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Author Topic: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!  (Read 470783 times)

wasara

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1455 on: February 13, 2014, 08:14:42 pm »

I'm feelin' lucky, I'm putting my money on vampire.

You also didn't put down getting killed because you ARE the vampire. I'm gonna bet on that as well.
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Poor Wasara. This fort really doesn't seem to like you too much. All the more reason to continue to help beat it into submission.

TD1

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1456 on: February 15, 2014, 07:24:38 pm »

2nd Opal
Solon, Maiden of the Spear, crusher of zombies and saviour of the halls marched to war today, much in the manner that the greats before her had gone, in cases such as NAV and Highmax. Her spear sisters beat the hide of their shields, and on the ground was strewn the shafts of many spears. A last rite. The last honour afforded to the dead by the living. She continued her march, not pausing, like so many other brave souls before her. The sun glinted on her red hair, making it seem to be fire, embers of ruby hue flickering on her head. Then the doors slammed shut, cutting off our view, and she was in that barren wasteland cleared by NAV, the no man’s land which no zombie dared inhabit. The fortifications were kept by a band of ravenous, undead dogs, the result of some previous overseer’s folly, and I could not get to them. I used a window instead, and this is what I saw.

Across the rolling plains I saw her go, her spear at her side, a line of silver clenched in her gleaming iron-clad hand. Around her there were tall, many fronded plants still glistening in the morning light. She brushed them aside, steely grey eyes fixed on the neat horizon, on that darkling tide which writhed upon the shores of the river, across a microline bridge. The blue of the stone and river contrasted strikingly with that fearsome host, and even from inside the walls we heard the sound of guttural singing, threaded through with much gulping and slopping. The sounds only the decayed can hope to achieve. The noise, what no doubt they thought to be music, crept down my spine in icy rivulets, and I fancied I saw those midnight wings again on the edge of my vision; I shook my head, and they dispersed as if made of morning mist.

Come, O come down deep beneath
The earth there lies a wormy place
Where roots protrude and dead things sleep;
Oh, deep beneath the earthen face!

Solon strode on, weathering the crude singing as if it were a gale and she a single spark flying into the depths of its fury. Her hair burned, though no sun shone upon it. The undead in their masses perked up, straining at the banks, trying to reach her. Grubby, decomposing hands reached across, and fell, flopping, into the flowing rivers. And still she went on, and the dead grinned and gnashed their teeth, all the while gurgling and snorting in a bestial manner.

You come to meet us, ha ha ha,
You come to greet us in our home
Where roots are wound throughout the ground
And light is pale as deathly bone.
Oh, ho ho ho
      Ho ho 

The river fierce betwixt us flows and writhes
But soon you’ll meet us here at last
Forgetting then your ancient fort
And all you did in times long past.

Oh, come at last to have repast
Beneath the grass and rolling field
Oh come to sleep, then rise again
To find your woe and sorrows healed.
   Solon! Solon! Maiden!
       Join us here where light has fallen!

This eerie chant echoed up to my ears and brought to mind death and doom, as Solon must surely fail in the face of such a maelstrom. She stopped once, at the foot of the bridge, then leapt across, her spear extended, a deadly dart; a thorn in the side of Ur. Her crutch she also brought, as she could not walk without it, and in the very heart of that midnight tide she whirled and hacked at the dead, no longer singing, but fearful. The crutch hit them resounding blows, and the spear was a line of death which none dared cross. From my vantage point I saw her clear a space, her crutch as much a weapon as her spear. Only Solon, I thought, could make a wound a benefit. I stood, open mouthed, at this display of fighting, of Forumite bravery, which lasted long into the day, the night and the day after. Not even Highmax, gifted though he was, could have beaten her in a fight; such was her unimaginable prowess.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

3rd Opal
No zombie dared approach that flaming brand of life. No un-dead beast sank its claws into her. A wall of blackness grew and grew, one not even my eyes could pierce, and all I could see was the gleam of her spear, the flash of her hair. Then all stopped. The dead trembled, as if a leash had been fastened around their necks and tugged. Their moaning subsided, the walls receded, and I could see her again. She was panting, her sweat smearing her face. The old wound of her leg had opened, and blood trickled in red rivers down her crutch. The zombies looked on hungrily, trembled once more, then withdrew. A large circle had opened around her, and then I saw something which shocked me.

