24 Hematite
Hark, the scum has been located! Ready the door, lock the vaults-He shall not step foot in our fortress! But where is he, this demon of Ur, minion of Fain-Where is he? The call cries again..”Intruder, Drive him away”, wavering in the morning light as it seeps through the fortifications and leaks into Necrothreat. Necrothreader!
Screams of terror, blood curdling noises filled with the sounds of damnation and sorrow, echoed to us. The Necrothreader is scared? What demon of hell could scare such a beast, lord of the dead? None of the ancient texts hoarded by Highmax speak of such terror as is heard coming from the mighty being of death. If we could find what terror has scared it, we could perchance capture it and use it to our own ends….but first, to find it. I stand in the dining hall of Necrothreat, a bustle of hope as has not graced us for too long surrounding me. I call to messengers…”You, boy! To the fortifications, spy out the beast scaring the monster. You, yes you. To the entrance gate, look through the barricade and say what you see. You, go to….” And so on.
A panting child, clutching a square of parchment, comes barrelling into the room. Face flushed with exertion, he brandishes his prize, proudly holding it up for me. “An artist’s representation of the beast, sir!” he gasped between frantic breathes.
“Good, good thank you boy…Bob, is it? Never mind, thank you for the help.” I say as I take the parchment. I unfurl it as everyone gathers behind me, eyes wide in morbid curiosity.
A..a…lamb? A baby lamb? That is what the dread Necrothreader is fleeing from, the horror from which the creature that had plagued us through the long months of being trapped was running babbling in terror from? A joke, surely, a joke? But no….even as I think this a haunting wail rises from outside. A curse on the weak spines of sissy Necrothreaders, I had thought that at last we had found a beast to defend us. Still, the lamb is doing a fine job of herding the Necrothreader off our land. Maybe when it is gone the dead will not rise? One can only hope. This is the first time in months that the feel of evil shrouding my mind seems slightly lessened. We may yet prevail!
25th Hematite
Ruhn has a hatred of one zombie, and he takes it out on him with a vengeance. Bolt after bolt, the fateful twang spelling its doom….until it rises again. It rises quilled with arrows, a porcupine of darts. Ruhn’s commitment is remarkable….but I fear how far he will take it. He has a blood lust in his eyes, one I do not like…It barely dims even when he looks to his comrades. But no. This is Ruhn. I will not fall into suspicion…but still, I will keep an eye on him. Just in case.
But enough of Ruhn, or Rhunorah as he (she) likes to be called now. The Necrothreader has fled, the gates are again open. Stranded migrants pour through, 5, 6…7 in total. We welcome our brethren from the outside with open arms, gape at their open wounds and do our best to help them. They report an indefatigable brother in the field, fighting with wild abandon, the sun glinting on his teeth as he bares them to the sky. They say he fights with his hands,tearing not only limb from limb, but also those limbs into smaller pieces. Asmel, he is known as. Asmel the Vampire. When I hear these rumours of a defending vampire, a hero that doesn’t drink Forumite blood, I sneer. No vampire is good ...They’re all minions of Armok…Sucking…always sucking….drinking my blood…Oh, Light!
But the rumours are wrong. They must be. Besides, they say he can’t walk anymore. No being could live out there for this long. Yes, it is a rumour…no Vampire is good!
Asmel, Vampire defender of the halls, indeed! A myth, he is a myth.
To check whether or not the departure of the Necrothreader would keep the dead dead, Highmax and Sulin volunteered to embark on a voyage of revenge. For the fallen, they lifter their weapons and set out. Never has the fortress seen such bravery. They started in a walk, then a jog. By the end, they were running and brandishing their weapons, screaming insults and death threats to the assembled horde. Highmax swords glimmered red like blood in the setting sun, and quick were his strikes and defences. Though we derided his love of swords, I see now. It is a thing of beauty, the swing of sword, strength warring against strength…a dance of steel with sweat dripping to the ground, the game of life. Alas, the Necrothreader had comrades, and those struck down quickly rose again. Damn the dead, Damn the Necrothreaders!
