by A Uscila
“Sir, we’re under attack again!” - Finally, some action. The Embalmer slowly stood up, dusted off his robes, glanced at the armed bandit that ran up to him and then inspected the fields beyond the safety of the fort. Indeed, the first goblin stragglers were already swarming from the far-off tree-line, advancing along the cliff edge and directly towards his location in their usual oblivious manner.
“Yes, I can see that. Herd the workforce to their …safety, we wouldn’t want them to scurry off somewhere during the chaos, now would we?” – He said with a twirl of the fingers, a pleasant smile directed at the underling, who, after a momentary daze, nodded and scurried off. After which, the necromancer turned back to the approaching swarm, entwined his fingers and pushed till he heard the joints crack – “Time to get working. Reinhart!” - He shouted atop his lungs. Waited. Got no response – “Reinhart!” – He tried again, this time louder, head turned to the side slightly, while trying to glance at the minion’s previous position.
“WHAT?!” – Only to be startled out of his own, when a sudden shout came from the side, right into his ear, to boot.
“I hate it when you do that” – The Embalmer complained with a deep frown, a finger wiggling in his, no doubt, damaged ear.
“Wouldn’t be doing it otherwise.” – The reanimated douchebag stated in a croaking voice, his lifeless gaze turning towards the upcoming swarm – “More work?”
“wok?” – In a failed attempt to mimic the last spoken word, a voice bubbled from below, drawing the attention of both parties present. Apparently, it was Grumble – his body large enough for his head to peak over the walkway.
“Oh aren’t you just adorable!” – In a voice so sweet it made you want to puke, The Embalmer bent down and started gently patting the half-decomposed minion’s head, all the while smiling like a pedophile would at a probable victim.
“You make me sick” – Reinhart grumbled – “We don’t have time for this”
“You’re just jealous of our platonic relationship” – the necromancer backhandedly shot back, while cuddling the expressionless walking-corpse as if it was a kitty. Dead flesh squelched under the expression of affection – “besides” – only to abruptly step away from the living corpse, the recently used hand rubbing against his robes – “I got a solution to our problem…” – a snap of the fingers, a wink and as if timed, a symphony of clanking bones reached their ears as a neat row of skeleton archers climbed onto the walkway and arranged against the wooden parapet – “arrows!” – The necromancer shouted excitedly.
“Sometimes I wish I was dead…” – Reinhart exhaled, while hiding his disfigured facial features within a palm.
“Oh just wait till you see this” – the living comedy act commented, one hand rising into the air – “Notch arrows!” – In unison, the arranged skeletons took out an arrow from their quivers and placed them against their bowstrings – “Draw arrows!” – And they did – “Aim!” – In unison, they raised their bows and before the command to shoot could be given, someone seemed to shoot in advance – “Who did that?!” – Obviously outraged, The Embalmer marched down the arrayed lines till he found the culprit – a one handed skeleton, the other limb lying on the ground together with the bow – “I swear, it’s hard to come by quality help these days…” – He lamented upon the sight.
“Will you get this over with already?!” - Clearly, Reinhart’s patience ran out, as he shouted loudly at the clown of a master.
“Fire!” – Luckily, further prodding wasn’t necessary. With a loud shout and an unnecessary wave a hand, The Embalmer finally gave the command – and just in time, as the goblin swarm was already upon the walls – their charge so reckless that a number of the poor suckers simply impaled themselves upon the waiting stakes, while the rest rammed into the walls – clawing and screaming. Considering how clearly unprepared they were for the siege, it was probably for the best that they were put out of their misery – a hail of arrows rained from the front and from the side, wounding and killing many who were on their way to the walls or already there. Apparently, the skeletons placed into the cliff’s whiskers were more than just decorations.
And all the while, The Embalmer was busy giggling like a deranged maniac, hands rubbing together – “Yes, yeees! Grind yourselves down against these battlements! What fools!” – He shouted about to no one in particular.