From the fetid, stinking mass came a human, tall and gangly, his lank hair plastered on his face. He seemed uncertain, and he glanced from side to side as if worried of the slavering beasts surrounding him, then quickly strode forward. His words carried far, back up to me, as he addressed Solon in booming tones; a safe distance from the undead, I noticed. “Lady! Wielder of the Spear! Maiden! Join our ranks, and you shall be rewarded by my…” He choked, as if the words coming out of him were foreign and disgusting on the tongue “Fair lady. Come, join us!”

Solon looked up between her strands of hair, glaring at this aspect of life before her, and said nothing. Her lips were sealed in a tight, white line of hatred. Her spear glowed like quicksilver, and the man stumbled back at its fury, shielding his eyes. Averting his gaze from the figure of white and red, he turned his head to the side and shouted in. “Lady!” Again his face tightened with distaste, “She will not come!” He then subsided, and stood, and waited. Another human came and stood before the first, this time in a tattered uniform. The uniform of Ur’s highest generals. Solon stayed as she was, not moving, the ring of foul darkness on all sides swaying and moaning as the breeze does in tall, fair trees which stand sentinel on the lowly graves of Man, Elf, and Forumite. From this breathless wheeze came the sound of words, shaped and dropped into the air like stones into a dark, dreary pool. The zombies continued to sway, but began to part in a seam down the middle, a lone figure making its way towards the centre, towards Solon.

“Sssshe comessss, She comessss, she comes to sssteal your sssoul,
Your flesh, she’ll rip, your faccce, she’ll tear-apart
And nooone, can sssave, your petty role
Within this placcce she’ll eat your beating heart!

As this new creature came ever closer the music gained more substance, with less windy, insubstantial noises, and more certainty. The dead roiled around her bubble of calm.

She comes! Her dress is silver, black and fair,
And in her hand she bears a bony rod
That she holds high in fist of steel
Above the ground and grave strewn sod.

The whispering lyrics faded back into the rustling of leaves on the ground and again the zombies grunted and howled. The figure stood before Solon, and as the song had said her dress was black, shot through with threads of silver embroidery. No doubt the takings from some rich noble woman, or perhaps it was her original dress; for yes, the creature was a she, and in her hand she held a sceptre of bone, fashioned crudely into a parody of nobility and royalty. The face was fair, with silver hair to match Solon’s red in intensity, and her high cheekbones gave her face a strange, exotic tilt. But the flesh was rotten, the dress was wrinkled and frayed and her show of power rang false. She had but one eye, a bloody pulp which moved in small, jerking movements. She was one of the dead, but she stood in front of the two generals who flanked her in their faded uniforms. They cringed when she looked upon them, grovelling before her.

Her mouth opened, and a long wheeze came out, a groaning, craking sound reminiscent of the noise made by rusted hinges forced to open. The chin sagged down and hit her chest, barely held to her face by decayed ropes of muscle which lay in red slimy lines across the pearly bone. The creaks changed to half-formed words, and the words into sentences as it began to speak. Its hand clenched the white sceptre as Solon’s clenched her spear.

“I am Glowtours the Queen of Growth! I am the future of this land. Bow now before me, and you may keep your meaningless life; if you will but serve my cause.” Solon stood up straight and spat at her feet, the glob of spittle flying to hit the beast on the leg. The “Queen” trembled with impotent fury, and she raised her staff as if to strike Solon down. Her single eye quivered frantically, and she began to twitch furiously a she lowered the sceptre. “Join me!” She hissed, fury causing her grasp of language to fade. “You will join me in death if not in life! I am all powerful!” Her tone dropped to a sibilant, convincing whisper. “You need not fear death, for my servants” her head jerked sharply to the left and right, indicating the two humans on either side of her. Her hair fell in a curtain, but not silver now-it seemed lank, and strands fell slowly, winding towards the ground-“My servants will raise you again. Ever lasting life, Solon, in which to do good! Join me!”

