by Pirateaba
“A woman!”
“Come here!”
They chased her too. She fled down a broken street, tripping, stumbling. One of them had a Skill and they caught up to her quickly. But the group of men stopped when their torches cast her body into relief. The color drained from their faces as they saw her face, her clothing—when they saw her.
“What is—”
“Is she—is it—?”
They might have killed her, but she fled into a broken place where the rubble had fallen and broken into a sewer. None of the men chased her. Their lust was gone, and only horror remained.
—-
In the muck and congealed foulness, the thing that used to be a girl saw something moving. She darted after it even as it fled. But it was too slow, and she was too quick now. Hunger and her new form drove her, made her quick. Quicker than the shambling dead things that tried to follow her. She could see them rising in the darkness. The dead coming back to life.
But she wasn’t interested in them. Small creatures were easier to kill. And the rodent she’d found was slow in the sewer waste. Too slow.
She caught a rat and held it up. It struggled and screamed in her hands and bit her, but the pain was just like everything else that was life. And when she bit it, the body twitched a few times and then was still.
She ate it entirely, and licked at her foul hands. It didn’t matter. She was lost. And then she wailed, screaming with all that remained of her heart.
The noise attacked the shambling things. They came for her, rotting, trying to kill her. But she was quick, and she fled. But the dead were coming back, all of them. Some climbed out of the sewers and more dug themselves out of the ground. They were coming back.
Somehow, it made the former girl happy. Esthelm was as damned as she was.
—-
A vast army of them, far larger than any one tribe’s worth of warriors was marching down the road. The band of Goblins halted immediately, and fear ran down all of their spines. In an instant, they knew these were not Goblins from their tribe, or even the amalgamate led by Rags and Garen.
The instant the Goblin warriors saw the army, they knew something was wrong. Though the tide of green bodies were unmistakably Goblins and Hobgoblins, there was something wrong about this company.
They were Goblins, yes. But they were not Goblins who followed Rags or Garen. These Goblins wore armor, and all carried weapons. And they marked with death among them and on their blades.
Death, and far worse than that.
Some carried pikes with human and monster parts dangling from them. Others simply marched in place, but that was wrong too. They moved like a Human or Drake army, in formation, not freely like the band of Goblins did. Their armor was black, and they covered their faces with dark helmets and cloth, as if they were afraid to show their faces.
Blackarrow snarled as he pointed to the front ranks of Goblins. Headscratcher, Grunter, and the others looked, and saw dead Goblins. Undead Goblins, that was.
Several rows of zombies walked in front of the main army, shambling along. Mostly Goblins, but Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls too. There was a [Necromancer] among the Goblins, or a [Shaman] capable of raising the dead.
The Goblin Warriors had no problem with mages. At least, no problem with ones on their side. Garen’s tribe had no Shamans and they were rare. But necromancers bothered even Goblins. The dead could be eaten or left to rot—or even be used to hide amongst in order to survive. But raising their own fallen to fight again?
That was cruel, even for Goblins. But what was worse was what it said about a Chieftain who would order his [Shamans] to raise the dead. It meant he would use his tribe like things, and have them fight and die for him even after they had died the first time.
This was no tribe of Goblins north of Liscor. Without having to be told, the band of Goblins knew that this was a force sent by the Goblin Lord to the south.
And worst—what made Bugear stop poking at his ear and Rocksoup turn gray with fear—all the Goblins knew that this wasn’t the actual full force of the Goblin Lord. No—they saw no women and children among the army. This was clearly a war band sent out to pillage and kill. And for such a huge one to be sent—how terrible vast was the host of the Goblin Lord?
It was not a question they had time to ponder. The Goblin army had spotted the thirteen Goblins the same time they had been spotted. The Goblin warriors saw Goblins on foot and other riding ponies, and even what looked like spiders approaching them at speed.
Perhaps they thought they were allies? No one had begun loosing arrows yet or casting spells.
