Adverb

KARSTS - A World Beyond Eons

Almost done!

I do have a question. Since my character doesn't have a gender, does anyone have a preference on whether I use "it" or "they/their/them"? I went with "they", but I'm not sure which is correct. I've never written a genderless character before. Using "it" makes me feel like I'm talking about an object rather than a person, but "they" strikes me as I'm talking about a group every time I read it.

KARSTS - A World Beyond Eons

//YOUR SELF


Name: Starfield is what would be considered the first name to most, but in truth that is just the opening scene of a barrage of images that flash inside the person's mind. (Starfield doesn't have a mouth, so all conversations are telepathic.)

Age: 65

Gender: Positive Crysteural Hyphae (Fungi, specifically of the mushroom variety, don't have genders per se, but reproduce by integrating with the hypha of opposite charge within their specific species. Crystneural is a term for the hyper crystal matrix dormant within a meteorite.)

Race: Fungi

Genotype: Mutant (Alien Viral-Induced Mutation, AVIM)

Morphotype: Esper

Expedition Position: Researcher, Archeologist, Chronicler.

Appearance: A humanoid mushroom with barbs and spikes of multi-colored crystals on their forearms, shins, and down their back. The crystals change colors and become transparent or opaque depending on the situation. Standing at an even four-feet, Starfield's flesh is hard and leathery with varying shades of bright blue to deep purple depending on how nourished they are, with a light tan-colored underbelly. Small polyps are grouped along the sides of their neck and around their shoulders, with tiny white spots. Starfield isn't socially required to wear clothes but chooses to wear thick shorts that fall below the knee and a matching vest--more for the practicality of all the numerous pockets.

They don't have a mouth but possess breathing slits and reflective yellow eyes. They can hear, but instead of ears, they register vibrations within the microscopic fiber hairs inside the slits of their under-cap.

//YOUR SOUL

PERSONAL GOAL: Starfield has an insatiably curious mind, which if you ask them it's what leads consciousness to evolve. Not only are they curious about the previous civilizations of this world, but also of what they left behind and how they died out. A more personal mission, although it's something they aren't actively pursuing, is to see if there are others of Starfield's particular species. So, they dabble in mycology to better understand themselves and would be interested in studying meteorites and crystals. If they heard rumors of meteorites, they would attempt to investigate the impact site. They are hoping the expedition finds its way to the Rainbow Grove or the Crater.

LIKES: Sugar is Starfield's most favorite thing. Particularly refined powdered sugar, but honey or tree-sap do the trick nicely. They like a lot of things. Meeting friendly people, discovering new things, being a part of something.

DISLIKES: Bright light, blistering heat, salt, rudeness, people trying to solve problems with violence, confrontation, physical labor, citrus.

QUIRKS: Likes sugar and water. Will put syrup or honey in water when available. Also, they speak telepathically, sleep sitting up, and are always concerned with being polite and keeping their clothes and belongings clean and ordered. Likes to share knowledge with random people about things they know, whether they are interested or not. When in stress, the polyps on their neck and shoulders slowly expand until they pop, sending out a cloud of reflective spores. When this happens, Starfield gets disoriented for a few minutes and suffers from an extremely low neural activity causing their telepathic-speech to seem slurred and slow-minded.

//YOUR PAST

Five-hundred years ago, somewhere on the edge of the jungle near the base of the mountains and just under the surface of the dirt, Starfield was conceived through the atomic lightning storm of positive and negative charges. A cluster of hyphae getting busy in the irradiated dark as only mycelium can. Although it wasn't truly Starfield yet, it was the start.

No one knows the exact time the meteorite fell, or exactly which meteor it was, all that is known is that one did. Superheated rock impacted the fungus-riddled soil burying itself into the ground and exploding into bits of astral stone, ventilating the dormant crystal hidden inside. Exposure to the air activated the crystalline virus, and bonded with the mycelium, slowly creating a neural network--a process that took 435 years.

Starfield's body grew to two feet before they first became consciously aware and stepped out of the ground. They wandered alone, for a year, until they were chased out of the jungle by a group of tree-folk. Eventually, Starfield found a village of mutants in the mountains, those who shared their telepathic talent.

They became family, spending most of their life in the crash site of an old spaceship halfway inside Blackpeak Mountain's vast cave system. Jotthew was their best friend, and exploring the tunnels in the mountain is what spurred Starfield's interest in archeology. Starfield had to leave 10 years ago, being the sole survivor of a massacre by the Mantiks-- a race of giant red mantises.