Solon spoke for the first time, her face twisted in disgust at the being she was addressing. Its silver hair hid the worst of the decay, but she knew it was there. “No.”

A simple word, but it dropped like a pebble into a still, smooth pool. The zombies writhed and howled, baying for blood; none had addressed their mistress as such before, none had dared refuse their queen! The queen trembles once more with barely covered hate and rage. “So be it! You have sealed your own fate!” She cried in a piercing, shrill voice.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The jaw drops low, lower than ever before. Flesh hung like shreds of pale, fleshy worms down the side of her face, and tendons bulged and writhed beneath the thin, waxy skin. It lunged, all pretence at nobility discarded, and at her back and sides her army poured inwards. Solon stood grim faced to meet the tide.
The queen struck, and blood spurted in a sickly fountain, for her back was torn apart. A crunch was heard, and Solon screamed out in pain, falling twitching to the ground. She never again used her legs, and her spine stuck from the flesh on her back like pale, blood slick mountain ridges. Her yells echoed in the meadows of Necrothreat, a shout of stricken woe torn from her throat. The dress of black and silver flowed around her in a dizzying blend, and tears stood out in her eyes. In the mud she cried, the triumphant queen standing over her.

The beast kicked her hand, and her buckler, crutch and spear whirled out of her loose grasp to fall in mud as their mistress did. Solon wailed, the pain insignificant when compared to losing her weapons, and writhed in pain as the dead swarmed around, tearing her flesh in long, gleaming strips and feasting on her body. The sun began to set and lent its ruddy glow to the macabre scene of Solon, maiden fair, lost in a sea of her own blood. For a day they feasted on her flesh, and for a day she clung to the very edge of life, not giving her body up to the darkness that the Queen now seemed to control. No peace. She screamed again as her lung is ruptured, and blood spurted in an oozing line from her scored and scratched chest. Red-stained bile trickled from her mouth to pool on her shredded chest, and the Queen’s mouth, stuck in a rictus grin, was stained crimson. Solon closed her eyes and drifted, dreaming of a land where pain does not exist.

The Forumites were horrified but unable to help; we could only squat and watch, as usual. It churned the bile to see another hero suffer at the hands and claws of such evil, but walls cold and high stood between us and Solon, the sufferer in the mud.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Still, after a day she clung on to life, though her injuries were grave. The Queen herself bit Solon in the hand, the teeth still hard after death neatly slicing through bone and sinew. Solon lost a hand.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Stars filled her closed eyes towards the twilight of the day, and she drifted in comfort at last with NAV, and countless aspects of Former Forumites freed by Highmax’s benevolence. Her body shuddered and rose, but Solon was free, in that place which none bound to Necrothreat can achieve; the Light.

The bells of doom are ringing forth,
The vales and hills are shrouded black;
The hillsides weep in tears of tar
For she is gone and lost, alack!

Her spear was bright beneath the sun
And moon was paled before her shield.
The shadows, chased, were fearful then
Before her fate, alas, was sealed.

The hordes appeared to steal her soul,
Her shield it shone, her spear aglow,
She smote them down, and killed them all
But undefeated was her foe.

The river wept in tears of gold
Beneath the sun and turquoise sky,
And trembling mountains shook and cried;
Their snowy tears were seen on high.

They came again to wreak their wrath
Upon the Maiden, Solon Fair,
So on she fought in light and dark
Where evil dwelt and made its lair.

Before her eyes there flashed the scene
Of youthful days when she did war
In days and times already been
And places lost to ancient lore.

A strike! A hurt! A burning wound,
Her back ablaze was set with pain
And fall she did amongst the dead,
Her muddy face was washed by rain.

A torrent fell, it smote her down
To lie upon that sodden ground,
The drops in eyes became a stream,
Like tears—she cried with ne’er a sound.