“Don’t you think they seem somewhat more panicked than usual?” – Reinhart asked contemplatively, dead eyes inspecting the seemingly endless downpour of the disgusting creatures with keen interest. Or as much interest as dead facial muscles could display.
“Nonsense, you just want to ruin the moment…” – The Embalmer complained and pointed a finger into the flowing current of goblin flesh, a grotesque explosion taking place at the indicated location. A few more following soon after as the necromancer pointed to different spots with a gleeful giggle. Roars and screeches echoed about, while blood and body parts scattered about after each explosion, yet the flow seemed unceasing, unmindful of the one-sided massacre taking place. Bodies piled up and the necromancer eventually grew bored.
“You’re right…this does seem strange” – He finally commented, both hands now raised to waist level, palms down, his figure freezing up.
“Told you.” – Reinhart commented from the side, his attention now on the piles of dead goblins below the battlements – a circle of blighted ground spreading beneath one of the piles. With a sudden lurch and an avalanche of twitching limbs, the piles suddenly came to life and rolled onto the charging swarm – dead kin turning upon the living. Bloody carnage ensued, just as three more such piles were turned into a downpour of reanimated flesh, which formed a wall of death, a barrier of sorts, between the battlements and the swarm. Yet even that did not seem to halt the attack. Like moths to the flame, the goblins came with reckless abandon. They even brought their close friends, the ogres – who charged through the goblin ranks like a spear thrust. The necromancer frowned.
“I wonder if we have insurance…” – He contemplated aloud.
“Would it hurt for you to speak sense every now and again?” – Reinhart shot back snappily, his hand reaching for the buckler reinforced by steel that hung on his back. A shining longsword already wielded by the other limb – “About time we take care of this ourselves?” – He inquired.
With a grin, The Embalmer reached into a satchel that hung from his waist, only to take out two curved sickles that seemed way too large to fit in there. Slowly, he licked the blade of one of the fancy farmer tools, only to flinch.
“You cut your tongue doing that again, didn’t you?” – Reinhart asked in exasperation.
“I’ll get it right one of these days…” – The embalmer commented with narrowed eyes. With weapons pointing at the approaching ogres, the necromancer froze up for a moment or two, the condition soon transferred to the approaching stampede. A cloud of crystal blue flakes descended upon their mad rush, slowing them down, considerably – “Turn them into pincushions, my children!” – The Embalmer then commanded, his weapons still pointing at the ogres, while the skeleton archers directed all their fire at the indicated targets. Half of the projectiles didn’t even reach, since the skeletons were out of range, while those that did – only lasted a few volleys.
“Well that was impressive.” – Reinhart commented coolly, while The Embalmer lifted one of his sickle-wielding hands and rubbed his forehead with a backhand.
“Any other smart-ass comments?” – The necromancer mumbled in dissatisfaction.
“Yes. I hope you know how to fly” – Came a reply.
“Wha-“ – Was all the magician could muster, before he was sent flying together with a handful of skeletons, the sound of splintering wood following their flight. With a painful crunch, the flying necromancer slammed into the nearest bunkhouse, only to be buried in a pile of bones as pieces of shattered skeleton archers rained on him – “Ouch…” – With a pained groan, The Embalmer slowly got o
ut of that bony situation.
“How was the flight?” – The snappy undead minion was already waiting nearby, sword and shield at the ready, his question practically dripping mockery.
“How the hell weren’t you sent flying?” – The necromancer slowly picked up the sickles that were lying nearby and looked at the gaping hole in the wall, multiple ogres and goblins already swarming inside though the breach.
“I jumped” – After giving a brief reply, Reinhart extended his shield only to intercept a goblin’s charge, all the while swinging the longsword to cut down another one.
