SepticGentleman

Knights of Melarus

Karkadin Gatoa

---

They were all in a proper company now, working their way through the thick of Maceron’s undead blight. Kane, Pietro, Anna, Wizzlebee (and his company), and Karkadin. A unsightly band of liberators if ever there was one. The dorak wasn’t at all familiar with the lot of them but, a crisis like this had a strange way of bringing people together. Strange people, at that.

“Hey! Hey! Over here! Help!”

The company stopped, and turned towards the source of the plea. A young woman, standing atop a fine manor’s roof. Her call for help bred a moment of pause and (admittedly one-sided) bickering between the knight and the gnome. Where to have her once they rescued her, to stay safe from all this. As they went, Karkadin elected to get things done a little more quickly. Through the words, Karkadin stood up atop Bruk’s shell, and stretched his legs over the space towards his horn. He took a moment to secure his balance, placing one foot after the other at a good spot between the spikes. He gripped the surface with his two big toes, and at that point, he was ready.

Just as Kane said to Wizzlebee he’d be counting on him to keep the girl safe, Karkadin called out, “Yuda!”

Bruk immediately clicked and poised himself, legs reaching upwards, bottom off the ground, head lowered. In one quick movement, he shot his head upward, flinging Karkadin off of his horn and upwards into the air, just above the roof of the manor. He flailed a bit as a he soared, arching over the roof's edge. The beetle’s immense strength gave Karkadin all the force he needed to land on the roof, a bit away from the girl. He gripped a nearby window’s edge to catch his footing, and once he stabilized himself, turned to the girl.

“You alright?” He asked.

Knights of Melarus

Theresa ot an Bol’hjar

---

Theresa had managed to find herself in another tavern, with plenty more bottles of assorted liquor scattered about to use for molotovs. There were a few bodies lying around, fresh, with chunks of skin and meat ripped right off of them. Whatever wights had done such to them had already moved on to more active prey. Theresa never liked looting innocents but, she needed cloth for the bombs. She stripped off scraps of their clothes and assembled a sack full of molotovs, darting her head around to watch for any wights barging into the tavern. Thankfully, however, it seemed she was clear of them.

Once the sack was just about full, Theresa picked it up and made for the stairs leading up to the tavern’s second floor. She was looking for any way she could to get up on the rooftops of Maceron, both to stay relatively clear of the horde, and to be able to pelt them with bombs more effectively. She reached the second floor, cut through a bedroom, and approached the window. There was another building just across the way. It was within jumping distance but, the roof was just a little high. Theresa didn’t hesitate, though. She took the bag and threw it out of the window, onto the slightly slanted roof. It slid down a bit but, thankfully, the shingles caught it before it went off the edge. There were, however, some sounds of shattering from within. So, she lost a few bombs. Oh well, the rest would have to make double their worth.

She climbed up onto the windowsill and poised her legs as best she could, and then made a daring leap for the rooftop. Her upper body made it just fine, but she slid a little bit. Her legs scrambled, but managed to find footing on an exterior wooden beam. She quickly made her way up, got onto the roof with her torso pressed against the shingles, and crawled upward. She grabbed the bag of bombs, now leaking quite a bit of alcohol, and continued upward until she reached the flat top of the building.

She got up on her feet and took a look around Maceron. Everything was going down the drain fast. Screams could be heard everywhere, banging on walls, glass shattering. Some fires could be seen starting, too. It wasn’t pretty, none of it was. Theresa gave a second thought to using any more of the bombs, potentially lighting up her own share of homes. But people getting out alive was more important than what was destroyed in the process. She took out a single molotov, and from a satchel on her belt, a flint to get them started.

But at that moment, a booming force impeded her. Startled, Theresa turned around to see a fiery plume rise up just nearby, and the sound of several buildings crumbling in the aftermath. Her mouth hung agape some as she looked on.

She wondered if that was Ben’s work. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d somehow caused a massive explosion out of seemingly nowhere, but something in her gut told her it wasn’t his doing. This time, at least. And at that, she was somewhat disappointed. Oh well.

Theresa looked back down at the molotovs, which seemed so… meager in comparison, but she had to do her part in this crisis. She picked up the leaking bag and took a look over the edges of the building. The streets below her weren't as full of wights as further into town. She told Benedict to take the way around to meet her, but he wasn’t in sight. She steeled herself and turned for the rooftops leading towards the major square of town, undoubtedly where most of the action was taking place. Maybe Ben was there, contributing a great deal. Hopefully he wasn’t being treated as one of the enemy in all this. He’d never… done well with the mundane public, being as he was.

