Relinquo: Path to Hel

[Neonlare]

Ok, I'm near done the first chapter, I normaly start of slow, then when I get further, I lose the mind block, music helps often.

And Idea for a Monster here, don't have a name for it yet, here's a short sumerization of it;

A figure of a headless man riding a horse, entirely made out of autum leaves.

First Chapter Complete, Here it is.

Relinquo: Path to Hellheim

Bleak Lands

This world was frozen.
It was like a tomb that had not been touched nor seen for many, many centuries.
The air was so damp, and so cold, it felt like the dwelling place of nightmares, a desolate, murky, evil place.
It was Nifleheim, a land of cold, piercing ice, and eerie, dense mist.
And it is such a place which you must be light footed about, but careful at the same time, for Slío would grab hold of you with it’s mighty power, and would not stop, nor halt, and would drag you to the very ends of Yggdrasil, the World Tree.
Yet, in this wretched, foreboding wasteland, life was present, and it was foreign.
Their feet crinkled and crushed the brittle, delicate snow; and their faces showed all the strain of the journey they had taken so far.
They were exiles.
Banished to Hellheim by Odin, the chief Aesir, these five wanderers had walked beside Death.
But now they head towards her.
The wanderers were those of great warriors, whom fought valiantly through battlefield and raids, rain and sleet, now they were on their way to Hellheim, a place of evil and cowardice.
Their leader, Forlate, was a stern, powerful man. He had the build of a bear, and furious, bright blonde hair, which spiked up at different angles, thick with mud and sweat which made it look brown.
But he’s eyes. He’s eyes burned with more passion, more confidence, more charisma then any normal man would posses,
but he had a weakness. He was self-centred, and at first glance, seemed cold and heartless, wanting only what he desires, and not willing to help those around him.

Spokelse twiddled his thumbs, showing his agitation through his expression.
Spokelse was a very secretive man, he would not talk about any of his history, nor what he thought of others, he seemed to be a shell of a man.
“This is folly” mumbled Spokelse, with a frown upon his face.
“We shouldn’t be going this path anyway” moaned Spokelse, shuddering as the piercing cold winds blew across his face.
“We will be there soon” Replied Forlate, biting his lip.
“We shouldn’t be in this damned land at all!” remarked Spokelse.
“And what awaits us after this journey? Answer me, Hel, Hel the foul Mistress of Death, that’s whom! she awaits us atop her throne fashioned from stone and misery, where we shall be thrown into cells, forgotten and left with the swine and waste of Midgard!”
Forlate turned around, eyes fixated on Spokelse’s.
“And do you think we want that fate? Of course not, we haven’t a choice, Spokelse, so quit your whining and let us be, the path ahead of us is long, and we wish to make quick haste of it.”
Spokelse’s eyes burned with hatred, he went to open his mouth, but instead he stood there still, as if some revelation struck him.
He shrugged, and turned his back to the party, mumbling something on the way, and faded into the bleak, desolate lands.