Thanks! And here is my attempt at something serious. Came out more as a sort of Dwarf themed mediocre creepy pasta but oh well it was fun as heck to write. Brought to you by the Brool Story Co.
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It was early in the morning, and silent in the west wing of fort Mengoshur. The long hall was a middle-class living area, consisting of small 3x4 family housing chambers and spare storage areas. The sector housed twenty rooms total, and at the end of the hallway, a staircase led down into the commoner's tombs. From this stairway, a loud thump echoed far below. It gradually grew louder and louder. Loud thump, then a brief but nerve-wracking grinding sound, as that of nails on a chalkboard.
A couple doors cracked open and curious heads surveyed the empty hall. Neighbors exchanged confused glances. "They picked a fine time to redecorate!" One angry old Dwarf said, "You'd find Armok himself before ye found a decent night's sleep around here!", Slamming his door and stomping off to find himself a drink. At last, a figure emerged from the dark stairway.
A boulder of muscle that bore many scars, twisted into the shape of a Dwarf. The leather cloak, trousers, and boots he wore looked tattered and weatherbeaten. His normally immaculately groomed black beard had become frizzled as of late, and his green eyes seemed to stare beyond the walls. The citizens watched as he stepped into the hall, dragging a large square coffin in one hand, clutching a shovel in the other. He started down the hallway, filling it with the irritating scrape of stone on stone. "Rakust? What are you doing?" He was deaf to the question.
Rakust proceeded down the hall, and through the various twists and turns of the fort that he knew by heart. Finally he arrived at the main gate. It was midwinter, and the bridge that connected the fort to the outside world was blanketed with a foot of snow, just like the land beyond.
Above the entrance, in the guard bunkers, the soldiers on duty contemplated the figure trudging through the snow. He looked tiny on the bridge that was big enough for five wagons to pass easily at the same time. The outside was not forbidden, but no rational Dwarf had reason to go out, alone, with the amount of Goblin ambushes that had occurred, and lugging a coffin. Finally the order was given "Fetch the sheriff. I think we've got another one gone bonkers"
Rakust dragged the coffin away from the fortress, up to a small hill that was about a quarter mile away, sweating despite the cold. He dropped it and stooped to catch his breath briefly, then stood and took hold of the coffin's lid. He slid it off and nearly choked at the smell that he had uncanned. The corpse within was decayed too much to be recognizable, a bright red beard clinging to the gnarled, putrid face. Setting the shovel aside, Rakust took hold of it and in one motion hauled the body out and onto the fresh snow, trailing a line of pungent black liquid. He then picked up the shovel and went to his work. Smack...smack... The cadence of his strikes was the only sound for a long blissful period, until he detected the crunching footsteps as a group approached from behind him. Angry that he was already being interrupted, he turned to find five Dwarves approaching, having followed the line he had made in the snow from the fort. Four of them were regular military- clad in steel armor and wielding their trademark silver hammers. They couldn't be identified beyond the color of the beards protruding from beneath their helms. The fifth one was Juliss Feldspar, the Sheriff. She was a short, skinny red-haired Dwarf, her normally pale face reddened by the cold.
Rakust leaned on his shovel as they approached, but made no move to apprehend him, keeping out of lunging distance. "Good morning" Juliss greeted as casually as if they had bumped into one another at breakfast. Her expression did not change at the sight of the emptied coffin and body. She had ahnihilated more Goblins than any of the soldiers in the fort- small but deadly, earning the nickname The Dagger among her peers. Rakust knew well not to underestimate her, and backed up to continue his work facing her. "May I...ask what exactly you are doing out here, Rakust?" She asked, gesturing at the body as he slammed the shovel down on it's face with a wet smack. "Saving the fort" He answered after another whack.
"This man is no threat to our fort" She replied, "And well...he's dead in case you hadn't noticed". Rakust ceased hitting the corpse and stared at her, slowly shaking his head. "No" He raised his head skyward, "That's just it. Nobody gets it. Nothing dies out here" He glanced back at her, "They...they don't stay dead. They come back".
He violently forced the blade of the shovel down on the corpse's neck, severing it, then drew back his foot and kicked it, the part sailing off down one side of the hill. "I'm telling you, there's..." He paused as he searched for words, "There's something...wrong with this place. This, this land is evil!". Juliss held up a hand, "Look, you don't have to prove anything to anybody. We all know what happened with your wife, it was an accident. You didn't mean to-" Rakust slammed his shovel against the headless body's chest and screamed, "She died! She died, and then she got up and came after me and my daughter!" He held the shovel so tightly his knuckles turned white, breathing hard. Juliss tilted her head to one side, close to the soldier standing next to her, "I'll get the shovel away from him, you all restrain him" She whispered. The soldier stroked his beard to confirm he understood.
"We want to help you" Juliss said, "Doctor Kol can help you through this. I'll do what I can as well. You still have your daughter to live for". He nodded, not seeing her other hand moving slowly to her belt. "I am helping her" He protested, "I'm helping all of us". In a flash, Juliss flicked her hand and hurled a dagger which impaled Rakust's hand. He shouted and dropped the shovel as the soldiers rushed forward. Though he was strong, they piled atop him. It took their combined strength to force his hands behind his back so that Juliss could bind them with a pair of thick iron cuffs that were normally used to restrain trolls. After that, he no longer struggled and allowed them to lead him off back toward the fort.
At the bottom of the hill, the severed head lay in a puddle of snow and black coagulated blood. A deer scampered nearby and sniffed at it, then turned and galloped off. The tounge twitched and began to slowly slither about in the mouth. Sensing the living deer that had been so close, the jaw moved up and down, clacking it's black teeth together and longing to close around warm flesh.
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Topic: I'm going to tell a crappy story (Read 619 times)