Starfield found refuge in Crack City, and work as part of the law enforcement there. That's where they've been ever since.

//YOUR PERSON

ATTRIBUTES:

Hyperthymesia: Starfield appears to be an extremely quick learner due to this ability. They are able to remember every moment of their life in vivid detail, to be recalled instantly.

Deductive Reasoning: This skill has helped Starfield immeasurably since leaving the village that raised them. It's helped them survive the wilds, get them out of precarious situations with outlaws, and a job at Crack City.

Manners: In the big bad world, a person's liable to be shut down and thrown in the meat-chipper over a misunderstanding. Working in Crack City, Starfield has learned that simple gestures of manners and respect go a long way to staying on the up-right and the living.

Mutations:

Telepathic Speech: Starfield communicates using a rapid-fire flash of images and emotions to the subconscious mind, which automatically get converted to the targets' natural language. The brain interprets this information as audible sounds, and their voice is subjective to the recipient.

Neural Network: All involved become mentally linked and share knowledge as if it were their own. Not to be confused with invading a person's mind. This also allows those that are linked to access all senses of the other, even sight, no matter the distance. Starfield can also channel their psychic energy through the link, allowing even those without mental powers to gain that power. This is more of a side-effect of becoming infected with their crysteural spores. The incubation period can range from one hour to several days depending on the immune system but isn't fatal. After the infection, the neural link is severed. Starfield never intends to use this ability, so they haven't fully trained themselves with it; they don't know what the full extent of this can do.

Telekinesis: They can move and interact with physical objects. Such a simple explanation doesn't convey the full extent of this ability, but in short, the only limit to what can be done is one's own creativity and mental endurance.

Infect: Those that come in contact with the crysteural spores Starfield discharges under stress become infected. This is not at all life-threatening, but there are both positive and negative effects. These are all dependent on the person infected and can be hashed out in more specifics in PM's or collaborations.

EQUIPMENT:

Hovercart: A rectangular metal container with a lid, resembling a large trunk with a handle on the side. Scratched and dented, wires hang out where a missing keypad lock used to be. Worn lettering in the old-script translates to Walkeasy Tech Inc. Dimensions is 6'x4'x4'. Three buttons are on the side. One turns on the power, one turns off the power, and the third elevates the container further off the ground for loading. When powered-on, it hovers in place two feet off the ground and can easily be pulled or pushed. At first, they thought it to be anti-gravity technology, but upon more studious inspection it has a positive supercharged plate at the bottom and a wave emitter that negatively charges the ground. Some type of pre-cataclysmic repulsion technology.

Excavation Tools: Tools of the archeological trade. Includes ropes, prybars, chisels, a hammer, brushes, shovels, and various other knick-knacks.

Digital Notepad: Technology used for taking notes. Includes one mostly empty data disc.

Clothes: Two changes of clothes, both the same as what they are wearing but in different colors. Green pair and white pair. They only wear the white outfit when attending social gatherings.

Containers: Empty bottles and boxes for collecting samples and storing water.

Soap and Sponges: For cleaning things.

Goggles: Metal-rimmed goggles that fasten around the head. Has multiple switches to increase the tinting of the glass, magnification and focus. Keeps particles out of the eyes and looks quite fashionable as well.

Empire of the Dead

The three-sided structure poked out from the top of the motte, gleaming white despite the dim light of the approaching nightfall, and came together to a point. Hajra licked the back of her teeth, staring up at the unusual building. Looks like one of my plate-piercing arrowheads. It was snowing steadily, two fingerbreadths deep, making the already difficult hike up the slope a right pain in the ass. Damn insurgents. To Ground with the lot of them. The Pigskin had been right; the bunker would have been impossible to find if she hadn’t known where to look. A dense ring of cedars hid the motte from view, and the complex itself would have blended in perfectly if the Necromancer’s magic hadn’t blighted the land and made the snowfall an ashy grey. Now it stuck out like pigeon shit on a black carriage, once she got clear of the trees.

Hajra Longshadow changed her mind about the north. At first, it had been pleasant to be away from the inclement weather and the lifeless countryside. But at least she had her footing there. True enough it was brighter and more alive north of Vardo’s Bridge, but that wasn’t nearly as important as being able to take a sure step when fighting needed to be done. She wanted to get this business done with and be on her way back south to Necron, before she fell down a ravine never to be heard from again. Hodjens would probably fall in after her, crushing her to true-death. Kotzan jam.

