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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Feb 10, 2023 15:08:54 GMT -6
A hand gently squeezed Anaius's shoulder, jolting him awake. Before him crouched Argoth, grinning. "Thirty minutes till go time," Argoth said. Anaius sat up from the doorway he'd been sleeping in. After the siege of the bar, it was decided that he and Mike should get some rest while Argoth and Faro took control of preparing the cities defenses.
"You should have woken us sooner," Anaius said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. A dull burning sensation emanated from the scar on his left shoulder, and Anaius instinctively rubbed it with his right hand.
"After the fight you just had, we need you as rested as possible. Besides, Faro and I have nearly completed the defenses. Mike has been up for a little while now actually. Guy is relentless when lives are at stake. He's finishing up at the eastern quadrant of the city as we speak. Faro is taking the southern quadrant, and I the north. That leaves you and commander Tallow in the west."
"Excellent," Anaius exclaimed. "Though, I lack the necessary skills to command. More of a follower myself."
"That's why commander Tallow is with you. Let him take the lead."
Anaius nodded and began to stand. His muscles ached and his bones creaked. A groan escaped his lips, and when he was fully upright, he stretched. Resting had helped, but only marginally. How he was going to withstand the impending assault upon Clock Town he did not know. What he did know was that he would lay down his life for the protection of the city and its inhabitants. A growing sense of will and determination coalesced within him; this would be his driving force, the energy that would force his drained and beaten constitution forward when his body inevitably failed him.
Anaius smiled, jovially, his normal cheery attitude returning as his body and mind awakened.
"Here, take this." Argoth said, unclipping something from his belt. He pressed a short sword into Anaius's hand and grinned at him. "Mike told me you defended the bar with nothing but that shield. I think this will serve you better. Its standard issue for the guard, but it'll do. Do you have any skill with a blade?" Argoth asked.
The shield was still clipped to his left arm, gore and chunks of redead flesh still plastered to its surface. His clothes had suffered the same fate, he noticed. They were stiff with dried ichor. "Some," Anaius replied, suddenly remembering the fight with the werewolfos where he siphoned Mike's sword fighting abilities. He took to sword from Argoth and fastened it to his waist. "But I could always use more." And without warning he pressed a finger to Argoth's forehead. The usual mirage of memories flowed through his mind like that of driftwood on a slow-moving river. Images from Argoth's past flitted across his vision, most of which were filled with exactly what Anaius was looking for. It seemed Argoth was quite the warrior. Battle after battle raged in Argoth's pilfered memories. And in each and every one Anaius noticed an eager grin stretched across his face. When Anaius had finally secured the necessary swordsmanship skills from Argoth, he removed his finger from his forehead.
"Your affection for battle is quite astounding." Anaius said, smiling. Then it faded and he stepped away from Argoth, reflexes on high alert. He knew somewhat of this man's attitude from Mike's memories, but after so many bad experiences probing the minds of those he interacted with, he tended to err on the side of caution. Even so, the bad experiences he did have never deterred Anaius from continuing to invade the minds of others. Perhaps due to the fact that Anaius never quite understood why it made some so angry. "I hope my intrusion into your mind hasn't upset you. I promise I mean nothing by it. It's merely a tool to gain knowledge, and quite a lot faster in the acquisition of skills."
"A good fight is what I live for," Argoth replied, grinning. "Mike warned me you might do that weird mind meld thing, so don't worry about it. Now that you have both my and Mike's sword fighting skills you should make short work of whatever is coming at us." He clapped a hand on Anaius's shoulder, "Come on, we gotta meet with Faro and Mike at the center of town to go over the plan one last time before the fun starts. Follow me."
The two of them travelled through the streets of Clock Town for only five minutes or so. And in that time Anaius took in the state of things. It wasn't only the bar that had been destroyed during the first assault. Many of the buildings they passed also had shattered windows where the redead horde forced their way in. Glass littered the streets like glinting grains of sand. Splintered doorways left scraps of wood among the glass. Some of the houses they passed also seemed to suffer the same fiery fate as the bar, leaving behind nothing but a smoking, blackened skeleton. It was eerily quiet during their walk. Not a soul made appearance nor sound for the entire duration. The only sound, as a matter of fact, was the grinding crunch of glass beneath their feet.
"Where are all the townsfolk?" Anaius asked.
"Safely crammed into any cellar or storeroom we could find. A single guard is posted with each hidey hole we could stuff them into. They'll be alright. As long as they stay put that is." Argoth replied nonchalantly.
Overhead a full moon hung low over the horizon. It cast ghostly shadows upon the ground and veiled some of the darker alleyways in blackness. Anaius had a creeping feeling that at any moment the horde would come shuffling out of them, sunken eyes and piercing shrieks tearing through the night.
Anaius felt a light buzzing permeate his body, like the constant hum of long running machinery. He chalked it up to physical exhaustion and continued following Argoth. A curious detail of their walk suddenly struck Anaius and he wondered aloud, "Where are all the redead?" The lack of any corpses among the streets seemed odd to him, seeing as how he and Mike effectively dispatched a small army of them at the bar. His question was answered a moment later when they rounded a corner that led straight into the center of town. All about the center square, piled into flaming, billowing mounds, were the remains of the redead horde. The townsfolk, along with the help of the guard, must have cleared the streets of them during his rest. It was a grotesque sight and smelled even worse. Anaius wrinkled his nose at it and coughed a little.
"You'll get used to it," Argoth chuckled.
Their meeting place was a single long wooden table in the center of the town square. Parchment with orders scrawled upon them lay about the edges and in the center, pinned on all four corners, was a map of Clock Town with battle plans drawn upon it. Firelight from the burning mounds danced across the table like a rippling brook over small stones. A few oil lamps were also perched at intervals down the length of the table.
"Here we are, the others should be arriving any second."
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Feb 12, 2023 4:28:23 GMT -6
"...No, we will need the 2nd Armored Division within the walls if the gate is breached," Mike said to the various guard lieutenants. In spite of Mike's disability, many guardsmen sought his guidance for the protection of Clock Town and its citizens. Mike had expected this, Hyrule and Termina had participated in many joint-maneuvers together. Some long-serving guardsmen recognized Mike despite his ragged appearance, and many others recognized him for his tactical acumen. For the past half hour, Mike had been issuing orders left and right to organize a strong defense of Clock Town, especially his assigned quarter - East Clock Town - which faced the Ikana Canyon region, the land of spirits.
There was no doubt that the majority of the necromancer's forces would come from Ikana. ReDeads, Gibdos, and Stalchildren of all shapes and sizes resided there. And each would be in thrall to her dark wishes. This is where the fighting would be the heaviest. Mike ordered all archers to stand along the battlements, all cavalry on the wide-open Termina Field, and a balance of infantry both inside and outside the town wall. All patrols had been ordered to return and each of the four gates closed until the outer infantry were ordered to retreat. Inside, all citizens were under lockdown and ordered to remain somewhere safe. Some boarded up their windows and doors, others sought shelter within the garrison. Regardless, no one was allowed in or out until the gatekeepers were told otherwise. The soldiers within the walls were stationed around every corner, every nook, every alcove, every trench in town. Should the undead breach the gates, the soldiers inside would drop the might of the Giants onto them. The mayor had taken refuge inside the town hall with his personal guard on alert.