Her doom! Her doom it was to die;
But soon she’ll walk inside our hall,
Her spear agleam beside her shield;
The mighty live to never fall!

As Th4DwArfY1 writes the last line of the song sung of Solon, a single, crystalline tear leaks from between his closed eyelids and falls, gleaming, to strike the page; a perfect, sorrow-filled pool on paper. “Another gone,” he moans between clenched teeth. Another soul lost to the armies of Ur.
« Last Edit: February 15, 2014, 07:36:32 pm by Th4DwArfY1 »
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apiks

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1457 on: February 16, 2014, 06:07:42 am »

And there goes Solon. Another great warrior into the depths of the corpse littered grounds of Necrothreat II. When will this pain stop? Will it stop? I'm just surprised we're still alive after all these years.
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Founding Father of Necrothreat I, Necrothreat II, Necrothreat III, Necrothreat IV and Necrothreat V
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Ruhn

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1458 on: February 17, 2014, 12:58:40 pm »

OOC:
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TD1

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1459 on: February 17, 2014, 01:02:24 pm »

Yea, our heroes really do just go out by themselves. Really. I coulda sworn the door was locked  :-\
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NAV

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1460 on: February 19, 2014, 10:00:41 pm »

Any news? And are there any good warriors left?

Is the Wolf ever going to finish my drawing?
« Last Edit: February 19, 2014, 10:05:01 pm by NAV »
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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....
The face on the toaster does not look like one of mercy.

TD1

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1461 on: February 22, 2014, 08:42:54 pm »

12 Felsite
The need for wood compelled me. The stocks we had were lasting alright, but for my Great Plan, I needed more. Always more. I walked to the pastures and saw the saplings striving through the mud and cave moss. Not enough. It would never be enough. And so my sights were set lower, to the dankest and most deep of the caves. The battle for the deeps had begun, and though I did not know it at the time, I was interfering with forces more dangerous than even the Undead Armies of the Queen.
The men reported to me that only two watchers were in the depths, and one was Osta, the pink jackal. I snorted with derision, for I recalled what one unnamed soldier drew up- a pink, fluffy dog. And so we marched, the Legion of Necrothreat, and had sneers on our faces. Our men descended, leaving behind the smoothed walls and joining with rough, primal stone. We were in the lowest levels of Necrothreat. At my call, which reverberated in the still, stagnant air, the bridge was lowered. Through that dim, shrouded tunnel there was an open space which even the keenest eyes couldn’t pierce. The men grew agitated and uneasy, mumbling among themselves about magics older than time itself. And then it came, the jackal we sneered at, Osta the Fuzzy Wolf. We later named him Osta the Destroyer, and children tell tales of him in the dark, accompanied by the flickering light of a candle and sharp, jagged intakes of fearful breaths.

By the time he appeared, I was not there. My duties had called, and my Great Plan needed immediate attention. And so I left them, and for that reason alone I did not die, but lived to hear of the account from the one survivor. There is not a night that goes by that I wish I was with them in their final hours, that I suffered the dame as them. Yet another burden to carry. Yet another thing to crush me. This is what happened.
Sodel came to me. His face was strained and gaunt, and his crossbow was still in his hand, though all his bolts were spent. I gave a grunt of appreciation-he had fought as long as he could. The beasts in the depths, he said, had come. Two of them, never meant to make it past the first line of the Legion. Bolts had rained like sleet upon them, but had struck harmlessly in their fur and hide, falling to the ground. None had laughed at the wolf’s pink coat, for it was stronger than the finest steel. Sodel sat in a waiting chair, face trembling and slack. He seemed to be talking less because I had ordered a report, and more because he simply could not stop. I had seen that look before, had faced such sights myself. It was a mark in his favour that he had managed to come at my asking.