“Real smart of you.” – The Embalmer shot back and jumped into the fight with sickles swinging – each laceration resulting in a transparent blue color that covered his figure. Chaos consumed the inside of the fort, as the walls were being overrun and what skeleton archers remained there, were soon reduced to a pile of bones by the rampaging invaders. Ogres were ripping into buildings and attacking any in sight – one advancing upon Reinhart, who casually blocked the attacker’s fists with his shield and quickly counterattacked with a disabling cut at one of the legs. With outrage, the ogre stumbled on one knee, the roar cut short as Reinhart cut the beast’s throat and simply moved on to deal with whatever came next. Unperturbed. Classy. Too bad nobody had the time to admire – too busy dying or fighting for their dear lives. Even The Embalmer had it tough, as he didn’t have the luxury of covering behind a hoard of undead – what few were present within the fort, were overwhelmed before they could reach. That is, excluding what remained of the skeleton archers within one of the whiskers – but those were already rendered useless by the lack of ammunition.
“Grumble!” – The Embalmer shouted through clenched teeth – “Kill!” – the command given just as he dug both of his sickles into an exceedingly aggressive green-skinned rodent – as the goblin attempted to jump onto the necromancer’s head and scratch his eyes out.
With a croaking bellow, the reanimated ogre limped from around a nearby bunkhouse – or what remained of it – its’ charge somewhat slowed down by the fact that about a dozen of goblins were busy pummeling and stabbing the poor minion, to little effect.
“Reinhart?” – The Embalmer attempted hopefully.
“A little busy here!” – shot back a reply, as the ninja for a hobby skillfully rolled to dodge one ogre’s attack, only to skip to the side to avoid another – all the while leaving behind pained groans and roars, fresh blood dripping from his longsword.
“Why do I always need to do everything myself…” – With a groan, the necromancer cut down another goblin and froze up for a bit, pained whimpers escaping his lips as a few more of the pesky attackers charged up and started kicking at his shins. Their fervent efforts interrupted as the ground beneath turned to a sickly grey and former colleagues and companions rose back from the dead. With a vengeance. Both hands back to rhythmically swinging about like he was cutting rice, The Embalmer resumed flashing with blue and the occasional red like some police car – a reanimated corpse turning to ash after each flash of the latter color. Even though he now had some sort of breathing room, with plenty of distracting undead being raised around – the quickly changed as a number of living ogres got through Grumble and Reinhart, their presence proving to be more than problematic. A tactical retreat was in order – “Help!” – thus he turned and ran away, crying like a little girl the whole way, sickles swinging in passing at all he could reach.
Fires blazed within the wreckage of the fort, while the few survivors that remained were offering a desperate last stand – guard and prisoner, back to back, huddled together in small groups, moments from being overrun. With wide strides, The Embalmer passed those small pockets of resistances, jumping over the occasional debris and around broken down wooden cages – no doubt the former accommodations for the slaves. Hot on his trail, a few ogres lumbered in pursuit, a few of them happily swinging about hapless goblins like weapons. No the most pleasant of ways to go out, thus with a renewed burst of energy, the necromancer increased the pace. Destination? The mouth of the mining cave, where survivors managed to construct some sort of a defense – while huddling behind overturned carts and piles of rubble.
“Open the secret door if you want to live!” – The Embalmer shouted at them once he was within hearing range.
“If it’s a secret door, how are we supposed to know where it is!?” – One of the survivors shouted back, clearly a former slave. Nobody else would have enough resentment saved up to be sarcastic even in current circumstance. Luckily, the rude fellow was soon beset by a goblin.
“Karma’s a bitch!” – The necromancer mocked as he jumped over the barricades and ran past the rude slave and his desperate struggle. A crash echoed from behind and all over the cave a moment later. Apparently, the pursuing force was inconvenienced at most, by the barricade.
Finally, after a few more moments of sprinting, The Embalmer ran up to a large door of reinforced wood – constructed into the cave’s wall, a sign “secret door” nailed on the middle of it.