Mike had all but one hour of rest since he and Anaius made their last stand at the bar. He slowly came to realize that the bar was only the dress rehearsal for the apocalypse to come. However, if such a phenomena could choose when to happen, it chose very poorly. Not only was Mike present in the city, but also Argoth, a long-thought dead member of the Assassins, had returned to defend this forsaken place. He still could not wrap his head around his friend's miraculous appearance, but now was no time to question the Goddesses. And then there was this... person, who had lent his aid as well. Mike did not like the smell of the newcomer, but he seemed to know what forces were at play here, or at least had some idea of what was going on.
Many thoughts plagued Mike's mind as he doled out assignments to the soldiers. Will the patrols get the message in time? Is there undead marching as we speak? Where are they now? Are they terrorizing the Zoras in the Great Bay? My cottage should be well-hidden in Snowhead but what of the blacksmith?... well, he does have my katanas, and if he's as good as swinging swords as he is at making them... plus he has that brute watching out for him... What of Romani Ranch? Romani is way too young for this and Cremia... she's tough, but...
A hand grasped his shoulder which sent a jolt throughout Mike's frame. He spun around on instinct and gasped "Who dares?!"
"Ummm. Master Mike," a soldier said timidly. "You are expected at a meeting in the central square..."
Mike composed himself, "Ah, right. Lead on, sir." The soldier guided Mike through the deserted streets of Clock Town. Such a heavy sense of dread had not befallen this town since the Moon threatened Termina's destruction ages ago. And Mike doubted the Four Giants would show up to stomp the undead back into the earth. It did not take long for him to catch the scent of the burning corpses in Central Square. He felt as though he was walking through a blazing crypt, and such was the fate of Clock Town and Termina if they failed.
"We are nearly there. Ah, two are already here. The Assassin and your friend from the bar," the soldier guided Mike to the side of the table. Mike gestured for the soldier to return to his post.
"Argoth. Anaius. I hope you guys are ready," he breathed a deep sigh. "Is our newcomer in attendance?"
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Post by Faro/Blade on Feb 12, 2023 16:02:20 GMT -6
"Present." The newcomer announced himself with a cold tone. For the sake of time, it was better that he remain anonymous to the guardsman. A glance toward Argoth and Anaius would tell them not to correct the blind man. Though Mike's condition was lamentable in light of the fierce warrior Faro had heard him to be, it was better for the situation at hand that they remain unaware of each other. "And ready." This was an odd feeling. He wasn't used to sitting around a table and discussing plans. Even the army of undead bearing down on them seemed far-off. Almost imaginary compared to the more recent dangers he and Argoth had faced.
There were a hundred problems of tactical and strategic merit that were vitally important to the situation, and while Mike had managed to solve most of them in the past hour, this meeting was the earliest opportunity to answer the most important question of the night. "How long do we have?" Every soldier tending to his duties near their meeting place tuned in when they heard him ask. The difference was their skill in hiding it, and fear hung in the air. Faro couldn't help but notice. The fear, the urgency, the tension. This was all so very different from planning a hit. If he knew the target's location, it wouldn't be a problem. He could end this in an hour. Instead, they were stuck babysitting until the source of this infestation could be uncovered. It left him wound rather tightly.
Not getting nervous, are you? His inner Malice reared its head. Of course it couldn't resist prodding at a time like this.
If I get scared, it'll be your problem. A dark chuckle rumbled within the deep recesses of his mind as the creature within him relished the thought.
If you want to scare them even worse, I'll be happy to put on a show of my own. Faro could feel a smug satisfaction that was not his own well up within him as the creature slipped once again into the background, returning to its usual habit of lurking and listening. Faro did the same, fixing his eyes upon the blind captain.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Feb 13, 2023 0:37:35 GMT -6
"In theory, we have another 30 minutes until the battle begins," Mike answered. He tuned his ears in to the environment around him, and heard the rhythmic clunking of large gears from Clock Town's iconic tower. Mike pointed a finger in its direction, "In practice, we have until the bell tolls. We sent a small scouting party ahead to try and assess what is going on beyond the Field, but they have yet to report back. But once they do, there won't be much time left. When the bell is struck, that's it, drop everything and get into your positions."
Mike placed his hands upon the long table and slouched over it. "Until then, I want to go over battle preparations," he took a long breath. "We have an army of undead approaching the town. In what varieties and the exact numbers is still unknown. We know this vengeful necromancer is conjuring these legions and is likely still hiding within Clock Town, though her exact whereabouts are, again, unknown. Until we learn more, our mission is simple: the defense of Clock Town, the preservation of its infrastructure, and the safeguarding of its citizens. Victory will be achieved by routing the undead forces, or by locating the necromancer and breaking her curse." Mike's calloused hands felt around the map in front of him, searching for some indication of which way it was oriented. He felt the shallow bevel of the North Arrow pointed towards him, with this knowledge he understood the general layout of the map.
"The four of us will help direct the troops in each of the four quadrants," Mike traced a circle with his finger around the part of the map he assumed Clock Town to be printed. "Argoth," he brought his finger closer to himself, "...you are assigned to the North side, facing Snowhead. Anaius, you'll be in the West, engaging the invaders from Great Bay. And our new friend here will be in charge of the South quadrant, toward the Swamp." Mike raised himself up straight to directly address his allies. "These regions are not typically known for the presence of the undead, but we cannot underestimate this witch, especially since we do not know the full extent of her supposed army. But what *is* known for undead is my assignment, the East side near Ikana. Based on historical reports, we can expect the highest concentration of ReDeads in that direction... I will handle them."
"Unfortunately, this attack is happening too soon to request support from the other regions. Even if they knew of our situation and sent aid, they'd be backing up a graveyard. Clock Town is on its own." This grave statement added another layer to the Guard's already crushing dread. Mike paused for a moment and tried to loosen up. "Any questions so far? Or shall I continue? Please, speak freely."
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Feb 20, 2023 15:32:43 GMT -6
Anaius listened intently to the report Mike had given. He felt profoundly out of his element. The previous adventures he'd been a part of were almost always solitary encounters with perhaps a few enemies to overcome. This circumstance, however, felt overwhelming to him. The thought of wave after wave of undead besieging the city filled him with anxiety, especially since the onslaught he and Mike just endured left him feeling exhausted. But while his body felt weak, his spirit felt invigorated. Even the despair radiating from the soldiers around him, or the grim expressions of his companions (other than Argoth, who was smiling happily at the thought of so much fighting) couldn't diminish it. The nervousness of the upcoming battle was dwarfed beneath his courage and enthusiasm. What an adventure this would be! If they were successful, the story of how he and his companions repelled an army of undead from Clock Town would make history in all of Termina and Hyrule.
Anaius felt relieved that the heaviest fighting would not be in his quadrant of the city. He was happy just being included in the defenses, as he wasn't really warrior material compared to the likes of Argoth, Mike, and the newcomer. No questions came to mind after Mike's report, so he stood silently and waited for the others.
Argoth's smile faltered after hearing his quadrant would receive much less action than the others. With the exception of Anaius's quadrant, perhaps. The only undead coming from Snowhead might be what filled Goron Graveyard in Mountain Village, and perhaps a Poe or two. The thought of fighting undead Gorons did excite him, however. Fighting a live goron was a difficult task all by itself with their size and strength. This lifted his spirits a little, and he was less disappointed about the lack of enemies.
