I'll tell you, writing this is the most fun I've had in a long time! I've
already figured out the rest of the plot, but YOU'll just have to wait a
while and see how it unfolds! Keep the reveiws coming my way and get ready
for some more! WARNING: This and the next few chapters are going to be a
bit graphic; I was told not to post them as they are by some close
advisors, but screw that!
-J. Diabolico-
The Doors to the great corrupted cathedral swung open idly as the Knight pressed upon them forcefully. He tripped and fell inside as they swung open easily, and landed in utter darkness. Standing and brushing himself off, he glimpsed torchlight ahead in the evil blackness, and slowly, cautiously made for it. A solitary form stood in the center of the torchlight; The Lord of Vileness, hefting his mighty blade, screamed frantic curses at the unmoving door leading up towards the top of the holy spire. The door would not open for him.
"Slay him, Damathodor! Slay this wretched creature and open the doorway to hell to finish the Terror Lord!" came a heavenly voice, The Angel Gabriel was struggling with the Vile Knight and holding the door closed. Damathodor leapt nimbly up the stairs into the torchlight, sword drawn, and, without a word, ran headlong into battle with the cornered enemy. The Angel had yet again disappeared.
"Curse you, persistant fool! Your bravery will destroy you!" screamed the dark knight in desperation.
"Silence, vile one! Hold your evil tounge, for it will do me no harm!" replied the Paladin, feeling the Angel's stregnthening sheild of heavenly light. The blade of Athos glowed yellowish gold in the darkness and lit the room further; sending the dark knight stumbling backwards to escape the burning touch of light. Damathodor struck once, twice, then three times, the first blow knocking the dark knight's wretched sword from his hand as he sheilded his face with the other and held the sword feebly upwards to ward off the impending blow. The second strike struck the evil one hard under the chin, and, not ripping the armor of the black mail, sent the Vile Lord spiraling up and backwards with a pitious cry. He fell upon his knees with the final blow.
"Never again shall one suffer under your twisted shadow, Vile scum!" cried the Paladin, raising his sword over the prone knight. The Vile Lord looked up hatefully. His helmet had fallen off during the beating, and his pale, white face glared through a hideous scar across one side of his face and a red, firey eye in his left eye socket. Horns had grown malformed from his cheecks and his teeth, pointed and sharp, were punctuated by a gnarled set of fangs. He had truly become more monster than man. He laughed.
"I was blind, before." He said then. "I was wrong to asume I would live forever. The Lord lied to me, and I was corrupted." He laughed some more, then, and choked up blood, thick and gleaming red. "I was corrupted and made evil, and the Lord did nothing to sway me from thinking that with every kill I would become that much closer to immortality. He did nothing, but I knew."
Damathodor stared at the mess before him and felt pity as he prepared to end the knight's corrupted existence.
"Then you." Spoke the fallen one, hate dripping thickly from his words as his glowing red eye burned hellishly from it's charred and sizzling socket. "You came and ruined my greatest plan! My last and only chance at immortality! I was to be the vessl for the Dark Lord upon his leaving the folds of Hell, and live with him indefinately upon your world, destroying and killing and drinking your blood as it would run in rivers!" he spat as he spoke, saliva shooting from his mouth as he imagined the delicious blood flowing down his throat. He was a twisted and vile creature, turned into a vampiric wretch by the corrupting powers of the Lord of Terror. "I would have owned your world, me and the Master! We would have murdered your children and spilled the blood of your people! But YOU! YOU RUINED ME!" he cried, the eye having burned itself completely, and it's side of the face burned slowly away, leaving the bare bone behind.
"Enough, corrupted unworthy! Now you shall face the blade of the final judgement!" cried Damathodor above the Vile Lord's agonized screams, the light had returned, further singing his face.
"You shall not have the pleasure, cursed fool!" spat the creature, leaping suddenly into the flames of the surrounding ring of torches. He took up a torch and, feeling the heavens draining his life force, leapt uno the burning stake with all his might, driving the flaming steel pitch through his naked chest, and crying out sharply for the last time as his body immolated rapidly and caught fire from the inside.