A deep, shaking breath was drawn in before he continued. I learned how in the face of beasts shaped like twisted, huge jackal-men, our Forumites had battled on. They fought with tooth and nail, but that Jackal was impervious. One beast was driven back, but Osta remained to sweep aside his foes; all normal life he seemed to hate, and his appearance meant death. In the thick of the battle, when things may have turned in our battle, Osta the Destroyer let loose a roiling cloud of smoke which wreathed our men like ghosts in its embrace. The men went on, but slower, less determined. Sodel got a nose bleed, then a sheen of blood dripped with his sweat from his brow. Soon, the corridor was taken and then the main stair, and no force remained. The blood was running in rivers through the engravings, and hewn and torn corpses littered the stairs like so many discarded toys.

And then it happened.

The jackal, seeing his last opponent before him-Here, Sodel took a deep drink from the cup I provided before continuing- rose to his full height. He was pink no more, for he was drenched in gore, and his teeth shone jaggedly through a veil of blood. He reeked of death. Of hate. And then he howled, oh how he howled! A sound to rival the screech of hordes of bats blended with hounds on the hunt. He bayed and roared, shrieked and screamed. Sodel had taken the chance to escape, and slipped down the stairwell towards the freedom; the forges. But not before he saw what had happened.

In the caverns, they had amassed. One by one. Ever silent, ever watchful. Waiting for the chance that they may boil from beneath the earth and into the world of light and sun, to extinguish every living thing that lived with joy. A force more evil than Armok, for it was older and purposeless. A force more inexplicable than Ur, for they were alive and had no reason to hate the living. As pus from a sore comes, they came. Teeth, fur, claw. Twisted into humans, beasts of lizard-ilk, wolf-ilk and any creature imaginable. A rolling tide, they came to kill us all.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I was in the forges, helping Highmax with the construction of the iron parts needed for the Great Plan. We had heard the noise, heard the roar of beast and the death screams of men. The Abomination ordered the wall closed in and the hatches locked at the top while I sobbed inside. The lever was pulled, and the caverns were sealed; no beast but Osta the Destroyer was left, and he was speeding downwards.

A noise came of scuffling shoes and panting breathes. The last brick was getting closer. A shaky figure came through the last hole, crawling, bleeding, crying. The dust had nearly killed him. But he had lived to tell me what had happened, and was made the commander of our Crossbowforumites. The Great Plan must continue. No beast can stand in the way. I am glad there was a survivor; but had he been seconds later I would have left him to the grisly death of his companions. So says I, Abomination of Necrothreat, and I mean it. Life fashions people into stone or they are crushed.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I….felt a pull at this time. My soul seemed to waver, like a candle in the wind. I heard the voices of heroes long dead, of the First Forumites who made this fort. Even the will of Armok had not had this effect, this draw on me. I saw through the eyes of them all, starting with Apiks the Founder and going forward. Their graves rose before my eyes in long, silent lines long swallowed by the earth. Their coffins are almost beyond count. My mind shoots across them all, seeing the blinding flashes of their lives, their voices still calling, still whispering. Leading me, I realise. In a crescendo of wailing and noise I arrive where they wanted me, my mind slamming against a far greater being, a foreign consciousness so like a beast it almost made no difference. Before me they appeared, a line of spectres. They needed my help, I realised dumbly. They needed me. And so I helped. Their ghostly fingers stretched out and I grabbed hold of them with fingers as frail as theirs. The dead and living working in unison. Ur would not have believed it.

They shot lines of power into me until I felt the great burden of my life lift, and my being restored to its proper glory. Temporary, I knew, but the power I bore at that time could have levelled mountains. Such is the force of the dead. With my spark at the head, the dead remoulded the Jackal, that vast and primal consciousness, into something of our liking. They threw glistening, silver hooks and lines to restrain it, catching it and pulling, and I organised, adding my own power and strength to theirs. The beast’s mind shuddered, and a howl shook the earth. The graves were tossed like stones, coffins bashing one against the other before resting back into their place. The dead did not falter, and nor did I. In this web of light we caught it, made it more the Avatar of the dead, and stationed it at the entrance of the graves with a laptop awaiting to be used in the hands of the Forotten Beast, forever guarding their rest in the depths of the world, forever defending their slumber. With a sigh, they let me go. Their eyes spoke of thanks as I drifted from them into a deep, pearly sea of my own being. When I awoke, I was the same, and yet different…my heart felt lighter. A parting gift from the dead for giving them the Jackal Defender of the Tombs, Osta the Destroyer.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)


