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Author Topic: Necromancer: A prologue  (Read 8282 times)

Harbingerjm

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #15 on: August 03, 2013, 07:19:04 pm »

Run like a shameless bitch.
If caught, attempt desperate seduction.

+1 to desperate seduction.
Changing my vote to this.
Actually, we should probably ditch the "run like a little bitch" part, since that's not likely to increase our attractiveness at all.
« Last Edit: August 03, 2013, 07:31:19 pm by Harbingerjm »
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Cheesecake

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #16 on: August 03, 2013, 07:27:33 pm »

Run like a shameless bitch.
If caught, attempt desperate seduction.

+1 to desperate seduction.
Changing my vote to this.

Pimpin wit bones and shiz.
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I wish I could unwatch a thread because every time I look at this I can feel myself dying faster
Dying of laughter?
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Sprin

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #17 on: August 03, 2013, 07:30:56 pm »

Run like a shameless bitch.
If caught, attempt desperate seduction.

+1 to desperate seduction.
Changing my vote to this.

Pimpin wit bones and shiz.
Yup I +1 for this... Come on you saw this coming!
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Karnewarrior

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #18 on: August 03, 2013, 09:19:24 pm »

>run

Da Sole turns to run, a coward at heart. But after a few moments, he reaches the top of the hill, and turns around to look in horror as his army is decimated by one woman.

*   **    ***    **    *

They circle her, blades drawn, breath heaving in fear. They press close, not going to give her the benefit of attacking one at a time.

It matters little.

One brave soul darts forward. She catches the sword in the crook of her scythe and sends it flying into the eye of another, spinning around to block a stab to the back and whip the blade of the scythe around the neck of the first one. A yank takes his head from his shoulders, and she rolls forward into the falling corpse, dodging a flanking strike from two sides at once.


She comes up with two rapid slashes, cutting a X into the chest of one opponent, spinning to catch a blade and use it and its owner as a platform to launch herself into the air, twirling. The curved blade of the scythe dips behind one mans head and into his spine, and is ripped out only to slice the legs out from another.

Turn, parry, twirl the scythe and remove their weapons, knock them into the other warriors. Her foot lashes out and kicks away a spear head, then the scythe comes up behind it and separates the mans upper body from his lower, seamlessly flowing into an attack on another which turns out to be a feint to lure in a half-plated Coronan who finds the Orcish steel buried in his throat. As he gurgles and falls, frothing blood spraying, the scythe doesn't stop, continuing a spiral of death like a morbid ribbon, leaving chopped corpses in its wake like so many vegetables in a kitchen.

The warriors fall like pawns before the queen, ten, twenty, thirty men. Some try to break and run, but the woman has no love for cowards, and they find themselves in pools of blood sooner than if they had tried to fight.

Those who fought died, those who ran died. The woman danced through the disorganized ranks of ten thousand men, and with nary a scratch upon her cut them down like wheat.

And just when they thought it could not get any worse, and surely they would all die to that terrible crescent blade... A spark briefly lit the woman’s fingers. Then there was a great clap of thunder, and ten seasoned warriors fell twitching to the ground.

The scythe continued its beautiful dance of death, a ribbon of corpses in it's wake, accompanied by claps of thunder leaving long tendrils of twitching men dying in staggered strips, like the branches of some great tree.

The woman spun to block one blade, the scythe dipping up and underneath to prick the hand of the swords owner. He cried out in pain and dropped his blade, leaving him open for the scythe to wrap around him and flay open his back like a fish. He fell to the ground and died.

But the scythe was not done, dipping and weaving in a way that no trained soldier could understand through years of experience with straight swords and spears, and all their parries were for naught, as the blade slithered around defenses and plunged into flesh.

One man had the misfortune of watching the curved blade slash backwards, under the woman’s own arm, and dip into his gut. The curvature of the blade reached it up into his chest, and then she yanked the scythe with a grunt, his chest exploded, chunks of rib flying every way, and the heart carried by the scythe to fly into the face of yet another man, who in his shock provided no defense at all to the scythe as it beheaded him.

