Open Chronicles Wrath of the Damned

[Lazlo Harkon]

Lazlo slowly lifted his head; dawn. Finally.

He had spent the entire night on this rock, staring across the rocky hills to Urhovgrod. He wanted to burn into his mind what this city used to look like. What did it feel like. All before he had arrived.

Urhovgrod was one of the last towns to have witnessed Vulfert before his disappearance, as such it was critical to Lazlo's own search. Unfortunately, he wasn't likely to get what he needed easily; the trail of pillage and corpses he'd left behind had kind of ruined the impression he just wanted to talk.

The Living Dead stood by his side, a fraction of the spirits which haunted him possessing skeletons. In the darkness, their shape in life was visible, yet light parted the veil and revealed the dreadful truth: There wasn't a living soul among the host.

He was still adjusting to this new lifestyle, honestly. The killing and stealing, that was easy, as was never sleeping due to the ceaseless urging. No, what got him was how inordinately loud all the spirits were. It hadn't been this bad since the early days.

He didn't hate Urhovgrod. "I mean, I do," he said aloud, "but... not really. Not like, really really..."

He sighed, putting his face into his mailed hands. That came out wrong.

"I mean, I do, but... not, not really hate them," he paused... still didn't sound right, "I mean, I do hate them; what makes them so much better than me that they get to sleep happily? But, I don't hate them for anything personally."

There: that sounded right. Lazlo nodded to himself more than the host of ghosts about him, rising finally as the early dawn light began to spread like a deluge. The sun would be up soon, and Urhovgrod had an appointment with fate! Who was he, a simple servant of the grand tapestry, to deny fate?

A bit of an asshole, he admitted, but it wasn't his fault, "You try losing everything," he murmured to some intangible third party he conversed with of his own devising.

"Captain," called a voice; was it real? Ghost? He turned, "We are ready."

It was Liskev, one of his Zykonii riders. They were a band of hard men with grim eyes. Real sons-of-bitches. Lazlo's brother in law, actually. He loved that bastard, really.

"Hit the outlying farms," Lazlo said, turning back to the town, "Burn, rape, I don't give a shit. Just ruin their fraking day."

You could rely on the hate between Wends and Zykoni to fuel an endless cycle of violence. Whoever threw the first stone certainly wasn't without sin, and sin was the wage to be repaid. Maybe someday, when better men lived upon this Arethil, there could be peace, forgiveness, love.

But not today. Not while Lazlo still breathed. The Zykonii were going to strike back, take what they wanted, and to hell with the rest. Some small part of him delighted; these smug dirt farmers, thinking they were better than him and his, and now they could suffer just like he did.

It wasn't justice, Lazlo didn't pretend it was as he began to stride down the hill he had perched upon. It wasn't right, or fair, he admitted internally. Zykonii horsemen flashed past him, yipping and cackling. Real black-hearted sons of whores.

You got like that when you lost everyone and everything. Hurt people hurt people, and the world kept turning. Well, as it happened, Lazlo was about to hurt quite a few people. Badly.

There was always some survivors from a destroyed Zykonii caravan, always more horsemen and raiders to draw into his ranks. Getting back at the world felt good, after a certain point. The bitter survivors of persecution could see an even more jealous and vengeful soul in Lazlo. They knew he would take them to the deepest pits of hell, but they would go as kings.

Lazlo looked across at the town; any second now, once the fires started, the bell would ring. That was what he wanted. He wanted to have the defenders rush to drive off these bandits of his. Quick, take arms, to the defense! Expose your monastery, the only place Vulfert ever defended. The place his dagger was held as a relic, of Saint Wolfgang. Lazlo needed that dagger.

To hell with anyone, or anything, between him and that dagger.

 

[Ermengarde]

The castle was plain, aside from the murals on the walls and the baby angels on the ceiling.
And the dinner was dull and there was not a thing pleasant to look at.

Graf Ulrich stood at the end of the table, Her brother Sigfried von Gildavon beside him along with an assortment of random nobles of lands nearby and distant.
Of course, they had their entourage with them.

This was just another ordinary dinner party, correct?
Ermengarde Sighed, excusing herself from the table to catch some cold fresh air in an otherwise, smoky and stuff room.

Though the moment she peered out a window, there was something quite peculiar gathering in the village outskirts.
»That's an army.«

 

[Selina Della Altas]

Selina was down in the archive rooms of the monastery sitting at a desk pouring over books, a small spotted margay cat curled up in the candlelight. This place had an impressive library just as the rumors indicated and she was allowed access through her affiliation with the College of magic in Elbion; A place of so much history was almost an essential stop for any student of lore.
When she was shown to the library she immediately got to work sorting through books and scrolls, following the history and accounts of the man known as Vulfert and his special dagger that was said to be kept in the monastery as well.
This was all last evening, she had been studying through the entire night absorbing knowledge and information like a sponge that didn't leak a single drop.