"Ideally we should be in position before the bell tolls," Argoth said. "And if you are to endure the heaviest of the enemy's forces, you should have the most troops. I don't see the Great Bay producing much, but there may be undead Zora coming from whatever graveyards the Zora's keep. Anaius and commander Tallow should be able to defend whatever comes their way with a smaller force. As for you," he pointed at Faro with a smile, "You'll likely receive the second highest concentration of enemies, as there's a passage down river that leads directly to Ikana Canyon. There's also the Deku Palace, and whatever graveyard they keep. So expect undead Deku scrubs and whatever else they bury there. As for Snowhead, there aren't many undead enemies that are known to inhabit the region, as Mike said. There is, however, the well-known Goron Graveyard out in Mountain Village. Which means plenty of powerful undead gorons coming my way." Argoth rubbed his hands together, relishing the thought with an amused smile. "I'll be able to handle them, though. I think we should take what we can from the western and northern quadrants, and bolster the southern and eastern ones, with a focus on the east. What do you guys think?"
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Post by Faro/Blade on Mar 7, 2023 16:27:33 GMT -6
Faro remained silent for several moments, turning the plan over in his head. Whether he realized it or not, the guard captain still had his sense of strategy. Each of them was well-placed, and the four of them should make an effective force multiplier. As for his own quadrant, he could light the place up like so much kindling if it came down to it. There was another rumbling within his mind, and for once he was feeling on par with Argoth. He could hardly wait to light the bonfire he'd been assigned.
"How many men do we have to shift around?" He asked after applying some restraint. "Take some of my men if you need to bolster the east or west. I can handle the south." His voice was calm and confident, though he expected there would be objections, since Anaius and Mike weren't familiar with him, be it by default or by circumstance. He noticed a few of the guards whispering to themselves. no doubt discussing who would want lighter duty. The temperaments of the men would no doubt affect their section's defense, but that was a problem for the others to handle.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Mar 21, 2023 21:30:05 GMT -6
Mike mulled over the suggestions in his head for a minute. It was only logical to bolster the Eastern defenses, as the majority of the undead should come from Ikana. Still, it was a gamble, what if the necromancer had evened out her forces? Two sides would be well-guarded and the others would fall. Then again, Mike was thinking strategically, and this necromancer was likely not.
After a large sigh Mike said, "Argoth, spare whatever forces you can to the Eastern Quadrant." He rubbed his temples before issuing more orders, "Anaius, speak with Commander Tallow, see if he would send some men over to the South quadrant, but if he declines then so be it. He's the commanding officer here, not us."
More murmurs came from the surrounding guards, nothing hopeful or spirited. Mike had to address this, or the battle would be lost on low morale. "I share your doubts, men,"he said in an elevated voice. "We face impossible odds, a horde of undead, and the likely reality of tomorrow never coming for us." A stunned silence swept the Clock Town plaza. "But we are not built to lose, especially not against those who have already lost! We are not built to crumble! We are not born to die! WE... ARE BORN... TO WIN! WE ARE BORN TO PROTECT! We are born... to thrive! You will face your greatest foe... and strike him down! You will return him to the Earth, you will send him back where he belongs... to the halls of the Dead. You will return your forefathers and grandfathers to their graves, you will return your heroes to the afterlife they were promised. You will be doing each and every one of these undead a favor! And you will stand amongst them victorious!" Mike slammed his fist on the table. Battle cries resounded from the guards around them, it seemed his little speech worked, for now at least.
"Before we part, I must warn you. The necromancer will call upon a cloud of fog to obstruct your vision. Keep your wits about you, keep your lanterns oiled, and keep your torches burning. Do not look ReDeads in the eyes, but slash at their legs so they may not harm you," Mike ordered. "DISMISSED! Return to your tasks til the bell tolls!"
And with that, the guards resumed their fortifications with renewed vigor. Mike heard the footsteps of Anaius and the newcomer wander off to their respective positions. But before Argoth could move, Mike reached out and grabbed what seemed like Argoth's arm. "Before you go, tell me why anyone should be trusted to leave the South region to that newcomer. You spoke on his behalf before the mayor, but when will you tell me his name? You seem to know him, but just who am I trusting here?"
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Jun 1, 2023 19:11:48 GMT -6
Anaius pumped a fist into the air and joined the soldiers that cheered after Mike's speech. Their voices split the night, momentarily abating the doom that hung over them all. Courage welled up inside him and he placed a hand on Mike's shoulder. With a smile he said, "Excellent speech, Mike! Such enthusiastic prose will make all the difference, I think." Anaius was a sucker for a good, rousing speech.
Mike's speech, Anaius noted, had done something far more important than equip the men with newfound courage and focus, it gave them hope, and that alone would be the decisive edge they needed.
But now that it was over, the momentary jolt of exuberance now fading like an afterimage, the men returned to working, and the companions returned to business.
"Not many, a couple squads per quadrant maybe?" Argoth said to Faro. Then Mike, interjected, commanding him to send what he could to the east. Argoth smiled. He had no qualms sending his men anywhere. That only meant more enemies for him. "Will do," he replied, before barking orders to a nearby soldier to relay the message to the men already stationed in the north. The captain he'd left in charge there should be able to handle the instructions. Wide eyed yet fiercely obedient, the solder sprinted off to fulfill his orders.
Mike dismissed the meeting then, and Anaius snapped a hand to his forehead in salute. "Godspeed everyone! Let's give it all we've got!" Saluting like the happy idiot he was, Anaius turned on his heel and strode in the direction of his quadrant. Faro did likewise, which left Mike and Argoth alone momentarily. Before he could leave, however, Mike latched onto his wrist with a concerning grip. Argoth raised an eyebrow at Mike while he questioned him about Faro. It hadn't occured to Argoth that the two had never met. He smiled disarmingly at Mike (not that he could see it) and said, "Don't worry, Mike, Faro is one of us. He's...troubled, but trustworthy. I've fought with him numerous times and after seeing what he can do I pity the undead that meet him in the South."
Argoth studied Mike's face for a moment. His words didn't seem to have assuaged his concerns. Though it was hard to tell because of the cloth over his eyes. Argoth opened his mouth to vouch further still for Faro, when a horn blared first from the North, then the East. Before Argoth or Mike could get a sense of what was happening, though, horns from the South and West rang out to join them. The note of the horns was high pitched, creating a chorus of wailing sound. A desperate fear clung to it. Argoth looked about him but could discern nothing. The call created a frenzy among the men working nearest them, however, and they scrambled to retrieve their equipment before taking off in the direction of whichever quadrant they were assigned to.
And then Argoth saw it, and he smiled.
"So it begins," he murmured.
From all directions a roiling, impenetrable wall of fog descended upon Clock Town. Dense, rolling columns of it seeped into the city like slow moving sludge. It coiled around buildings and stifled the glow of flames. Everything it consumed instantly disappeared. Argoth narrowed his eyes. Something was off this time. The fog seemed different. More oppressive, perhaps. Argoth stepped away from Mike and said, "Time to get moving, looks like the party is starting early."
No sooner had he spoken, however, when something entirely new threatened to collapse their entire defense. Out of the boiling fog (now perhaps fifty feet from them on all sides), terrified looking soldiers rushed at them, abandoning their posts in favor of their lives. Their faces were contorted into screams of horror, yet no sound escaped their lips. Wide, bloodshot eyes scanned the area like prey escaping a trailing predator. Several of the terrified soldiers attempted to break into homes nearby. Some took cover in alleyways, hoping the shadows might conceal them. One soldier, fearing all the good spots gone, simply dove underneath the wooden table used for planning the defenses earlier. He cowered there, gibbering helplessly like that of a mind broken.
Argoth scowled and stepped forward until he reached the table. Lowering himself down, he aggressively yanked the soldier out from underneath it. "What in the hell d-" he began to yell, when the fog finally rolled over him, and he understood.
