Dark Age Year 871
Twenty Third day of the Third month
Night had fallen, and the full moon, which would normally cast its luminous and ethereal light upon the earth under clear night skies, was hidden and obscured by thick, dark clouds. Only faint cracks in the clouds allowed faint rays of moonlight to filter through as Tharos and his companions crept through the forest toward Ozias’ farm. Managing to narrowly avoid several patrols of undead they encountered in the woods, they watched the main horde slowly moving toward the village of Aurelia Silva in a slow and steady march. In some of them, the sockets that once housed blank and dead eyes were lit with a faint red glow, acting as warning beacons to all those who saw their approach.
Their decaying forms creaked and groaned with every step on the dirt roads, as rotting flesh and petrified bone moved as one in perfect sync. Their armour and weapons, some of them grimy and rusted beyond any practical use, would glimmer as the faint rays of moonlight hit them. Every dent, every chip on their weapons and armour, every scar on their bodies told a story of battles unknown and untold. What wars did these warriors fight in, what horrors did these people witness, and what eras did they come from? These were some of the questions that rushed though his mind as he watched on from the treeline in a mix of disgust and intellectual curiosity.
Oh if only they where alive, with beating hearts and minds that sparked with life. I would have such questions to ask them.
Although there were fewer undead than last night, the number was still significant, possibly a few hundred. This was more than enough to overpower the defenders of Aurelia Silva, who were only a quarter of the size of the approaching undead army. Tharos understood that they needed to act swiftly. The plan hinged on perfect timing, and although it took some convincing to get Nico on board with such a risky strategy, it was the only option Tharos could come up with, given what he had to work with.
For the necromancer had another key weakness, one shared with summoners and other mages who relied on familiars or controlling creatures to do their bidding: they all had to be within a certain range. This range could vary from a few hundred meters to several miles. Although Tharos suspected that the necromancer would be nearby, directing the horde, he had no idea where. However, Cenric’s recent encounter with the undead at the homestead and the attack in the nearby forest gave Tharos an idea of where the necromancer could be if there was another attack. Finding out there was a mage study at this homestead, a study that Tharos suspected was incorporated by the necromancer, only confirmed his suspicions of where this necromancer would be.
As they reached the outskirts of the farm, with the homestead only a few hundred yards away, hidden among the bushes and trees, Tharos began to sense it. It was the presence of a mage inside the homestead, although it was hard to pick up due to the presence of the undead that were surrounding them or the massive amount of Mana that was coursing through the air like strings. There was no doubt that the necromancer was now here, only within sword’s reach.
“It seems my hunch was right,” he said in a whisper, turning to his companions. Although Cenric was standing at attention, he was shaking, his spear and shield jittering in his arms. Rayner had his eyes focused straight ahead, not looking up or down, but staring at the farm and towards Tharos, gritting his teeth as he held and gripped his axe tightly in his powerful hands.
“So what are we waiting for? Let’s charge in then. All this waiting around isn’t going to do any good,” Rayner said.
“Not yet,” Tharos said, calmly raising his head. “We need to wait for the signal.”
“If you think that old fool is going to pull through, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“We have our part to play, and so do they. We just trust they can hold out long enough for us to do our part.”
The plan was simple but risky: if there was another attack tonight and the necromancer was nearby, they would go and do battle with the necromancer while the undead attacked the village. Tharos was under no illusions that the villagers who remained behind could hold off and repel the undead horde, let alone defeat them in battle. They didn’t need to; they just needed to hold off the undead long enough for them to engage the necromancer and deal the finishing blow. However, Rayner was right. Tharos didn’t have much hope in the villagers following through with their side of the plan, and if worse came to worst, they could loot the village afterward and move on. But he would prefer to get the job done right; after all, he was trying to be professional.
Several tense minutes passed as Tharos directed his gaze towards the village of Aurelia Silva, waiting for the signal. After a few more moments, he spotted it: a bright, burning red light flashed in the night sky in the direction of the village.
Turning to his companions, Tharos gave a quick nod. “That’s the signal,” he said, drawing his sword and shield before bolting for the farmstead. At that moment, all three of them moved from the treeline and made their way towards the homestead, crossing through the untilled fields. Tharos began to feel something beneath his feet. He took a moment to pause, signalling his companions to stop. As he came to a stop, he started to feel the soft soil beneath him rumble and quake. It was at that moment that Tharos began to sense them-the undead, lots of them underneath, quickly tunnelling up.
“Underneath us, watch your feet.”
As he said that, bursting from the untilled soil were many zombies, their dirt-covered limbs and rotting faces flailing out as they tried to grab onto Tharos or his companions.
Tharos slashed wildly at the few zombies that made a beeline for him, cutting through several of them with a single sweep of his sword. However, he wasn’t quick enough as there were too many. Very quickly, he found himself overwhelmed by someone as quick of thought and limbs. Zombies began to grab at his legs and pull him under.