A heavy peice of metal clinked loudly to the floor as the spasmatic creature's skeleton tore free f it's skin and flesh and fell backwards, glowing blueish white and flying upwards. The dark soul swam towards the ceiling, crying out in elation and release; It turned suddenly and wheeled back towards the standing Paladin.
"Many thanks, brave Knight. You have set my soul free from the corrupt and vIle shell that Diablo the Lord of Terror set me in long ago. Although my physical form is destroyed, and my life over, I am finally free. Long, long ago, thousands of years ago, I was the Prince of a mighty eastern empire. Forced by the devilish powers of Hell to yeild my form, Diablo was able to imprision me and set the cast of demomnic evil over my form. For countless lives of men I lurked in the dark halls of the fallen cathedrals and catacombs of the Terror Lord, and finally he brought me here, from the outer most layers of hell." The spirit spoke, it's heavenly amplifyed voice booming and echoing off the walls. "I once stood against this dark power, but I was weak, and captured. I warn thee; do not fall before the dark one! Aim for the soulstone implanted in his chest, and dare you not glance into the horrible eyes! The fires of hell itself emit from those wretched eyes! Sen him back to Hell, and there he shall remain!"
Damathodor watched as the spirit took the hand of the hovering Gabriel and began it's journey back to the pearly gates of heaven.
"Go, brave knight; fly to your fateful encounter! I cannot say what will come to pass in the darknes below; but the fate of humanity rests upon your courage and stregnth!" the angel said, and flew off into the dimming overhead. Damathodor spun and, finding the doorway leading downwards, ran swiftly for it in the growing dark.
"Hold, brave preist; Damathodor headed through here moments ago. . .no doubt that shadow he pursued was none other than the Sorceress' second hand monster. . ." said the Necromancer to Bometh the sweating preist-archer.
"But Durag; the Knight will need our help! We cannot leave him to a dark and dreadful fate!" replied the preist. He was eager to follow his companion through the dark gates and into the cathedral. Durag did not know where this recent surge of courage had come from in this feeble-seeminging altar preist. . .
"Holy man, if we are to follow the Knight, then let us go; but I sense that more evil than the Sorceress is in the balance here; perhaps the Terror Lord himself is preparing to make his escape from Hell. . ."
"Surely the Sorceress is behind it all!" cried the Preist, gritting his teeth in fury and twisting his hands around his bow shaft. "If Damathodor tries to go agaisnt the Sorceress after the Terror Lord has been freed, then he will perish!"
"We must stop the Sorceress from releasing the Prime Evil at all costs, Bometh; as I fought with the Sorceress' mage creature, I felt her prescence in the top-most tower; there I shall go, and finish the evil summoner once and for all!" said Durag. Bometh nodded his weary head.
"Yes, and no doubt the heavens shall assist Damathodor in dispatching all the enemies that would oppose him in his quest, whatever it may be; I sense that our companion is hading into a great evil. . ." replied the preist.
So off the pair ran, running quickly under the gateway and making thier way speedily up to the gates of the cathedral. The tip of the final spire piercing the black clouds overhead, the light drizzle falling increased in magnitude with every step, and by the time the duo had entered the smashed doors of the Cathedral from the Inner courtyard, the storm had set in in earnest, lightening cracking the silence of the desolate battlefeild below the city where hundreds of demons and men alike lay in the agonized stances of death. . .
"So," whispered the Sorceress in her lair at the top of the cathedral, "The Necromaner and the preist plan to assault me in force. . .Fools! Little do they know my plan is irreversible as soon as the Foolhardy Paladin enters the gateway to hell!" she turned away from the window as the Sorcerer and the Preist ducked into the cathedral from the courtyard below. The lightening struck up in the stratossphere, lighting the dank room suddenly and revealing the tortured carcass of the Bishop that had once ruled benevolently over this great city; his face twisted in pain as he hung from the ceiling. The cruel Sorceress shoved the body forcefully and it spun about on it's tether. "Soon, master, soon the pawn shall enter your gate, and, capturing his powerful body, you shall control throuh his weak mind the power to transverse the gateway of hell and step forth into the material world!" she cried into the dark. "Then we shall rule; I your right hand and master of the human races, and you, my lord and scource, to oversee the realms of earth and hell, and lay seige to the gates of heaven from our post!"