It wrapped itself not just around the landscape, but around the hearts and minds of all those it touched, disseminating fear and fraying nerves. When the fog reached him and Mike, he could feel its haunting presence. As if the fog itself was a city sized ghost. His heart quickened its pace and his breathing matched it. Argoth gritted his teeth as the fog assaulted his mind. Never before had Argoth felt anything but exhilaration from battle, but now a dreadful sense of foreboding chilled his very soul.
"She's fucked with the fog," Argoth growled through his gritted teeth. "Can you feel it?" Sweat now beaded his brow and his muscles tensed. He let go of the soldier (who promptly returned to cowering under his table), and turned to Mike. "We gotta move. Rally the men before they all desert, and fast."
Then suddenly Argoth was aware of music. A sullen, disoriented melody carried by the very fog itself. It sounded as if an ocarina were being played underwater. The melody was different from the one played during the first assault, it was slower, heavier, and directionless.
Argoth closed his eyes and braced his mind against the venom of the fog. He breathed out a heavy sigh. "I love it when the odds are against us," he said, smile returning to his face.
And with that he reached back under the table and retrieved the poor blubbering soldier. "You're coming with me."
The sounds of battle had already begun. Swords clanged, arrows whizzed, and a variety of muffled screams broke through the fog. Some were cries of rage, some were cries of valor, all were edged with fear.
A fierce excitement took Argoth then, and he shoved the soldier in the direction of his quadrant and took off.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Jun 11, 2023 3:31:54 GMT -6
Mike stood motionless as he heard the name "Faro". Even five years after his "retirement" he remembered that name. Faro was not a name widely known to the public in Hyrule or Termina, but his name was sewn into Mike's mind. For he was one of Ganon's top lieutenants, maybe even second-in-command if Hyrule's secret intelligence could be believed. And yet, here was Argoth, already a ghost from Mike's past, vouching for this man. A man said to have the powers of a fiery demon.
Goddess-damned demon, he thought. And yet, Argoth calls him 'Trustworthy'? Either Faro was a double-agent infiltrating Ganon's ranks, a spy setting the heroes up for failure, or an independent working for himself?
Before Mike could process any of these responses, horns sounded from all four sides of Clock Town. Undead had been sighted before any of the recon teams could report back, they had all been killed. And before Mike could process this information as well, the fog began to roll in. The soldiers went mad and broke from their posts, trying desperately to find shelter from their approaching doom. Argoth tried talking sense into one, but he too felt the grip of the Necromancer's spell.
"She's fucked with the fog," Argoth said. "Can you feel it?"
"I can," Mike responded promptly. His mind was being assaulted by the worst images of his lifetime. From the corpses of the innocent to the demonic forces that blinded him, Mike could see it all, plain as day, in his own quasi-visual prison.
"We gotta move," Argoth said again. "Rally the men before they desert, and fast."
But no matter how loudly Mike cried out, no man would listen to him. The Necromancer's curse had gripped them completely. The entire plan had been thrown out in a matter of seconds, the tides had turned instantly. Mike blocked out the images in his mind as best he could, which was more than most of the Terminan soldiers could claim. All around him the once-spirited warriors had become crest-fallen. Some garrisoned in civilian homes, others ran for cover. And there in the center of Clock Town stood Mike, unable to salvage the situation. The Necromancer learned from her defeat at the tavern, and now her vengeance would be wrought upon the town.
I must keep to my word, he thought. To the East side, now! And Mike sprinted off. He went to check in with the Captain of that district, to see how far gone the army truly was. He could only hope that those truly brave among them could maintain a proper defense of Clock Town. I hope it's not too late... for me or any of the other quadrants!
Mike arrived at the East gate and was hailed by a sane soldier. They ducked behind the wall, and the soldier gave Mike the report, "It's bad, sir! Terrible! Our ranks are disorganized, our leaders are incapacitated, and nobody can see three feet in front of them!"
"What about the gates? Have any been closed?" Mike asked.
"No, sir! The gatekeepers have all scrambled! Clock Town is wide-open for those gloomy bastards!" The soldier clutched his head for a brief second. "Ugh, and this music! GAH!... This dreadful music! I don't know where it's coming from, but it's doing a number on our morale."
Mike redoubled his efforts to block the ocarina's dirge from his mind, "Grrr. Are there any others still right in the head?"
"Not many, sir! They're out fighting for their lives right now! Please, Captain Mike, you gotta save our strong-willed men!" The soldier pleaded. "And before you go out there, I have this for you!" The soldier opened a small bag sitting in an alcove below their feet. The man pulled out a pristine bottle, filled a light-blue fluid. "Blue Potion, sir! We heard the reports about your last stand at the bar, so we had the apothecary whip this up for you post-haste! This'll get you back into fighting shape!" He grasped Mike's arm, and placed the bottle in his hand.
Mike unscrewed the top and chugged its contents within seconds. The thick blue liquid rolled down his throat and Mike immediately felt invigorated and spirited, as if he had slept for 9 hours. "WOO! Good job, soldier! This will give us the edge we need," Mike proclaimed, pulling out his twin Gilded Swords. "Work your way to the gatehouse, when the time comes, lower the gate!"
"Yes sir!"
And so Mike blindly went forth into the miasma, with only his hearing and sense of smell to locate any holdouts. He could only hope the situation was not as dire at the other gates.
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Post by Faro/Blade on Jun 13, 2023 14:28:26 GMT -6
Faro tensed as Argoth dropped his name to the guard so casually, but there was no time to respond before the horns went off from every corner of the town. No report from the recon teams could only mean one thing. The cause for their demise arrived as quickly as the horn blasts, a thick fog that drove the men mad. Faro inhaled the fog along with the others, and froze in place as a few soldiers from his quadrant brushed past him trying to outrun it. He took half a step back, but remained completely still.
"She's fucked with the fog," Argoth said, but his voice was muffled and echoed as though he were in a cave. "Can you feel it?"
"I can," Mike responded promptly. His voice sounded the same as the fog began to take hold in Faro's mind. He saw flames, burning homes, visions of people flashing between monster and human forms. The screams as they died. The smell of ash around the bar made it all the more real. Time slowed down as he relived the painful memories of his last day of freedom. Malice flashed his face among the charred bodies. The vision froze as he pulled Faro deeper into his own psyche and took over one of the villager's charred forms.
"You haven't froze up like this in a long time." He walked through Faro's field of view and stepped on another burned corpse. It looked like a Bokoblin, but when he touched it it became the village's potter. Smoke rose from the body as Malice looked at him. "Really? Nothing?" Malice frowned, disappointed. he let the flashback play at a faster speed. Screaming and pleading began to overlap in a terrible cacophony of suffering as the sounds and sights played on loop. Death at Faro's own young hand was relived again and again. "All this rage and you're just going to stand there?" He leaned his head over Faro's shoulder, still taking the form of the charred corpse. Faro's fists clenched tightly at his sides, and small licks of flame started to spark around his gloves, shoulders, and hair. "They'll all die, you know." He let out a terrible laugh at the thought. More deaths flashed before Faro's eyes, punctuated by the demon's words. "Just. Like. That. Day." The vision played until Ganondorf appeared in front of him, smiling with approval and reaching out a hand. Malice appeared from behind Ganon in the form of Faro's own shadow, grinning at him. "Unless..." Faro glared up at Ganondorf, full of indescribable fury. Malice grinned wide as black tendrils reared up from Faro's shoulders and lunged for their master's throat.
