The Horen

The Horen are coming…

A black cloud falls over the Sunken Forest, a menacing darkness that moves against the wind. As it draws near, it becomes a mass of bird-like shapes, wingtips jutting out of its edges. The hideous cry of carrion-eaters begins to fill the air. A flock of valkryn descends upon the Northern edge of the Forest, savagely squabbling with each other in mid-flight. There are giants among them, with wings near as wide as a blackship’s sails. They are savage beasts, clawing, biting, snarling amongst themselves, the giants sometimes spitting up great gobs of acid that sizzle on the ground, the runts occasionally swooping down to take food from their masters.

The Horen are coming…

Like the sea that crashes against rock-strewn shore, like the waves that drag men down into the depths, so churns the blood of the Horen. Savage, marauding, and dangerous. With great beasts of burden at their sides, carrying pieces of their disassembled blackships, with valkryn overhead, they claim their encampment. They are oblivious to the pleas for mercy from the poor wretches previously stationed there.

The Horen are coming…

They burn the homes of the southmen and hoist their corpses upon their towers as a warning to their enemies. They feed their scraps to the valkryn and the deathhounds, and from their bones they fashion weapons, armor, and masks. The giant valkryn perch upon the towers, spitting and hissing as the Horen march to war.

The Horen are here…