“Seven forumites founded Necrothreat to protect the world against the undead menace.
They fought and defended. Many died, but the world was kept safe.
Necrothreat flourished while under constant siege, the first and last line of defense.
The greatest and most knowledgeable of us lived during that time.
Yet that was not enough.
When the Dark Lord Ur came to lead his forces himself and sow chaos in our ranks, Necrothreat became no more.
Armok’s sorrow for the heroes of Necrothreat reshaped the world and brought them back a second time.
But that was a lie. The forumites were brought back not to protect the world, but to be Armok’s minions.
Ur renewed his assault on the fair world, coming face to face with the protectors of Necrothreat once more.
After a valiant battle, all but three of the guardians perished to his forces again.
Ur’s dominion was not the only thing moving things. Armok had forced a forumite to become his minion.
An abomination they called him, yet he led Necrothreat to glory more than once.
And then that same abomination did the unthinkable. He broke free from Armok’s shackles.
Necrothreat was severely punished as a result of his actions. But something even more unbelievable happened.
Armok was vanquished by the combined forces of two of the guardians and the abomination.
The cost of that feat was shrouding the world in fire.
It is so that the abomination came to join the ranks of the guardians.
One of the guardians knew that what they had was not enough.
The Dark Lord Ur had stripped the dead guardians of the right of death and imprisoned their souls in limbo.
The guardian went into the realm of the unliving, sired an army of the dead guardians and led a charge to the tower of Ur.
The seat of his power.
In the end we came out on top. Ur was dead.
The dead he had entrapped were released, some finding their way back to the living. The day was won.
We thought that to be the end. What else could have we thought. Armok was conquered and Ur was dead.
Our mission still existed to protect the world from his spawn, yet the greater evil and a god had been defeated.
Oh, how wrong we were.
From the bellows of the earth came a new enemy. At first we cheered as they devoured the undead, thinking them specialized fighters on our side.
Then they came at us in numbers from the belly of our own home.
And then we died. Necrothreat had become no more again.
But we had achieved power.
Two of the guardians warped the very fabric of space and time to bring us to the past. A time when all was still right with the world.
Armok and Ur were still gone. They could not transcend the laws of the universe. At least that’s what we thought of their absence.
And still yet that was not enough to thwart the end.
Many of the old guardians could not be brought back.
New guardians were sired, however it appeared the undead only grew in power instead.
The new guardians tried to control the fiends of the underground.
And they succeeded. We were still alive, the undead kept at bay.
But the fortress was no longer our own.
A slow reclaim had begun and success started to be seen.
But the death of the folk put sin in us.
What else was I supposed to do afterwards? I refused to let him force us to continue this agony.
I tried stopping him. I thought I succeeded, but his accursed wisdom let him mimic my new power..
What else was I supposed to do? We deserved to finally find peace…
Ours is not a story
of Greatness and Sadness,
of Tragedy and Glory,
of Forumites and Necrothreaders,
but a story of our torment.”
~Sprin
Chapter IV of the Necrothreat Chronicles
“What the blazes is this? How in the world is this supposed to help us in the defense? It’s just the ramblings of a madman.” said a female forumite bearing a large crisscrossed scar on her cheek.
“The ramblings of one the very guardians that were sworn to protect us. Do you not realize this could be a crucial clue in finding them?” retorted a puffy looking forumite sitting at a desk, surrounded by books. “Something happened at the end. If we figure out what it is we could possibly bring them back to help us!”
“Again with your folk tales. The guardians of Necrothreat of old are gone. They suddenly disappeared and that was centuries ago. All you can bring back is their bones. Why am I telling you this, you should know about it better than I. Aren’t there dozens of these writings, all slightly different anyways?”
The room darkened slightly as the last vestiges of light outside died off only to be replaced with the incandescent light of candles. The air was stale with dust and rows of bookshelves lined the wall, seemingly wrapped in countless tomes and scripts.
“You know full well we have no chance of winning against the undead without a miracle, Overseer. And this is it. They stopped them before, they can stop them here and now again. And in these scripts we might be able to glean a clue. We sacrificed two fortresses and almost a dozen more villages to keep the knowledge safe and undead at bay. You can’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now.”
Weary, the woman pulled a chair and dropped into it, her leather stretching being the only sound in the room in the moment before she sat. The chair creaked as her full weight came down on it.
“I know, I know. I just worry not only about the future of our people, but of all living beings. I’m tired of having to constantly move aboveground under the sky, and now you tell me we have to place our hopes in a legend. A myth used to give hope to our children during the night.” A silence stretched between them, seeming endless as the quiet cool night air rolled in. “Have you learned anything that can help us?”
The younger forumite furrowed his significant brows in concentration, trying to decide what exactly to say. “Kind of.” His lips puckered a bit before deciding it worth to tell. “Most of the records are very vague, but this one has a very old map. It is of a foreign world that looks very close to ours. The legends speak of the guardians protecting us not only in this world, but in other similar ones. This specific record is interesting because on the map is marked a location with a word on top. “Fissure” it is named. A fissure to what though? Regardless this is highly irregular in the records I’ve so far read. I think it worth to check out.”
“You want me to sacrifice what meager troops we have l-“ interrupted, the door burst open and a forumite fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
“Overseer.” He took a few more breaths “Overseer.”
The female forumite was already on her feet, helping the one on his knees to do the same. “Speak up, man! What is it? Have the undead been sighted or have one of Armok’s abominations come to haunt us?”
A few dozen of seconds later, the messenger’s breath stabilized so that he wasn’t gasping for air constantly and he could form proper sentences. “Worse. Much worse. Armok and Ur have formed an alliance. They have sent us an ultimatum. Either we kill ourselves or they will do it. They gather forces as we speak.”
The bookish forumite started rocking in his chair, his eyes now closed, repeating the same word over and over quietly with his hands over his mouth. Suddenly he fell still, arms falling to his side. A moment later his eyes were wide open, his feet now standing and a shout pierced the air.
“BOLLOCKS!”
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Topic: NecroThreat IV: Fortress for BFEL, God of Necromancy (Read 550746 times)