"Rally the men before they desert, and fast." Faro barely heard Argoth's command as he snapped back to the present. Flames danced fiercely around him, his mind was full of rage. Faro was no leader, and he hardly cared. He took off like a shot, flames trailing him as he ran toward at full speed toward the southern quadrant of town. Redead stragglers blocked the way, but Faro practically charged straight through them for how little they slowed him down. A trail of charred undead flesh once again marked his path through the streets as he impaled the creatures on demonic spikes, set wandering zombies aflame, and kicked their heads clean from their shoulders, his flames boosting the power of his kicks to rival a Goron's own prized punch. He passed by frightened soldiers, some fleeing, some pinned down. He ignored them. His actions spoke for themselves as he crushed the undead under burning foot and made his way to the gate.
A Terminan sergeant, Schmaltz, waited in an abandoned building with four other men under his command. Morale was low, and the zombies were at the door of the shop they were trapped in. Just as he was weighing his options on what to do with his men, they saw a black blur outside the window. An eruption of flame consumed the creatures near the door and sent it loose from its hinges. Before he had time to worry about the blaze, it disappeared as it was absorbed by its source. The men cautiously approached the doorframe and watched quietly. The small courtyard they were in was crawling with Undead, but Faro simply cut them down. The men stood in awe as Faro used the arms of a lunging Redead to boost himself over the creature's head. He caught it as he flew forward, his hands and feet bursting with flame as he charred the first creature's head while kicking at the chest of another. He left the two to burn and kicked the legs of a third out from underneath it before jumping onto its head. A fourth was met with a flaming palm strike, a fifth with one of the arms of the fourth one, impaled on the shafts of bone. The men could hardly find time to blink as it went for the rest of the creatures. One after the other cut down like reeds. Shocked, a man dropped his weapon against the hard stone of the square. The clatter caused Faro to look towards the soldiers, his hazel eyes burning a demonic yellow from the intense use of flames. His gaze was fixed on the men only for a moment, just long enough to see that they were indeed living men before he departed. The squad breathed a small sigh of relief. Others came up behind them, each of them commenting on Faro's exploits.
"Was he even human?" One asked.
"He seemed more like a demon." Another replied.
"I'm just glad he's on our side." Answered a third. The others murmured in agreement.
"Right, then." The sergeant nodded. "Men! I do not know who our savior is, but with his help, we WILL push back these undead, and we WILL reclaim our homes!" The men murmured amongst themselves. "Who's with me?" The men let out their own battlecries as they followed Faro toward the gate. Ahead of them, Faro ripped the arms off of a zombie and dropped them, continuing to head for the gatehouse on his own. Beneath the infernal music and the blood pounding in his ears, Malice laughed approvingly.
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Aug 12, 2023 15:52:22 GMT -6
About halfway to the gatehouse of his quadrant, Anaius's run slowed to a labored walk. Exhaustion from the previous evening coupled with inadequate recovery left little for him to expend. In the excitement of planning the defenses, Anaius had almost forgotten his aches and pains. Anaius stopped momentarily, rubbing at the stitch in his side and focusing on breathing. It was going to be a rough evening if he couldn't get ahold of himself. He longed for a good night's sleep and a hot meal. In absence of such time, however, he'd have taken a potion, anything to assist him in the upcoming battle. Why he hadn't purchased one during he and Mike's excursion into the market yesterday, he didn't know, but he was regretting not thinking of it now.
While Anaius gathered himself, the fog rolled over him, and instantly his mind was caught in a vice of horrifying images and memories. For a man such as Anaius, the fog was particularly potent. Since the discovery of his gift as a youth, he'd used it (though sparingly) to alleviate the traumas of others. He'd take memories of all manners of suffering and lock them into a well-protected vault within his mind, never to be opened again. Yet now, as the fog seeped into the palace of his mind, it effortlessly tore down every defense he'd put into place and opened his vault of horrors. Vast libraries within held the suffering of many, many people, and now it was cycling across his vision like a nightmare out of hell.
Even though the memories were not his, he lived them as if they were. The first horror he lived was also the most recent. Romani and her encounter with the werewolfos ripped through him with the primal fear of impending death. The beast towered above him, eager to devour. Its large, pointed fangs, piercing yellow eyes, and blood-soaked fur turned his limbs to stone. Then in an instant a farmhand who'd come to his rescue was being torn to shreds in front of him. Anaius gripped his head in his hands and screamed into the fog. He dropped to his knees, cowering before a phantom within his mind. Then as suddenly as it began, the memory shifted, and he was a little boy on an enormous ship. A great battle was taking place all about him. Men in royal uniforms fought fiercely against a band of attacking pirates. Among the clamor he cowered behind a barrel next the door of the captain's quarters. All about him men of each side fell to blade and arrow, soaking the deck with their blood. Then a pirate noticed him hiding, and a malicious smile of rotted teeth spread across his face. Once again, he froze with fear, and the pirate hoisted him from behind the barrel and threw him against the railing of the ship. As he reeled from the impact, he felt the tip of a blade poke the center of his chest. The pirate mumbled something menacing and began to push his blade into him. Then an explosion rocked the prow of the boat, and the sensation of being stabbed was replaced with the sensation of falling, for he had been thrown from the ship. Before he hit the water, the fog shifted memories yet again, and now he was young girl of perhaps sixteen. He lay prone, pinned to the earth beneath a mass of charred lumber; the smoking remnants of what used to be the girl's house. All about the village was carnage and flame; suffering unlike anything he'd experienced in all his life. The dead lie everywhere. Most were blackened corpses beyond all recognition, but some lay with unmarred features, their last moments of horror etched into their faces forever. These faces he recognized. And at the center of it all, a young boy possessed by some demonic force lay waste to the village.
All these and more plagued Anaius endlessly. He had sunk from his knees to the fetal position, still feverishly clutching his head and wailing. Anaius knew nothing of what took place around him. The fog had facilitated a near complete breakdown of the city's defenses. Soldiers abandoned their posts in droves, and the dead were filling the streets.
And Anaius lay, incapacitated in the middle of the street, unable to do anything about it.
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Commander Tiberius Tallow was a career soldier. Entering the Termanian Guard directly after his eighteenth birthday, he'd now spent a total of thirty years in the Guard. Twenty as acting Commander. In that time Tiberius accumulated his fair share of physical and psychological wounds. The most grievous being the loss of this left eye, now covered by a black eyepatch. He even participated in more than a few morally dubious affairs that often left him questioning his commitment to the Crown. And while some soldiers crumble from the repeated horrors of war, Commander Tiberius Tallow hardened. Like a monument carved from granite, Tiberius used his experience as the necessary tools to chisel and hone himself into a grizzled, battle tested warrior. Now he stood sentinel on the parapet above the west gate, eagerly awaiting the return of the scouts. He rubbed the stubble on his chin with a gloved hand. It had been nearly an hour since their departure, and still no sign of them. Their absence was beginning to worry the commander.
"Look!" an archer to his left said, pointing toward the hilly plain just before it gave way to the sandy beaches of the Great Bay. The Commander narrowed his eyes at the countryside. Pockets of mist that clung to the moist valleys between the hills were beginning to coalesce into thick clouds. The process took perhaps a minute before a veritable wall of impenetrable fog now barreled toward them. He estimated they had five minutes before the fog was upon them. His first instinct was to immediately close and fortify the gate, but the scouts still hadn't returned, and their information could be crucial to the defense. The Commander gritted his teeth. He had no choice. To leave the gates open any longer would be folly.