Lightening struck wildy in the freak, magic powered storm, but Damathodor heard it not, so far down was he, taking the stairs in heavy, quick strides he ran into the catacombs. No demons dared stand in his way, but the darkness was almost absolute; the key to the unholy gate jingled brightly around his neck, and lit the dank, wet passage a few feet in front of him.
Suddenly, looming ahead of him in the dark, a gigantic bulk erupted from the shadows; a grotesque and stinking demonic figure lifted two hairy, greasy arms and brought them down, smashing the rock in front of the halted knight. Two more arms flew from the darkness and grabbed for the holy warrior, but he leapt back and saved himself. The four armed beast stepped challengingly forward in the gloom, it's wretched and thick skinned form blocking the passage, it took a defensive, bold stance and arched it's top set of arms.
It stood a good fve feet taller than the knight, and it's muscules, covered in sweat and disgusting grime rippled angrily in the dark. It grunted, and snorted as snot dripped from it's eerily human face. Tusk like fangs jutted from the lower lips and the small, sloping forehead dotted with a single yellowish eye gave it a hideous, prehistoric look. It was obviously not very bright, and stood there stupidly in the false night, waiting to attack this glowing and prepared knight. It's only covering, a ripped and torn loincloth, rippled between it's spread legs as it took another step forward. Damathodor tried not to vomit as the stench hit his face and the creature's warm, roting breath assailed his nostrils. He lifted his sword and cried in reply the the grunting;
"O thou unholy thing! Wretched stinking mess! Step ye back from my blade, or run it upon you I shall!" he cried bravely, the heavens lighting the sword of Athos brilliantly. The thing was taken aback by this holy light, but the glow disclosed a greater secret; behind this creature waited an entire company of these behemouth giants, eyes glowing hot and yellow. Damathodor swung at the hesitating arm of the first thing, slicing through the leathery skin, the blade burned the hellish flesh and caused a mighty scream to echo through the catacombs. The creature swung back, knocking Damathodor backwards and into a far wall, dazed.
The creature was charging now, it's companons behind it, it's arm bleeding horribly in the gloom, it leapt great steps toward the thing who had wounded it so. The Paladin ducked low, and, rolling under it, flashed up his sword, cutting easily through the fleshy underbelly of the thing, spilling it's nasty green blood and littering the floor with it's insides. It toppled forward and smashed lifeless into the wall, it's fnal moan echoing mournfully through the cavernous passages.
Damathodor did'nt wait for the rest of the horde to recover from the shock of their companion's cruel demise, and he leapt viciously upon the chest of the next beast and, kncking it's bulk backwards, cut through the greasy skin of its naked neck. He leapt backwards from the gasping creature now, and began to recite his hly alms, as the beast before him grasped it's neck with one arm, trying to hold back the squirting blood from it's torn artery, and then wavered in dizziness as the whole side wall splattered with green death and it too fell backwards, revealing the next beast in the narrow passage. Damathodor, praying softly, prepared for the long battle ahead. . .
Durag had halted on the stairs leading up towards the Sorceress' lair, and, listening intently with his mouth open to better hear, looked back at a confused Bometh.
"Bometh, listen, hear you not the clatter of footsteps from above? They are coming. . ." he said. Bometh frowned, concerned now at ths strange behavior.
"Who? The Sorceress? Who comes, Durag?" he asked the concentrating magician.
"Prepare yor staff, preist, for your bow will not hold well on these narrow stairs; nor will it have much chance of affecting this coming enemy." The Necromancer said, hefting his enchanted mace from his side; he hd recovered it from the battlefeild after the gohst had done it's job. He felt the enchanted stregnth fill his arms as he easily lifted the heavy weapon and the armor about him thickened as he sought assistance silently from the great dragon lord. . .Bometh brought out his thick walking staff carefully, it was made of oak and bolted with thick lather for the handle, and he had had a blacksmith in town fix a small but sharp blade to it's upper end before the departure for battle.
