Lyra Bloodaxe and The Witchwood

Chapter 1: An Initiate’s Test

Lyra stood on the edge of the Witchwood, as an initiate into the warrior caste of her tribe, the Bloodaxe clan, it was the final test before she could be granted the title of warrior.

The Witchwood lay on the outskirts of the Bloodaxe’s village. When initiates undertake their final test, they had two choices. Enter the Witchwood to hunt a Grimstalker or dive into the Veiled Ocean to hunt a Razorfin. Initiates were required to bring back the corpse of Grimstalker whose bones would form the handle of their Axe or a Razorfin’s corpse whose serrated fins would be used as the edge of their sword.

Lyra had chosen the Witchwood, she had been swept out beyond the shallows as a young girl and remembered seeing the Razorfins circling her raft, waiting for their next meal. What she saw next, filled her with such dread, Lyra had never returned to the water.

Dark clouds had blocked out the sky. Lightning lit up the darkness as the thunder clap rolled across the water. Lyra watched as it rose from the water. Thalaxor, the ancient leviathan of Orrath's ocean. Its serpentine body stretching over 300 feet in length, covered in jagged black scales that glisten with an eerie bioluminescence, pulsing with a deep, blue-green glow.

Thalaxor’s head is monstrous, shaped like a blend of a dragon and an eel, with a long, tapering snout and massive jaws that can open wide enough to swallow ships whole. Needle-sharp teeth are arranged in multiple rows that line its cavernous mouth, capable of crushing the toughest materials. The eyes of Thalaxor are a deep, malevolent yellow, burning with an ancient, predatory intelligence.

Six massive fins protrude from its body—two near the head, two mid-body, and two at the tail—each lined with spines that can cut through water with ease. These fins allow Thalaxor to move with both incredible speed and terrifying grace, despite its massive size. Its long, sinuous tail ends in a broad, spiked fin that it uses to propel itself forward with devastating force.

In the world of Orrath, Thalaxor was believed by some to be a guardian of the ocean, while to others, a punishment sent by Orrath’s God Elion that will wipe away the unfaithful during the Great Flood of the End Time. Temples and shrines to Thalaxor can be found along the coasts, where sailors offer sacrifices in hopes of safe passage. It is whispered that Thalaxor holds the knowledge of the ancient world, and that those brave enough to face it might gain a gift from the beast. However, most who seek out the leviathan never return, their ships and crew claimed by the abyss.

Thalaxor’s roar drowned out the thunder. Lyra covered her ears as she stared at the Leviathan and watched as it plunged back into the depths sending waves that rocked her raft violently before Lyra tumbled into the water.

The waves rolled over her head as Lyra battled to stay afloat before her strength failed and she went under the water. As Lyra tried to surface, she spotted Thalaxor in the distance, the yellow eyes and bioluminescence pulsing as it swam towards her. Silent despite its colossal size. Lyra could feel her lungs burning, she closed her eyes and waited for Thalaxor to reach her.

It was the strong grip of Chief Ulfric that found her first as his hand gripped her arm and pulling her out of the water. Ulfric wrapped her into his thick Moon Bear coat while he steered the raft back to shore. As Lyra shivered under the coat, she looked back across the ocean and into the eyes of Thalaxor as it lay motionless in the water, they stared at each other before the leviathan dipped back under the water, returning to the depths of the Veiled Ocean once more.

Lyra had relayed the events to her tribe once she had been given a change of clothes and hot Pine Rabbit soup. Many had dismissed the story as the imaginings of a panicked mind, others such as Ulfric said that Lyra believed what she thought she had seen. It had only been Mirva, the tribe’s Shamanka that truly believed Lyra had been telling the truth. The next ten days were rough for Lyra as she battled hypothermia but as soon as she was allowed to leave Mirva’s healing tent, Lyra had signed up to train as a warrior. She had faced fear in the watery darkness, and the thrill she had felt having survived the encounter gnawed away at her. She now yearned for that feeling again, the shiver that ran down her spine as she stared down her enemy, the quickening beating of her heart and she prepared to fight for survival. While dread filled her body at the thought of entering the ocean, there were many enemies throughout Orrath that would provide her with this rush she now craved...