By the time she finally went through every tome and scroll regarding the life of Vulfert the sky was beginning to grow lighter. She stood up and stretched her cramped muscles but she still didn't feel tired in the least! For her if she had something interesting in front of her it was nearly impossible to fall asleep.
She uncorked a potion flask and hot steam with a sharp smell arose. She took a sip of it and let the potion wake her up a bit more.

She had learned much more than she thought she would, amid the writings that referenced Vulfert and his life were many teachings and grimoires containing arcane secrets or even insights into religious magic casting, or at least that's how she took it.
She sat back down and opened her spellbook, she had to get a few of these thoughts written down so that she could explore them later.

____________________________________________________________​

She hadn't been writing long when she heard the double tone of the town bell... That meant danger, the village was under attack.
She put away her supplies and stood up to look out the window. Sure enough there were fires springing up on the outskirts, someone was setting fire to the crops!
"No, no, no, no... oh no you don't!"
She grabbed her cloak and her staff flew from where it leaned against the wall to be caught in her outstretched hand as she stormed towards the door. She didn't go through the college, leave, and come back just to let innocent people die. She needed to get up high so that she could have a proper view of the situation.

People were running about in controlled preparation, organized chaos. Everyone was prepared for such an event as an attack and knew just what to do. But still, they left the stairs to the towers unmonitored and therefore unrestricted to a guest from the college.
She took the steps two at a time until she found herself at the top of an unoccupied tower. Evidently they were confident that sallying forth to meet the threat directly was the only action required, probably suspecting bandits, which Selina suspected as well.

She looked at the countryside surrounding the monastery and the village and mutter an incantation, casting a sight spell to see what was going on.
Her staff glowed as the spell activated, and then her eyes glowed. She blinked once and looked in the direction of the fires. It took a moment of searching but she was able to spot figures on horseback darting around the flames.
She turned her eyes to examine the rest of the countryside, but couldn't see anything else yet. But she was on the alert.

 

[Mikayo]

Mikayo was familiar with scenes like these. He has lived over a hundred lifetimes yet in the same body. The men were getting ready as well as the spirits that haunted the bodies. Walking up to Lazlo Harkon, Mikayo gives him a slight bow as the men started to move out and the attack began, followed by the screams of the innocent people they confronted and the guards.

"Lazlo, do you want me to go in and cause havoc from the inside while the others have the defense's attention drawn to the outside?" He asks feeling a bit hungry for the life energy and magic energy of those within the castle. Oh their dying screams as he eats their magic and souls, that was part of the fun. But the rest of it was when they begged for mercy. Everyone was going to die one day, well everyone who was a mortal.

If his body died he'd just be floating around trying to find a new one or wait for the then old one to recuperate itself. He didn't need to breathe, sleep, and poisons did not bug him. He didn't even need to eat or drink but he got bored sometimes so why not use some magic to give his own soul an energy boost? Nothing wrong with a bit of healthy eating!

"it'll probably give you a bit of an extra opening." He explains to the human with a sick yet pleasant smile, one that betrayed centuries of enduring and suffering in the wheel of time.

 

[Lazlo Harkon]

Lazlo Harkon wasn't one to be caught up in pomp and circumstance; when he saw an opening, that is to say when he engineered one, he took it. The town had reacted like a kicked bee-hive and had dispatched skirmishers to try and drive off the bandits. While town guard woke up and dressed, riders with sabers and javelins sallied forth to try and end this here and now.

Unfortunately for the defending horsemen, they were outclassed by Zyk horsemanship. Lazlo didn't pay mind to what was going on, as he didn't rightly care, instead focusing on his objective.

That was around when Mikayo revealed itself; Lazlo had a hard time with elves, couldn't tell the men from women most of the time. Didn't mean he didn't respect their ability, especially when one fell into place as one of his lieutenants.

"Wait for the Zykoni to do their work," Lazlo replied, low and somewhat distracted, "Once they mobilize, then strike. They will be both less well defended and will have to react to you."

The basic idea was to keep the defenders running around, reacting to the more mobile Zykonii while Lazlo and a small contingent of his Damner made for the monastery. Forty-some skeletons, armed and armored, marched in well-drilled but very human procession behind the Necromancer-Exile.

When shadows passed across them, morning sun interrupted by barn awnings, ghostly fire consolidated into unreal men. Their weapons were wreathed in pale flames and their armor scorched by a heat they did not generate.

Hellfire, echoing across time, space, and death to continue to singe the Army of the Damned, had scoured the arms and armor simply for being worn.

"I need a distraction, if you get yourself killed for that I would be sorely disappointed," Lazlo added, looking at Mikayo pointedly; he turned away shortly after, focusing once more on the object of his desires.

Situated away from the town a brief distance, the monastery was up a gentle hill. Sparse forests separated it from the town, enough that it must look to it's own defense. That worked for and against Lazlo. On the one hand, it meant that defense of the town could rank higher than defense of the monastery, and so long as the town was harried, he could upturn this site with no worries of interruption.

