5th Limestone
A marvel has happened! In another time, another fort even, I would be on my knees praising Armok for his mercy. I no longer think he is merciful, but this is miraculous nonetheless. Timeless Bob, bereft of both mother and father, had been moping in the halls, his baby face raised to the soot-stained ceilings of Necrothreat, bemoaning his fate. We had begun to expect his descent to madness, though many thought he had already hit it. What kind of Forumite would refuse booze? But today he rose from his stupor, proclaimed himself a baby no longer, and drank his first booze of many.
It is these small things which enable me to live under the shadow of Armok.
20th Limestone
I was wandering in the deeps, many miles below the surface. I could almost feel the weight of the rock pressing upon my vulnerable back. Shivering, I walked onwards through the gloom. I felt compelled to do so, as I had felt compelled to lift a pick from the stockpiles many floors above. This is what it has come to. Before, Armok was content to watch me squirm, follow his orders and know that I had to obey. But since I talked to highmax’s corpse, a thing polluted by the different flavour of evil that is Fain, Armok has tightened his grip on me. He did not like how close I came to obeying the dead. It feels like I cannot breathe without his permission. So I walk, in the deeps with a pick. And I don’t know why.
Coming to an unassuming stretch of floor, unremarkable except for the fact that Armok had picked it out, I (or is it Armok, now?) raised the pick and swung it, muscles straining, at the ground. Sparks flew in a fountain. Not used to the labour, I paused for a second. Then, steeling myself, I swung again. And again. Again. Again. I soon lost count of how many blows I landed, but in the end I was standing above a hole in the ground. One last strain of my muscles brought the pick down with a resounding crack. Red light bathed my face and, as the hole widened, I saw Armok’s own hearth fire.
As I stood, framed by immense heat and light, Armok again spoke to me, a sibilant whisper in my ear. “Forgessss. You are to make forgesss.” I jerked around and walked, movements wooden and stiff, back to the stairway. Armok has spoken, and I must obey. No matter that the orders make me want to spit in his oh-so-holy face. Bah!
Timber 1st
Months have passed since I ordered the mining out of the forge area. It is not yet done. I begin to worry. Armok is cruel in success. What would he be like in failure? I do not wish to find out. I stalk the halls, ignoring the dead, the ghosts, the zombies.
All except one. More and more I find myself visiting the hospital, walking through that area of death and disease and going to highmax. I am…drawn to him. He was once an overseer like me, and he too fell under a harsh master. I have Armok, he has Fain. Sometimes, I stand there for hours, talking to the dead. The Forumites walking past me, tending to the wounded, look at me strangely. They edge away and cringe if I look at them. But I do not care. More than anything else, more than the salvation of Necrothreat, more than the defeat of both Armok and Fain, I long for what highmax has. Death. It was a curse Armok put upon me! I was allowed to visit the shining halls and vaulted rooms of paradise, then snatched away in fire and darkness, stuffed into a new body. Made a puppet!
I was visiting Highmax as I thought this, and instead of despair I felt a great well of anger. All my life I have been a free Forumite, independent, a miner out of the depths, chiselled by my family’s history into a being of pride. And Armok stamped on it, tearing it under his feet. Ha! He probably has hooves. What do I matter to him? I am a being of wood, a puppet, to be jerked around at will. Of use as entertainment, but never cared for. Never loved. I took all my anger at the betrayal of Armok, the anger at the body I am in. And most of all my anger at my pride less, spineless self. I took it and I clumped it together, a seething ball of flame in the centre of my heart. It felt good there. It pulsed like the beat of a second heart, it warmed me. It was in this moment that Fain tried to take control.
While I was organising my anger, highmax had been watching. Pasty white face straining to peer unseeingly through the bars of his cage, he saw my weakness. Highmax, not truly there for all zombies are forced under the will of Fain, struck me mentally. This mental whip flayed my mind, sent me reeling for shelter from the onslaught. Where before he had used a feather touch to talk, there was now a huge boulder, rolling down hill, gaining momentum. I knew then and there that I was going to die, and found that I did not want it after all. Heart pounding frantically at my rib cage, I took shelter from the storm in my mind. Taking my anger, I threw it through the bond highmax had made, shot it straight and true into the darkness which shrouded his mind, twisted it into a form of madness. Blooming in the darkness that was attacking me, that anger hurled it back, threw it away. Stumbling, I ran from the room, leaving highmax sitting placidly in his cage.
17th Timber
It works! They said I was crazy, but it worked! I WILL be rid of highmax. I feel a certain amount of regret, for I believe that we share a certain bond. We are both dead, yet I envy him. He has a chance to die, and I will let him achieve it. It is time to release him, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise.
I set the miners working on this killing ground weeks ago. It has a one tile large bridge to let soldiers in; an archer’s area to train them and, most importantly, it will be where highmax meets his end. May it be painless. I can sense a driving force behind me, an implacable will tightening on my mind. Armok. He wants this envoy of Fain dead. For once I…agree with him. Highmax has become a danger to the Forumites. He must die, it will be a mercy.