Grunter, their leader, made a decision in a moment. He turned and shouted an order. All thirteen Goblins turned and fled up the road. They heard shouts among their pursuers, and then knew they were being chased.
Arrows flew towards them. But the Goblin Warriors had a good bit of distance on their pursuers, so they ignored the shots. Badarrow and two other Goblins turned and loosed arrows at the fastest pursuers—Badarrow’s shot took a pony in the leg and the animal screamed as it went down with the rider. The scream cut off quickly and the Goblin rose with a dripping blade.
The Goblin warriors ran on. They had no idea where they were going or what to do; they only knew they had to flee or die.
That was how they found the city. It appeared on their right side as the road curved towards it, a broken place, the walls torn down and the gates forced open. It was destroyed, but the Goblin warrior headed towards it without a second’s hesitation.
There might be Humans living here. It had been a Human city after all. But even if there were survivors, it would be easier to lose their pursuers among the rubble and fight in tight alleyways then be caught out on the open, snowy landscape where there was nowhere to hide.
The band of Goblins ran furiously, outdistancing even their mounted pursuers by the expedient of shooting down any stragglers who got too close. The pursuing Goblins halted when they saw they’d lose their quarry, and rejoined the main army. As the marching army of the Goblin Lord approached the city, a vanguard split off, marching slowly towards Esthelm. There was no need to hunt the individual Goblins. The vanguard had been sent to subjugate what remained of the city, and they could kill the warriors from the other tribe just as easily in the process.
That was how Goblins came back to Esthelm. Some fleeing, others seeking the city out for darker purposes.
—-
The skeleton walked towards Esthelm, understanding more and more as he walked why he was headed there.
It was a place of death. He could sense it in the air. Esthelm had seen hundreds—thousands of lives claimed. And the dead were lying unburied, rotting, forming a mass of—of opportunity. That was how Toren thought of it.
Yes, opportunity was the right word. It wasn’t as if there was any inherent will here. But the dead were gathered so close that magic only had to fluctuate a bit and the dead would come back. It was a natural process, and Toren understood it although instinctively.
The undead. The skeleton considered the idea as he marched down the empty road, the snow blowing against his battered armor. He knew he was technically undead, but he felt little kinship with the skeletons, zombies, and other creatures he was related to. To him, they were just other things he could kill, or rather, re-kill.
And why not? Toren was sure that he would level if he fought some powerful undead. Perhaps there would be Crypt Lords in the city. The thought of fighting one of them cheered him up greatly, and he ran towards the city instead. After all, it wasn’t as if he would get tired running, and it was faster than walking.
That was how he found the vanguard of Goblins. They spotted him as he ran towards the city. Toren stopped when he saw them. The skeleton didn’t have any real fear in his heart, so his only reaction to seeing the hundreds of Goblins wearing arms and armor was mild surprise.
That was a lot of Goblins. And then Toren had another thought: fighting them would probably be a bad idea, at least
, if he tried to do it all at once.
Should he run? Toren was fairly certain that he could get away from any number of Goblins, even in armor. But before he could make up his mind, he saw movement at the core of the army.
Not all the Goblins were armored infantry. Some were riders, others Hobs. And one in the center wore no armor at all. Instead, the Goblin had a twisted staff of ivory bones that looked welded together. And his eyes glowed with a darker crimson than the other Goblins. He gestured at Toren, and spoke a word that was audibly even across the vast distance between them.
It was a word of magic, a word in the Goblin tongue, but magic nonetheless. Toren jerked as he felt something in his head.
Come here. The words burned in Torne’s mind. He faltered—and then realized the words were like one of Erin’s orders! Immediately, his body turned and he began walking straight towards the Goblin [Shaman]. The other Goblins parted to let him pass, ignoring Toren’s armor and burning gaze. They all wore grim expressions—as far as Toren could tell from their odd faces. They were used to the dead—Toren saw quite a few zombies and some skeletons marching at the head of the army.