She climbed the steep slope carefully, keeping low to the ground with Hodjens to her left. She felt at the straps round her damaged leg making sure they were still tied and holding the splint firmly in place, which mostly rid her of her limp--but wasn’t proving to be much help at the moment. He was having as hard a time as her, trying to keep from losing grip and sliding back down to the tree-line below. They had come round to the western side, where it was significantly more inclined, with assurances that there wouldn’t be any lookouts posted. Scrambling their way to the base of the pointed bunker, pressing their backs against the white stone, they both slid out their blades slow and quiet in the pitch dark. Night came quickly in Leria, even in the north where the dark overcast let in small patches of the sky above. Wasn’t near enough to let in much moonlight or starlight, but there was a faint glow coming from the front of the bunker and was enough to give them something to head towards. It appeared that the human’s word had been good. So far. The ground leveled out there, at the top, with barely enough room for a foothold. She looked at Hodjens and pointed, and he moved towards the north side while she shimmied towards the south, side-stepping along the narrow path. It was a simple plan, nothing needed to be said.

They made it round to the front at the same time. She was surprised to find only one ghoul standing guard; she was expecting to find an army of these insurgents waiting for them. It would’ve been just her luck. Hodjens grabbed him from behind by the straps of the odd-looking chest plate too wide and too narrow for his thin frame, lifting him off his feet so quick his oversized helmet fell off his head and sunk into the murky slush. He swung his short spear wide, and she ducked under, letting him have a backhanded pommel strike to his skull. It gave, burying the hilt up to her hand. Hodjens let the limp ghoul drop to the snow, motionless in true death. She put her foot on his face, his eyes still wide in surprise, twisted the grip back and forth, wrenching the pommel out of his skull with a wet sucking sound followed by a soft pop. She wiped off the gore on the sleeve of his thick gambeson and turned to the bunker.

Two braziers stood on either side of the entrance, fixed into the ground and burning bright regardless of not having anything in them to burn. Must be the everflames the old Pigskin went on about. An ancient dwarven wonder, or some such nonsense. That’s the trouble with torture, once you get them started talking they go on and on about every useless thing they can think of. Like a floodgate, once it breaks it all comes out at once. The door, if one could call it a door, stood five paces inside the stone overhang, and looked to be just a flat wall with a small lever extending out on the right side. Like a small hallway that just led into a dead end, all made of smooth powder-white rock. Hajra took hold of the lever, which stuck out horizontal to the stone floor, and pulled. Nothing. She pulled up, pushed down on the twice-cursed thing, even tried twisting it like a doorknob, and still, nothing happened. She looked over her shoulder at Hodjens, who had been watching in silence. He shrugged. I knew I should’ve brought Broke-nose instead.

Broke-nose was with the horses back near the sacked hamlet, watching the human they had taken prisoner the day before. At least he damned-well better be. Broke-nose was worthless in a fight, but if he couldn’t keep hold of a shackled old man with burnt feet and all of his fingers hacked off then she’d make sure everyone would have cause to start calling him Broke-skull. He always had a flair for the quieter side of their trade, though, and Hajra did not doubt that he wouldn’t have a problem getting them inside. The human had told her that his entire fighting force was pretty much gone; he had taken all of his warriors to the lumber-town to fight the grave-digging crew and lost them all, which was impressive considering that dig-crews sent to the north were almost the size of a battalion. But, Hajra didn’t quite believe that his hideout would be defenseless, so she decided to bring Hodjens and leave Broke-nose to keep the prisoner detained. She put her shoulder to the door and started to push, still trying to move the lever in every direction in hopes it would do something.

“Give me a hand.”

There was no telling how long they pushed, but it had been a while. The armored ghoul was almost completely covered in snow, just another mound on the ground now. They pushed in vain, accompanied only by the low hum of the wind and the clang and hiss of the snow falling in the metal braziers behind until the wall moved slightly to the left. It was a good thing that it did; Hajra was starting to doubt whether it was a door at all. Hodjens looked at her, then to the lever.