He fell down, hitting face-first into the dirt. The untilled soil, rich with earthworms, covered his vision in a blur of dark browns and blacks as zombies started to pile on him, trying to rip off his armour and chew on his flesh. Struggling with all his might, Tharos tucked in his legs, and with a quick twist and backflip, managed to get to his feet. With a swift flick and reach of his arms, he grabbed his sword and sliced around the few zombies that were beginning to dog pile him. As he did, another zombie reached out to grab him, its outstretched and rotting arms reaching for him.
Tharos bashed it straight in the head with his shield, its head almost split in half, before Tharos finished it with a quick swipe of his blade, cutting it longways all the way down the middle, splitting it into two even chunks. As he did so, he quickly glanced at the zombie and gave a look of disgust, spitting out the small handful of dirt that entered his mouth.
As he turned his head to his companions, he saw both of them were fighting a desperate struggle to get free of their assailants who were trying to pull them under. He watched as Rayner was hacking and slashing all around him. He was like a whirlwind of death, as steel, and flying limbs and broken bodies lay before him, while Cenric in a panicked fury stabbed and struck every zombie that tried to reach out to grab him, as he kicked at the zombies at his legs trying to pull him down.
As more zombies began to pile in and swarm around them like ravenous locusts, Tharos was about to move in and help Cenric and Rayner. However, before he could do so, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a bright shimmer and sensed something massive coming towards him. He quickly turned around, shield raised, as several large spikes made out of bone that would have hit him square in the chest but instead pierced through his metal shield as if it was made from paper. The bone fragments hit the shield with a loud and solid thud before bursting into an explosion of splinters, leaving his left arm injured and bone protruding from his face. Tharos quickly checked his arm and face for injuries. It had been a while since he had been hurt. He didn’t even feel a thing; all it felt like was small icy pinpricks on his arms, and then a rush of warmth as blood poured out of the wounds, and his skin started to mend.
Looking at his new foe, he saw a massive creature roughly about ten to twelve feet tall made out of rotting flesh and bone. It looked like an obese old man with a distended jaw, rows upon rows of sharp serrated teeth, a distended belly with long tendrils sprouting out of it, and bone spikes on its back.
Oh, that’s another flesh golem, but this one is different from the others.
Behind him, several yards away, Cenric and Rayner were fighting for their lives as more undead were set upon them. Tharos now had a choice: he could fight this flesh golem and risk Cenric and Rayner being overwhelmed by zombies, or he could engage this new foe, removing another threat from the game-board.
Quickly turning his head, he saw Cenric and Rayner having some trouble, especially Cenric. They seemed to have things under control, at least for now, and there was no telling what would happen if this new foe entered the equation. Tharos charged forward, engaged his newest foe, with shield raised and sword in hand.
As he did so, several tendrils flung straight at Tharos. He ducked out of the way, and as the next barrage of bone spikes shot straight for him, he avoided them by ducking out of the way. Tharos then threw his shield at the flesh golem, hitting it straight in the head. The shield broke into many wooden splinters. The flesh golem reeled back as it caught the shield in its mouth and proceeded to crush it in its rotting maw. Taking this chance, Tharos slashed at it with his sword, the arc of his swing cutting through several of its tendrils and slicing through one of its arms. With blood that was dark red, almost black that oozed out like thick tar, and the smell was rank, it smelled worse than the piles of corpses that were burnt.
As Tharos caught a whiff of the smell, he felt his face pucker up at the stench. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel the urge to vomit. As he was about to pull his sword out of the creature and go for another swing, Tharos realised his sword was jammed in deep into the creature. Before he could react and let go of his sword, a meaty fist slammed into him. He felt his breastplate and ribs made a crunch on impact as he was flung several feet through the air, crashing into another zombie that was about to jump on Rayner.
Straight into the dirt, the knocked-back zombie flailed about until Rayner quickly finished it off with a swift swipe of his axe. As Tharos started to stand up and regain his bearings, his vision was blurry, the taste of iron was strong in his mouth, blood dripping from his lips, and his chest felt like planks of wood had been shoved into it. His ribcage started to knit itself together as he fully stood up. Rayner tossed the sword he kept on his belt towards Tharos, who caught it mid-toss.
“Glad you could join us,” Rayner said to him, covered from head to toe in blood and guts. However, unlike most times when battle was joined, Rayner was breathing harder than usual, and Tharos could notice that his muscles were twitching more quickly and violently than usual. “Not my best landing,” Tharos said as he dusted himself off, taking a quick glance at Cenric, who, like Rayner, was almost covered from head to toe in blood and guts, like Rayner, he seemed a bit shaken and was breathing hard.
“Are you okay, Cenric?” Tharos asked. Turning his head to meet his gaze, Cenric gave him a quick nod. “Yeah, I’m okay, just need to catch my breath.” Directing his attention to the undead that now surrounded them, he noticed that the flesh golem stooped attacking and was backing away, including some of the zombies who were starting to back away as well, yet forming a loose semi-circle around them.
“Why are they backing off?” Cenric asked, looking at Tharos and Rayner for an answer.
“Because even in death, they are cowards,” Rayner responded.
