Some were wearing armor, which was made of slightly thicker metal than typically used for human soldiers and had wear on the edges but did not affect the integrity of the main structure.
They hold weapons of different lengths, including spears, axes and broad-bladed swords. The style is obviously different from the common forging style on Westeros, with rougher lines and simpler edges of the axes. The wear marks on the handles are deep, as if they have been used for a long time.
Then the giant wolf walked out.
Their body size is nearly twice as large as that of ordinary wolves, their shoulder height is the same as the waist of a normal-sized human, their heads are broad, their ears are pointed, and the hair on their necks gradually becomes dry and fluffy after contact with the air.
When they stepped out of the altar, the orc cavalry were already sitting on their backs, holding spears or bows and arrows. Their postures were stable and they maintained a coordinated relationship with the mounts beneath them, as if they had moved in this combination countless times.
They moved outward from the cave where the altar was located and pushed upward along the slope of the mine tunnel.
More and more footsteps were added together, forming a continuous, low resonance among the narrow rock walls, like a moving stratum, shaking the white bones that had been piled up in the corner for hundreds of years, and then being trampled into the ground by the passing boots and claws of animals.
The tiny bone fragments were ground into powder, raised and then fell in the weak airflow, turning into a layer of sediment on the surface of the rock formation whose previous form was also indistinguishable.
It's not just this mine.
The same scene is repeated in other abandoned mines and altars scattered across this broken land.
The passages and caves buried underground have experienced varying degrees of collapse and blockage after the doomsday catastrophe, but the existence of the altar has kept some of those passages passable.
Arranged skeletons were piled up near the altar, while living beings were rising from the ground along these passages.
As the night grew darker, the entrances to the mines began to emit flowing breath toward the surface.
On the outskirts of the seaside camp, Douglas was standing on a slope slightly higher than the ground inside the wall, his eyes falling outside the area illuminated by torches and fires outside the camp.
The black mist has spread to several feet outside the fire, and has stagnated at the edge of the fire, as if it was intercepted by the boundary formed by the continuous light.
The fire burned steadily, and the flames illuminated the surrounding ground into a warm orange area, with visibility extending to the outer edge of the trench.
The boundary line between the black fog and the firelight clearly exists in the field of vision. On one side is the bright and dry burning area, and on the other side is the moist and dark fog layer. It occasionally pushes forward a few steps as the wind changes at night, and then retreats when the temperature rises.
Douglas noticed that the black mist was no longer approaching the camp. It just stopped at that distance, like a wall made of gray and black. It was no more than waist high, but it was constantly churning up its internal layers, and occasionally darker spots flashed through the irregular surface lines.
This confrontation did not make him relax.
He directed the members of the Guards to add firewood to the fire and sprinkle some kerosene at the same time. After the flames came into contact with the kerosene, they shot up a higher beam of light with the unique smell of burning grease. It lasted for a while and then fell back, but the light range on the ground was indeed expanded outward than before.
Then he asked the archers on the sentry tower to fire several consecutive rockets into the black mist. The intervals between each two shots were very short, so that the light points fell into the black mist-covered area in different arc paths in the air, and briefly illuminated an oval ground area the moment they landed.
Quiet. Still quiet.
There were no moving silhouettes in the illuminated areas, no eyes or scales reflecting light, no subtle movement of any kind that should be present in black mist.
Douglas stood on the edge of the high platform, following the trajectory of the last rocket with his eyes, watching it draw a gradually falling arc and then fall into the black mist. The firelight briefly flickered at the point of impact, illuminating a small area of wet ground covered with gravel and plant remnants, and then extinguished.
He waited for a long time, until the firelight completely dimmed, and then he looked back.
He kept telling himself in his heart that he must be steady.
It's not yet the most stressful time in the second half of the night, and it's not yet the point where Redd needs to wake up early.
He had only been in this land for one day, and he could already feel the tense tension between himself and this darkness.
He must hold on, at least until necessary, before letting Redd decide the next step.
In the distance, the black mist was still slowly billowing outside the boundary of the fire, like a slowly breathing wall. Every once in a while, it would move forward a little, and then return to its original position in the heat of the flames.
Douglas looked at the fluctuating boundary line and reviewed the storage locations of those kerosene containers in his mind.
He felt that the night wind was gradually strengthening, and he felt that the soil under his feet, which had been compacted for a day, was still releasing the remaining heat after being baked by the sun and Dragonfire.
The light of Fire Peak in the distance reflected a continuous layer of dark red at the bottom of the clouds, like an extremely long line of fire stretched across the edge of the range of sight.
After the tail flames of those arrows were extinguished in the air, the black mist filled the gap and rejoined to form a complete dark wall.
The wind blew from the sea, blowing the flames outside the camp slightly tilted, and then straightened again.
No one spoke, only the crackle of burning wood and the distant beat of waves hitting the cliff alternately sounded in the night.
Time moves forward slowly in that depressed, waiting state, like a tightened string that is tightened again every quarter of an hour.
The torches and fires outside the camp are still burning steadily, but Douglas can feel that the brightness of the flame is gradually weakening - it is not that the flame itself has become smaller,
Instead, the black mist is becoming thicker, and its color has changed from the dark gray before to a dull color closer to ink, like a curtain that is continuously thickening, spreading upward from the ground, pushing back the effective range of the firelight inch by inch.
The light emitted by the burning firewood became more blurred under the filtering of fog. The light that could originally illuminate the outer edge of the trench could now barely cover half of the area inside the trench.
The shape of the flames seemed to be quite complete, but they seemed a little weak under the pressure of the black mist. The top of the flame tongue was sometimes pressed down by the mist, and when the temperature was not replenished quickly enough, it was slightly bent, as if resisting some kind of continuous pressure.