Now it is time for Canord to fall, for its citizens to truly know your wrath. You consume the thirty-two captives, feasting on their souls as their bodies are slowly shredded in your temple. Power rushes through you, and you pick out the eight most beautiful of your cultists, giving them twisted gifts. They scream in exquisite agony as their flesh warps, soaking in the dark energy that emanates from your core. Each of them turns into repellent old hags, but the eyes of those weak of mind or morals will see the most beautiful of women (or men). And when they look upon someone, they can see their truest desires and adjust themselves to match. You note with some amusement that they are very careful to avoid meeting your gaze, or the gaze of the Woemaker.
With that task accomplished, you call upon the dead, using your new power, and the general unease many of them are resting in nearby, to bring them into your service. Most of the sacrifices are too mutilated to be of use, and even their souls are twisted and broken. Nearly two hundred piteous things rise up, barely visible, unable to touch the world. They wail at the sight of you and your followers, and whimper in endless agony. Aside from those, you awaken thirty zombies and six skeletons.
Two-thirds of your followers march from Dresick, while the remainder labor to continue fortifying. They also offer sacrifices, praying for good fortune and success in battle. With you at the head an army of monstrosities, the like of which have not been seen for centuries, marches. Your seducers go first, running as fast as they can to weaken Canord for you. Behind them advances a long column. You stride at their head, surrounded by a moaning shroud of helpless spirits. Flanking you are two babbling creatures, their four heads lolling about as their oversized bodies and twisted limbs struggle to maintain the pace. After comes orderly ranks of cultists, some bearing viciously barbed spears, others armed with nothing more than clubs and scythes and staffs. And behind them, boneys skulk and undead shamble, with the spirits of the wisp wights ranging out far and wide to find more prey for this hungry beast of war to feast upon.
You find more than you expected, although not as much as you would have liked. A few dozen scared, confused herdsmen and a peddler fall to your onslaught. Their reanimated corpses join those at the rear. As you pass the villages you destroyed, you command their dead as well. In total, a full hundred zombies and another thirty-seven skeletons join you. But fortune smiles upon you. With your recent increase in power, you gained a greater sense for death. Just south of Canord, in a broken ring of stones that might once have been a fortress, you find a great well of it. You whisper, and the soil churns. Out comes nearly fifty corpses, their eyes glowing with a baleful light, their blades dripping with oily black blood. Without a word, they form ranks at the head of your cultists, and none dare speak against them.
Your army hides in the abandoned mine you used when you last visited Canord, and you enter the town to see what progress your seducers have made. They have been hard at work, although they apparently had something of a squabble. Four sought to recruit among the masses instead, and they have gathered a small following of about forty people, consisting mostly of miners angry about the various new laws made after the riots. The others have done their best to weaken the mayor and the commander.
You enter the mayor’s office in the dead of night. She is there, barely awake, working through endless stacks of paperwork. When she sees you, she pulls out a knife and slashes at you. A few moments you are digesting your latest meal as you visit the commander. He has been suffering because of the new laws, including a ban on alcohol. It has left him particularly vulnerable to the manipulations of the seducers, and he swears himself to you in the hope that you will make him the warrior he was before he became a drunk.
The sum total of your forces with you are two brutes, fifteen wisp wights, one hundred and sixty-nine zombies, forty-three skeletons, fifty of the special undead you found by chance, thirteen boneys, thirty armed and trained cultists, one hundred and two poorly armed and trained cultists, and you. You have forty-one miners, eight seducers, five soldiers, and their commander within the town.
Canord lies vulnerable, still reeling from the riots and the loss of the mayor. The commander and some of his men are yours, as is a contingent of rowdy miners. Their palisade has not been repaired, and your army is enough to strike fear in the heart of even the bravest.
Describe your last minute preparations and plan your assault. Canord will fall! (Probably.)
Full status
Current Status
Name: Klx-Dryklfx
Time: 3 months
Physical Might: 30+5 (+1 slaughter, +6 worship, -6 reanimation, -2 leakage)
Mental Might: 30+5 (+1 slaughter, +6 worship, -6 reanimation, -2 leakage)
Followers
13 Boneys, 30 armed and trained cultists, 169 poorly armed and trained cultists, 5 soldiers, 41 miners, 8 seducers, 1 commander
Servants
15 wisp wights, 2 brutes, 169 zombies, 43 skeletons, 50 special undead
Cults
The Broken
Members: 13 Boneys, 169 poorly armed and trained cultists, 30 armed and trained cultists, 8 seducers
Resources: 1
Power: 15 (10 spent worshipping you, 7 spent digging a moat)
I would appreciate names for the new undead, and something to call cultists of different levels of equipment and training. If I like the names you come up with, their might be some sort of bonus...