17th Malachite
 
Amidst the tales of woe and death, of the unmarked graves of fallen soldiers and the marked graves of our heroes, new life was ushered into the world. Hail to the Child of Sulin! Long live the Maiden’s Leader! Stale tradition was cast out the door in the face of such celebration, and Sulin was allowed to keep her child with minimal grumbling from the Aiel. The Fort watched as she shed the only tears she has ever been seen to shed then or since.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

20th Sandstone
Apiks left the fortress. The Great, the Elder, the Lore knower. He left as NAV had done, as Solon had done, as Highmax had done. The names of dead Forumites. His footsteps had struck echoes in the tunnel, and the children watched agawp as the reclusive miner left through the newly mined entrance he himself had hewn from the turf. Mother’s came and ushered them inside, for all knew what would happen. The sorrow was heavy in the air and crackled in the chambers and halls. A sigh, a whisper, wove through the fort. Apiks has gone. Apiks has left. Our hero has gone! None could stop him, and his silhouette blocked the light as he exited. Only I knew his true purpose. Only I knew why he went outside. He was saying goodbye to Necrothreat, goodbye to the green and vibrant land he himself had almost single-handedly dug from the cold, clammy mud. I understood, for I was filled with sadness. Only I knew what was to happen.

He breathed the air. He saw the clouds. He felt a cool breeze that he had not felt for many years. The soot of the mines and the heat of the magma-pipes which broiled deep beneath the surface seemed to melt from him as mist falls before the rising sun. He took a deep lungful, and let it out. All his rage, all his hate at the being of Armok. He let it out, and roared, and screamed. Rejoicing was in the halls, for the noises which echoed through door and lock, wall and stone, meant that he was still alive.

The zombies gathered, though their queen was not there. Even she would not dare face Apiks, Miner and embodiment of all that is Forumite and true. As a storm gathers before the sun, the dead flocked before the burning flare of light that was Apiks. And whilst the sun can be covered in cloud easily, the flame of the Elders is not so easily quenched. They could not reach him, so they blocked his entrance. They left Apiks stranded outside the safety of his own walls. The Heroes had fallen. The Maiden had died screaming in the dirt. The Swordsman had been cast into a dimension worse than hell. But Apiks, he liked where he was, and he was staying.

With a chuckle he eyed the masses before him, and recalled the hordes his forefather had seen. He knew that this was but a candle before a bonfire, and laughed at their pitiful excuse for an invasion. He saw the murder in their hole-riddled husks, saw them eyeing him back with their lifeless, worm filled sockets. Again he laughed, and the murder in their eyes was edged with fear. Before his laugh they trembled as if facing a gale. He lifted his pick from where he had carelessly slung It over his shoulder. He hefted it and looked at it. A plain thing with a worn, copper head and a splintered wooden haft which had given him more blisters and pain than any weapon could ever accomplish. Just a pick, but he had mined this fort with it, and judged the pain a small price for his Fortress. The heroes died, but Apiks lived. He raises the pick which created Necrothreat, and the dead rolled backwards like the tide in reverse; they still held the entrance against him, though. Laughing, a great blast of merriment, he sank his pick into the loamy ground. If it could mine a fortress, it could mine a tunnel! And so Apiks, of the line of the First Apiks, possessed of blood more noble than kings, laughed in the might of Ur’s Armies and simply mined away from them, a fresh breeze following him back into the fortress of his making. The smile never left his face.
Spoiler (click to show/hide)

