Post by Monday
((
Storybook))
“Damn,” muttered a tall human. He sported black hair and was wearing a long coat and hat, peering out the door. Lightning flashed in the distant stormy, black skies. Each flash illuminated misshapen figures lurching towards them.
Henry Markoth, Inquisitor and Witch Hunter, grunted, pulling a pistol from the pocket of his coat. Behind him, two people stood, watching his back.
One was a dwarf of middling height who wore a black beard long and braided, his hair drawn back into a ponytail with some flowing down his back. He wore mail armor and clutched a large warhammer. His name was Khazran, and he was a Templar.
The other was a tall man with black hair and a goatee, piercing blue eyes. He wore the dark robes of a Shadow Priest, and clutched a staff with runes drawn onto it. His name was Bane.
Khazran strode to the door. “I hoped they wouldn’t find us,” he grunted. “Looks like I was wrong. Luckily we have this chapel here.”
Bane nodded. “Very. Hopefully the undead can’t cross the threshold.”
Markoth shook his head. “They may have a sorcerer among them, which would nullify the effects of the chapel’s threshold.” Poking his head around the corner again, he pulled the trigger on his pistol. A BANG and flash of light accompanied it, and one of the zombies toppled to the ground, it’s head exploded.
“Only two dozen more to go,” Khazran said sourly, hefting his hammer. “Where do you want me to hit them? Here, or outside?”
“In here. I don’t want you getting bogged down out there,” Markoth told him grimly, peering back out the door. “There’s no telling how many other undead there are out there, and I don’t fancy losing a lieutenant to them.”
Khazran sighed, fidgeting impatiently. “What do you want me to do then? There’s no difference if I attack them in here or out there, except in here I’ll have less space to fight.”
Bane walked up to the door, but stayed to the side. “We don’t know how many more are out there, including ranged. The Light will do a fat lot of good when you have an arrow sticking from your neck.”
Khazran was about to respond angrily, when something slammed into the side of the chapel, shaking the whole building. “The hell was that?” he grunted instead.
“Abomination?” asked Bane, peering warily out the door. The undead were closer. So close he could smell them. Markoth poked his head out the door and fired again, killing another undead. Pulling out his other pistol, he pegged another zombie.
“No idea,” the witch hunter replied, starting to reload.
Bane cursed. “This isn’t going to work. We can’t go outside, or else we’re dead, but we can’t stay out here either, and something’s trying to
smash a hole in the chapel!”
Khazran grumbled. “Just let me out there. If I die, I can still care a path for you two.”
“No,” Markoth said calmly. “I’m not letting any of us die, here, tonight. You got that?”
Bane glared, frustrated. “Then what do we do?”
Markoth peered out the door again, then pulled back. “Simple,” he said, pulling out a vial of water. “I throw this out there, then Khazran shoots a burst of holy fire under it, evaporating the consecrated water and letting us get out.”
Bane opened his mouth, then closed it again, thinking furiously. “It may just work,” he said thoughtfully. “Either way, we need to hurry.” With that, he held out a hand and shot a burst of darkness, which enveloped three zombies. When it cleared, nothing remained.
“Khazran,” Markoth said, clapping the dwarf on the shoulder. “We throw it, you attack the zombies and buy us some time. With them weakened, you should have no trouble.” Khazran nodded and hefted his hammer. “Ready,” Markoth muttered. “Now!”
He hurled the vial of water, which shattered on the ground, spilling water everywhere. Two zombies fell as their feet literally burned off, but the rest marched forward. Khazran raised a hand, and a burst of holy fire exploded from the ground.
Arrows whipped towards the beacon from the forest around them, and one struck the dwarf in the shoulder, knocking him over. The zombies let out an unearthly wail, and several collapsed, but more kept coming.
“Damn. Damndamndamn,” muttered Markoth, letting his panic slip through for the first time. Raising his pistols, he fired into the zombies.
Bane waved a hand, and the fire was extinguished. The arrows stopped firing, their beacon removed. Khazran groaned, fingering the arrow slightly, and groaned again. “Bloody thing,” he gasped. “Looks like you were right.”
The building shook again. Bane crossed over to a window and peered outside. There, standing two feet from his face, was a worgen, wearing the telltale robes of a necromancer.
The worgen’s face broke into a grin, and he smashed the window, vaulting through. Bane backed up hurriedly, and extended a hand. A wall of sound and dark energy slammed into the worgen, driving him backwards.
The worgen let out a howl, and shoulder slammed Bane, knocking him over a pew, before turning to Markoth.
Markoth stood and drew his sword, which glowed softly. “Spawn of night, your time has come,” the inquisitor spat.
The worgen grinned. “It would seem your time has come, false priest,” he said in a rumbling voice. “In case you didn’t notice, you’re trapped, with my undead on one side and me on the other.”
Markoth smiled. “You misunderstand. I’m not trapped in here with you.
You’re trapped in here with me.”
The worgen cocked his head, confused, but before he could act, Markoth surged forward, slicing with his sword. The worgen parried with his long, hard claws, which essentially acted as knives.