At first, Toren was just shocked. He let his body move, unable to comprehend what had happened. How had the Goblin ordered him? But his shock quickly turned to rage.
He was being ordered against his will. Again! But Toren held his patience. He didn’t struggle against the command. Instead, he marched straight up to the [Shaman].
The Goblin was old, and he rode on a cart next to a Goblin seated on a large Shield Spider. The mounted Goblin had black tattoos all over his body and a gleaming halberd. The two Goblins were talking in their own language, and Toren saw the [Shaman] was eying him with some interest.
As the skeleton approached, the [Shaman] turned from his conversation with the Goblin leader and beckoned towards the skeleton. Toren approached, and the Goblin eyed him from head to toe. He spoke several words in his own language, nodding encouragingly.
Toren nodded to himself as well. So, some spell casters could control him? This was an important discovery. However, there was something different about the spell that controlled him now and Erin’s orders. This [Shaman]’s words—the ones that made Toren draw his sword and slash the air a few times and stand at attention—they felt weaker somehow.
Well now, wasn’t that interesting? The [Shaman] waved Toren towards the other undead standing at the head of the army. Toren cocked his head, and then walked.
Forwards, not towards the other undead. At first, the [Shaman] didn’t seem to notice Toren approaching. But when the Goblin leader made an inquisitive sound, he turned and saw Toren walking towards him.
The [Shaman]’s eyes widened. He gestured towards the undead and croaked an unmistakable order. Toren paused mid-step and then kept walking.
Surprising, the [Shaman] didn’t try to run or fight. He just kept trying to recast the spell, which Toren found hilarious. The skeleton walked right up to the Goblin and paused in front of him.
Flabbergasted, the [Shaman] just stared at Toren in shock. Toren slowly raised a hand, and waved it slowly at the Goblin. The Goblin stared at him, and then raised his hand hesitantly as well. He waved it—
And Toren ran him through with his sword. The skeleton ignored the shouts of panic and the cry of rage from the Goblin leader. He just smiled—smiled as he always did as the [Shaman] choked in shock and pain.
The Goblin spellcaster stared into Toren’s flaming sockets as the skeleton twisted the sword. Toren yanked the blade out of the Goblin’s body and watched him fall to the ground, dead.
Good. Toren turned, and the shining halberd cut his arm off. He reeled backwards, surprised. The Goblin Leader snarled at him, cutting through Toren’s bronze armor with ease.
One-handed, Toren struck at the Goblin. But the leader pulled his mount away and shouted an order. Every Goblin in the army charged at Toren—and he was standing in the center of their force.
Oh well. Toren lifted his sword and grinned again. He charged at the Goblins. He cut and stabbed even as the Goblin warriors overwhelmed him. They pierced his armor and broke his bones. But still the skeleton refused to fall.
Only when the Goblin with the halberd came back to sever Toren’s head from his shoulders did the skeleton’s body crumble. The Goblins saw his bones fall to the ground and stomped them into the snow. They stared at his remains, and muttered amongst themselves until their leader snapped an order.
The [Shaman]’s body was stripped of all valuable, and his body tossed into a pile of corpses towed by two half-dead horses. Two lesser [Shamans] came forwards, cringing and uncertain as the Goblin leader ordered them to take command of the undead. They’d gone rampant after the [Shaman] had died, and the remaining spellcasters had to work to keep them in order.
But in the end, the Goblin vanguard set out again. They marched towards Esthelm—but halted several miles away from the city rather than enter it. They had lost their chief [Shaman] through some twist of fate, and messengers had to be sent back to the main force which had continued northwards. Until they could receive reinforcements to control the dead, there would be no point in entering the city. After all, what good was a city of the dead and soon to be dead if you couldn’t control them with magic?
Still, a few Goblin groups were sent towards the city, to scout out how many Humans had survived. Something had killed the first army sent here, and although the city was clearly in ruins, it never hurt to be cautious. If there were still traces of Humans, the Goblins would slaughter them. Shaman or no shaman, they could still prepare the way.
