Well, here's the first enormous wall of text. Hopefully it doesn't make you nauseous...
Across the fields strode a broad-bodied old man of browned skin and sparse amber hair, his thin olive-green eyes locked firmly on a small cabin on the edge of the village. As he approached, a figure stepped out from under the door. Young and scrawny, this other man stood only chest-height to the stranger, but possessed an air of command unlike the usual peasantry. This was his mark, for sure.
As the burly stranger approached, the boy addressed him. “Good evening, stranger. My name is Duka Ownmarbles, smith’s assistant and gentleman adventurer. And whom might you be?”
“Duke of Old Halltremor, I presume?”
The boy’s eyes lit up in surprise, fear; “Ah, uh! I-no, that’s ridiculous! That old tyrant murdered thousands of people with but his teeth! Surely you can’t believe a lowly man such as myself resembles a monster like that!”
“Oh, I am most certain of it. You command such respect from these people, and yet you should, by the look of you, be a child of no more than seventeen. You wouldn’t have me believe that it’s just genetics, as you certainly don’t appear healthy for such a young man. You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that, Duke, but you left quite a trail to follow, and a mountain of corpses to climb. I’m sure those incisors of yours would fit nicely in the wounds on the necks of so many young maidens.”
The Duke backed up to the door. From behind it, the stranger could hear the whispering of the peasants. They had suspected it of the young man, and were now arguing with his enthralled cultists.
“It’s time to go, everybody! Kill the dirt farmers and run!” The Duke tossed open the door and swung at the woman who was about to stab him, knocking her to the floor. A man next to her was engaging the other peasants. The scene quickly erupted into a chaotic brawl, as the Duke and his assistants fought to reach the back door of the dark one-room cabin. The peasants and stranger fought hard, and soon the Duke was alone, fighting off half a dozen farmers and an armed soldier. Soon, though, the stranger had him in his grasp, raised high above the floor by the collar of his ragged tunic.
“I am Bora Ragedance the Allied Flesh of Nourishment! Whosoever would blight the world, preying on the helpless, kneel before me! I am the night! Death incarnate, ruler of all that dwells in shadow, and I will slay any who oppose me where they stand.”
The Duke shrugged, relieving the stress on his throat; “Bora, you are but a child. You yet believe that your insurrection will come to pass, and the mortal world will be enthralled to you? I have been playing this game for over a thousand years, and no man nor beast, however mighty, has overpowered the entire realm!”
“You’re right. None of them have had the patience, to play their pawns, and those pawns of all others, into the proper positions to falter so magnificently. But now? The mortal world is doomed. They are all as sterile as you or I, and yet my children shall soon be found throughout the world. As mortals wither and die, I shall be there, to take back their souls!”
With one strong blow, he forced his blade through the Duke’s chest, and left it there, as the scrawny old timer lay prone, the unlife seeping from his body as he bled. It was quite the show, and the peasants no doubt knew why they feared the night. One man, the smith who had thought the Duke his apprentice up until moments ago, chased this new villain out of town. Soon, though, the night creature was nowhere to be found.
Far from the fields, and deep within the wood, the figure crept into a tomb, one of many in the wood nearby. There, he retrieved a most splendid replacement for his petty copper blade; a beautifully decorated bronze scimitar. Within moments, a gruff moan could be heard through the stonework above. The creature shambled, slowly, down a nearby stairwell. From it’s cloth-wrapped face it spat a string of curses, and upon seeing the intruder, it addressed him most sternly; “You! You who dares disturb my restful wait! Who dares steal away my precious things, as mere treasures of entertainment in your short, miserable mortal lives! I command you, explain to me why I should not curse you for all eternity to suffer at the touch of the slightest vermin and be smothered in your own inadequacies!”
“You always were one to talk, Luk. You ought not point your hands at me, for I am your lord. Did you not swear loyalty to me for all eternity, in return for an eternity on this world?”
“I… I did. I apologize, master, I did not recognize you. I am of course loyal to you above all else! Praise to Ume Gillwinds the Saffron Wax of Lobsters, you’ve returned! Are we really ready to begin?”
“Yes. Now is the time. Wake the others, take your servants, and march on the village next door. Raise them, too. I presume you remember the rest of the plan, after that?”
“Oh, yes, sir! But, could you wake Er, perhaps? Her tomb was guarded by some most exquisite traps, and the rest of us are not so skilled at avoiding them as you.”
Sure enough, the tomb of Er was truly built to last; after 700 years, not one adventurer had survived the gauntlet of traps throughout the halls. Until, of course, Bora arrived, and neatly sidestepped all but one of them. In the commotion, Er was awakened, and came forth to claim her new servant, only to be turned back again, to march upon the world outside. It was the last tomb in the complex of five, and lo, the peasantry would weep in terror at the mighty army before them.
A short walk to the south, another ten tombs lay undisturbed for mere hours longer, before they too joined the hoard. The first part of their celebration of undeath would be a grand fishing trip, to praise Ume, who offered them eternity to await their prey. The next, would be to convert the fools to forever walk by their side. It was time to pay a visit to some old friends; the guards at Clashcloset.
Sneaking into the castle, as he usually did, he spotted two guards near the gate; the perfect target’s for this year’s recital of the one-man siege of Clashcloset. It had been going on since the castle was built, and only those troops most in need of punishment were stationed here, especially this time of year. He quickly brought down one of the soldiers with a chokehold, and proceeded to wail on the other, until he finally stopped moving. After finishing off the other soldier, Bora simply strode out through the gates once again. Nothing could be easier than terrorizing the populace with that old “Monster of Clashcloset” myth. He alone struck fear into the hearts of man and beast alike.
For three days Bora wandered the landscape, visiting the tombs of his loyal subjects and waking them. There were 5 such complexes in the area, and two of them were very large. Nonetheless, his army must rise, if they were to conquer the world in his name. On the fourth day, he set out for less hostile lands, to the north. The people there had not heard of him, or seen his face, so it would be the best place to hide while he waited for trouble to boil over.
Truly, these northern men were more elven than his goblin-influenced associates. Half the population was elves, of course, but even the humans took on some elven traditions, such as walking barefoot and refusing to harm animals except for certain ceremonies. This would do, for now.
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Topic: The Museum: Adventure mode succession world (DF 34.11) (Read 783081 times)