“No, it isn’t that,” Tharos countered. As the presence he sensed before was coming closer, followed by others, most likely more undead. “I think we are about to meet our necromancer friend.”
“Good,” Rayner answered. “I have been looking forward to this.” Tharos then noticed Cenric looking at Rayner and him with a look of worry in his eyes. Sensing that it was time to try and calm everyone’s nerves, Tharos spoke up.
“I will do the talking; you two follow my lead.”
“Really, what are you gonna do, Tharos? Talk them to death?” Rayner chuckled to himself under his breath. “It’s already too late for that.”
“Very funny, but now isn’t the time for jokes.” Tharos replayed back
After a few moments, out of the darkness followed by several undead creatures, most of them looking rather formidable even on their own, a shadowy figure started to come into view. It stopped maybe forty feet in front of them while the undead formed a more complete circle around them. A few undead formed a protective barrier around the figure. It was the necromancer, the necromancer was short and slim, dressed in a fancy hooded robe that was black, adorned with runes and glass vials woven into the fabric. They were wearing a porcelain white mask with a teardrop carved underneath the left eye, and holstered to their side was a wand. With their arms crossed, the necromancer began to speak. Their voice was like a soft whisper. “So you’re the mercenaries that gave my pets such trouble.” There was then a pause as if the necromancer was struggling to talk, as if the words were struggling to get to them.
They are already having trouble maintaining concentration. That’s a good sign. They are getting weaker.
“I don’t know how much that old fool Nico has paid you.” Each word was laced with venom; he could sense it. “But this isn’t your fight, and if I were you, I would leave. No amount of coin is worth The risk of protecting that old fool.”
So Nico was the target all along, interesting. But why would this necromancer want Nico dead?
As Tharos started to straighten himself up, he noticed that the clouds in the night sky were breaking away and the full moon would soon be in full view. He spoke up, “Well, I am afraid we can’t do that. We have a job to do.”
Under the mask, Tharos thought he heard a sigh. “I commend you for your professionalism, but if you’re going to stand in my way, then your fate will be the same as your employer,” the necromancer said as they pulled out there wand. The tip of the wand started to glow a bright green, and the undead creatures began to close in on the three of them. While Tharos could take on the undead and maybe even the necromancer, his companions wouldn’t be able to do much. Cenric was getting tired, and Rayner’s current state was about to become precarious not just for the necromancer but for all of them as well. As they were, Tharos noticed the full moon was now in full sight. Tharos gave a small smile, turning to Cenric and gave him a knowing nod. This is what Tharos was waiting for, although it was quite risky, however the benefits outweighed the risk.
“That is rather unfortunate, however,” Tharos said, looking at the necromancer. “I still have one ace up my sleeve.” Tharos turned towards Rayner with a small grin on his face. “Rayner, doesn’t the moon look pretty tonight?”
Rayner gave Tharos a troubled look, a rare expression on Rayner’s face. It was the look of someone who was about to do something they didn’t want to do but had to do it anyway. “Well, milk drinker, you can’t blame me for what is about to happen.” At that moment, he stared up at the full moon, now clear in the night sky. Its light reflected in his bloodshot, ice-blue eyes. As Rayner looked up at the moon, both him and Cenric slowly moved behind him, knowing what was about to happen.
As Rayner bathed himself in the moonlight, Tharos and Cenric watched on as Rayner started violently shaking and twitching, becoming more violent with every passing breath as if he was convulsing. He started to get bigger and wider, and they noticed his body hair was becoming thicker, covering his body like a thick mat. Then they heard the creaking and cracking of his bones as his body started to contort and twist itself, with his clothing and armour starting to rip at the seams. His nails were becoming claws, his mouth and jaw were extending, with a wolf-like snout.
At this point, the necromancer realised what was happening as they looked at the full moon in the sky and then back at Rayner. Although Tharos couldn’t read their face due to the mask they wore, he could sense the fear and realisation at what was about to happen, hitting them like a sack of bricks. Tharos had always wondered why Rayner was nicknamed the Crimson Wolf, or why Rayner displayed abilities that no normal man should have, but he was about to find out why.
He then saw the necromancer point their finger at Rayner. “Attack starting with that one,” the undead then started to swarm Rayner, with a few of them making a beeline for himself and Cenric. As they both readied their weapons, the undead that were in striking distance of Rayner were pushed back as Rayner erupted into an explosion of gore, with skin, bone, and pieces of flesh strewn about in a circle, and standing in its place was no longer the man called Rayner. Instead, in his place was a large bipedal blend of man and wolf standing at eight to nine meters tall with fur that was red as blood, with fangs and claws the size of small swords. The creature stood up and howled the mighty howl before leaping upon the undead creatures, and ripping and tearing through them like a scythe through a field.
While the undead were now busy fighting the werewolf, Tharos noticed the necromancer was using the chance to run away, but Tharos wouldn’t let them. They had to end this quickly before the main horde arrived or before Rayner was overwhelmed. So, Tharos and Rayner gave chase. However, little did they know, this fight was far from over.