A crack of thunder left ten men dying, as the scythe brought three men down in such time. The woman worked the weapon as more than just an extension of herself; no, more as if she were a extension of the weapon, carried forth as a platform for it's slaughter.

Five minutes ago the armies were fighting. Now, half their numbers gone and one third of the remainder dead by scythe or by lightning, their only thought was escape. But no escape could be had. Any who tried to run and were seen found the way blacked by the same woman who had been meters away, teleporting in a flash of brown magic, the scythe already in deadly motion. Heads rolled on the ground like tumbleweeds in a great desert, kicked by frightened men who were no longer fearing anything but the woman before them.

*    **    ***    **    *

De Sole blinked, and the woman was gone, vanished without any trace beyond the mountain of corpses. He turned left, then right in his confusion. Then he turned around.

Her scythe cut up through the bottom of his mouth and hooked his jawbone, lifting him up into the air.

"Vene Da Sole." Said the woman from inside the deep brown folds of her cloak.

Da Sole gurgled blood in response.

"Your armies trespassed in Hussar lands without warrant and without explanation."

Da Sole gurgled confusedly.

“You were warned by letter, by courier, and by common sense. No agreements were signed to allow Coronan troops on Hussar soil. No agreements were signed to permit a trespass, temporary or permanent. You ignored the sovereignty of Hussia and the safety of her people.

“By order of the Emperor of the Holy Areonetian Empire, you are summarily executed in his Majesty's name, and your soul consigned to three hundred years imprisonment in his Majesty's royal gem grotto.”

Da Sole gurgled pitifully, tears streaking his face.

“By His Majesty's grace, your senses will be permitted to function,” She continued. Da Sole wept openly, for that was not the mercy it claimed to be. “And by His Majesty's grace, in the eyes of Areos, you will be permitted freedom of afterlife after your term has concluded.” That, at least, was good news. A few unlucky criminals had been locked in the dim, empty gem grotto for over a thousand years.

“This is a lawful execution.” Said the Necromancer, and with that she shook the scythe and Da Sole perished, head ripped apart by the steel blade. His soul, light tan in color and translucent, fled from his body like mist, but drifted slowly and inexorably towards a small crystal held in the woman’s off hand. It was drawn in like water into a funnel, and when the last wisp of brown smoke was gone, the woman returned the crystal back to her pocket, deep within her voluminous cloak.

Turning, she studied the only other soul on the hill not incarcerated in a gem. The Aide is on his knees, hands on his thighs, and head bowed, awaiting death. He too is Coronan, and is thus wanted for trespass on Hussar soil, though the ground they now stand on is Schenburgi by law. Hussia separates the two nations, and General Da Sole didn't wait for the proper agreements to be made before marching to fight this hated enemy.

The woman taps one long, pale finger on her lips. “Stand up.” She says, and the Aide rushes to his feet, a practiced hurry only servants could manage. “Do you know any magic?” She asks.

>Yes
>No
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Sprin

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #19 on: August 03, 2013, 09:27:08 pm »

>No...
« Last Edit: August 03, 2013, 09:29:05 pm by Sprin »
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Patrick Hunt

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #20 on: August 03, 2013, 09:31:24 pm »

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vastaghen12

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #21 on: August 03, 2013, 09:48:56 pm »

>Yes.
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Slothman400

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #22 on: August 03, 2013, 10:05:03 pm »

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Hell, if nobody's suffocated because of it, it hardly counts as a bug!

Cheesecake

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #24 on: August 03, 2013, 11:08:16 pm »

Yes.
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Xantalos

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #26 on: August 04, 2013, 01:36:47 am »

FUS RO DAH Yes.
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Karnewarrior

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #28 on: August 04, 2013, 11:05:54 am »

"Yes." He answers. "I do."