He swiped at Markoth. The inquisitor moved to parry, but his sword was knocked aside and he was pushed backwards. His coat, which was sanctified, blocked the claws. “It seems that you aren’t as strong as you think you are,” the worgen said.
Markoth grinned. “Or you’re not as clever as you think you are.” He thrust a hand forward, and a knife, attached to a loop of cloth, flashed from his sleeve and struck the worgen in the face, stabbing deep into his snout.
The worgen flinched back, surprised, and Markoth brought up his hand, holding a pistol, and shot him in the face.
The back of his skull blew onto the wall behind him, and the corpse toppled to the ground.
Bane clambered back over the pew he was knocked over. “Hurry,” he said. “With the necromancer dead, the zombies will be feral. We can probably charge through them, but only if we hurry.” Markoth nodded, hurrying over to Khazran, who had, while the others were fighting, yanked the arrow from his shoulder in a remarkable display of tenacity, and healed the wound. He was unconscious, however, the healing taking all his strength. Markoth grabbed the dwarf and lifted him.
“Let’s go,” he said, running out the door. “Cover us!”
Bane hurried out right after them. The zombies were less than ten feet away, and some started to hurl themselves at the group. Bane raised a hand and destroyed the zombies’ brains, killing three in front of them, and kept running.
Arrows started to whiz randomly around them, but the night impeded the accuracy of the skeletal archers.
They passed into the forest, and trees rose up on either side. “Just a little bit further,” gasped Markoth, and after about a minute, the trees fell away again.
There, in front of them, rose a small town. A few houses, sides covered in graffiti and filth, and shops with smashed windows and unholy symbols etched on the sides, gathered around a well. The streets were paved, and dented lanterns rose on every corner.
Moans erupted from the town, and shapes stumbled and staggered into the streets. “#$%^,” grunted Bane. “He got the town too?”
“It appears so,” Markoth said shortly. Khazran groaned, and awoke. “Markoth!” he gasped. “What the hell is going on?”
“Shush,” Markoth replied, not looking down. “We’re getting out of here.” Veering away from the town, they started away. Going back to the chapel was not an option, and the town didn’t look inviting.
“If we can get to the road, we’ll be able to escape,” Bane said, glancing about uneasily. The undead in the town lurched towards them, but moved slowly. “There’s another town about two miles east of here. If we can get there, we might be alright. Hopefully there’s a chapel of Templar or Argents there.”
Khazran nodded. “Aye, there’s a small group of Templar in that town.”
Without another word, they set off. Markoth transferred the dwarf to Bane, who carried him with trouble. “How did you carry him so far?” grunted Bane in amazement.
“Light provides,” Markoth shot back at the shadow priest. Bane shook his head, irritated, but ignored the jab.
“There,” gasped Bane. “The road!” Their footsteps changed from muffles thuds to clicks as their boots came down upon stone.
“Let’s go,” Markoth said laconically, and started off. Bane shuffled along behind him. A rustle sounded from the trees next to them, and Markoth turned to look at it. Bane turned to look the other way, which is why he saw the vampire.
“MARKOTH!” he screamed, and dropped both him and Khazran to the ground. Markoth whipped around and fired a pistol, which whizzed past the vampire. The thing was large, hairless and corpse-pale, with an oversized head and large fangs replacing every tooth. He swiped a claw at Markoth as he passed, knocking him off the road and into the brush.
It turned for another run by, and Bane stood to meet it. He assaulted the mind of the vampire, and was thrown backwards by the vampire’s psychic will, a roiling wall of hate, hunger and animal instinct.
The vampire sliced at Bane as it passed, cutting open the skin on his stomach. Bane cried out and fell sideways, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.
Mocking laughter echoed from the trees.
Did you think you could just shoot me and get away with it? asked a grumbling voice. The necromancer. His phantom phased into being, standing over Markoth.
Did you really think you could kill me that easily? Me, Grolin Fangslasher, who turned this entire town with no help from the Scourge?The vampire turned for another strike, and moved towards the injured Bane, intent on slaying him. Crying out triumphantly, he raised a hand to strike, when Khazran’s warhammer buried itself in the creature’s back.
It let out a shriek of pain and rage, turning to confront Khazran, who swiped again. The holy hammer burned away any flesh it came into contact with, and severed an arm completely.
The vampire fell to its knees, staring dully at Khazran, who, with one blow, decapitated it.
Grolin turned, in shock, and Markoth rose to his feet. “No,” he grunted. “But this will.” The phantom turned just in time to catch Markoth’s sword in his face. The phantom’s essence was severed, and it screamed as it slowly gathered into a ball, which thudded to the ground unceremoniously.
Markoth walked over to the ball and stepped on it, shattering the ball. The soul started to rise, when Markoth grabbed it. A flash of light, and the soul was obliterated.
Khazran bent over Bane and lifted him. “We need to hurry,” he grunted. “I can’t heal anymore, and we have no medical supplies. His robes have sealed to him, acting as a bandage, but we can’t risk him losing anymore blood.”
Both hurried into the night.
An hour later, two weary, disheveled figures stumbled into town, and were picked up by the local Templar.
Two days later, both figures left the town. They were needed somewhere else.