Unfortunately, it also meant it would be defended itself by angry monks with weapons and the skill to use them. While he wasn't so worried about the fat abbot with a broom, he was deeply concerned with what, atleast from down here, looked like monks in black robes with heater shields and arming swords. Undoubtedly the robes concealed chainmail or atleast gambeson.

Atleast they weren't lighting their swords in holy fire. That would be very unfortunate for everyone involved.

In the reflections of abandoned milk canisters and windows, a procession of knights with fluttering, scorched banners from lances could be seen. They were not there, if you looked, yet the mirror of a nearby millpond spoke to their presence. They existed only in the mirror, or so it seemed.

 

[Selina Della Altas]

The flames and smoke of burning crops prevented her from seeing the riders clearly, even with her enhanced sight. But still she thought it was safe to assume that bandits were responsible for this.
She carried that assumption for the next few seconds as her glowing eyes scanned the countryside, only to stop and focus on the large force waiting in the wings.
Her heart dropped to her stomach as her sight allowed her to encompass all of the army, undead, all rank and file. Only the most powerful or cunning of necromancers could organize the dead in such a manner.

Her sight landed on the one she thought might be the necromancer, but at this point her legs were beginning to feel a bit weak and she steadied herself against the battlement.
She'd seen enough and ended the enchantment.
An army of this size hardly needed to waste time with tactics, bringing their entire force to bear against the village and monastery would merely be a matter of time before the defenders were overwhelmed... Barring miracles, that is...

From this vantage point Selina was in an ideal position to work some of her most powerful spells, she risked becoming a target, but if she didn't do something big then there was no way in hell anyone was getting out of this monastery alive.
She quickly opened her spellbook and opened to the page she wanted.
This spell would take a while, but she needed something effective against armies.

She picked up her staff once more and lifted it in the air as she began her incantation, staff and eyes glowing once more as she summoned forth the magic of the air.

The sky began to darken as storm clouds formed, twisting and spinning above the tower where she stood, her voice echoed over the treetops speaking in a language unknown to any but arcane in nature.
As she spoke the long incantation the clouds grew thicker and darker, thunder rumbled and lightning crackled behind the black funneling clouds.

 

[Ermengarde]

»Army? « The gathering of the meeting pondered in confusion, almost in unison.
»An army what? « »Not possible at this time «
»Yeah, that's an army,« Ermengarde repeated.
»Nonsense, Sigfried, why have you brought this insolent woman to my party? «
»No look, « Ermengarde insisted and some people began to gather around the narrow castle window.
»But why « »It is an army! «

The people began to rouse, and Urh seemingly disappeared, only returning half-dressed in his armour, with his followers dutifully running after him, pinning the armour to his body as hastily as they could.

 

[Mikayo]

Boss needed a distraction without him dying? Okay. The elf scans the scene once more, an illusion might do perfectly. But which one? It has to be one that could also be interacted with physically. Then it would be a pretty powerful spell.

Ah! Perfect!

The elf tilts his head thinking on what then he laughs slapping his palms together and he starts whispering a spell in a dark deep speech. From the rising winds that accompanied the forming storm clouds above came three large wind wraiths in the center of the town. Their ghostly wails and moans pierced through the air as they attacked anything from the inside with incredible speed as they sliced through whoever opposed them. Their weapons flying through their ghostly forms.

The peoples wails and squeals of pain was music to his ears as they met their inevitable demise. But he did not want to obliterate everyone in the walls, he provided the perfect distraction as the most of defenses and forces within the wall were diverted or slaughtered. From the slaughtered more undead would rise as the flesh melted from their bones.

Then he would start to stroll towards the walls as his own little guys attacked from the inside as their forces attacked from the outside.

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

The Golem had been sent with a noble lady of Alliria to act as her guardian while she attempted to grow relations for a trade deal at some distant lords' pompous gala. The road had been long, his charge: insufferable, her luggage: numerous and heavy. To say he was annoyed to be in this garish party, far from home, waiting a charge he despised and didn't even know the name of would be an understatement.

From his place standing at attention just out of the way of his charge and the nobles were dining, he watched them crowd around the small window and shout about an army of the undead.

He moved slowly to look over the heads of the nobles and down through the window without drawing attention to himself. In the distance a legion of riders barely visible in the smoke and the black rising storm, worse, they were organized.

It became very clear to him that his charge was in danger, this city was in danger, but he had to keep thinking rationally: his charge would be safest here at the party. In the mean time, The Golem would need to work with the local authorities to stop this attack or at least buy time for escape.

He watched the local lord panic and then quickly don his armor, the looming metal guardian approached the presumed lord, in a deep, monotone, metallic voice he propositioned the lord, "Your lordship, I am The Golem of Alliria, I am here as protector to lady... Schmella. If this city in which my charge resides is under siege, then my might is yours to command." He finishes with a left gauntlet pound to his own chest as a salute.