As Lyra stood at the edge of the Witchwood she felt the same thrill again. Tales of the Witchwood had filled her childhood, the dense forest was shrouded in perpetual mist, and filled with ancient trees twisted by dark magic. The Witchwood is feared by all but the bravest of warriors as it was known for the malevolent spirits and creatures that dwelt within.

Lyra turned around to face the small crowd that had assembled that morning as the sun dawned on the horizon. Her parents stood with proud faces as they watched their daughter take her first steps towards womanhood. Her fellow initiates who would be undertaking their own final test in the coming days, bowed their heads in respect.

Finally, she looked to her mentor, Valka who had overseen her tutelage. Valka’s training methods are as rigorous as they are unorthodox. She pushed Lyra to her physical and mental limits, teaching her not only the art of combat but also how to survive in the wilds, how to read her enemies, and how to harness her inner strength. Valka believes that a true warrior is forged through experience and hardship, and she prepared Lyra for the harsh realities of the world outside their homeland. Through Valka’s guidance, Lyra learned that strength alone is not enough—cunning, resilience, and the ability to adapt are what truly make a warrior.

Valka stepped forward to address the crowd. “This morning, we gather to witness the final task of Lyra. She will go into The Witchwood to hunt down a Grimstalker and bring back its body. This evening if she succeeds, we shall feast on the flesh of the prey and its bones shall go towards crafting the handle of her axe. She will then be given the honour of becoming a warrior and earning the title of Lyra Bloodaxe!”

The crowd cheered before one of the initiates blew a low note on the Lava Boar’s ceremonial horn. Valka silenced the crowd with her hand and looked at Lyra. “Your task begins now. You have until the midday sun! Go forth Lyra and may the Spirits of Warriors Past guide you.”

Lyra nodded and turned to face The Witchwood. She gripped her spear and shield tightly and walked into the darkness of the woods, once more feeling the thrill of the hunt flowing through her body.

Chapter 2: Into Darkness

As Lyra steeped further into The Witchwood, she recalled the tale of Morwen, an ancient witch said to reside within its darkness. It was said the woods once had a different name but Morwen’s magic had polluted the trees and corrupted the animals that called it home, twisting all it touched into shadows of their former selves.

No one had seen Morwen in over a century, some say she had died and the woods had absorbed her body, transferring her soul into the soil and trees which now obeyed her every command. Others believed Morwen still lived as those foolish enough to enter The Witchwood’s domain spoke of whispering voices that threatened them with suffering and death if they ventured deeper.

As a young girl Lyra did not believe that the stories about Morwen but after she came face to face with Thalaxor, she now believed in many things.

Lyra found the forest eerily silent, as if the very trees are holding their breath. Their branches twisted around to resemble gnarled hands reaching out to grab her. Thorns pricked her skin and ripped into her clothing. In the darkness, Lyra could see the eyes of the wood’s inhabitants watching her. Fresh meat into their domain. Sinewy tendons and raw pink flesh to be ripped apart, warm blood to wash it down with. Lyra steeled her nerves, her fingers cracking as she tightened her grip on her spear and shield. Lyra showed no fear and pressed on deeper into The Witchwood.

Chapter 3: The Whispering Voice of Morwen the Witch

The low note of the Lava Boar cascaded through the woods. A third of her time had now gone by and she had seen no signs of a Grimstalker. Her skin shivered, her veins felt like they were being burnt by Icefire. The trees began to groan, their branches knitting together to trap Lyra inside a circle. Lyra thrusted her spear at the walls of her wooden cage, splinters of wood chipped off but no matter how hard she attacked, the wall refused to buckle.

“Are you lost little rabbit?”

Lyra spun around; a shadow was flickering on the walls.

“Not often do I get rabbits in my woods, tell me your name little rabbit?”