"You!" he barked, turning to the same archer on his left. "Go tell the soldiers manning the gate to lower the portcullis and shut and bar the doors."
"But sir! The scouts-" the archer contested, but he was cut off before he could finish.
"That's an order, soldier! If the scouts haven't made it back by now, they ain't..." But he trailed off as he noticed the sudden terror-stricken face of the soldier. Commander Tallow followed his gaze back toward the fog.
"Dear Goddesses..." he whispered, as hundreds of red lights flickered into life all across the wall of fog. The Commander instantly recognized them for what they were: Eyes. The eyes of the undead. The eyes of their doom. As the fog rolled in, the lights bobbed en masse in their direction. The horde was coming.
"The gate. Now." He growled at the soldier. And without another word he took off to fulfil his duty. He returned two minutes later to sound of gears and chains. After the closing of the West Gate, Commander Tallow issued final orders to the archers, then made his way down to the ranks of soldiers filed behind the gate. Two separate battalions of fifty soldiers each stood about thirty feet away from it. The foremost battalion was heavy infantry, outfitted with long spears, great shields, and heavy steel plated armor. If the enemy began to overrun them, they were to cast aside their heavy weapons in favor of short swords and bucklers. From the rear came the second battalion of light infantry, adorned with less cumbersome chain-mail hauberks. Not all of the light infantry carried a standard short sword, however. Many instead chose to wield hand axes(some double bladed, some not), war hammers, or spiked maces, though all carried bucklers of one fashion or another. They were to alleviate the pressure of the horde and fill in gaps in the line. On either side of the secondary battalion, lined up behind crude barricades, were groups of archers. Ten on each side, and five above the gate. Though the fog would inhibit their vision, the archers were to fire indiscriminately into the opening of the gate. A bright burning oil lamp hung above the mouth, the commander praying to the goddesses it cut through the fog enough to give the archers direction. If the fog proved too dense, the archers were equipped with a short sword and buckler, effectively converting them to light infantry. In total the defense of the West Gate numbered one hundred and twenty-six strong including The Commander.
Commander Tallow stopped before the ranks of soldiers. His right hand rested on the pommel of his long sword. His left held his helm. He swept his eye across the faces of his men, assessing their courage. Only handful seemed to possess the necessary grit. The rest shook where they stood. For a great many of these soldiers, this would be their first true experience of war. The storm of battle had yet to weather their frail constitutions into the granite monument that was his own.
The Commander opened his mouth to begin a speech of encouragement, but right as he was about to speak the fog rolled over the West Gate. His breath caught as the pressure of its venom bore down on his mind. Yet it was no match for his psychological walls, and after only a few seconds the worst of its effects faded into the background. The soldiers under his command, however, were not so lucky, and their minds crumbled like clumps of dirt under a boot. The Commander growled angrily and withdrew his longsword.
"Stay at your posts! Keep Formation!" he shouted, but to no avail.
Instantaneous chaos erupted among the ranks.
In a manner of seconds, all formations broke down completely. A great clamor of weapons and shields clanged off the cobblestones below as fear drove them from their posts. With a single adjustment to her attack, the witch had effectively incapacitated the towns defenses. He jammed his helmet over his head and walked forward. The thickness of the fog made it impossible for him to tell just how many men deserted, but from the chorus of screams and abandoned equipment, he guessed upwards of ninety percent. That left only a handful hardened warriors to salvage the defense.
Commander Tallow stumbled blindly through a mass of retreating soldiers. Every single one he forcibly stopped heeded no words. They merely looked at him as one might a fiend about to devour them, then tore themselves away from him and ran screaming into the fog. It was in that moment, as he assailed soldier after soldier, that he took notice of the deep, morose rhythms of the witch's accursed ocarina. He knew then that the fog was not the only weapon employed against their courage. For within the music of that black instrument came dread and foreboding, and it weighed heavily upon his will.
This is madness! the Commander thought. Then, as if he were struck on the head, The horn! With his free hand he took up the horn strapped loosely to his belt, brushing aside a cloth pouch holding a small heavy object. The horn was of ivory and trimmed in gold. He blew a loud, wailing note. Before his lips left the horn, the other quadrants were sounding theirs. It seemed the fog rolled over each quadrant simultaneously. Commander Tallow only hoped the situation wasn't as dire at the other gates.
That was all the thought he could spare for the rest of the city, however, as the ghostly images of his remaining men materialized through the fog. Their silhouettes shambled toward him like a ReDead might. First to arrive was a heavy infantry soldier, followed by a few light infantrymen and an archer from the parapet. Over the course of several long minutes, more and more men gathered around him. When it seemed like no more heeded his call, he took stock of what he had: nine remained of the heavy infantry, seven of the light, and of the archers only three. Nineteen strong willed soldiers were all that now defended the West Gate.
"Sir," one of the soldiers spoke, his voice strained. Commander Tallow knew then that even though these soldiers were lucid, their sanity hung by a thread. Their struggle against the effects of the fog was apparent in the sweat rolling down their temples, the clenching of their jaws, and the furrowing of their brows. "All the men have scattered, and none will listen to reason. There's so few of us left. How can we hope to hold the gate?"
A shadow darkened the Commander's visage, and he let the question hang in the air a moment. "There isn't any, and yet we must." he pronounced. "We will hold this gate until the last man. For it is our duty. Is that understood?"
A feeble chorus of "Aye, commander," answered him. Good. At least their honor is intact, thought The Commander.
"Right, heavy infantry-" and yet again, as he was about to deliver orders for their organization and defense, he was interrupted by a deep, resounding BOOM that echoed through the small courtyard before the gate. The power of it stilled everything. No mote of dust nor ray of light dared move. Even the very heartbeats of the men ceased in its wake, for that sound foretold their doom. All eyes gazed toward the origin of that dreadful toll; fear having stricken the soldiers where they stood. The Commander included. In the silence that followed, a change swept over all that now defended the West Gate. For Farore, goddess of Courage, breathed into them new resolve, and their hearts hardened. Each man in their own mind, and in their own way, now accepted the fate which had been laid upon them. And in that acceptance grew a powerful determination to set all their strength and will against the enemy, no matter the cost. The influence of the fog faded from their minds like the outgoing tide; the weakening melodies of the sorceress reduced to a whisper. And in place of those forbidding enchantments arose a sharp and unwavering focus.
Commander Tallow turned around to face the gate. Though he could not see it, the lamp above its mouth shone with a hazy golden light. He was grateful for that, for it would be their guiding star inside the oppressive totality of the mist.
A second BOOM crashed against the West Gate, and this time not a single soldier quailed before its portent. It merely hardened them further. The doors rattled in their frame, and the hinges groaned like the dead before it. How much more punishment the gate might withstand The Commander could not guess, but with their gift of courage came clarity, and no man now standing before the gate let that doom trouble them.
Swiftly, and in a voice befitting his rank The Commander turned back toward his men and said, "We must reinforce the gate. Any time we can buy before its destruction is paramount. Archers! Make your way to the parapet and volley arrows before the gate's entrance. Are there any others that have skill with a bow?"
A few of the light infantrymen raised their voices in assent. The rest were silent. "Good. Retrieve an abandoned bow from the parapet and assist the archers. Move in single file with a hand on each other's shoulders so none of you are led astray in the fog. The rest of us will deconstruct the barricades and pile them against the gate. Now go! We must make haste!"