"When they come," whispered the Sorcerer, "Do not be afraid; they are undead skeletons, by the sound of thier footsteps, and I shall try to steal away their wills from the Soceress as they assail us; for your part, stand beside me now and aim for the spines as they come; in the skulls lie the magical force that compels them, so by severing the spine you cut the flow of magic to the body. . ." Bometh nodded in the darkness, a window high above them showered bright flashes of lightening onto the pair as the waited silently in the narrow stairwell. They had barely enough room to stand side by side. "Here they come, I sense them close!"
From around the corner of the slight passage came charging a whole host of thin bone warriors, their white and gleaming visages grinning involuntarily in the shadows. The staff swung swiftly, arching under the thick rbs of the first skeleton and cutting neatly the senstive spinal chord; the lead thing toppled immeadiatly. The mace swung fluidly across the narrow way, smashing the skulls of two reanimated bone warriors and sending the gleaming bones skittering down the stairs. With each blow the Necromacer felt power surge into his arm through the mace, and the speed of his swings increased rapidly from each kill, Bometh wondered at this magic, and could not help but stare as the mace blurred and destroyed the evil things with such speed and ferocity that the scene was almost too fast to watch. He, too, swung as quickly as he could, but only managed a few kills before the hallway was clear.
"The enchanted mace," explained Durag, "grants to it's master increased speed and ferocity with each blow. It was called the Steel Mace of Massacre by the man whom I aquired it from."
Bometh stared at the instrument. "He must have been very sad to see it go!" he whispered.
Durag smiled, "You could say that," he said evily, "He was'nt going to need it where e was headed to. . ." Bometh looked up at that smiling mouth from under the skull helmet's rim.
"And where," asked the preist slowly, "was he going to?"
"Why, to hell, my dear preist! That vile Barbarian had pillaged and desecrated entire villages before the locals hired me to put a stop to it!" Durag replied. "Oh, those early days of my mercenary work. . ." he sighed happily. "Would you like to see him? The Barbarian?" he asked suddenly, turning to the horrified preist.
"You can do that? He's dead!" he asked, knowing how stupid that sounded just after he said it.
"Of course I can! In fact, his spirit may be of some use to us in the battle coming down at us. . ." said the Necromancer, closing hs eyes.
"What are you saying?" Bometh asked, again confused, "What battle?" but Durag silenced him with a gloved hand.
"Listen. . ." he said softly, and sure enough, the distant sound of bony footprints echoed down from the stairway above. . . "Prepare yourself; there are more this time. . ."
-J. Diabolico-
The Doors to the great corrupted cathedral swung open idly as the Knight pressed upon them forcefully. He tripped and fell inside as they swung open easily, and landed in utter darkness. Standing and brushing himself off, he glimpsed torchlight ahead in the evil blackness, and slowly, cautiously made for it. A solitary form stood in the center of the torchlight; The Lord of Vileness, hefting his mighty blade, screamed frantic curses at the unmoving door leading up towards the top of the holy spire. The door would not open for him.
"Slay him, Damathodor! Slay this wretched creature and open the doorway to hell to finish the Terror Lord!" came a heavenly voice, The Angel Gabriel was struggling with the Vile Knight and holding the door closed. Damathodor leapt nimbly up the stairs into the torchlight, sword drawn, and, without a word, ran headlong into battle with the cornered enemy. The Angel had yet again disappeared.
"Curse you, persistant fool! Your bravery will destroy you!" screamed the dark knight in desperation.
"Silence, vile one! Hold your evil tounge, for it will do me no harm!" replied the Paladin, feeling the Angel's stregnthening sheild of heavenly light. The blade of Athos glowed yellowish gold in the darkness and lit the room further; sending the dark knight stumbling backwards to escape the burning touch of light. Damathodor struck once, twice, then three times, the first blow knocking the dark knight's wretched sword from his hand as he sheilded his face with the other and held the sword feebly upwards to ward off the impending blow. The second strike struck the evil one hard under the chin, and, not ripping the armor of the black mail, sent the Vile Lord spiraling up and backwards with a pitious cry. He fell upon his knees with the final blow.
"Never again shall one suffer under your twisted shadow, Vile scum!" cried the Paladin, raising his sword over the prone knight. The Vile Lord looked up hatefully. His helmet had fallen off during the beating, and his pale, white face glared through a hideous scar across one side of his face and a red, firey eye in his left eye socket. Horns had grown malformed from his cheecks and his teeth, pointed and sharp, were punctuated by a gnarled set of fangs. He had truly become more monster than man. He laughed.
