You cast an illusion of adamantine socks in the corner, relying upon their mysterious foot-covering fetish to provide a distraction. The entire room stops. The noise, the beating upon flesh, the grunts of pain and pleasure, all stop.
What comes next, is a pandemonium. Dwarves, woman, children and all the men almost trample each-other in an attempt to acquire the illusionary socks. The play-fighting turned to real fighting. People are dying.
Then, one dwarf reaches the socks, a lowly hauler, and discovers the lie. Once more, the room falls silent. But it is a strange silence. The slowly bubbling anger seems to fill the room. It all comes to a peak when one dwarf yells in pure anger and sprints away, babbling about needing conch shells.
Two haulers follow, seemingly broken by the way they carry themselves. Then, another scream follows. This one, is pure uncontained rage, and soon another follows. And another , and another.
Soon the dwarven song of death, rings throughout the halls. A loud scream, said to wake the dead and chill the souls of undwarven, and makes any dwarf that hears it enter a trance of courage and bloodlust.
It is a process often called, militising. Technically, they all count as soldiers now, whom will never run. As long as they have a weapon, they will kill, as long as they have hands, they will strange, as long as they have legs, they will kick and as long as they have teeth, they bite. Consciousness is the only limitation to their bloodlust.
They look around, trying to find the one who could be responsible for this outrage. Their eyes fall upon your wizard.
They charge forward, as one mind. One unit. Before you can react, they rip him apart. His screams, quickly muffled by their choking beards. Soon, nothing is left. His equipment, gone. His beaten body, shattered into a dozen pieces brought together again for the ultimate removal.
They bring him away, pushing you aside rather then crushing you underfoot to be brought to the smasher. Even the gods do not understand it, but you know that nothing will ever bring Wander back.
In nothing but a two minutes, Wander has been reduced to nothing.
It's all your fault.
All your fault.
Seum and you remain behind in the emptied hall. A silence in the horrifying aftermath. Seum is completely shellshocked, and even you still have a ringing from the dwarven song of death.
HP: 20/20
Fatigue:30/30
Status: Solid form
Ways of doing damage: Poison Claws. Fangs.
Evil: 18/20
Bases: Underground complex inside city, tower, large temple.
Cult members: 44
Underlings :Goblin tribe. Basic workers(around 30 of them)
Inventory: Artifact amulet, Sweeter protective clothing, 405 gold pieces
Party: Seum and you
Inventory: 305 gold pieces, basic weaponry, ,, rapier.
Way of travel: Horse.
Spells
Illusion
Vessel empowerment.
Cult supplies
Weapons and armor, Hammer of the Avatar. Basic food supplies, 10000 coins. A werewolf.
Poisonous animals.
Trading:
Rotten fruits, Deathrot (of all kinds, poison, alchemy and home defense), goblin weaponry on occasions, cheap man-power
This was also very fun to write.
Dwarves, when motivated are less a people, and more a force.
Author
Topic: You are an evil entity (suggestion game) (Read 115862 times)