12th Moonstone
Traitor. Fiend. Trickster.
Words used to describe our sole survivor, Sodel. He faced the Bane of the Military. He was struck by his deadly dust and crawled through many halls in pain, bleeding his life blood on the hard, cold stone. Murderer. Sodel the Vampire, killer of Irontomato and countless others. Blood fiend of the night, damned spirit of Night. Slave of Armok. All names used of Sodel, our great hero! In the ever lasting words of NAV, when Highmax told me what he had sensed in his comrade I was agape. The only thing to come to mind or lips were the words “Well Bollocks”

Highmax had laughed, and I felt a twinge of annoyance. A vampire amongst us, and one of our heroes! Such blatant evil would have to be punished. It was not his blood that he shed for Necrothreat, but Irontomato’s and all his other victims. My hand went involuntarily to my neck and felt the scars there. He must be punished. With grim certainty and cold fury in my heart, I picked up my spear with finality. He would pay. No reason was in my mind other than to kill this monster, and no thought was given to how it would look when I killed an innocent-seeming Forumite. Murder, bloody murder, was what held me.

Murder may have hold me, but it was Highmax who stopped me. With a grip of steel he pushed me back into my office. I stuttered in fury and tried to get past again, with the same result. My hand stiffened with white-knuckle intensity upon my weapon, then reluctantly relaxed. It fell to the ground with a clang.

“I suppose you think there is another way?” I said sarcastically.

Highmax merely nodded, his face blank, and said “Yes.” The only man other than Apiks capable of over ruling an overseer. Anyone else would be outraged by his presumption, but I laughed, long and deep. He joined in, and we laughed at my folly until it faded from a joke and became nothing at all. Then he told me his plan, and I listened. It was a good plan.

Apiks went up to Sodel the following day. “My friend!” he said with a grin. “I have need of bravery such as yours!” Either the vampire was a good actor, or he truly was amazed to be in the presence of a legend. I like to believe that in that, the last moment I saw him, the vampire had an inkling that Apiks was mad, saw it in the line of his jaw and in his angry stance. For if he knew that, then he was scared. A scared vampire is not easy to find, but I like to believe, I hope, that I saw one before me on that day. “You are to be stationed in the dining hall. Come!” Apiks led the way, the crowd parting before him. Sodel came in the middle, still wounded, and behind him came The Abomination and the Guardian of Necrothreat, Highmax. Sodel seemed unconcerned, though he walked more sluggishly, as if he felt the import of this time. Seldom were the three points of the triangle together, hardly ever in living memory had the Lore Lord, the Warrior and the Fool marched in accord with a single purpose. He must pay.

We locked him in the vacant dining room to spend eternity compelled by Highmax’s power. When we have need, he runs like a trained animal to pull a lever. His sobs are heard now and then, his moans rattling through a parched throat like a breeze in the desert. The noise disturbs some, unrests others. At night it seems the loudest, reverberating in the halls while the people try to sleep. When I hear it, I smile in my sleep. I had never heard a sweeter lullaby than a Blood Fiend going thirsty.

------------
To say the least, that was weird. I saw only two FBs and thought I could take them. And then a host appeared. And when the main tunnel was sealed (We have another staircase, thank goodness) Osta just loitered in the entrance to the graves. As far as I can tell, he hasn't moved once. However, I don't suggest opening the stairs unless you want some !!FUN!!  :D

To answer your question, NAV, there are some left. Highmax, me, Sulin and a few of the ordinary grunts. Most by this point have gone to embrace their deaths by simply walking outside in true Forumite fashion  :P

Only one more update to go, so your wait for me to finally finish is almost done!
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Life before death, strength before weakness, journey before destination
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Sprin

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1462 on: February 22, 2014, 09:56:16 pm »

How much longer tell my turn? Wait where the hell have I been? Am I real? is the life I created real? what if its all just words on a screen... nah can't be.
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Sprin is certifiably insane, but there is no denying his brilliance.

wasara

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1463 on: February 23, 2014, 12:33:41 am »

How much longer tell my turn? Wait where the hell have I been? Am I real? is the life I created real? what if its all just words on a screen... nah can't be.
Judging by the turn list on the front page, looks like never, as you're under reserves. However, if you so wish, you may go in front of me on the turn list. I'm having lots of !!FUN!! playing masterwork dwarf fortress.
« Last Edit: February 23, 2014, 02:58:34 am by wasara »
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Poor Wasara. This fort really doesn't seem to like you too much. All the more reason to continue to help beat it into submission.