Lyra focused on the shadow, “I am Lyra, Daughter of the Bloodaxe Tribe!”

The shadow shrieked with laughter, “A Bloodaxe daughter in my woods! I have not had a daughter before, only sons looking to seek glory as a warrior and fools who come looking to claim my tomes. Never a daughter…I had to see this for myself, I usually ignore your silly practice of hunting Grimstalkers but you were too enticing to ignore.”

Lyra’s eyes narrowed on the shadow now starting to form itself as if reacting to her thoughts. She knew who was in front of her now.

“Very perceptive little rabbit, indeed I am Morwen.” The shadow now fully formed step out of the wooden walls and moved towards her. Her appearance is unsettling, with hollow, sunken eyes that seem to peer into the very soul, and her skin is as pale as death, stretched tight over her bones. Her voice is a haunting, melodic whisper, like the rustle of dead leaves in the wind. Lyra held her ground, battle tactics and scenarios forming in her mind. “So, unlike your male precursors, who acted first and thought later.”

Morwen moved at blinding speed and appeared behind Lyra, her bony hands closed around Lyra’s throat. Lyra found herself unable to move as Morwen’s voice echoed in her mind.

“What makes you so special little rabbit? Why do you wish to become a warrior? Is it acceptance by your male peers? Are you at odds with the other women in the tribe? Or are you just bored?” Lyra tried to block Morwen from prying into her mind but the witch simply laughed at her attempt. “Shh little rabbit, you are no match for me. Now what are you hiding, show me!”

Lyra’s mind was cracked open, memories of her childhood, her training, all the times she laughed and cried, friendships that came and went. The absence of someone to love. Morwen’s hand tightened around Lyra’s throat as she relished in extracting her memories. “Such delicious memories but what do you fear, what is your darkest fear I wonder?”

Lyra’s head started pounding as she tried to shut Morwen out, anything to not revisit that day. She screamed as Morwen broke down her resistance and the memory of Thalaxor flooded her being once more. Morwen’s shrill cry joined hers as Thalaxor roared threatened to split her mind apart. She could just about hear Morwen’s panicked voice. “You saw the King Under the Waves, The Immortal Leviathan!”

Thalaxor drowned out Morwen’s voice. “This one is not yours to play with Witch! She is One of the Four Prophesised Dawn Riders! Four will fight and cover the land in darkness until One is crowned as Orrath’s Queen Above All!”

Morwen scowled at the Leviathan, the thought of losing her prey. “If she is one of The Dawn Riders, then you won’t object to a little test, a battle if you will, she wins, I’ll let her go, she loses, she’ll join my pets in the woods for all of eternity”

Thalaxor roared at this defiance, His eyes crackled with rage, ice blue lightning flashed before Lyra’s eyes, now stinging from the tears that fell down her face. Morwen dug her nails into her neck and squeezed hard, Lyra her lungs start to convulse as Morwen cut off her oxygen.

“Agree to this test or your little prophet dies here and now! Morwen laughed again.

Thalaxor nodded reluctantly. “So, be it, who is your combatant?”

“This little rabbit shows little fear even in the face of death it would seem. So, it is only fitting that she fights the creature that history calls The Shadow Death!” It was only a moment but Lyra spotted it. A twitch in the corner of Thalaxor’s eye, surely the Immortal Leviathan did not fear any other creature?

“Come forth, Beast of Darkness, The Undying Nightmare, Zharog the Shadow Death!”

The ground within the wooden circle cracked open. Dark clouds covered the sky above, as lightning sparked against the woods. Morwen let go of Lyra’s throat and returned to the safety of the wall. Lyra fell to one knee and sucked in deep breaths of air as she coughed, her throat sore from Morwen’s grip.

Lyra watched as dark smoke rose up from the cracked ground and began to form into shape...

Chapter 4: Zharog the Dreadfang

Zharog, was known throughout Orrath as a creature of ancient nightmares, a beast that once terrorized the lands nearly four centuries ago when Orrath was a wilder, more dangerous place, where the various clans were still in their infancy, each struggling to carve out a place in the brutal world.