Maybe things would change after this whole thing ended, though. Change was something she’d honestly been hoping for lately, but it seemed the bad kind of change had to come before the good.

If there was ever going to be any good.

---

Karkadin Gatoa and Wizzlebee de LaShtüp

_{Featuring Bartleby de LaShtüp}

Written with @Spoopy Scary

---

Karkadin was set beside Bruk’s carapace, now beyond the city walls with the majority of everyone involved in this crisis. All of this was… so alarming. The people leaving behind their homes, their possessions, all in the wake of this new, terrifying threat. Dorak knew all too well such prospects - burrows being invaded and rendered uninhabitable by malicious hives of creeping insects. But for them, pretty much any old hole or cave could be home. When you don’t live as long as most other races, and live in a nigh barren desert, you learn to make due with all that’s around you. But these people, humans… they all seemed much more rooted in their material lives, so distressed to see them come undone. The whole sight was giving the dorak some pause for thought - was coming here worth it?

Truth be told, he didn’t have an answer yet.

Bruk shook some, and clicked his mandibles a bit. Karkadin placed his hand on the beetle’s shell and patted it to ease him. “Kumor ed hrusi, Bruk.” He said softly in his tongue. The creature settled, and they both went back to simply resting where they were. Karkadin looked around a bit, seeing some of the townsfolk - mainly, their children - looking right at him. More interested in the dorak foreigner and his giant beetle rather than all this chaos. And that, in a way, provided a bit of comfort for both parties.

A bit away from him, it sounded as though some party was gearing back up to reenter Maceron, find more survivors. That sounded like a good idea to Karkadin, better than just sitting and watching everything go on. Bruk would be of some use to get through the horde, perhaps. No wight had yet managed to claw their way through his shell with their bony fingers. “Vek.” Karkadin said, beginning to walk forward. Bruk followed beside him, and the two made for the gates. And along the way, they happened upon the gnome magician from earlier. He was mounted atop his coach - which, somehow, also made it outside the gates without a horse leading it. He was turned around, and appeared to be arguing with a disembodied voice inside the enclosed box.

“We came here to open a shop!” Wizzlebee cried. “Find out it's flooded with murderous wights, I will not have this trip be all for naught! We’re getting something out of this, paps, I tell you!”

“Is everything alright?” Karkadin asked, as he and Bruk passed by the coach.

The old gnome nearly yelped in surprised before sitting back in place at some ill-fated attempt to remain inconspicuous, leaning back comfortably on the bench, but was laying on his act very thick.

“Oh, of course we are! I mean, I am! Plenty so, we’re - I am just trying to figure out where to go from here, that is all!”

“Who is that?” Cried a shrill voice from inside the coach. Wizzlebee impatiently elbowed the passenger box out of clear-cut frustration.

Karkadin, admittedly a little confused, simply responded, “Well… I’m going back in there.” He pointed towards the main gate and said, “To help look for more survivors.”

“Why?!” The voice inside the coach yelled, muffled by the walls. Wizzlebee buried his face into his hands, pinching the wrinkles on his face with mint-green fingernails. His paps was always something of the cowardly sort, though Wizzlebee was not too far off from him - dragons and undead, those were the old man’s biggest fears! It was made comedically pathetic now that he too became a skeleton, yet his bones still rattle at the sight of wights. Bartleby now, however, was signing his own warrant by his lack of inconspicuous…ness.

“That, um…” The dorak continued, seemingly oblivious to whoever was inside the coach, much to Wizzlebee’s benefit, “That magic of yours… it was pretty useful. Could help a lot, if you joined in.”

“Oh, is that right?” Wizzlebee said, looking measurably more chipper than he did before. “I was about to go in myself! To scrounge up plenty of what ingredients and herbs I may muster! Wight marrow is a handy dandy alchemical substitute for, ah…”

The word ‘heart’ almost slipped from the gnome’s lips.

“...hair.”

Which, of course, was ridiculous. Hair was useless for practically everything outside of self-transmogrification. Pounding beat against the inside of the coach, and the muffled voice called out again. “Don’t you dare go in there! Wizzlebee!”

“Good, then.” Karkadin replied, “Suppose you can ride in with me, or… whoever’s in there.” He pointed at the coach. “Doesn’t sound like he wants to go, though.”

“I… I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Wizzlebee said followed by uncomfortable chuckles.

“It’ll be the death of us!” The voice yelled again. This time, harder barging could be heard, and the door was kicked open and suddenly, a skeleton’s head and shoulders sprung from the inside of the coach. “You know I’m afraid of those ghastly things!”