“You’re kidding me.” He stepped back, a look of frustration on his face and murder in his eyes. She didn’t feel much different. It wasn’t a lever at all. She dragged the handle to the left and the massive stone block slid smoothly open, revealing stone stairs and metal lamps fixed to the walls--lamps like the braziers outside, with nothing in them to burn. No oil, not even a wick. Everflames. The door was incredibly thick, she had no idea how something that heavy could be moved so easily.

“Dwarven fucking wonders, no?” She smirked. He drew his sword and started down the steps in reply. She stepped in and looked back at the inside of the door, noticing a metal ring in the same place the handle had been on the other side. She looped her finger through it and pulled. It slid easily, now presenting a handle on the inside, and she dragged the door closed. Hajra realized that this was an unpickable lock, on a door that would take days to break through. If the ghoul on watch spotted them, he could’ve pushed in the handle, and they would be locked out.

At the bottom of the steps, the walkway opened into a large circular room, with a domed ceiling. Everflame lamps lined the room, fastened to the walls, and all connected by a rounded bar of metal. The craftsmanship was impressive, the interior made of marble and mortar with repeating three-sided shapes as both its design and construction. The ceiling was inlaid with gold and silver, depicting many different scenes and reminded her of the cathedrals in the human kingdom--only they used paint instead of precious metals. From what the human had told her, the bunker was a dwarven outpost built to hold reserved troops and to watch the borders of their realm. It was abandoned before the Necromancer moved his troops across the bridge all those years ago; they were wise enough to realize there was no stopping his great conquest. These filth should have taken the hint. If the race that built holds like these turned tail, what hope could a rag-tag band of humans have? They would’ve been smart to get across the water, instead of trying to fight, the fools.

Hajra Longshadow, coming from the undead capital and having visited many of the holds and keeps across Leria at one time or another, knew just how many forces were under the Great Necromancer’s control. Uncountable, at least by her. Endless. Pigskin’s entire force was put down by a company not even considered to be military. He had a rude awakening that day, just how insignificant his rebellion really was. The human went on about how he built his army over most of his life. How he had taken over leadership after his father, keeping those still among the living safe. His plan started when he had noticed more and more of the dead were coming back with their memories. He would take the warriors that were getting on in years, and have them drink poison. Them and those that were sick. If they came back and knew who they were, they could still help and keep their numbers instead of becoming useless over time. If they came back mindless, they were destroyed, fearing that they could be easily swayed to the Necromancer’s side. That had been what they witnessed in the clearing back in the woods; one of their comrades died before they could return and treat his injuries, and they waited to see if he would come back okay. She found it amusing that they spent all that time thinking they were building a resistance, only to have it destroyed within a fortnight. He was little more than an insect to her, by her reckoning. She wasn’t even interested in asking for his name, content regarding him as Pigskin.

“This place is going to take a while to search,” she said. She held up the naked blade of her sword, inspecting the steel in the light. “If we can find more arms and armor like this, Theleden might reward us. Dwarves really take their work seriously, no?”

“Do you believe the human? Is this really dwarven?” His voice was low and sounded like gravel. She looked away from her sword to see Hodjens looking down at her, a puzzled frown knotting up his misshapen and scarred brow. He hardly ever talked, but the place must have caught the old bruiser’s interest.

“I believe him. He hasn’t lied about anything else. He has no reason to lie about this.”

“Have you ever seen a dwarf?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it’s dwarven?”

Hajra sighed. “Because I’ve lived with humans, and they don’t make things like this.” Actually, we both lived in the human city, but of course, you don’t remember that. He grunted, which was Hodjens-speak for he had understood. “Right, let’s get started.”

* * *


The snow stopped round midday, leaving an off-white stagnant slush calf-deep covering the lumber town. The broken buildings, carts, everything was caked in the stuff. The massive pile of corpses Hajra remembered looked now just like a hill of snow. Hodjens trudged along behind, dragging the makeshift sled full of weapons and armor. She could see Broke-nose up ahead, sitting on a log bench in front of one of the few shacks still mostly intact. He looked to be doing some needlework on fur skins. She had asked him to skin the beast she'd killed in the clearing and was hoping to get it fashioned into a hooded coat. The human had called the thing a bear.

“Made it back in one piece, eh?” Broke-nose tossed the furs beside him, stood, and started walking over to her. “You found a new bow.”

“Yes.” It was one of the most remarkable things she had ever seen.