According to legend, Zharog was the embodiment of death itself, a monstrosity that arose from the darkest depths of the earth, where the souls of the damned were said to fester and rage.

The body of Zharog, a massive, draconic beast, was twisted and malformed, covered in obsidian- black scales that shimmer with an unnatural sheen. The creature’s eyes are deep-set, glowing with a malevolent, crimson light that seems to pierce the soul. Zharog’s maw is filled with rows of jagged, dagger-like teeth, stained with the blood of its countless victims, and its breath is a foul miasma that reeks of death and decay.

The beast’s limbs are muscular and powerful, ending in razor-sharp claws that can rend through metal and stone with ease. Its wings are tattered and torn, more like the remnants of a forgotten nightmare than the graceful appendages of a dragon. Zharog’s tail is long and whip-like, covered in barbed spikes that it uses as a deadly weapon, lashing out with terrifying speed and force.

It had been the first leader of the Bloodaxe clan, Khorak, who put an end to Zharog’s terror. It was said that Thalaxor had provided Khorak with two axes forged from his scales and infused with Khorak’s blood to defeat the creature. The battle between Khorak and Zharog was epic, lasting for days and nights, echoing across the land. In the end, it was Khorak’s cunning, combined with his unmatched ferocity, that allowed him to slay the creature. However, the legend also stated that Zharog’s spirit lingered on waiting for the chance to return.

As Zharog roared, Lyra raised her shield and spear as the creature wasted no time and lunged at Lyra, its massive jaws snapping shut mere inches from her head. Lyra barely has time to dive out of the way, rolling across the cold, hard earth as Zharog’s claws carved deep gouges into the ground where she had just stood.

Lyra scrambled to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She raised her spear and watches as Zharog circles her, sizing her up like a predator with its prey. The beast’s tail, lined with barbed spikes, whips through the air, Lyra knows that one misstep could mean instant death. Trapped within the circle, Lyra was alone, with no escape, forced to confront both the creature in front of her.

Zharog’s relentless assault pushes her to the edge of exhaustion. She narrowly avoids a swipe from the creature’s claws, the force of the blow sending her sprawling to the ground. As she struggles to regain her footing, Zharog looms over her, its maw opening wide, ready to deliver a killing bite.

Thalaxor’s voice echoed in her mind. “Prove yourself, huntress, show me if the blood of your ancestors truly flows in your veins.”

With Thalaxor’s words echoing in her ears, Lyra realizes that this is more than a battle of strength; it is a test of her will. She must not only survive but outthink the beast.

Desperation fuels her resolve. As Zharog bites down, Lyra dodges to the side, sharp teeth slicing through her side. She scrambles to her feet and runs at the wall and braces herself. Zharog squares up and lunges towards her.

Lyra sprints towards the beast. As Zharog raises its head for another attempt to sink teeth into her flesh. Lyra drops her shield in front of her and drops to her knees on it, using it as a sled she drags her hand through the dirt grabbing a handful of the earth. As Zharog’s head rushes towards Lyra, she throws the dirt into the beast’s eyes to blind it.

Zharog, enraged by Lyra’s actions rears up and lashes out wildly, its tail smashing down into the ground all around Lyra. Lyra turns to look at the beasts and sees it. A scale just underneath the start of its neck is split in two, where the axes of Khorak had split them open to rip out Zharog’s heart all those years ago. An idea quickly forms in Lyra’s mind. While the creature may not be able to see her, it could still hear her and that would be its undoing.

Lyra stood up, her bones ached and her wounds stung but she did not yield to the pain. She grabbed her spear with both hands and snapped it across her knee. Zharog stopped thrashing and turned towards her, trying to pinpoint Lyra’s location with its ears. Lyra quietly picked up her shield and readied herself. With all the strength she had left, she threw the shield into the air above Zharog, time seemed to slow down as she readied the lower half of the broken spear. The shield turned in the air, then just as it started to slow down and fall back down, Lyra took aim and launched the broken spear towards the shield.