As soon as Bartleby emerged from the coach, Wizzlebee just as quickly flew into a panic and slammed shut the coach door and pushing Bartleby back inside with clenched fists and a swift tugging movement. He looked back at the dorak with wide, fearful eyes as drips of sweat rolled down the sides of his head.

The elderly gnome stuttered, “I-I-I can explain!” The dorak seemed to just… stand there, as if waiting for said explanation, brows raised. His head motioned a bit to the side, in a sort of ‘well?’ gesture.

“H-he’s… he’s my paps!” Wizzlebee said. “A sweet gnome, really! Even… though, he… did try to orchestrate a deposition… with assassins... but he’s plenty harmless, now! Really!”

Karkadin didn’t respond right away. He simply looked at Wizzlebee, in something of a questioning manner, building up an unseen well of tension… before simply saying, “Okay.”

Wizzlebee blinked at the dorak in confusion. “W-what?”

Bartleby’s voiced echoed from inside the coach, “My pardon?”

“I believe you.” Karkadin said. And at those words, he passed a glance over towards the gates, where the other party was beginning to make their returning move, and then back to Wizzlebee. “Now we should go.” He said, before climbing up atop Bruk’s carapace to ride in.

“Forgive me,” Wizzlebee pleaded, “but… why?”

To which Karkadin simply shrugged. He patted Bruk’s shell and said softly, “Vek, Bruk.” And the beetle began to move, in the direction of the gates.

Wizzlebee just watched the dorak advance from behind with his jaw slightly dropped. His daze was disrupted by the banging from the inside of the coach, his father’s voice snapping him back into reality. “Don’t you just stick your nose up at this sort of blessing! Go and get! I feel better going in now that we’ve protection.”

The old gnome just nodded and set his hand against the wooden bench he sat on. The coach’s wooden joint creaked as it slowly came to life. With a bit of gnomish enchantment, the thing began rolling along on its own, guided by Wizzlebee just softly tracing his finger against on the wood just beside him. Finally! They can go into the city and Wizzlebee can go and find plenty of what he’s looking for! Stock this coach so full of stuff, he could supply his Nepharie shop for months! The coach rolled past the gates, and the smell of blood and ash was flooding his nose once more.

Knights of Melarus

<Snipped quote by SepticGentleman>

Daddy

@JunkMail

What did I tell you about using that word in this house?

Knights of Melarus

Theresa ot an Bol’hjar and Benedict Kaspin

---

Now that they had a bit of breathing room, Theresa made her way down through the building and ran out through the entrance, rejoining Benedict in the street. “Alright!” She called out, clapping her hands together, “Off to a good start.”

“Ye sure tossin’ ‘em down there’s good enough?” Asked the behemoth, “Water only works when it’s fast-movin’.”

“They might still reform down there, but at least we’re keepin’ ‘em off the streets. Not like they can grip ‘emselves back up, anyway. Slippery down there.” Theresa replied, taking a look at the fires behind them. “Right then, we gotta keep it up. Work our way around the walls, shove more of ‘em down there. Make things a little easier for the guards. We should start with the town gates so people can get out easier.”

“Ye sure we’ll ‘ave enough fire fer all that work?” Ben asked, scratching his throat. Theresa merely shrugged and replied, “We’ll make due. Always ‘ave, always will. Right?”

”Right.” Ben said in return, along with a wry smile.

They both turned back towards the wall of burning junk, its flames beginning to die down, and the wights beyond it beginning to make their advance. Theresa turned her head and pointed to an alley, saying, “I’ll cut through there, you meet me ‘round. Help the knights thin the crowd a bit.”

”Aye, but… if they turn on me?”

“Think they’re a little too busy for that. Just keep goin’ if they do. Good?”

To which Ben nodded and replied, ”Good.” And with that, they both made their ways off in different directions, Ben approaching the horde of wights and ready to brute force his way through them, and Theresa cutting through the alley relatively free of forces - some strays, but nothing a few swipes at the necks would solve. She’d have to keep an eye out for more taverns - they were going to need the alcohol.

---

Karkadin Gatoa and Wizzlebee de LaShüp

_{Featuring Kane's Guard}

Written with @Spoopy Scary

---

Things were beginning to clear up. Bruk’s thrashing about, Sten’s marksmanship, and Oscar and Karkadin’s waving their weapons around to clear up the rest of the encroaching horde, all combined into bringing about one safe exit for the people of Maceron to flee through. They came in crowded groups, dashing past the action, taking up base at the open grounds surrounding the city. They could be seen standing far enough away to watch their home be fought over, many silently hoping everything would turn out alright, and others cheering wildly for their defenders’ victory.

