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Це блог сайту Айї Неї, де можна прочитати про творчі новини, а також цікаві статті присвячені міфології та фентезі.

Rebranding Nord

Soon new Nord be available in shops and here. I basically rewriting it now. Get a glimpse into results.


"Draugar..." Bo whispers in terror, clinging to me even tighter. The word, used in our folktales to describe undead creatures, seems frighteningly appropriate for what we're witnessing.

Hafdan looks at us with a mixture of sadness and resignation. "Don't be afraid, kids. I won't touch you. I'm still a man, at least for a little while longer." He coughs and spits.

"Run, Bo," I whisper urgently, unhooking his arms from around me. I turn him towards the door and shout, "Run!"

I push Bo outside as hard as I can, watching him stumble into the snow. I lean against the door with all my might, my legs trembling beneath me. I might not have the strength to run, but I can at least buy Bo some time.

"Why didn't you jump after your brother, kid?" Hafdan's voice is rough, questioning.

The room feels charged with a heavy, ominous air. Hafdan, struggling with every move, tries to rise from his bed of furs. My mind races with fear and confusion. Just yesterday, tales of draugar and mystical beings were mere folklore, but now, in the dimly lit room with Hafdan's ghastly figure before me, those tales seem terrifyingly real.

I need to act, to get help, but my body is frozen in place, my tongue tied by fear. Then I remember the bone flute, a gift from the strange man in the woods. My hand dives into my bag, fingers wrapping around its smooth, warm surface.

Hafdan's raspy breath is close now, almost on my neck. In a desperate move, I pull out the flute and hold it out like a weapon. The bone instrument emits a faint blue glow, its origin and nature still a mystery to me.

Hafdan halts his advance when he sees the flute. The pain and disgust on his face are unmistakable. He hisses and coughs, recoiling from the sight of it. "I won't touch you, girl! Take it away immediately!" he pleads, his eyes fixed on the flute with a mix of fear and aversion. "You don't need such spells."

I stand there, stunned, holding the glowing flute as Hafdan's harsh words hit me. His mocking laughter, filled with pain and bitterness, echoes in the small room. The tiny eyes on the dragon's head of the flute glow even brighter, as if responding to the tension in the air.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice trembling.

Hafdan's laugh is cold, devoid of any humor. "You think you're a völva?" he scoffs, slowly moving back to his place on the rug. "I know your kind. You're of the álfar blood, aren't you, sweetheart?" His words drip with venom as he spits on the floor.

I shiver at his accusation. How could he possibly know about our lineage? Mom had made it clear that it was a closely guarded secret. A secret I had promised to keep.

"Yultide is starting soon," Hafdan continues, his eyes gleaming unnaturally in the flickering light of the hearth. His face looks more gaunt, more predatory. "The crow's feast is about to begin, and he will come for you. He will come for you. Do you hear me?" His voice rises, filled with a mix of warning and malice. "He will come and take you!"

'He' – is Hafdan talking about Knecht? The mysterious man from the forest? I stumble backward towards the door, my body finally responding to my desperate urge to escape. The fear inside me is overwhelming, making me feel weak and disoriented. My hands fumble for the door handle, and as I pull it open, I trip over the step, tumbling out into the cold snow.

Hafdan's voice follows me, filled with malice and warning. “Can you hear me, alfar slob? He will come for you!” His words echo in my head, a threat or a prophecy, I can't tell.

Scrambling to my feet, I dash into the night, my heart pounding in my chest. His wicked, hoarse laughter chases me, a haunting soundtrack to my frantic escape.

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