Lyra breathed in as the spear banged loudly against the shield, Zharog rears up to attack the source of the noise exposing the broken scale, Lyra sprints towards the beast, too preoccupied by the shield to realise that Lyra had tricked it. As Lyra reaches Zharog, she raises her broken spear tip with all her strength, driving it deep into the crack in Zharog’s scales, right where its heart would have been.

The impact is explosive. The blade pierces Zharog’s flesh, and for a moment, there is silence—a stillness that hangs in the air as if the world itself is holding its breath. Then, with a shudder that shakes the very earth, Zharog lets out one last, bone-chilling scream. Lyra backs away and watched as the light in its eye’s fades, and its massive body collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Chapter 5: Crimson Wings

Lyra collapses to her knees, panting and covered in blood and grime. The forest around her is eerily quiet, as if even the trees are in awe of what has just transpired. She takes a moment to steady herself, her body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline.

As the blood of Zharog seeps into the earth, it begins to flow unnaturally, as if drawn toward Lyra. The dark, viscous liquid snakes across the ground, pooling around her feet before rising like tendrils, seeking her flesh. Lyra watches as the blood of Zharog surges toward her, wrapping around her legs, arms, and torso. As the crimson liquid seeps into her skin, a searing pain shoots through Lyra’s body as the blood of the beast invades her bloodstream, spreading through her veins like Icefire. She cries out as her body convulses, overwhelmed by the immense power surging through her. Her vision blurs, the world around her darkening.

But then, the pain begins to subside, replaced by a deep, primal strength that pulses through her veins. Lyra feels her muscles harden, her senses sharpen, and a newfound power awakening within her. She staggers to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and as she does, she feels a strange sensation in her back—an itch that quickly intensifies into a burning heat. With a sudden, explosive force, a pair of enormous crimson wings bursts from Lyra’s back, unfurling with a spray of blood. They stretch out to their full span, powerful and majestic, each feather edged with a faint glow of energy. Lyra flexes them as easily as if she had them all her life.

Finally, a sharp, stinging pain shoots through the back of her neck. She reaches up instinctively, her fingers brushing against the skin, where she feels a raised, burning mark. With trembling fingers, Lyra traces the shape of the mark and realizes what it is: the sigil of two crossed axes, the symbol of her clan, now permanently etched into her skin.

The forest, sensing the completion of the test, begins to retreat, the twisted trees slowly untangling and moving aside to reveal a path back to the world outside. As Lyra steps through the gap, she feels the weight of her new power settling upon her shoulders. The wings fold seamlessly into her back, disappearing but still there, ready to be called upon when needed.

As Lyra steps out of the circle, she hears Morwen’s voice. “It would seem you are one of the prophesised after all little rabbit, I will be watching you in the days to come but for now, I leave you this gift, farewell Lyra Bloodaxe.” Darkness surrounds Lyra cutting briefly before fading away as Lyra finds herself standing before the edge of The Witchwood, in one hand, she holds the severed head of Zharog. It was then that she heard Thalaxor’s voice.

“You are now one of the Four Dawn Riders; you are Lyra Bloodaxe the Crimson Huntress! I too will be watching you but for now, accept this boon…you will need them in your travels ahead.” Lyra looks to her other hand in which she holds two blood red axes, the fabled weapons her ancestor Khorak once wielded as well.

Chapter 6: Dawn of The Crimson Huntress

Lyra looked towards the edge of The Witchwood, she can see the small crowd returning, her time was almost up. She closed her eyes and felt the renewed energy as its coursed throughout her body. She opened her eyes and unfolded her wings; Lyra could sense her days in her village were now coming to an end. The land of Orrath was vast and there was three other Dawn Riders somewhere that she would eventually face. The gathered crowd were talking excitedly, waiting to see if Lyra would return successfully. As Lyra smiled and walked into the sunlight, with an exciting and dangerous future in front of her.

The End

Lyra Bloodaxe Will Return in The Lyra Bloodaxe Chronicles!