Soon enough, all that was left near the gate the group was guarding were mere stragglers, as the surprise manifestation of two flaming apparitions did very well to thin the horde. Karkadin didn’t even notice them until half of the opposing force was already vaporised - Sten had taken a moment to stop firing to take in the curious light show taking place before him, and so did Oscar. Hopefully, being turned to ash would be enough to stay them for good, but the dorak kept his guard up nonetheless. A wight approached Karkadin, and he confidently thrusted his spear into the monster’s open chest cavity, in between its ragged ribs, and flung it with relative ease up and over in the flaming golems’ direction. And, thankfully, one caught the airborne wight with a well-timed blast. With that, the majority of them were gone, the main force being further inward of the city, and still very much active with other parties of knights.

"Alright... boys...!" Oscar said in a cheerful attempt to lead between deep, heavy breathes. "Let's... spread out around the square... secure the area!"

Karkadin took a moment to rest his arms, putting away his spear. He looked over at the two flaming shapes of men, more curious than cautious. This... was magic, wasn't it? Nothing like it he'd ever seen in Dorakis, not even by Phirrah's doing. He approached cautiously, the duo seemingly paying him no mind - though he couldn't tell, with their lack of expressions. "Hello?" He called out, stopping a bit away from them, hands at the ready in case anything went wrong.

"Oh! Oh!" A distant, old, gnomish voice called out from a corner of the square. "Oh! Worry not, worry not! Those are my doing! Harmless, really! I... think."

Oscar looked up in curiosity to see an old gnome like Kane had described suddenly back on the carriage he once thought was abandoned. Huh. He guessed the captain was totally pulling his leg after all... because that was a thing he'd totally do, right?

"Well I'll be damned." Oscar muttered, his mouth dropped a bit in awe at the full realization of what kind of mayhem this gnome had ravaged with his minions alone. Ashes were scattered across the square.

"Impressive work..." Karkadin called out, somewhat hesitantly, watching the golems before turning his vision towards the gnome. "Who are you?"

"Wizzlebee de LaShtüp!" The gnome declared. Wizzlebee straightened out the toga on his side. "Wizard and alchemist! The, uh... fire golems, they're probably unstable. First time it's ever been done, as far as I'm aware! Don't know their temperment, you know, can't trust the elasticity of aether too much."

"Well..." Karkadin replied, "Thank you, for your help." Turning away from the gnome, amd still somewhat mindful of the golems, the dorak faced Oscar and said to him, "We should go to the next gate then? Help more people escape?"

Knights of Melarus

<Snipped quote by SepticGentleman>

Literally die.

@Spoopy Scary

You first, cockbone.

Knights of Melarus

This gravy train doesn't stop for apple slices floating up the brown.

Knights of Melarus

Karkadin Gatoa

Written with @Spoopy Scary

---

At least one knight was set on being a little more welcoming. But thruthfully, Karkadin wasn't electing to blame any of them for their attitudes just yet. There was, after all, an undead problem. Karkadin met his four eyes with Oscar's two and greeted him in return. "Well..." He said, "Thank you. I don't blame him, though. This does seem like a serious issue."

"This is true," Oscar agreed. However, following that, he crossed his arms and sighed. "A knight's responsibility is to defend the kingdom - primarily - but each knight also takes an oath of honor and chivalry." The red-haired guardsman sagely said. "True knights mustn't sacrifice their values even if it is to uphold our duties, lest we become glorified soldiers and guards. Keeping that equilibrium is the true undertaking of knighthood, less so than it is the missions we are assigned."

"Uh..." Karkadin replied, a little lost for words at the knight's resplendent use of his own, "I... agree." He took a look over Oscar's shoulder at the active crowd of wights, and the knights surrounding them. Something seemed a little... off, now. "Is everything good over there?" Karkadin questioned.

"Eh, yeah... for the most part..." Oscar droned. "Kind of. Not really. See that fancy knight, the one my blonde friend is talking to? He's the headmaster of the Knights of the Ram. Now, I'm not allowed to say much, but we uh... haven't gotten along with him for about three months. Let's call it conflicting ideas."

"I see." Karkadin responded, redirecting his attention back to Oscar. "Is there..." He continued, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Well, as long as Sir Fallon..." Oscar pointed again at the headmaster, "...insists on keeping command, then I'm afraid his knights wouldn't even allow you. My captain has found that the only successful idea so far is taking those chains and rounding them up like you see by the statue."

