It is dark.
Of course it is, we are underground. A race of peoples living under the earth.
My son is dead.
Of course he is; I, myself, had heard his song. Had longed to crush it, end it. Sprin had agreed, his madness echoing in the back of my mind. It had sounded like wisdom.
My son is dead, and it is dark.
*****
So begins the Last Entry into the book of Necrothreat IV. So begins the Time of Tears, the end of the Age of Bears.
So begins, and ends, the Overlordship of Th4DwArfY1, he of the Divided Mind.
*****
Th4DwArfY1 sat alone, but only now realised the true depth of his loneliness. In front of him the Great Dining Hall, which he himself had fashioned with his pick to be a thing of beauty – complete, as it was, with soaring stone and splashing waterfalls – was full of minstrely and laughter. Dancing was seen, and songs were raised in praise and joy. In this place the last spots of hope for the future remained, as foreign minstrels cried out the wonders of the external world in ever sweeter tones.
The Forumites huddled in the corners and watched, their eyes vacant. But some tapped their feet in time to the music while others, if one passed close enough, could be heard to hum a favoured ditty of their childhood in the Mountainhalls. From his place beside the gentle mists of a waterfall, Th4DwArfY1 raised his hand and lowered it decisively.
His signal given, the screams began.
Forumites gaped in horror and astonishment as those who had been singing and dancing were put to the chainsaw and the axe, the sword and maul. Lolbolts flew, snickering to themselves, through the air. They punctured lungs and hearts with unerring aim.
Highmax had once been the spirit of the army; Apiks had been its strong arm. Th4DwArfY1 had often thought of himself as its mind, its conscience.
That mind had gone mad.
His task done, Th4DwArfY1 waded through the piles of foreign dead. Risen, he noticed with mild interest, also lay contorted in a death-stance before him, but he moved on through the already thickening miasma with no care. The mist would no longer bring joy to this place, for all joy was dead. The minstrels would not tell of Necrothreat and its Great Hall. The memory of this place would die, as Lemonpie had died. Inglorious and twisted beyond recognition.
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Topic: NecroThreat IV: Fortress for BFEL, God of Necromancy (Read 550842 times)