The Goblins waited. And so did Toren. He waited until they were all gone to reassemble himself. He stood up in the snow, dusting off his bones and staring in dismay at his ruined armor.
What a waste. And how odd! Toren was sure these weren’t the Goblins led by that Rags Goblin. So where had they come from?
He didn’t really care. In fact, Toren was privately delighted. Now he had both Goblins and undead he could kill! And Humans too!
He marched into the city, leaving his battered armor behind. All he needed was a sword. That was all. A sword and something to stab.
He was going to level up a lot in the city. But—carefully. Toren was aware that even he could only reanimate so many times. He’d have to ambush the Goblins, fight in the shadows.
That was fine. Toren could see in the dark.
—-
So the skeleton walked into the city, keeping to the shadows, enjoying the opportunity he had found here. As he did, the band of thirteen Goblins ran fast and as far as they could, dodging into buildings, trying to find a place to hide, to survive the pursuit that was surely coming after them. And all the while they feared what lay in the city. Monsters? Humans? This was a nightmare for them.
Meanwhile, a nightmare stalked the streets. She hid from the Humans she encountered, and wept as she ate and scavenged among the dead. And the dead rose and tried to kill her as well. There was little left of her, but she clung to what fragments remained. She lived and ate. She survived. That was all she knew. She was…lost.
This is the story of a skeleton named Toren. This is the story of a band of lost Goblins. This is the story of a monster. And how they all met in a city where the dead lived and the living struggled.
Esthelm.
3.18 T
This is a story of a skeleton. His name was Toren, and it was the one thing he had never questioned about him. Erin had given him that name, and that at least he was grateful to her for.
But in the place he walked, no one would know his name. In fact, they wouldn’t even bother to ask whether he had one. The people in the city of Esthelm would probably just take one look at Toren and run, or try to kill him.
And if they were some kind of mentally-deficient human who wanted to make friends with an undead skeleton, Toren would kill them anyways. That was his plan, and he thought it was a good one.
The skeleton strolled in through the open gates of t
he city as dusk fell. He didn’t worry about anyone stopping him; there were no guards manning the shattered watch towers, or what remained of the walls. And yet, he knew there were people in the city.
Lots of them, in fact. Toren stared as he walked further into the city and saw what remained after the Goblins’ attack.
Broken buildings. Scorched ash. Piles of rubble and broken earth. Toren was no expert, but he was fairly certain this wasn’t how cities were supposed to look.
Then again, maybe this was how Humans built their cities? Who knew? Toren spotted several…buildings amidst the shattered landscape. He stared, intrigued, at flimsy ramshackle structures someone had built out of salvaged wood and metal.
Were those supposed to be houses? They looked so flimsy, Toren felt he could push them over if he tried. And as it turned out, he could do just that. The skeleton succeeded in knocking over a support beam to one of the structures, which sent the roof and walls tumbling in. He paused as he heard screams from inside the structure, and then realized the noise had attracted people.
People, or to be more accurate, the one species that seemed to live in this city.
Humans.
They rushed over to the building and Toren quickly ran away from the scene of the destruction. He saw men and women in dirty and torn clothing dashing towards the caved-in structure. Crouched behind a broken wall, Toren saw some of them trying to pull away the debris that had collapsed on the people inside.
The building’s inhabitants came out shaken, bloody, shocked. Toren saw with interest there were children—Human children—among them. He’d never seen a Human child before. After a few seconds of observation, Toren concluded they were nothing special. All they seemed to do was cry.
The skeleton saw the Humans—now a rather large group, perhaps thirty or more, exclaiming over the structure that had mysteriously fallen to bits. He saw a few of the Humans—mostly men—begin to point fingers at another man who was raising his hands and pointing frantically at the structure. One man—standing next to a woman holding a weeping child with a bloody shoulder in her arms—raised a fist. He punched the accused man, and then more people rushed to help him beat the poor fellow to death, or at least into something close to it.