"I was blind, before." He said then. "I was wrong to asume I would live forever. The Lord lied to me, and I was corrupted." He laughed some more, then, and choked up blood, thick and gleaming red. "I was corrupted and made evil, and the Lord did nothing to sway me from thinking that with every kill I would become that much closer to immortality. He did nothing, but I knew."
Damathodor stared at the mess before him and felt pity as he prepared to end the knight's corrupted existence.
"Then you." Spoke the fallen one, hate dripping thickly from his words as his glowing red eye burned hellishly from it's charred and sizzling socket. "You came and ruined my greatest plan! My last and only chance at immortality! I was to be the vessl for the Dark Lord upon his leaving the folds of Hell, and live with him indefinately upon your world, destroying and killing and drinking your blood as it would run in rivers!" he spat as he spoke, saliva shooting from his mouth as he imagined the delicious blood flowing down his throat. He was a twisted and vile creature, turned into a vampiric wretch by the corrupting powers of the Lord of Terror. "I would have owned your world, me and the Master! We would have murdered your children and spilled the blood of your people! But YOU! YOU RUINED ME!" he cried, the eye having burned itself completely, and it's side of the face burned slowly away, leaving the bare bone behind.
"Enough, corrupted unworthy! Now you shall face the blade of the final judgement!" cried Damathodor above the Vile Lord's agonized screams, the light had returned, further singing his face.
"You shall not have the pleasure, cursed fool!" spat the creature, leaping suddenly into the flames of the surrounding ring of torches. He took up a torch and, feeling the heavens draining his life force, leapt uno the burning stake with all his might, driving the flaming steel pitch through his naked chest, and crying out sharply for the last time as his body immolated rapidly and caught fire from the inside.
A heavy peice of metal clinked loudly to the floor as the spasmatic creature's skeleton tore free f it's skin and flesh and fell backwards, glowing blueish white and flying upwards. The dark soul swam towards the ceiling, crying out in elation and release; It turned suddenly and wheeled back towards the standing Paladin.
"Many thanks, brave Knight. You have set my soul free from the corrupt and vIle shell that Diablo the Lord of Terror set me in long ago. Although my physical form is destroyed, and my life over, I am finally free. Long, long ago, thousands of years ago, I was the Prince of a mighty eastern empire. Forced by the devilish powers of Hell to yeild my form, Diablo was able to imprision me and set the cast of demomnic evil over my form. For countless lives of men I lurked in the dark halls of the fallen cathedrals and catacombs of the Terror Lord, and finally he brought me here, from the outer most layers of hell." The spirit spoke, it's heavenly amplifyed voice booming and echoing off the walls. "I once stood against this dark power, but I was weak, and captured. I warn thee; do not fall before the dark one! Aim for the soulstone implanted in his chest, and dare you not glance into the horrible eyes! The fires of hell itself emit from those wretched eyes! Sen him back to Hell, and there he shall remain!"
Damathodor watched as the spirit took the hand of the hovering Gabriel and began it's journey back to the pearly gates of heaven.
"Go, brave knight; fly to your fateful encounter! I cannot say what will come to pass in the darknes below; but the fate of humanity rests upon your courage and stregnth!" the angel said, and flew off into the dimming overhead. Damathodor spun and, finding the doorway leading downwards, ran swiftly for it in the growing dark.
"Hold, brave preist; Damathodor headed through here moments ago. . .no doubt that shadow he pursued was none other than the Sorceress' second hand monster. . ." said the Necromancer to Bometh the sweating preist-archer.
"But Durag; the Knight will need our help! We cannot leave him to a dark and dreadful fate!" replied the preist. He was eager to follow his companion through the dark gates and into the cathedral. Durag did not know where this recent surge of courage had come from in this feeble-seeminging altar preist. . .
"Holy man, if we are to follow the Knight, then let us go; but I sense that more evil than the Sorceress is in the balance here; perhaps the Terror Lord himself is preparing to make his escape from Hell. . ."
"Surely the Sorceress is behind it all!" cried the Preist, gritting his teeth in fury and twisting his hands around his bow shaft. "If Damathodor tries to go agaisnt the Sorceress after the Terror Lord has been freed, then he will perish!"
