Narg and the Necromancer

Forest Attack.

It was early afternoon when the small group walked under the northern gate, leaving the town behind. As they did so it began to rain. Narg ignored it, as did the Cleric, but Shogun muttered under his breath, pulling his robe’s hood up over his head and hunching over as he walked along.

“Why don’t you use an anti-get-wet spell wizard?” Mocked Narg.

“You want me to have a keep dry spell or a couple of fireballs? Your choice barbarian,” retorted the halfling. “I can only keep so many spells on hand you know.”

“Ha. Wizards. Good with words, not much else,” said Narg, but his words lacked force.

Shogun harrumphed, but otherwise said nothing. The group once again plodded forth in silence, the rain spattering down around them, filling the world with its silvery dance.

They walked along the road for several hours, passing fields bare of crops. The harvest season had recently ended, and the peasant farmers were no doubt tucked away in their cottages, spending their days drinking beer and abusing their wives and daughters.

They encountered no-one as the path began the long climb up towards the foothills, where it would eventually wind its way through the northern pass. The party followed it as far as the base of the mountains, and then a little further. Fields gave way to pine-wood forest as they walked, and it was only another few hours travel before they encountered a small structure by the side of the road. Once it was probably a wood-cutters shack, now it was a burnt out shell.

Narg stopped. “We leave the path here. Head that way.” He gestured north, away from the road.

Gorgus grunted, Shogun said nothing, but they both followed Narg as he headed off the trail into the forest. Immediately the already gloomy light dimmed further, the trees filtering out the sky. Fallen leaves swished underfoot as the three made their way up and along. Narg and Gorgus pushed branches out of their way, breaking twigs as they forced a path through the woodland. Shogun, being smaller, had an easier time of it.

The gloom seemed to deepen, and suddenly Gorgus stopped. Narg and Shogun followed suit.

“What is it?” Hissed Narg. “What…”

“Hush Fighter. I feel something amiss in the ether... Some sort of spiritual disturbance…” He frowned as he made some passes with his hands, muttering a short prayer to his patron deity. He broke off suddenly with an unholy swear. “Look to your weapons! They are upon us!”

As he shouted the world turned into chaos. From seemingly nowhere grizzly figures were all around them, lunging at the party.

Narg had Bloodletter out in an instant, and swung it through a figure even before he could focus on the form. A skull, eye-sockets dripping with maggots, flew through the air as skeletal fingers clawed at his face. The noggin landed amongst the trees, where it rolled a short distance before coming to a stop. Narg thought he glimpsed movement in the brush where it came to rest, but had to turn to meet another attack. When he glanced back the figure was gone.

“Undead!” cried Shogun needlessly, swinging his staff low and knocking a zombie to the ground. “Cleric! Turn them! Turn them!” He swung again as a particularly old skeleton hacked at him with a sword that had definitely seen better days. Shogun ducked and then backed away as the skeleton lunged again. The fallen zombie crawled towards him, hissing with the malice only the eternally damned could manage.

Gorgus was fighting his own battle though, against some kind of four armed undead creature wielding three rusty swords. The thing screamed from a toothless, tongue-less mouth as it hacked away at its hated living enemy with relentless savagery.

Narg was attacked by four creatures in quick succession. He made short work of the first one, a skeleton which had no weapon other than its hands. Its fallen remains were ground underfoot by the second undead, a zombie, which stepped through the rib cage with a grotesque snapping as it strove to reach him. On the right another zombie approached, this one wearing the remnants of chain mail amour and wielding a mace, to the left a second skeleton, bearing a huge two handed sword and cackling maniacally.

He didn’t hesitate, with speed that belied his size he ducked right and swept low with his sword, which howled with bloodlust. He cut the legs of the undead away, causing the creature to fall backwards. Narg didn't stop, but pirouetted a compete circle, bringing Bloodletter around at hip height with enormous speed and force to cut the second zombie clean in half at the waist. Blood and gore splattered his amour as the creatures’ upper torso slipped right, the lower half falling left, spilling rotting entrails onto the leafy ground.

The move had left him facing the final figure, the skeleton with the sword. It attacked now, heedless of the fate of its fellows, bringing its blade down in a swift overhead swing. The jaw hung loose, and the skeleton whistled an eerie tune as it went at Narg, who was hard pressed to fend of the attacks. The thing, being undead, did not tire, and with un-natural strength it wielded the sword as if it weighed no more than a maid’s brassier.

Narg was forced back slowly, step by step, as the thing pressed relentlessly forward. Despite his skill and Bloodletters' magical strength, he could find no opening in the creature’s attacks, and was forced into a purely defensive stance. His back was suddenly against a tree, blocking further retreat. The skeleton swung again and again, unendingly. A thrust slipped through Narg’s defence and was only deflected by his chainmail shirt. Another powerful overhead swing forced him to one knee, and then an enormous blow knocked Bloodletter from his hands entirely, embedding it in a nearby trunk.

He leapt to one side to avoid the follow up attack. The creature’s sword missed his head by a whisker and buried itself in the tree behind him. Taking the opportunity Narg jumped at his bony foe, forcing it from the blade and pushing it onto its back.

The undead warrior gave him a deathly smile, and he felt bony hands clasp around his neck in a vice-like grip. The cold of the grave seeped into his body and the world lost colour…