“Hodge, I fixed up that cart over there while I was waitin’, we can hitch it to one of the horses. Unless you wanna drag that thing all the way back.” Hodjens grunted, and dragged the sled to the side of the shack, and started unloading it onto the cart. Broke-nose and her walked to the front door of the shack, barely hanging on to the blackened and warped frame. She noticed a strange necklace laying next to the furs on the bench.

“Where’d you find that?” She picked it up, looking it over. It was in the shape of a hammer made of solid steel, about the size of her hand. The chain was of dull metal.

“Oh. I caught the human trying to bury it, so I took it.” Hajra frowned. She shook her head and decided to keep it in case it proved significant. She would ask Pigskin about it later. She went to put the necklace in her pocket when the ornament stuck to the pommel of her sword sheathed at her side.

“What the…” She grabbed the hilt with one hand and had to pry the thing off with the other. She slowly moved the necklace back to the pommel, and it suddenly snapped through the air and latched onto the sword again. It seemed to be attracted to metal. But the dull chain wasn’t affected. What kind of magic is-- She wrestled it back off the pommel and burst through the frail door, snapping it off its rusted hinges and clattering to the floor. The human, who had been curled into a ball on the frozen planks in the corner of the shack, scampered on all fours trying to scurry backward but was already against the wall. The stubs of his fingers crusted with thick black scabs, his feet charred and oozing yellow pus from splitting blisters. She held the necklace in front of his whimpering face, the hammer dangling between his eyes.

“Please, I’m sorry, I…” She grabbed both sides of his head, kneed him in the face, and let him fall onto his side.

“You didn’t think to tell me about this?” He was sobbing, holding his broken nose with fingerless hands, blood pooling on the floor, steam rising off of it. He was shaking from the pain and the cold, the shackles on his wrists rattling. She stomped on the side of his head. “If you think I put you through torture before, you have no idea who I am. I think I’ll just go ahead and show you now.” She yelled over her shoulder, “Broke-nose, bring this human filth.” She led them over to the sled, now empty except for two large brown sacks with dark stains in splotches. Broke-nose dropped him in the snow, and Hajra lifted his sagging head from under the chin to face her. “Is this the only one,” she asked, holding up the necklace again.

“Yes, yes. I swear. Please, I should have told--”

“It’s too late for that now, filth. Hodjens.” On cue, the brute dumped out the contents of the sacks in front of the human. Two corpses covered in long and precise lacerations that only meant a painful death rolled out onto the sled. The arms cut off at the shoulders, the legs hacked off at the hip.

“No! Oh my gods, please no!” His words turned into incohesive mumbling, he wailed and tried to crawl through the slush to them, but Broke-nose held him back.

“That’s right. We found the rest of you and killed them all. But not before we found these two. Your wife, and daughter. I thought that you might like to see them again, no?” She smirked. “And that’s not the best part. When we get back to Necron, I’m going to see to it that they come back with their memories, and put in the darkest cage where they can sit and rot forever.” I don’t know if they’ll come back mindless or not, and I’m sure as Ground not going to ask the Great Necromancer if he would do it. But he doesn't know that. She patted the top of his head. “All thanks to you.” He collapsed, completely giving up, broken. She put the dwarven key around her neck and started off towards one of the horses.

“Time to head home, boys.” She pulled herself onto the undead steed, turned south, and headed for Vardo’s Bridge. She touched the thick steel cord that was the string to her new short-bow strung across her back. "Dwarven wonders," she said under her breath.

KARSTS - A World Beyond Eons

I'm hoping that I get to play a sentient plant-person.

KARSTS - A World Beyond Eons

Holy mackerel this seems awesome. I want in!

Nightfall: A Dark Fantasy Adventure

Seems cool, I'm down with this. :)

Nightfall: A Dark Fantasy Adventure

I figured you'd put up all the details after more people showed interest; didn't want to make ya write everything twice!

But, some questions would be:

You have tabletop in the tags, so will we be picking classes/races etc and be doing like a dnd set-up?

Will the free Isles of Umalla be set up, or are we going to make up our own background stuff?

Nightfall: A Dark Fantasy Adventure

This has caught my eye--my good eye, not the lazy one.