"We must stop the Sorceress from releasing the Prime Evil at all costs, Bometh; as I fought with the Sorceress' mage creature, I felt her prescence in the top-most tower; there I shall go, and finish the evil summoner once and for all!" said Durag. Bometh nodded his weary head.
"Yes, and no doubt the heavens shall assist Damathodor in dispatching all the enemies that would oppose him in his quest, whatever it may be; I sense that our companion is hading into a great evil. . ." replied the preist.
So off the pair ran, running quickly under the gateway and making thier way speedily up to the gates of the cathedral. The tip of the final spire piercing the black clouds overhead, the light drizzle falling increased in magnitude with every step, and by the time the duo had entered the smashed doors of the Cathedral from the Inner courtyard, the storm had set in in earnest, lightening cracking the silence of the desolate battlefeild below the city where hundreds of demons and men alike lay in the agonized stances of death. . .
"So," whispered the Sorceress in her lair at the top of the cathedral, "The Necromaner and the preist plan to assault me in force. . .Fools! Little do they know my plan is irreversible as soon as the Foolhardy Paladin enters the gateway to hell!" she turned away from the window as the Sorcerer and the Preist ducked into the cathedral from the courtyard below. The lightening struck up in the stratossphere, lighting the dank room suddenly and revealing the tortured carcass of the Bishop that had once ruled benevolently over this great city; his face twisted in pain as he hung from the ceiling. The cruel Sorceress shoved the body forcefully and it spun about on it's tether. "Soon, master, soon the pawn shall enter your gate, and, capturing his powerful body, you shall control throuh his weak mind the power to transverse the gateway of hell and step forth into the material world!" she cried into the dark. "Then we shall rule; I your right hand and master of the human races, and you, my lord and scource, to oversee the realms of earth and hell, and lay seige to the gates of heaven from our post!"
Lightening struck wildy in the freak, magic powered storm, but Damathodor heard it not, so far down was he, taking the stairs in heavy, quick strides he ran into the catacombs. No demons dared stand in his way, but the darkness was almost absolute; the key to the unholy gate jingled brightly around his neck, and lit the dank, wet passage a few feet in front of him.
Suddenly, looming ahead of him in the dark, a gigantic bulk erupted from the shadows; a grotesque and stinking demonic figure lifted two hairy, greasy arms and brought them down, smashing the rock in front of the halted knight. Two more arms flew from the darkness and grabbed for the holy warrior, but he leapt back and saved himself. The four armed beast stepped challengingly forward in the gloom, it's wretched and thick skinned form blocking the passage, it took a defensive, bold stance and arched it's top set of arms.
It stood a good fve feet taller than the knight, and it's muscules, covered in sweat and disgusting grime rippled angrily in the dark. It grunted, and snorted as snot dripped from it's eerily human face. Tusk like fangs jutted from the lower lips and the small, sloping forehead dotted with a single yellowish eye gave it a hideous, prehistoric look. It was obviously not very bright, and stood there stupidly in the false night, waiting to attack this glowing and prepared knight. It's only covering, a ripped and torn loincloth, rippled between it's spread legs as it took another step forward. Damathodor tried not to vomit as the stench hit his face and the creature's warm, roting breath assailed his nostrils. He lifted his sword and cried in reply the the grunting;
"O thou unholy thing! Wretched stinking mess! Step ye back from my blade, or run it upon you I shall!" he cried bravely, the heavens lighting the sword of Athos brilliantly. The thing was taken aback by this holy light, but the glow disclosed a greater secret; behind this creature waited an entire company of these behemouth giants, eyes glowing hot and yellow. Damathodor swung at the hesitating arm of the first thing, slicing through the leathery skin, the blade burned the hellish flesh and caused a mighty scream to echo through the catacombs. The creature swung back, knocking Damathodor backwards and into a far wall, dazed.
The creature was charging now, it's companons behind it, it's arm bleeding horribly in the gloom, it leapt great steps toward the thing who had wounded it so. The Paladin ducked low, and, rolling under it, flashed up his sword, cutting easily through the fleshy underbelly of the thing, spilling it's nasty green blood and littering the floor with it's insides. It toppled forward and smashed lifeless into the wall, it's fnal moan echoing mournfully through the cavernous passages.
