As I sunk into prayer and meditation, probably my last one in the realm of the living, I realized the sound of combat was distant. Too distant to be occurring on the roof or inside of the fortress. Had I still left people outside? It wouldn't have been the first time, sadly enough. Gaining some hope for the future of our fortress, I stood up once more and hurried to the roof. There, construction was still taking place. Stressed dwarves were nailing the last planks to the roof, and the door was already being removed, to be replaced with an actual, unbreakable wall. Wondering where the fighting was taking place, I peered through the wooden fortifications. Surrounded by flame and fire, the Trolls stood, fighting an unknown enemy. It did not take long for me to catch the first glimpse of a disgustingly bloated gamer. The Gods had most likely redirected them towards Necrothreat, in order to distract the trolls!
A battlefield filled with gamers and trolls.
The evil creatures, fighting eachother to the death. Gods help us if they were intelligent enough to band together.
Casualties on both sides, though in the end many more of the trolls died.As fights erupted in the northeast, I noticed something else approaching from the south. Quite some forumites, accompanied by beasts of burden, had ventured towards Necrothreat in order to trade. Some called us, the inhabitants of Necrothreat crazy. But those merchants were undoubtedly much more insane. Traveling towards a flesh mill just to make a profit. Still, with the enemy this close to our gates, we could not allow them to enter. Lowering the gate would be too dangerous. But, with the large amount of masters at arms they had brought with them, they should have been able to fight off anything thrown in their way. They would be fine, I prayed.
The imposing caravan, arriving in the distance.
A great army of guards accompanying them.A gurgling shriek erupted from the foundations of our fortress. The smell of rotten food mixed with the insufferable stench of gastric acid started filling up the fortress. A third force to besiege us, this time from below. The legendary Skaraxxe Wubehoxxede Sker Wids had come. And we had no way to stop it from entering the fortress.
A disfigured humanoid, made out of vomit.Our intricate traps would have no effect on creatures like these. It would easily be able to glance off anything we'd throw at it. Spare for the blades of our very best soldiers, that was. Doren and Apiks hurried down immediately, whilst the monster approached. Doren slashed the monster with the legendary Rosywander, and Apiks ripped and tore a way through the thing with his legendary steel chainsaw. The beast was dangerous, but no match for the two of them. In the end, Apiks added another kill to his ever-growing list.
The creature, approaching our entrance.
Doren charging the beast. Apiks would follow soon after.***
I won't be able to play anymore, but I'll be able to still write some updates the next few weeks. Here's the save already, so the next person can start playing and updating as well.
http://dffd.bay12games.com/file.php?id=13060
Hidden in a crack in the wall are several pages. On them, streaks of charcoal. Judging from the look of the papers, they must have laid there since before Apiks even took a crown upon him.
Though religion had been forbidden, there were still a few worshiping Omer. Faith had it one of them found the crumbling parchments. An engraver, who had stumbled upon them by accident. Secretly, hidden from Apiks' regal stare, the man managed to smuggle them to the cathedral, where he handed them to the high priest himself. Finally, after so much time, the last chapter of the "MANVSCRIPTVM REGIMEN CITREACRVSTI II: QVIS SACER" (or: Book of the Rule of Lemonpie II: the Holy one") had been added. The book was finally complete.
[Manuscriptum regimen I: Late second rule of Lord Lemonpie]
Fire. It raged, everywhere around the fortress. Trees fell, bushes shriveled and animals crumbled. Nothing but bare rock would remain. Nothing but bare rock, and Necrothreat eternal. Though constructed of wood, the outer fortress stood deftly against the licking flames. The tongues of many minor demons and spirits, wanting to taste everything the world had to offer. Yet they could but lick the walls of Necrothread, which had been enchanted, blessed and bloodied so many times being near them could be considered painful for any being, loyal to Necrothreat or not. For those lacking a sense of magic, it would often manifest itself as unwelcome tingling in the contacted areas, resulting in tiny cramps, bruises and sizzling blisters after a long time of exposure. For those who could sense magic, it resulted in chills, tiny spasms, visual and auditory hallicunations, as well as odd thoughts, combined with the previous physical complications. Most of the fortress was used to it, though children and newcomers would often try to avoid the walls as much as they could. The military had been desensitized, as part of their training. The enemy had not, giving us the advantage whenever fighting close to the walls. The walls that had resisted anything Ur and Armok could have thought to throw at us. Politicians, Gamers, hordes of undead. Unspeakable monsters, tiny and large. And fire. So much fire. The walls were no longer brown on the outside, no. An odd substance had formed. An amalgamation of blood, ashes and crystallized magic had formed a thick black crust on the entirity of the outer fortress, shining almost metallicaly.