I stand, in blood soaked ground uneven and unsmoothed, but still with a harsh beauty of its own. I stand and watch as the cage holding the husk that was highmax opens, and the thing itself shuffles out. I stand, and remember the forumite that he was, expert with the sword, defender of the halls. A true hero. I stand, and I look at him now. Holes filled with congealed gore pierce his flesh, bones jutting out at odd angles. I stand and feel the tear track through the grime on my cheek. I will do my duty. I must. I WILL stand.
Gesturing, I sent my most trusted soldier against the beast. Slashing and stabbing did nothing, highmax just smiled vaguely and stood there, the blade sinking in and out of his flesh. Tired, the soldier stopped and turned to me, eyebrow raised in question. He wanted to know what strategy he should use. Quick as a flash, highmax lost his lethargy and struck, foul arms raised and mouth open in a rictus snarl. The soldier, seeing something in my face, spun around just in time to ward of the blow. Whirling, highmax swept his legs out in front of himself, broken bones allowing for a deformed position, and swept the soldier’s feet out from under him. Cursing, the soldier went down, highmax crawling over him. A dark aura rose from highmax, madness in its most pure form, a hanging globe that sucked in light. I have heard that darkness is merely an absence of light, but this…this made it seem the other way around.
Seconds had passed. As my men and I watched in horror, in fascination, unable to move, we saw the fight continue, soldier rolling on the floor, highmax bringing his super natural strength to bear. It was a struggle worthy to be sung of by bards. Through my connection with highmax, I felt something strange, something which stopped me from sending my men in. At the back of his mind, while the madness which had suffused every fibre of his being was flying with charged energy around the battlefield causing a mini-cyclone which whipped clothes and tugged beards, a small kernel was growing…a kernel of …normality. It was highmax, free from Fain’s touch, growing in the rotting brain. Eyes widening with this realisation, I waded through the battlefield, trying to separate the two figures rolling in the filth, indistinguishable from one another in the murk. Roaring, I reached forward and pulled highmax free. But it was too late, the spark that was highmax was ripped from him and span in the storm, a thread of light surrounded by the blanket of darkness.
The corpse in my hands ripped itself free and with surprising nimbleness whipped in mid-air to face me. The link was gone, and I felt no connection at all to the thing before me. With another yell, I threw myself into battle with the beast, the worryingly still silhouette of the soldier lying beside my feet. That storm whipped around us, going faster, faster, faster. The streak of light piercing it all seemed to pulse in time to my strikes.
I landed the final blow, and the corpse shuddered, the madness shooting back towards the source then shooting outwards again as a wall of air which knocked me over. Dazed, I looked up in time to see that white streak, brilliant now in the absence of the dark, shoot down into the body of the fallen soldier lying beside me. Shuddering, the man got onto his knees and looked around, awe in his eyes. “By….by Armok, what happened? I..I feel…strange” he said with a confused look. “This isn’t my body…all I remember is…my…my death. What happened!” Eyes roving around the room, the soldier stood up. No, I thought with a jolt of realisation. Highmax stood up. Eyes settling on Apiks, he stumbled forward. “ Apiks…what happened?“ Saying this, he stumbled and fell to the ground, out cold. Grunting, I stood up. This had….ended strangely. Shouting for the doctor, I left the arena
7th Opal
I sense an evil on our borders, a growing sense of wrongness. Running to the battlements, I look to the horizon and see…
Gamers! What is this, they are attacking the haxxors? Armok must not be in as firm control as he would wish. The Gamers kill the haxxors and leave, leaving a tide of thoughts in my head. If Armok cannot control his minions, can he control me?
I feel a grasping in my head, a searching. Throwing back my head, I scream my pain, the sound echoing through the halls. Forumites all over the fort look to me, fear writ large on their faces. There has been talk among them, talk of my inability to lead! Bah, they know nothing! Doubling over in pain, I grit my teeth. I. WILL. STAND. With another roar, I lurch to my feet, throwing my will against that of Armok itself. It made no difference, my efforts like a fly trying to get through a glass wall. Like the tide changing, Armok withdrew. Slowly. Painfully. Letting me know he could stay if he wished. A sibilant whisper echoed in my mind. “So, you think to best me in a battle of wills?” The voice held an eternity of dark amusement, as vast as the night itself. “Well, if you think so well prepared, let us see how you fare against more…strenuous circumstances. Fading from my mind with an empty chuckle, Armok passed an image to me, written in the blood of the damned.
10th opal
Migrants arrived. Thank goodness! Our population count has taken a turn for the better! My personal goal, to make the fort stronger than when I found it, to make it capable of withstanding both Armok and Fain, has been met. I must…leave the position of leader. I have chosen one to take my place, Elephant Parade Hopefully he will be as strong as his namesake. Do not misunderstand, I stand down with regret. But through me, Armok has too much power. As I stand down, I remain a puppet, but a useless puppet. He will now discard or leave me. While I hope for the latter, only the coming days will tell. The Light save me. The Light save Necrothreat!
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Alrighty, that's me. Sorry for the conflicting stories on highmax, but I had already written it out and it seemed a shame to throw it away. I enjoyed reading yours afterwards though highmax, very good! BTW, you are currently in a hospital bed recovering from your battle.
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Topic: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods! (Read 446159 times)