Damathodor did'nt wait for the rest of the horde to recover from the shock of their companion's cruel demise, and he leapt viciously upon the chest of the next beast and, kncking it's bulk backwards, cut through the greasy skin of its naked neck. He leapt backwards from the gasping creature now, and began to recite his hly alms, as the beast before him grasped it's neck with one arm, trying to hold back the squirting blood from it's torn artery, and then wavered in dizziness as the whole side wall splattered with green death and it too fell backwards, revealing the next beast in the narrow passage. Damathodor, praying softly, prepared for the long battle ahead. . .
Durag had halted on the stairs leading up towards the Sorceress' lair, and, listening intently with his mouth open to better hear, looked back at a confused Bometh.
"Bometh, listen, hear you not the clatter of footsteps from above? They are coming. . ." he said. Bometh frowned, concerned now at ths strange behavior.
"Who? The Sorceress? Who comes, Durag?" he asked the concentrating magician.
"Prepare yor staff, preist, for your bow will not hold well on these narrow stairs; nor will it have much chance of affecting this coming enemy." The Necromancer said, hefting his enchanted mace from his side; he hd recovered it from the battlefeild after the gohst had done it's job. He felt the enchanted stregnth fill his arms as he easily lifted the heavy weapon and the armor about him thickened as he sought assistance silently from the great dragon lord. . .Bometh brought out his thick walking staff carefully, it was made of oak and bolted with thick lather for the handle, and he had had a blacksmith in town fix a small but sharp blade to it's upper end before the departure for battle.
"When they come," whispered the Sorcerer, "Do not be afraid; they are undead skeletons, by the sound of thier footsteps, and I shall try to steal away their wills from the Soceress as they assail us; for your part, stand beside me now and aim for the spines as they come; in the skulls lie the magical force that compels them, so by severing the spine you cut the flow of magic to the body. . ." Bometh nodded in the darkness, a window high above them showered bright flashes of lightening onto the pair as the waited silently in the narrow stairwell. They had barely enough room to stand side by side. "Here they come, I sense them close!"
From around the corner of the slight passage came charging a whole host of thin bone warriors, their white and gleaming visages grinning involuntarily in the shadows. The staff swung swiftly, arching under the thick rbs of the first skeleton and cutting neatly the senstive spinal chord; the lead thing toppled immeadiatly. The mace swung fluidly across the narrow way, smashing the skulls of two reanimated bone warriors and sending the gleaming bones skittering down the stairs. With each blow the Necromacer felt power surge into his arm through the mace, and the speed of his swings increased rapidly from each kill, Bometh wondered at this magic, and could not help but stare as the mace blurred and destroyed the evil things with such speed and ferocity that the scene was almost too fast to watch. He, too, swung as quickly as he could, but only managed a few kills before the hallway was clear.
"The enchanted mace," explained Durag, "grants to it's master increased speed and ferocity with each blow. It was called the Steel Mace of Massacre by the man whom I aquired it from."
Bometh stared at the instrument. "He must have been very sad to see it go!" he whispered.
Durag smiled, "You could say that," he said evily, "He was'nt going to need it where e was headed to. . ." Bometh looked up at that smiling mouth from under the skull helmet's rim.
"And where," asked the preist slowly, "was he going to?"
"Why, to hell, my dear preist! That vile Barbarian had pillaged and desecrated entire villages before the locals hired me to put a stop to it!" Durag replied. "Oh, those early days of my mercenary work. . ." he sighed happily. "Would you like to see him? The Barbarian?" he asked suddenly, turning to the horrified preist.
"You can do that? He's dead!" he asked, knowing how stupid that sounded just after he said it.
"Of course I can! In fact, his spirit may be of some use to us in the battle coming down at us. . ." said the Necromancer, closing hs eyes.
"What are you saying?" Bometh asked, again confused, "What battle?" but Durag silenced him with a gloved hand.
"Listen. . ." he said softly, and sure enough, the distant sound of bony footprints echoed down from the stairway above. . . "Prepare yourself; there are more this time. . ."