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Argoth now strolled unburdened by either song or mist toward the North Gate. While the demons of his past repeatedly played in his mind, they did not trouble him. For even though his memory held many horrors, the greatest and most terrible lay beyond the reach of even his own perception. And the curses could not work on what they could not find. Only in this way was Argoth delivered from their influence. For if they were to pry from him the lost memories of his youth, he would be reduced to a state much the same as the soldier he now forced along with him.
Every so often, during the few minutes journey to the gate, the gibbering soldier attempted to break from his grasp. Yet each time Argoth's grip tightened, and he smacked the soldier about the head. "Get yourself together for goddesses sake!" he shouted. This served only as a momentary suspension, however, for it did not abate the hold of the either curse afflicting the poor man's soul. And as they drew nearer to the doom of the North Gate, his quivering grew.
Then a sign of evil shambled through the haze, foretelling the fate of those defending the North Gate. Or rather, the lack thereof. A ReDead appeared before the two men, arms outstretched and groping. The first image of its shadow materialized but a yard ahead of them, and Argoth took note of the distance. Swiftly, as if he were the wind itself, he shoved the soldier to his knees and withdrew his bow. Another practiced movement sent an arrow directly into the dim red eye of the lumbering corpse. Its head jerked backward, the arrow's tip protruding out the back of its skull. The ReDead collapsed before them and moved no more.
Now it was that many shadows of the undead lurched hideously amidst the fog. The sounds of their labored steps came as terror to all who heard them. To all but Argoth. For in his heart erupted a sudden flame hot as the molten rock of Death Mountain. The spark of its origin came forth from the very fabric of his being, for Argoth loved battle wherever it may be fought. A devilish smile alighted his face like the tongues of fire now burning behind his eyes, and all who would look upon him bore witness to the spirit of his wrath. All leverage pitted against his will by the spells of the necromancer evaporated in the heat of that fire. And now, with clarity of mind unlike any he'd experienced thus far, Argoth descended upon the horde.
Deeming his bow an impractical instrument for the verdict of his wrath, he returned it to his back and withdrew the short sword given him by Commander Tallow. The fear ravished soldier at his feet lay curled upon the ground, arms thrown about his head while he rocked this way and that. Incoherent mumblings drifted upward from his cowering state, and in that moment Argoth resolved to rid the poor man of such shameful blubbering. His hour of valor would have to wait, however, for the first wave of the enemy now besieged them.
Out of the gloom emerged the sickening shapes of many ReDead, but while they were numerous and fixed upon him, they had not the mind for strategy, and arrived within his reach at differing times. Three closed in about him from the right, yet they were no match for the might of Argoth's sword arm, nor the speed at which he sprang at them. In a whirlwind of flying steel, he hewed the limbs and heads from their bodies before any could assail his ears with their paralyzing scream. Five now shuffled into sight from the left. Argoth spun and leapt over the quaking soldier on the ground. Before his feet returned to earth, he swept his blade through the neck of the foremost ReDead. Its head toppled from its body, and it fell, fingers still groping for purchase upon Argoth's mighty form. As he landed before the remaining four, he knelt and clove the legs of another out from under it. Then he sprang upward, and with a powerful stroke he hewed the falling Redead in two from groin to skull. A great gout of ichor erupted from its severed body. Argoth now turned his fury upon the remaining three. Yet before he could cut down the final walking corpse, it closed its grimy fingers about his tunic and wailed a horrifying cry. The power of that terrible scream pierced Argoth like a blade, and its spell of paralysis wrested from him control of his body. Now its reeking form descended upon him, its foul breath hot on the nape of his neck. Yet before it could sink its rotten teeth into his living flesh, the fire within him rose to a scorching inferno, and the heat of his will burned away the petrifying spell. With a mighty shove he cast the fell creature from him. Then he stepped forward and smote the hideous corpse with a single stroke of his sword. A foul purplish ooze dripped from his weapon as he stood amid the carnage he'd wrought, and he was glad. But the fire within him was not yet sated, and he relished the battle that was to come.
Now it was that the tide of enemies diminished, and for a time they were not beset by creeping shadows from the mist. In that brief moment of peace, Argoth reached down and wrenched the despairing soldier from his fetal state; for the hour of his valor had come, and it was nigh time to cast off the chains upon his soul. The man stood before the fierceness of Argoth and quailed in the heat of his glare. "Alright, buddy, time to get your shit together." he said. Yet the eyes of his companion darted still in fear, ever searching for the grotesque shadows of the enemy. Argoth slapped him about the face and bade him look into the fire of his eyes. And in the glare of his wrath the soldier halted all quivering.
"Listen to me, you are a soldier of the Termanian guard for goddesses sake! Are you going to let the assault of the necromancer destroy all that is dear to you? The city, your family, your friends, all that you care about will perish unless you cast off this goddamn spell and aid me. Come on, fight it!" And he shook the man by the shoulders.
Yet neither his words nor the fire of his will could penetrate the fastness of those wicked enchantments. Then, as Argoth wondered if he might ever free his companion from such evil, a sudden conviction settled in his heart. He now knew what must be done. Raising his short sword toward the heavens, he brought the pommel down upon the helm of the soldier. And so it was that when his blow had struck Din, Goddess of Power, gave unto Argoth the strength to impart a portion of his fiery spirit. Hot it ran down the length of his upraised arm, coalescing as a violent crimson light upon the hilt of his blade. And with the completion of his strike, it descended, speeding like a blazing comet into the soul of his hapless ally. There it burned away all trace of corruption and fear. The eyes of the soldier cleared like dusk driven away by the light of dawn. He looked upon Argoth as one awaking from a terrible and unrelenting dream, yet undaunted by its horrors.
Argoth did not feel himself diminish from the achievement of Din's will, for that was but a spark among the flames of his spirit. It was not meant to gift his companion with a replica of his own fire, but to drive out the darkness by kindling that which already lay within. And kindle it did. Courage and vitality roared to life within the soldier, and he stepped away from Argoth. He reached for the weapon clasped to his belt, but during the frenzy of his terror, he'd cast it aside.
"Here, take mine." Argoth said, turning the hilt of his blade toward his newly freed companion. "What's your name, soldier?"
"Mardis, sir, Mardis Karn." he replied, voice steadfast. "But what will you use to fight with?" He had not as of yet reached for the sword.
"Don't worry about me Mardis. Now take it, we've got work to do." And within the gloom of the fog, as new and deadlier shapes closed in about them, the once stricken Mardis Karn reclaimed his honor.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Oct 26, 2023 0:17:41 GMT -6
Mike ran into the depths of Hell. At least, that is what the battlefield felt like to him. All he could hear was the discordant screams of soldiers, the crunch of his boots on the barren wastes which make up Eastern Termina Field, and the low distant groans of the undead, so numerous were they that the collective sound of their deteriorated vocals formed a single deep note underscoring the whole invasion. The foul stench of death was inescapable; fresh bodies, rotten bodies, new bodies, old bodies, it all contributed to this rancid scent that would purge the stomach of anyone unfamiliar with it. What Mike could not see was the unnaturally thick fog blanketing the entire field, which, combined with the dead of night, made it nearly impossible for everyone else to see without a torch.
There was a shriek to his left, two fumbling steps toward him, and he answered with a heavy slash that bisected the ReDead. Another shriek, another slash, another step, another stab, Mike's Gilded Swords sang once more. His rhythm was returning, his battle sense peaking, his survival instincts and years of training were taking complete hold of his movements. Mike flowed from one ReDead to the next, carving a path of decayed flesh and sinew. His steps aligned with his swings, each sword's edge aligning perfectly with every arm, leg, torso, and head. And after saving a final ReDead from the tortured existence of undeath... Mike's composure began to unravel.