NAV

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1464 on: February 23, 2014, 02:54:21 am »

Oh, cool. That pink noseless dandruff dog my sister drew is terrorizing everyone. I'll have to tell her.
And Apiks survived going outside! Moral of the story: Always carry a pick.
The vampire was finally dealt with.

What exactly was the syndrome? Vampires can survive it but ordinary dwarves can't. We could potentially use that as some sort of inquisition tool. Someone might be a vampire? Send them into the dust chamber. If they die, they were pure and will be forgiven after death. If they survive they are a vampire and must be executed. It's like what they did with witches. Cruel and completely pointless.

Good update.
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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....
The face on the toaster does not look like one of mercy.

apiks

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1465 on: February 23, 2014, 07:28:30 am »

How much longer tell my turn? Wait where the hell have I been? Am I real? is the life I created real? what if its all just words on a screen... nah can't be.

Your turn is after Th4DwArfY1's turn, so no worries there. Just be sure to not kill us in the first month this time! There's booby traps everywhere in this fortress apparently.

Oh, cool. That pink noseless dandruff dog my sister drew is terrorizing everyone. I'll have to tell her.
And Apiks survived going outside! Moral of the story: Always carry a pick.
The vampire was finally dealt with.

What exactly was the syndrome? Vampires can survive it but ordinary dwarves can't. We could potentially use that as some sort of inquisition tool. Someone might be a vampire? Send them into the dust chamber. If they die, they were pure and will be forgiven after death. If they survive they are a vampire and must be executed. It's like what they did with witches. Cruel and completely pointless.

Good update.

Only in Necrothreat does a whole fortress survive invasions of undead and attacks by gods only to be felled by some fluffy pink dogs. Absolutely astonishing.
And yes, carrying a pick is always the answer ;P.
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TD1

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1466 on: February 23, 2014, 12:39:53 pm »

Huh. I've just realised that the amount I've written here could make a book in its own right. Damn, I need to publish the Necrothreat Book! Now that would be an eye opener for the masses  :P

Also, where's NAVs picture, Wolf! We'll set a furry, pink dog on you if you don't post it!
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Life before death, strength before weakness, journey before destination
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highmax28

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1467 on: February 23, 2014, 01:41:09 pm »

Huh. I've just realised that the amount I've written here could make a book in its own right. Damn, I need to publish the Necrothreat Book! Now that would be an eye opener for the masses  :P

Also, where's NAVs picture, Wolf! We'll set a furry, pink dog on you if you don't post it!
I think you'd have the skill and poetic sense to write the atories of necrothreat. If it gets chronicled, you should write every post as you would but through each ones eyes. Necrothreat as a story would be an excellent read :P
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just shot him with a balistic arrow, i think he will get stuned from that >.>

"Guardian" and Sigfriend Of Necrothreat
Jee wilikers, I think Highmax is near invulnerable, must have been dunked in the river styx like achilles was.
Just make sure he wears a boot.

NAV

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1468 on: February 25, 2014, 06:17:43 pm »

Dwarfy, if you write a Necrothreat book I will buy it.
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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....
The face on the toaster does not look like one of mercy.

highmax28

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Re: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods!
« Reply #1469 on: February 25, 2014, 06:35:12 pm »

Dwarfy, if you write a Necrothreat book I will buy it.
Likewise, and I'll tell it to my kids if I ever have any, as a bedtime story so they fear Ur instead of the boogeyman :P
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just shot him with a balistic arrow, i think he will get stuned from that >.>

"Guardian" and Sigfriend Of Necrothreat
Jee wilikers, I think Highmax is near invulnerable, must have been dunked in the river styx like achilles was.
Just make sure he wears a boot.
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