I would need more info before I can say I'd definitely ask to join, though. But the interest is there! :)

Empire of the Dead

The undead beast lept at her, two great big paws stretching in the air with toes spread out, hooked white claws glinting in the dismal sunlight. Its maw opened wide in anticipation of the kill, brandishing rotten and broken fangs, black-splotched tongue curling, swollen thick and full of writhing maggots the size of her thumb. There was no way to fight the thing head-on, not in Hajra’s mind. Have to move. She side-stepped to the right quick as she could, felt the matted fur brush past her shoulder and the side of her face, trying to get round the large oblong stone jutting from the ground like a lifted finger. She tried but fell on her ass, hard, legs shooting out from under her. Hard enough to feel something move in her skull, she thought. Hajra was thankful that the dead feel no pain, for that lick would’ve smarted for sure. The beast thudded into the tree trunks that had been at her back, but she had kept her eyes on the thing the whole time. The two trees shook, sending down the bits of ice clinging to the branches and pine-needles, making a rustling sound. Huge legs kicking, claws scraping on the frozen ground, righting itself in a frantic tantrum and staring back. Dead eyes locked on hers and almost felt hot with murderous intent. It was the closest thing to warmth she’d felt in a long time, that murderous glare. It seemed to Hajra Longshadow that they had that in common, the beast and her. Two things. The hunt and the kill. The only two things that made her feel anything close to being alive. There was no pleasure in undeath, even food and drink tasted of nothing. But, the hunt and the kill still gave that same old rush. Those two things she could always depend on. Have to move. She pushed herself off the ground with one hand, steadying herself against the boulder with the other, still gripping the hilt of the sword tight.

She wanted to back round the boulder, to at least put something between that hulking monster and her despite the futility of it. She wanted to but it gave her no time and charged, letting out a rattling roar that would have been bloodcurdling if she had any blood. It bit at her and she lunged sideways, not even trying to land on her feet this time. What’s the point? She’d just fall on her ass again. She thought about how she’d explain that one to the meatworkers. Yes, I found enemies in the north. I fought them and returned with a broken ass. It plowed by, missing again. Her shoulder slammed the ground, bounced, and she slammed down again on her back. She was sliding away from the trees, into the clearing--the wrong direction. She tried to get up, but her foot was caught. Now that she was up close, Hajra realized that the thing was bigger than a horse. Much bigger. She could see the harness wrapped round the beast, faded leather straps full with metal hooks and buckles, and now her foot. Somehow her foot had gotten caught on one of the hooks, and tangled in the mass of leather and fur.

Its pace slowed, turning back and dragging her with it, jerking its head this way and that searching for where its prey had gone. She chanced a glance over to the clearing, just now hearing the sounds of fighting by the campfire. Two ghouls lay dead a few strides away from the hole and discarded shovels, skulls caved in and oozing black and grey sludge. She could see Hodjens, the big brute, swinging his longsword at the old Pigskin in long wide arcs. Broke-nose and the third ghoul wasn’t there. Right, boys. You take them and leave this monster to me. I’ve got it right where I want it. She went to swing at the straps with her sword, realized her hand was empty, cursed, then pulled out her dagger. She climbed her own leg up to the tangle of leather, grabbed hold tight, and started cutting. It turned its head and bit at her, not able to reach. The woods spun in a blurring circle as the beast turned, trying to bite her like a dumb city dog chasing its own tail. Hajra held on long enough to cut herself free, let go, and slid a few strides away. It closed the distance before she stopped, and leaned back on its hind legs, standing upright. She looked around for something, anything, that she could use. She had the dagger in her hand, but little good that’d be. The arrows were scattered across the clearing, thrown about during the struggle. Those wouldn’t do her much good either. She’d lost her sword too but had no idea where it was, and the blades the ghouls had were out of reach. There were two shovels, one laying next to her and she tossed away the dagger, took hold of the shovel, brought it up as the beast came down roaring. She angled the head of the shovel to its chest and set the other end to the ground, letting go and rolling away when it connected, doing all she could to avoid being smashed into Kotzan jam. Hajra had seen the meatworks do some incredible, if not disturbing things, but she didn’t think they could fix her from that.

The roar stopped short, replaced by a rasping and a scraping sound. The wooden handle of the shovel snapped apart, the beast falling to the ground kicking. Hajra stood and moved closer, snatching up the other shovel, avoiding the legs kicking aimlessly. It was more difficult than she would’ve liked. Her foot was twisted round, pointing to the side and forcing her to limp. The beast was worse off. Its spine was damaged; it wasn’t able to make its body do what it wanted. The shovel-head had slid up the ribs and sank into its neck, almost cutting its head clean off. She turned the shovel sideways in her hands, raised it high above her head, and swung down. Its neck crunched and the head fell free wobbling onto its side. The twitching and jerking stopped, maggots wriggling out of the wounds, dragging out bits of rotten gore and putrified flesh and spilling out onto the ground at her feet. She brought the shovel down again on the head, and then again. She kept hammering at that twice-cursed beast from the Ground until the thick skull caved.