Indeed, there was a writhing mass of bones held together by long, thick chains.

"Keeping them together like that seems like the best bet to control them once they decide they're hungry. The wights are too strong to push out, and they reassemble when you break them apart."

"But..." Karkadin replied, "What are they all doing here?"

"Trust me," Oscar began dryly, "if any us knew, we would have either evacuated immediately or I'd be in the tavern drinking with one of 'em."

"Seems a lot of people are already relaxing, watching..." Karkadin replied, scanning to his sides, seeing the nearby establishments still opened up, people sitting outside, spectating.

Oscar sighed and propped his hands on his hips. "Yeah, a product of Sir Fallon. He insists that nothing is wrong. If Captain Bounevialle had it his way, he'd lead an evacuation himself. Says, 'we shouldn't leave room for any chances.' It's starting to sound like a really good idea. They creep me out."

"Your Captain seems like a smart leader." Karkadin replied, "Although I don't think-" His sentence was cut out by the rising sound of clicking behind him. Karkadin turned his head as his mount lumbered towards him, mandibles shaking, shell vibrating some. "Ansa, Bruk!" Karkadin said aloud, approaching the beetle and placing his hands on the creature's horn. "Ansa, ansa. Oata." Bruk seemed to calm down some, and once again buckled his legs. Karkadin turned back to Oscar and said, "I'm sorry. Something has him worried."

"I wish I could say your beetle is the strangest thing I've seen today." Oscar mused. His spirits then died down a bit as then he motioned his hand toward all the wights occupying the square. "But... the thing... with the March, it kind of takes the medal for about everything ever."

"Strangest I've seen as well..." Karkadin replied, looking once again towards the wights, wondering what was bound to happen with them.

Knights of Melarus

Karkadin Gatoa

---

It was pointless.

The wights were reforming and standing back up just as fast as Bruk was stomping them into the ground. They still trudged along, mindless. Karkadin soon realized he was doing no good just letting his mount endlessly destroy these creatures. He’d never fought an enemy like this before, and it proved rather disconcerting. He gave up, and ordered Bruk to stand down. “Nasi, Bruk.” He said, and the giant beetle listened, ceasing its destruction and leaving the wights be. He turned his head and noticed a few townsfolk observing him, probably having never beheld a dorak or a bertis before now. He stood up, jumped off of Bruk’s shell, and landed on the street beneath him.

“What’s that?” A child said aloud, unclear as to who he was asking. A man beside him, presumably his father, said to him in a bit of a quieter tone, “Dorak. Mole-folk from the desert.” And the child responded, “I know what he is! But what’s he riding?”

“Ankro Bertis.” Karkadin said, approaching the boy. “Giant beetle, in your tongue.”

“Beetles around here are only as big as a coin!” The boy replied, “Is that as big as they get?”

“Not even close.” Karkadin replied, turning his head towards the center of town. Seemed everything was gravitating towards that general area. Karkadin turned to his mount and said, “Bruk! Oata!” At the command, he settled down, buckled his legs, and rested still. Karkadin turned again and made way for the point of focus in those whole matter, while the young boy and a few of his friends cautiously approached the massive insect, curious.

The knights were rounding up the creatures with an abundance of chains. Karkadin watched the heaps of them being pushed towards the edge of town, only moments later to decide against the action. They pushed back, and the armor-clad knights seemed helpless against their surprising level of strength. The dorak observed as the wights returned to their original positions and took an ominous foothold. One night, their leading figure perhaps, announced to the watching townsfolk that all was well, and that his men would escort them all to his homes while the situation was resolved.

As the knights approached and the crowd began to clear, Karkadin remained where he stood. One knight approached him with a finger raised and said, “You. Dorak.” He stepped further and continued, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help.” Karkadin replied, calmly.

“Your ‘help’ is not required.” The knight replied, “All is under control.”

“Doesn’t seem it.” Karkadin said back to him, resolute. Probably coming across as stubborn to the knight, but oh well. He didn’t have any intention to leave. And if he couldn't assist, he was at least going to watch. He passed one more glance over the knight’s shoulder and said, “I would prefer to stay in case something happens.”

“Fine.” The knight responded, a little aggravated, “But remember, you have no hold nor charge here, dorak.” And as he walked away, the knight gave one last command.

“Let the Knights of the Ram handle this.”

Knights of Melarus

All these wights must be making the whole of Maceron smell fucking awful.

Knights of Melarus

We're all learning so much about each other.