The fire had started by the brook flowing south of the fortress. It had once been an idyllic sight. The bank of the river had been overgrown with a variety of lush plants. Yellow lillies, their lush petals the same colour as the fluff on a newly hatched chick. Pink orchids, the colour of sugary treats. Tiny blue flowers, growing between and under everything. Insects buzzed betwixt the lavish banquet of flowers and other plants. Fuzzy bumblebees drifted around lazily, while majestically coloured dragonflies darted over the water and regal butterflies fluttered from flower to flower. Vermin inhabited the banks and waters. Hamsters built their nests and waddled around proudly, whilst green frogs swum through clear water, filled with an abundance of colourful fish. Waterfowl was plentiful. Elegant swans, plump little coots and graceful herons were able to thrive on the abundance of food present. And at night, looking from the walls of the fortress, one could see wanderlights hovering above the shallow waters, their lights causing the water to sparkle like a gemstone unlike anyone had ever seen before. Lemonpie had been little when it had still been like this. But he remembered. And everytime he remembered, tears flowed from his eyes.
Now, life could hardly take foot. Whatever grew was sparse, and doomed to burn through a crisp within months. There were no flowers, no overgrown riverbanks. There hadn't been for years. Now, the ground was just black. Gleaming white bones offered the only contrast to this sea of darkness. Even the lifeless waters were no longer clear. Ashy sedíment coloured the water a disgusting shade of dark grey. Black even, on a rainy day. Necrothreat had come, but with it, life had left. Even the trees that still stood had changed, their branches almost barren, bearing little leaves and crumpled, semi-rotten fruits. In spring, Lemonpie had had hope. He'd seen several green bushes appear out of the ground. But his hope had been to no avail, as he saw it all burn once more. He turned around from the fort's painful walls to head inside when he heard the sound of a horn in the distance. No, not one horn. Two forumite horns, from different locations.
[Manuscriptum regimen II: Late second rule of Lord Lemonpie]
I hurried back towards the fortifications. The thick black smoke the wildfire brought with it pained my eyes, but I did not care. The loud horn I had heard was recognizable. Every year I had lived in Necrothreat, I had heard it being sounded. The traditional instrument, carved from the broad horn of a large ram, was carried by only a single group. The merchants of our civilization. I praised Omer as I attempted to peer through the smoke. My eyes teared up, but I would not close them. A gust of wind, however, revealed something unexpected. An army, a full size army, accompanied the caravan. Legendary weaponlords and shieldmasters stood around the caravan, guarding it deftly. Yet, trolls and gamers still roamed outside. Only the Gods knew how long both sides would last in their conflict, and it was a matter of time before the surviving party would charge our fortress. I could not risk opening the bridge, as the fire approached the merchants. Not even their armor would be able to protect them. Only the Gods could.
Merchants, awaiting the gates to be dropped as fir encroaches upon them
Part of the Merchant's army[Manuscriptum regimen III: Late second rule of Lord Lemonpie]
The second horn sounded. To the east, hidden within a thick layer of smoke, stood a smaller group of people. Migrants. Migrants, coming to reinforce the starved populace of this rotten fort. Pure souls, headed towards their doom. Just as we needed them so much. I decided I could no longer keep the gate closed. We had lost too many of our compatriots to turn these poor folk away. With a heavy sound, the drawbridge was lowered. Our own horn sounded, and the migrants made a run for it. To the south, the merchants, now almost fully enclosed by the flames, ran for it too. But I feared it was too late, for the thousand tongues of flame licked them already. Yet, as if the hands of Omer held back the walls of hellflame, a path remained, leading towards the cooling brook. For way longer than it should have been, the flames halted, blazing on yet unable to truly harm the merchants. Only when almost the entire caravan had crossed the brook, the last wagon caught flame. In the hurry, a barrel of pig's fat had fallen off the cart, swallowing the driver and his draught animals whole in the resulting blast. The men hurried on, leaving the screams of the burning merchant behind them. It did not take long before we were able to welcome them inside our walls, mostly unscathed.
Fresh blood for the flesh mill that is Necrothreat.
Merchants running through the sacred flame-path towards safety, as far as we can provide it.
The small army entering our walls, the bridge closed behind them to keep the flames out.[Manuscriptum regimen IV: Late second rule of Lord Lemonpie]
For months, I had been working on the construction of several hidden rooms underneath the fortress, for our loremaster, Quill Arcane. Only the most beautiful, well crafted and rare items I had dragged there, to the four new rooms underneath the Castle. A mausoleum, engraved with the most beautiful works of art. A bedroom with furniture unlike any seen before. And two grand studies. One filled with cultural wonders, with books and texts both sacred and cursed. Another filled with wonders from the natural world. Cages lined the walls, filled with an assortment of creatures. From the most mundane bird to living politicians and the undead. Plants from the bright surface to fungi growing in the darkest chasms of what was nearly the underworld. All for our loremaster to study. The construction was briefly interrupted by a gargantuan rat, but one of the hunters took swift care of the beast. Quill was more than pleased with his gift, and thanked me time and time again. I told him to thank the Gods instead, for I was only a humble messenger, working to make their desires reality. I would continue describing the lavish rooms, but Apiks has called me. I wonder what he's planning, but as a man of the Gods, I shall see if I can help or need to stop him. Forgiveness is key.
Quill's new rooms, partially finished and partially under construction.
The rat, seconds before a lethal bolt penetrated his heart.
My, no, Omer's gracious gifts to Quill.
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Topic: NecroThreat IV: Fortress for BFEL, God of Necromancy (Read 605475 times)