing look.

“I fucking hate cligs,” Hulfr spat on the ground and each of the men nodded. No argument there. But the couple cligs were nothing to the other beasts before them. Hulfr wasn’t one to not like new experiences though, “Alright then, bloody bastards, give me something worth remembering!” There was a chorus of growls and bodies became blurs as the battle began.

Bodlut waited until a clig came close before unsheathing his sword in a wide arc, through the pale-skinned beast’s head, a fountain of blood flying into the air as one of the green creatures pushed the body down, raising a jagged sword high as it gave a roar. Too high. And its roar turned into a gurgle as Bodlut’s blade drew a line through the beast, rising up from its armpit to its throat. Auburn mist sprayed Bodlut’s face and he was only just able to blink away the liquid enough to see another green monster take a swing at him, Bodlut parried but was thrown down from a blow to his side. The warrior scrambled onto his back and brought his blade up just in time to block what would have been a killing blow. A clig growled and bared its teeth at Bodlut, a long line of spit drooping from its fat green lips, only to be sent flying with its head as Hulfr swung it clean off. Blood shot out from the stump of its neck, drenching Bodlut who pushed off the sagging corpse with a grunt, standing up to a green beast with a spiked ball of metal on a stick. Such an ugly weapon. Not as ugly as the screams the creature made when its right leg came off above the ball of its knee.

The warrior ducked under the sweep of a blade, felt a lick of fire along his back and kicked his leg out. Hearing the surprise of a falling creature, and turned around, swinging his blade up and over, down and through a clig, splitting it in half from the chest down, guts spilling out onto the snowy ground. Another clig came roaring and Bodlut stuck him through the stomach, pulling the blade out with a squelch as the creature fell onto its back. Hulfr was roaring with laughter as he was clenched one on one with a huge green beast, his hands holding the monsters fists. A clig came at him from behind and Hulfr squeezed his hands, crushing his opponent’s fists with cracks and screams of pain, then grabbing the monster by its wrists and swinging it into the clig, sending both of the creatures flying through the air and onto the icy ground in a motionless heap. Hulfr gave a manic smile, picked up his ax beside him, and looked around at the thinned crowd before taking a step forward.

He didn’t even take a step forward before they started running.

“Well,” Hulfr groaned, ax resting idly along his shoulder, one side of his hair matted to his head with blood, right side of his lips drooped deep in a frown, “that was strange.”

“Since when in all the Flat’s cycles did the cligs start making alliances? And where in the bloody wind did they find those things!” Hulfr yelled, walking in circles around Bodlut and Fijlnogh, going on one of his infamous rants.

“Mhmm,” Fijlnogh muttered as he stitched a wound along Bodlut’s back, who winced through clenched teeth as fire pricked and string tugged his skin. Bodlut remembered the first time he had needed stitches; only five and he had cut himself along the outside of his forearm, halfway from his elbow towards his wrist, playing with a short sword much too long for his size at the time. Bodlut had only screamed that hard in his life one other time, and that one held a memory that rang with much more pain. Too much. Bodlut reached for his jaw in habit before stopping as he felt the thread in his back strain.

“Least it explains where the fuck the village and plot went,” Hulfr grumbled, seeming to wind down towards the end of his tirade. He hadn’t a scratch that seemed to show on him, and not a drop of the blood that soaked him was his. They did call him Hulfr the Harmless for a reason, just not the one some might think upon hearing. Definitely the one they think upon seeing.

“Not really,” Bodlut sighed, knowing what he was about to say would just start Hulfr all up again, “there wasn’t any blood or bodies when we got here. Nothing.” Hulfr stopped mid-step and turned to Bodlut, eyebrows scrunched low, lips twisted tightly as his head began to violently shake.

“GaaAAGGGHHHH!!!” Hulfr raised his fists in the air and screamed, Fijlnogh began to slightly bounce, shoulders ever so slightly rising and falling, then it hit Bodlut that he was actually laughing, or at least trying to hide the fact that he was. The sudden realization and comedy of the moment caught up with Bodlut and he began to laugh hysterically, a couple tears rolling down his face in part thanks to the pain of his wound from his own shaking. “What?” Hulfr asked with confusion, one eyebrow raised impossibly high. Fijlnogh couldn’t contain himself anymore and burst out with giggles, rolling onto his back as his feet kicked in the air. “Is he okay?” Hulfr asked, now concerned. Fijlnogh and Bodlut rolled across the bloody snow, tears streaming down their faces, Hulfr absolutely lost in what was happening. Above, a veil of ever-changing colors glowed, one of the many strange sights along the Flats.