*  **  ***  **  *

That Aide was me, five years ago. I've spent those five years under the tutelage of Adelheid Vernünftig, Court Wizard to the Holy Areonetian Emporer at the time, Kaiser Janderen of Gundzen.

I left my old home back in Coronezia (The capital of Coronas, situated on a set of islands,) and moved to Verlein, the capital of Gundzen. I studied under Magus Adelheid for most of those years, learning the ropes of magic. As it turned out, I was far more skilled with books and learning than with a blade in my hands.

But about three months ago, Kaiser Janderen died, and it was time to elect a new leader for the HAE. The Dietzen convened where they always did, in the empty palace of the old emperor, and I got to watch the Dukes and Kings, Kaisers and Counts, make their decision.

The new emperor was an evil, cunning man by the name of Duke Von Satch. Von Satch hated magic with a passion, and one of his first acts as emperor was to dismiss the Court Wizard – My mentor. He abused his power, rotting out magicians of all sorts, but especially Necromancers, who had been a tradition in the Heel for years.

Why did he do this? My best guess was that he was trying to suck up to the giants up north, Karne and Woodmother. Neither nation had any love for necromancy, and little love for wizards. Woodmother especially was close-minded on the topic, as befits elves, and no magic was allowed on the island save by express permission signed by King Louis XII himself.

Regardless, it got worse, and in the span of three months, I found myself going from proud student of the Art... to watching from the shadows as my master is executed for Unlawful Practice.

I lean up against a pillar, shrouded in my brown, unremarkable cloak. I wish I could say Magus Adelheid stood with pride and honor, unbroken, but torturers are very good at what they do. Her back was crooked, and her skin covered in lacerations and infected wounds scabbed over. She struggles to draw breath, even without any blockage, only because of the horrors committed upon her under the Fuhrers dark castle.

The executioner plants his foot on her back, shoving her forward and slamming her head on the chopping block. She cries out pathetically, and struggles like a chicken grabbed by the neck, but it's no use. Her strength and mana sapped by a mere month in the dungeon. Small sparks flicker on her fingertips, but no more.

The executioner raises his axe. I make certain no-one is looking before flicking my fingers through a small rite and holding on the final sigil, waiting for my opportunity.

Down comes the axe, and in a spray of crimson my Mentor loses her head, and her life. I choke back a retch as the smell of fresh blood assaults my nostrils, and I vow to avoid spilling any myself. I release the spell, which floats invisibly over to the corpse and settles in, halting Magus Adelheid's ascent to the next realm.

I wait for the crowd to disperse before going down myself, hood pulled low over my face. I murmur a few magic words and a prayer, and draw the soul into a small gemstone set in the only ring I have.

I can feel the soul swirl around her new home. It finds the magical connection between us, and tenatively sends a thought down the line.

[Confusion.] The thought is wordless, but the meaning is easily conveyed.

[Magus?] I think back. My mind automatically puts unnecessary words to the thought.

[Confusion. Who are you? Where did you come from?] I'm crushed. I must have messed something up, if the memories didn't transfer. The mind separated from the soul...

No, perhaps not that much. I can feel a font of knowledge swirling in the gem. I suspect that I gained all of Magus Adelheid's thoughts and know-how on magic rather than her personal memories. The spell was supposed to get both though... I sigh.

>Tell her your name.
>Tell her where you came from.

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Thou art I, I art Thou.
The trust you have bestowed upon thy comrade is now reciprocated in turn.
Thou shall be blessed when calling upon personae of the Hangman Arcana.
May this tie bind thee to a brighter future!​
Ikusaba Quest! - Fistfighting space robots for the benefit of your familial bonds to Satan is passe, so you call Sherlock Holmes and ask her to pop by.

Kansa

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Re: Necromancer: A prologue
« Reply #29 on: August 04, 2013, 11:09:12 am »

Tell her your name
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