Lack of faith.
It defined him. A surging, inner turmoil. A desire for knowledge where it had been explicitly forbidden. He was devout. He prayed. He loved his god. Even heard him speak, and was his mouthpiece.
And yet, he did not
know his god. Omer, god of rainbows and water. Fluid and ever changing, who could truly pretend to understand his ways and his wishes? And yet he spoke to the people of Necrothreat, and told them that this, or that, was the will of the god. That faith would lead them true.
He lacked that fundamental faith.
--------
Th4DwArfY1 no longer worked in the shadows for the betterment of the Fortress. Instead, he openly held the reins. His hand glowed red beside him at all times where it clutched his Right to Rule. The goblins leered suggestively. The Forumites cheered him on.
They would do the same no matter how inspired, or how heinous his actions.
The right to rule. Did he deserve it? The well oiled military patrolled the fortress, and the corridors were safe. Truth be told, the undead were not the threat they once had been. Who had achieved this? Whose iron fist had brought them into line, who had built an army to make the gods themselves fear? Who had, in truth, countless times saved this fortress from ruin.
Curling in himself, an anger.
Jenny.
He sighed. Yes, who too was responsible for great atrocities. For the undermining of justice. For tampering with artifacts better left alone.
His staff flashed crimson, and he waved it frantically up and down. Perhaps it needed air? Who knew.
Apiks. Scourge or saviour? He found that both words fit, and that terrified him. But he would build Necrothreat back to glory. He would protect them, and all Forumites, from the wrath of the gods. Highmax had failed. Apiks was too vicious. Ghosts and spearmen, Archpriests. All had failed. Th4DwArfY1… perhaps, just perhaps, that Forumite had enough compassion to do what the others had failed to achieve. Make the people
happy.
He issued an order, and a messenger boy ran to obey.
Water flowed, and some gladness was restored to the fortress… but still. The prisoners crying in their cages filled him with heartache. Anger stole into him at the sight of Apiks, but so did understanding.
Th4DwArfY1 had once been certain. But now, he did not even know who he was.
----
The moon hung fat and heavy in the sky. New fortifications were rising, but not quickly enough. No birds sang. No wind blew. From the East, no sound.
Except one.
A pawing, stone being scraped from stone. A heavy, ponderous tread. The watchers on the wall ran, to report the coming danger. That was their job, after all. Never mind that the wall was unfinished. Warning must be given.
It walked past our defences. A great beast, taller than any mortal. Hairy, shaggy. Thick limbs the size of trees. It stopped before the very gates of Necrothreat and
roared a challenge. From where he stood, Id saw its teeth flashing, great yellow sabres.
He had been fixing a mechanism, and had been confused at the sentries running past. He had shrugged, and continued his work. Mist swirled outside.
There was no wind, and only one sound.
Breathing.
The great bear lumbered forward, sparse hair covering its rippling mass of body. It galloped, now, closer and closer, and Id, realising his danger too late, turned to run. Others ran with him, but as it barrelled past, its muzzle caught them. Its teeth rent them. It pounded them into the dirt. It caught up to him, and with a massive paw batted him aside. It sank its teeth into his arm, ripping his robe, and he knew death had come for him. Vaguely, he saw corpses around him. He knew the military would not come in time to save him. He could feel death, and it whispered to him, soft and sibilant on the heavy, misty air.
And then he saw a gleam of light, and even in his certainty of death, his breath was stolen away.
A Forumite, alone, had charged the great bear. In his hand, there was only a pickaxe. Consciousness stealing away, he saw the first blow land. It sank deep into the Bear’s shoulder, and parted the flesh.
The creature roared in pain, its muzzle ripping free of Id’s flesh. He roared too, and then darkness.
So was born Bearbane, the Werebear Slayer.
The Slayer's EddaWe heard afar the coming sound
The tread of heavy paws on ground
The laboured breathing of a beast
Coming unto a welcome feast.
Our armies clothed in iron hide
Shivered, and locked themselves inside.
Long held their swords bespecked with dew
These men thought brave by me and you.
Long went their iron armour all unused
Which first in fires were fiercely fused.
But one remained before the gate
To stand before the coming hate;
Of him now sing, oh Necrothreat
For we remain within his debt
Who sheltered were by blazing pick,
By blows most fierce and passing quick.
His like will never come again
Who we have thought to name Bearbane.
The bear with gleaming, gloating eye
In mists and shadows thought to lie
Unnoticed by our stoutest men
Hidden by thicket in the fen.
There claw like sickle reaped the soul
Of Forumites. Their lives he stole
With jaws agape then snapping shut,
And of our blood he had his glut.
Then with a knowing, leering smile
Innocuous and full of guile
It lumbered to the fore
With muzzle stained by gore,
Claws sharpened on our bones
And ears full hearkened to our moans.
It spied one more to bring down low
Out in the open, foolish foe!
Long were his strides, the thunder came
Like poundings of torrential rain
Upon the ground. The sound! The sound!
Id the mechanic peered, then frowned
Before his death he saw
Within the monster’s jaw.
He turned, the gate to win
But felt a heavy breath upon his skin,
Heard growling carried in the breeze.
He knew its claws would on him seize.
Knew, too, that Necrothreat
Would murder see avenged, challenge met
And foe be speared by blades of steel.
Contentment does the worker feel.
But whist, a silver light on high
A testament to he who’d die,
Divinely sent or earthly reared,
By either way that light be feared.
He came.
Bearbane.
Blood flew, a blackish, brackish flood
And when the weaving stopped there stood
No bear. Instead, his muscles taut
His face with anger wrought
Our hero with his pick remained.
The bear he’d slain, its features maimed;
Such was the reason for his name.
Bearbane.
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Topic: NecroThreat IV: Fortress for BFEL, God of Necromancy (Read 516839 times)