Their spears and swords rise and fall, hacking and hewing, their force of two faced with ten times their number. The crowd watching at the gates bulges forwards, then bursts, the grim faced marksforumites marching through. NAV strides with determination on his face. He knows he marches to death, he and his men know. He marches on, face of steel gazing forward, laptop in his hand. He will make up for the fall of Necrothreat one, the zombies will taste the bolts of Forumites once more, and their wails will be music to his ears. The one-time-brewer splits a smile as he walks, his mind on the pain he will wreak upon them.
And me. I stand in the shade and look out at the field. Though no Forumites are dead yet, the sheer numbers of zombies makes it almost certain. I stand with a deep well of sadness rising in me. Is this the end of NAV, of Sulin and of Highmax? What will the fortress be like without these pillars of strength? I don’t want to think of it. I gaze out onto the battlefield, but something keeps niggling in the back of my mind. A slinking shadow rises from the earth nearly in front of me, but my eyes slip from it. I saw something didn’t I? What was it…I..I can’t remember. Was I thinking of something? I look back at the battlefield and shake away the feeling of worry that had descended on me. At the moment, a strangled yell came from the trap area, and in a cage nearly at the door to the fortress stood another Necrothreader, who stood in his cage gaping in shock. Another Necrothreader down!
5th Malachite
Many days they have fought, and I, unskilled in warfare as I am, have watched, eyes straining to find Necrothreaders hidden, their forms cloaked in a mist which my eyes can’t see through. How many there are, none know. But we have chased or captured two, and we can do more. We must, the entire fortress depends on it. I watch as Rhunorah and Mastahcheese Returns throw a zombie into the water, working side by side to bash it to a watery grave. It stays dead, the water taking it. That is the only way to rid us of them, force them to the water and kill them, where no Necrothreader can see them. But alas, it may not be enough. Already we have lost two….Highmax has become a swords enthusiast in more than name, his skill with the sword rivalling his past skill with the spear. Where he strikes, death follows, however temporary.
But there are two who merely look at the zombies and they quake, the dead showing a spark of life in the fear they show. I even pity them, for these two hard-faced women are more than the equal of ten men each, their spears darting and weaving through their foul flesh. Solon and Sulin show Highmax the error of his ways each time they swing their spears. One is silent, Solon, and works as a butcher works, no compassion on her face, while the other shouts bloody murder, screams and rants, her ire more terrible to look upon than the maggot-filled eyes of Fain’s forces. Blood sprays before them. Occasionally Gaul joins them, his skill in the spear their equal, and they dance as if at a ball, brothers and sisters of the spear.
The kills of Sulin mount,
But by far is Solon the more experienced.
I once heard Solon speak of her time in the jungles of her youth, abandoned as a child. The beasts of the wild thought her easy prey. She proved them wrong. She crafted her own spear, taught herself to use it, and fought off entire armies of the beast-men of the jungle. It is a terrible place there, but she survived for years before coming here, her only wounds a missing leg. Warriors have gone into that wood, whole companies, not to be seen again. And here she stands with us, spear once more killing beasts.
I can almost feel the bond strengthening between these warriors and their weapon, Sulin herself has achieved a new ease
Highmax…dead, flesh torn from him, though his skill with the sword was unmatched…military…Nearly destroyed .. Rhunorah... dead... Mastahcheese returns...dead. Gaul...alive, still locked in combat. NAV...Alive, drinking booze.... I can’t…can’t keep going. Next person…will have to take my place. My term as overseer isn't yet over…but I can’t keep going, I can’t. The Light save us all, we’ll need all the help we can get.
And highmax...I cannot look...Fain again has claimed him, taking him again for his own. I fear now that Highmax would not know me, and that he would seek my flesh if he could. It has been a bloody week, but our military is stronger. That is what I must tell myself
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Well, sorry about the length of time this took, but a necrothreader came up on screen so I really wanted to play a bit further. I'll hand my save over now. Also, a note to the next overseer. There are a few outside still, for example Gaul, but getting them inside would be really hard. In order to get some inside, I had to take them from the military, so you may want to re militarise them. They're easy to spot, they're the ones with ridiculously high fighting skills. Also, NAV I thought was dead outside, but then he appeared drinking booze
I have no idea how he survived, and this is the second time he has defied death. In my first year he went outside and broke his spine...yea, you're really (un) lucky during my turns, NAV :/
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Topic: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods! (Read 472056 times)