Snippet #2807700

The shadow of a single ship peered through the haze. Cold ocean waters lapped against its sides even as a deathly stillness gripped its deck like a foul miasma. A black jolly roger, bearing a deformed skull, drifted in the chilling breeze.

A chorus of wails, dark and terrible and dripping with poisonous terror, fell upon the viking fleet. Ghostly apparitions materialized upon and below their decks. They glowed with cold blue auras, gaunt faces shrouded by spectral mist and cowls, but their forms were as transparent as sleet under the light of a full moon. The wraiths drew longswords from their sides, gripped them with both skeletal hands, and raised them in a vertical salute.

They waited a moment as an aura of dread fell upon the vikings, attempting to grip their hearts and minds with crippling terror, and then they struck. The wraiths swung wide but purposefully like reapers before grain - their phantasmal blades bypassing all nonmagical armor with ease - and they sang with a terrible keening howl as chaos would erupt within their ranks.

They killed without mercy or discrimination, cutting down all that crossed their paths.