I can feel it has returned. I don't know what kind of being, if one at all, it is. After several years of blindness, I can finally see. Finally again, the hundred hands of Afer, feeling every bit of dirt it can reach. The boiling wroth of Masea, destroying whatever falls in. The eternal light and colors of Lord Omer, the great and mighty. Not seeing the gods is like not seeing at all. And now that I can see, I am blissful. I can finally lead the mites and womites of this fortress again. And with my vision, I shall try and bring them greatness once more. Happiness is a scarcity these days, but it is a luxury I will strive to provide.
Arx was leading the fortress now. He took the mantle of leadership over from Rogue, who in turn inherited it from Flame. Before that, Gwolfski, Enemy Post and Alias ruled. Six men, ruling after me. The time that had passed had truly been too long. Just as I strode out of Omer's chapel, I bumped into Arx. I was about to blurt out my revelation, when he simply handed over the rule to me. That made things a lot easier, I must admit. If Arx hadn't, I'd've had to seize power either through diplomacy or stage a coup. Not something I was interested in. Not something the fortress could afford in this time of dire need.
I thanked him, and started my rule. A lot had to happen, in the name of the Gods.
The church had been a mess for months now. Someone had set loose the black bear ritually chained up in the church. Blood and viscera still littered the floor, where the bear had wrought its onslaught. The bear's corpse still laid there as well, now nothing more than dusty skin draped over gleaming white bone. I had intentionally left the church like that, to show the world what happened to those who refused the Gods in their harts. That, and the fact that it was a lot of cleaning. I'd have to address the mess later. There were more urgent matters to attend to.
There was one issue though: there was no dangerous ritual creature chained up in the church. And that was definitely a requirement to please the gods. As I looked through the stock ledgers, I saw a creature that would do. It would be even better than a measly bear. Better precautions would have to be taken, though.
One of them was the issue of overcrowding. Dozens of animals were locked in the same pasture, which had turned into barren soil littered with starved corpses and fighting animals. I assigned all overgrown rooms to be used as substitute pens, even those with workshops in them. Cattle meant food, and food was essential. And so, the great exodus of farm animals began. The fighting pens cleared, once and for all. It was quite some work, but it paid off eventually. Additionally, I had all edible plants growing on the top floor of the fortress harvested.
Unbeknownst to me, we also have an exorbitant amount of unrefined adamantine stored. Praise the Gods, for it will surely strengthen our armies. Someone, however, has deconstructed our magma forges. Something will need to be done about that.
Apiks has given his shield a ridiculous name. Volalrîthol, "the White Noble". Everyone knows that the nobles in this fortress are all dark brown, and not white. Maybe he chose for the name because of the impossible feats he's able to perform with it? He truly is a tactical mastermind, I must admit.
Just as things started getting sorted out, disaster struck. A monstrous Werebull arrived. Just as people were moving outside to gather whatever still remained there. Two people perished in the ensuing attack, and many more were wounded. Only two were bitten though, and one of them lost the arm he was bitten in. That left one remaining infected. Granny Eshtân. A legendary brewstress, loved by all. She had survived for over a century in this cursed world, only to turn into a wretched monster. And turn she did. The guards were already surrounding the frightened old lady when she turned, so she did not last long. Still managed to bite two kids, one of which was bitten in the eyelids. Poor things, I fear they'll turn as well. Only time will tell.
A ravenous beast, charging the peasants outside.
The last words of Ustuth
Granny Eshtân, surrounded by guards, just before she turned. She holds the last bottle of Dwarven Rum she would ever brewAs Granny Eshtân sunk to her knees, something tingled in my bones. A legendary number. A number that marked the beginning of the end.
Author
Topic: NecroThreat IV: Fortress for BFEL, God of Necromancy (Read 445284 times)