It started as a pain in his forearms. There were no bites or punctures, it came from within, as if his nerves began to burn. The killing of so many undead put a strain on his body that not even a Blue Potion could fix. The pain was small, inconvenient, yet it told Mike that he was swinging his swords for far too long at once. And then he listened, the drone of the dead had not been reduced, the desultory screams of men still cried out from the miasma. The forlorn ocarina penetrated his ears once again, and Mike knew... he knew implicitly that all the carnage he had wrought upon the enemy meant nothing. He was going through the same motions as he and Anaius did at the tavern not three hours ago. Only this time, he had no backup, no escape plan, and no will to fight the horde, and that horde was now seemingly infinite.
"THIS IS POINTLESS!" Mike screamed. A rush of horror ran through his mind as the ocarina dug into his subconscious. He clutched his head as he actively fought back against its terrible influence, forcing himself to come back to his senses, to remember that he was greater than the dread which faced him tonight. The whole of the Terminan Guard was greater than this, they only needed reminding. That's it, he thought, I have to round up the men still out here, bring them inside, and close the gate. If I keep fighting endlessly, we're all dead!
Mike drew back, closer to the town wall. The soldiers never dared to venture out to the far fringes of the field where they would surely become undead fodder. Some screamed and ran back inside the gate, others died where they stood, but there was one who stood amongst the rest...
"Keep back! You bony bastard!" A soldier was battling a Stalfos to a standstill! The man was equipped with a steel halberd and wielded it well against the sword-and-shield-bedecked Stalfos. Every swipe the skeleton made was blocked by the man's halberd, yet he could not get a hit in edgewise, Stalfos were infamous for their skill with a shield. "Just! One! Strike!" the soldier yelled on the offensive. "Just one opening and you're done!"
Luckily, Stalfos always have an opening, the rear. Mike charged at the sounds of steel meeting steel and the clacking of bones. He delivered a cross slash at the Stalfos' spine, and the monster seized up with an otherworldly growl. The soldier capitalized on this opportunity and cut the shield arm from the rest of the skeleton. As the shield hit the ground with a metallic clang, Mike sliced up the Stalfos, cutting it limb from limb, piece by piece, steadily grinding it to a pile of bones in the dust.
As the skeleton fell before him, it revealed Mike's presence to the soldier. "Oh thank Nayru you're still here! I thought you charged off into that fog never to return!"
"I almost did," Mike replied. "but that was foolish of me... Where is the rest of your platoon?"
"Out in the wastes somewhere, Captain. There can't be many of us left. But it takes more than a sad song to get me to flee!"
"We need to locate all the surviving men and bring them back inside the walls. It's a losing battle out here."
"But Captain, it's a losing battle in there too."
"That's an order, soldier!... But you have a point, we need a plan and fast."
"A miracle is more like it, sir," the man breathed a deep, steadying sigh. "But we're on your orders, Captain, and I'm ready to get my friends out of here!... I see some torchlight to the South."
"Lead the way, and with haste! We don't have much time..."
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Post by Faro/Blade on Jan 9, 2024 12:46:50 GMT -6
Faro charged through the city streets alone, unaware of the men who'd decided to follow in his wake. All he saw were the terrified ones running past him, the desperate cowering in fear in darkened alleyways, and worst of all: the dead they'd failed to protect. The departed spurred him on, his flames burning brighter with each body he passed. The smell of rotting flesh pulled him along and into combat with thick pockets of undead, but no matter how quickly he carved his way through them, it was never fast enough to catch up to the screams of those in danger. Behind every charred corpse he left on the stone streets was another cry of terror. Malice crept in and made him faster, stronger. A mad dash through a side street gave way to a sharp turn at the sound of a woman's scream from inside a house. Faro passed through the door as though it were a silk curtain, and tackled the lone undead through the window on the opposite end of the house.
Schmaltz was a relatively new soldier. He hadn't seen much, or really been alive for all that long. Before today, the most he'd ever thrust his spear was in training, sparring alongside his fellow guards in the unlikely event that he ever needed to use it to defend himself or the town. Until tonight, such eventualities seemed impossibly far away. Even with everything that had happened in Hyrule and their own lands over the past few years, "unlikely" still seemed too common to describe the events at hand. Never in his wildest dreams did Schmaltz ever envision having to lead a scattered band of soldiers through a town besieged by undead creatures. Not once did he ever imagine he'd be so damned scared that he thought about throwing down his shield and deserting. In a way, it made what was happening now easier to process, to anchor himself against the terrorizing fog and disheartening music. For how could he have ever known that he would one day pin his hopes on a man who wielded flames and shadows with equal ease, who moved faster than a Gibdo, who struck like a battering ram with all the ferocity he'd expect from the very monsters he'd been trained to fight? Certainly not him, and likely not any of the men he'd been leading in the direction of the Courtyard. The ReDead that crashed through the window just a few paces ahead of them didn't help their disbelief, nor did the sight of the fire-wielder standing over it.
Faro paid no attention to the men as he set upon the creature beneath him. The alleyway echoed with the crack of shadowy tendrils pounding the bones of the undead filth into splinters, and the smell only grew worse as fire flowed from his mouth to burn it to ash. Just as quickly as he appeared before the soldiers, he disappeared again, charging through the window of another home in response to the next cry, or the next whiff of undead flesh.
Schmaltz and his men remained frozen with disbelief. It was obviously the same creature who had saved them in the store, but the brutality. The way it moved. It was hunting its prey like a savage beast. No, it was worse. At least beasts only hunted for food. This was pure contempt. And the speed of it all! He thought they making good time, but this creature had cut them off as if it were steps ahead of them the whole time. The Undead fell under its assault, but what about them? Would Terminan steel make a difference against those shadows striking from out of its arms? What about--
Before he think farther, a small explosion boomed from the street over and snapped Schmaltz out of his trance. He gathered himself as quickly as he could.
"Well... he's still on our side." He mused while managing to keep the newfound distrust out of his voice. He only hoped that the silence hadn't stretched long enough to dull their confidence in him. When the men remained in their places, he felt a new relief. "Come on, everyone. We've got a gate to shore up!" The men moved with renewed caution but no diminished sense of purpose towards the South Gate.
Faro's charge became a blur to him. He was barely aware of a large concentration of hostiles somewhere near the South Gate, but there were too many screams, too many bodies, too many undead, too many targets that needed to meet fire and Malice. Bodies fell around him, but all too slowly. Too many lives lost. Too many left to save. Old tactics long forgotten and longer refused surfaced in the sea of desperation. Undead bodies sliced apart by wire-thin tendrils, torn apart by shadowy claws, burned in groups in massive bursts of flame, relieved of their heads by single powerful kicks. Only the screams and panicked cries of praise to the Goddess kept the man awake and the monster asleep.
Then he reached a rooftop overlooking the courtyard, and an eerie silence of the loudest kind filled his ears. The soldiers were gone. Zombies climbed over the walls by way of old vines spurred to unnatural and undead "growth" by the vile necromancy. The market streets were thicker now than they were during festival season. The screams of men had fallen silent, and there was no one left to save. Despite all his power, he was still too late to stop the horde. For the first time since he'd dashed into the fray, Faro closed his eyes. The man fell asleep, and the monster Ganon had created woke up.
Schmaltz and his men soldiered on in hopes of saving their comrades at the gate.
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