Hodjens and Chief were still fighting, the old man dodging and blocking against the barrage, not able to get a strike in. Chief was holding his own, but she knew it wouldn’t last for long. Hodjens attacked tirelessly without slowing and could keep that up for as long as he needed, but the old man was wearing down. Beads of sweat ran down the pig-skinned mortal despite the cold, brows furrowed in exertion. Hajra gripped the shovel tight and limped round carefully, keeping out of sight of Chief and making sure she didn’t slip, fall, and behead herself. After everything that’s happened today, it would be just my luck. She stalked up behind Chief-- if her slow shambling could be called stalking, and whacked him on the back of his skull. Hodjens stopped swinging and stood there, his longsword hanging loosely in one hand, and they both watched the mortal sag to his knees. Dark blood slowly seeped out, staining his white hair deep red. Chief looked up at Hodjens for a long moment, then fell forward on his face still grasping his sword. Hajra peeled his fingers away from the grip and picked it up.

“Where is Broke-nose?” She asked. Hodjens nodded over to the shallow hole by the torches.

“The hell was that?” He looked over to the headless beast behind her.

“A demon?” She guessed. Hajra made her way to the grave, using the shovel like a walking stick, leaned over the edge, and peered down. He looked back up at her and shrugged. He had a large gash in his gut, looked as if he’d been run through. A thick piece of his cloak tied about his waist, wet with grime and who knows what else. Two ghouls lay in the dirt about his feet, motionless and taken care of; one’s head smashed into grey and pink pulp. She slid the sword in her belt and held out her hand, pulled him out of the hole, and pointed at Chief. “Bind him. I’ve got some questions for him when he wakes.” He nodded and glided over to them as if he was walking on a dry city street. He couldn’t fight for shit, never could, but he was as sure-footed as he ever was.

She had known both Hodjens and Broke-nose for years before her service to the Great Necromancer, but only she kept her memories. Hajra had found it strangely interesting how that affected them. Some things were different, of course, but a lot stayed the same. Broke-nose had been an infiltrator, far better at sneaking and balance than Hodjens or her. He had more brains than them, too--at least he used to. Hajra reckoned that the old Broke-nose would have known what that beast was that she killed, but she didn’t bother asking him now. She knew he’d have no idea. He used to make all the plans, set up all the jobs for the crew, pretty much led them. She was in charge now, and after two years it still seemed strange.

Broke-nose clamped the iron shackles on Chief’s wrists behind his back and left him face-down on the ground. Hajra moved about the clearing, collecting all of her arrows, her sword, and her dagger. Hodjens was rummaging through the packs by the campfire when she made her way beside Broke-nose. He handed her the scabbard for the Chief’s sword, and she put the blade in it and placed it back at her side, behind her belt. It was a good weapon, made from good steel. Hajra appreciated good weapons. It would be a lot easier to maintain weapons up here in the north. The rain south was almost a constant, with dark skies that blocked the sun. An archer’s worst nightmare, to be sure. The damp warped shafts and bows, and ruined bowstrings. Sometimes, if a bow got wet and then dried out, it would crack and get dry rot. That’s what happened to her bow, she reckoned.

Hodjens emptied one pack on the ground, travel rations as far as she could tell, and was stuffing it full of items he thought worth keeping. He sauntered back to them and held out the pack. It was full of aqua vitae, the glass bottles sparkling in the light.

“You didn’t happen to see a bow over there?” She asked.

“Nah,” he closed the pack and threw it over his shoulder, “Bunch of junk.”

“Figures.” Hajra looked down at the mortal. He was starting to move, slowly, his shoulders working back and forth. She pulled out her dagger and grinned, thinking of the answers she was going to cut out of him.

Maybe there were more than two things after all.

Empire of the Dead

Finally got my first post up. Trying a different style of prose than my usual. I should be able to finish up my intro-plot in the next post, with intentions of returning to Necron.

Just tossed up a post! I'm pretty happy with this - decided to show off the sort of magic Arane plays with. Let me know if it's too overt, though.

@Jeddaven

Overt? Nah, more like brutal!