Dark Age Year 871
Twenty second day of the Third month
It was shaping up to be one of those nights, a night where things didn’t go as planned. Tharos should have expected this. The thought of an attack on the village had crossed his mind, and he sensed danger approaching Golden Apple. However, he didn’t anticipate it happening so soon; he thought they had more time. Time to prepare, investigate, and fortify the village. But the threat arrived sooner than he had imagined. While his intuition was correct, he didn’t take pleasure in being right in such dire circumstances. Who would, really? There is a certain satisfaction in being right, a sense of certainty in facing life’s challenges. It’s a confidence that remains unshaken, no matter what obstacles come your way. Despite his proactive measures and efforts to address the threat and mitigate the damage, he couldn’t always prevent the worst outcomes. Despite his proficiency with a blade, wisdom, intelligence, foresight, and planning, there were times when it simply wasn’t enough. This harsh reality was a lesson he had learned repeatedly in his youth, with the most poignant example being his inability to protect his people, the empire, and those closest to his heart when they needed him the most. However, in this new era, he could begin anew.
However, the situation had a rough start. The zombies that attacked the village were just the first wave, as Tharos had suspected. It was a coordinated attack, with one wave advancing from the north gate and another from the south. The necromancer behind this assault showed some tactical understanding. Despite being armed with farm tools and improvised weapons, the three of them, along with some villagers who had joined to defend their homes and families, managed to push back the initial group of zombies. With the assistance of the villagers, they managed to handle the zombies effectively. However, they were caught off guard by the subsequent wave that emerged from the southern gate. The skeletal warriors, wearing rusting or greying armour and shields adorned with faded heraldry whose meanings had been lost to time, wielded blunt blades and spiked bludgeons. Some rode on decaying or skeletal horses armed with lances. The unexpected flesh golems, grotesque creations of necrotic flesh moulded to fulfill their creators’ desires, were sinewy and agile, with sharp, bone-like talons capable of tearing through flesh effortlessly. In addition, there were ghouls, humans twisted by dark magic and cannibalistic practices, armed with a variety of weapons from simple axes to spiked clubs.
There were hundreds of these creatures in total, and while Rayner, Cenric, and he were able to hold their own, the same couldn’t be said for the villagers. Most of the villagers who stood their ground and didn’t run in terror were quickly cut or beaten down to the muddy ground. The unfeeling dead automatons, made of bone and flesh, marched forward fueled by dark magic. Heads were split open, limbs butchered, bodies battered, and those not killed immediately found themselves drowning in the mud as the rain and bodies fell upon them.
As the battle in the village raged on, seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. Tharos found himself wounded and separated not only from his companions but also from the villagers who were now fighting the undead horde with unmatched ferocity and desperation. The primal instinct of the human animal was on full display, emerging in the most desperate times when Civilization’s comfort was unavailable. Tharos watched in awe as his wounds healed as quickly as they were inflicted.
Perhaps Rayner’s and my assessment of their combat prowess was grossly underestimated.
There was a unique strength that people exhibited when defending what they cherished most, be it their home, family, or even their ideals. Tharos had nearly forgotten this quality. Despite their lack of combat prowess, he viewed them as mere novices compared to his expertise with a blade. Nevertheless, he admired their courage, as many would flee rather than confront a threat head-on. After dispatching more undead creatures with a swift swing of his blade, Tharos turned to see Cenric and Rayner surrounded by a thick formation of undead, similar to his own situation. Rayner was efficiently dispatching his foes with powerful sweeps of his axe, showcasing his brutal and relentless fighting style. The undead, driven by base instincts or the commands of their masters, were no match for Rayner’s ferocity. They were mere sheep facing a hungry wolf, easily torn apart by his savage attacks. Meanwhile, Cenric was locked in a fierce battle with a skeletal warrior, parrying its strikes with skilful precision. Tharos noticed a ghoul heading towards Cenric and swiftly moved to intercept, cutting down more undead to clear a path to his companions.
Tharos shouted, “Cenric, watch out on your left!” He swiftly swung his sword, cutting a ghoul in half with one strike just as it was about to attack Cenric from the side with a club. Cenric, unaware of the danger, had his back turned.
“Thank you,” Cenric replied before swiftly moving away and using his axe to smash open the warrior’s head, causing magical energy to leak out like a black mist.
Tharos couldn’t help but feel pleased at the display. It looks like the training is paying off.
“Duck!” Rayner cried as they both quickly dodged. A massive great axe swung above their heads in a wide arc, crashing into a large group of flesh golems about to attack them. The three of them stood back to back, engulfed in a chaotic battle with axes and swords swinging. It was a whirlwind of sounds and smells-the air filled with the stench of rotting flesh, muddy rain, fear, adrenaline, and the thrill of being alive, knowing their lives hung by a thread as they fought off death. The clash of metal on metal, villagers’ cries, and the squelching of mud underfoot were drowned out by the heavy rain.
Tharos heard shouting and turned to see the village elder, Nico, standing at a distance but within earshot. Nico, in his nightwear and a hastily assembled thick tunic to shield from the rain, spoke with a surprisingly loud and commanding voice despite his age.
“Quick, everyone, to the village hall!” he shouted, leading the way himself.
Not a bad idea. Tharos thought to himself. It would be easier to fend off the undead creatures from a defensive position, such as a large building. Tharos swiftly communicated his battle plan to Cenric and Rayner, who both nodded in agreement. Tharos and Cenric would advance towards the village hall, while Rayner would provide cover for their rear.
As they pushed through the mud and past the corpses, old or freshly made, the three of them managed to break through the horde of undead after swinging their axes and swords for several minutes. While running, he observed Cenric helping villagers to their feet as they made their way to the village hall, with the undead horde following closely behind. Upon reaching the village hall, several villagers gestured for them to enter. As they did, the door was slammed shut, and the people began to barricade it with whatever they could find. Taking a moment to assess the breach, he looked around the hall and saw a crowd of people, many in their nightwear, splattered with blood, all with wide eyes and shocked expressions. Even outside, he sensed the fear of the villagers barricaded in their homes. He could feel the flickering life force of people, some already gone, and the undead slowly closing in on them. After catching his breath, Tharos surveyed his companions. Both were covered in mud and blood, with Cenric sporting a few scratches. The loud crashing and banging at the hall’s door signalled the imminent threat of the undead breaking through. Nico was rallying the frightened group, issuing orders to the able-bodied men. Tharos followed suit, his companions ready and willing. Rayner’s wide smile betrayed his enjoyment of the chaos, while Cenric, though attempting to conceal it, showed signs of fear in his gentle green eyes. His pensive expression exuded a quiet dignity that captivated onlookers, a quality that could make women swoon when viewed in the right light and angle.
As they prepared themselves, the crashing and banging sounds from the halls grew louder, resembling rolling waves and crashing thunder. The undead pounded on the doors, causing them to bend and crack. The tension in the air was palpable. Tharos tightened his grip on his sword, anticipating the final push from the undead to break in. Suddenly, silence fell. Tharos listened intently and heard shuffling noises fading away from the door. As he concentrated, he sensed the undead moving farther from the village. Had they won? Was it a feigned retreat, or did the necromancer decide to regroup with more undead creatures for another attack later?
As everyone in the hall assessed the situation, Tharos heard Nico’s voice call out, “Is it over?”
“I’m not sure,” Tharos replied, motioning for Rayner to clear the barricades as he headed towards the door.
The hallway doors creaked open slowly, revealing a grim scene: numerous bodies, some undead and others villagers. Tharos sighed deeply, realising he had a daunting task ahead of him once again.