“Finally! Come forth my minions and wreak havoc upon…!” – The necromancer rejoiced with a proclamation, all the while pulling onto a metal ring that served as a handle. Just as he was about finish with whatever the self-absorbed magician was planning on saying, the door lurched open and flew out of its’ hinges, as a stampede of rotting flesh charged out in a rumble – “…my enemies…” - The Embalmer finished with a groan from beneath the discarded door. What emerged from the gaping doorway were unnatural monsters, unholy abominations from the stuff of nightmares – creatures of stitched together body parts, most of which seemed to belong to goblins. Moving piles of decomposing carcasses, some with more than one appendages, few symmetrical and not one looking identical. In uncomfortable silence, at least ten of these monstrosities met the charge of ogres of goblins – or what was left of it as even the attackers, simple-minded they may be, seemed stunned into a stop by what was coming. That or they had a hard time dealing with the stench. What followed was a stomach churning display of violence, sounds of squelching and crushing echoing across the cave, while body parts flew about in every direction.
The Embalmer would have probably laughed in glee at the sight, if he wasn’t too busy trying to keep the content of his stomach from spilling out. Great power came with great responsibility, after all. Or a fine-print, at the very least.
Once those abominations were released, the tides quickly turned and the swarm was quickly scattered to the winds – mainly because their constant tide finally trickled out. Nonetheless, The Embalmer still swaggered about like a winner - nose held high up and pinched with one hand. Feet stepping over what remained of the fort. It wasn’t much.
“You don’t know how lucky you have it” – He mumbled to Reinhart, who stepped in close pursuit.
“Normally I’d disagree.” – He simply stated.
“But not now?” – the necromancer stopped and turned to regard the minion with widened eyes, even forgetting to pinch his nose, which was amended as soon as he smelled the nearby golem.
“Seeing you suffer is a rare joy” – Reinhart explained with a grotesque smirk.
“That was low” – Nose pinched, eyebrows furrowed – The Embalmer turned away from the rude underling and looked around the devastated surroundings. Not a living soul in sight – “Almost as low as my current net worth” – He added grimly.
“Your what?” – No doubt, Reinhart would have raised an eyebrow now, if he could.
“Guess it’s time to cash in and move on…” – Instead of explaining, though, the lunatic continued mumbling to himself.
“I see you’re back to not making any sense…”
*******
Like a feral animal in its’ natural habitat, Willow dashed over the forest fauna, passing by like morning mist – not a rustle left behind. Her breath even, hearing strained, eyes scanning the surroundings carefully – hand gripping the readied bow. It was pleasant to go out scouting every now and aga
in. To clear her mind. To relax. To breathe in deeply its’ scents and to bask in the tranquility. Yet something seemed off. An unnatural stillness gripped the forest, a tension. Like a string pulled tout, moments before breaking. She could feel it permeate her skin, infecting the nerves. She could feel the tension rising, as if she was a part of the forest itself – breathing, feeling in unison. Their heart – one. Each beat in Willows chest mirrored by a thump in the forest floor. A rising rumble, as if spreading reverberations.
It took a moment for the ranger to realize that the ever-increasing rumble wasn’t actually the forest’s heart. Just as she did, the first goblin emerged from the underbrush – an arrow piercing its’ skull a second later. With a snarl, Willow fired five more projectiles like a high-speed rifle, every single one – a lethal hit. Yet more goblins were emerging with each passing moment and by the sound of it – a lot more were on the way. Thus, with a leap and a few more discharged arrows, Willow turned and sprinted away in a tactical retreat, the swears spoken under her breath drowned out by the now deafening rumbling. By the sound of it, goblins were the least of her worries.
Chapter 72
Luke lifted a hand to scratch under his chin, only to stare wide-eyed at its’ former position on the table below – the sweat print clearly visible upon the smooth surface. With precision, he quickly placed the appendage back and glanced at the fellow sitting on the other side with interest – a middle-aged man in a suit. Sparse black hair, protruding nose-hairs and a round bulge that rammed into the tables edge, for a tummy. A pleasant sight, to be sure – made even more so by the arched eyebrow directed right at Luke, which made the poor fella curse inside. Clearly, his antics were seen and judged accordingly. Luke could only shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“Next question, Mister Luke” – The man inquired after a restrained cough – “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”