Fluff Post #3 - No rest for the wicked
Entry posted by Mohojoe
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The smell of sulphur was invasive to Sigmund's nostrils as he took up a defensive stance behind the line of leadbelchers. The scratch built cannons they wielded, while obnoxious to the senses, made short work of the undead hordes marching against them. The scraps of iron and brick they spewed into the enemy hordes sent bone and armour flying with each destructive volley. His ears were ringing as the cannons were raised vertical. He and his brother bulls pushed through the retreating gunmen, creating a defensive line as the great iron tubes were packed again with gunpowder and refuse. A wave of ghoulish creatures rushed toward the bull formation. The line shuddered under the weight of the impact yet stood firm. Sigmund repelled a bone club from a sickly green assailant with his broad blade before plunging his iron gauntlet into the creatures face. He let a small grin slip as he felt the skull of the thing shatter under his mighty blow and his assailant crumble at his feet. The victory was short lived however as a cavalry lance ran through his shoulder and he was battered aside by a skeletal mount. His head smacked on the cobblestone floor sending pain shooting through his senses, like a spark racing through a fuse. He cast aside his unwieldy sword and scrabbled for the shaft of the discarded spear, only to feel it grind against his collarbone as the shaft was splintered under the foot of a clumsy Ogor. He felt a guttural roar break from his own mouth as the pain assaulted his senses. His brothers ranks were retreating back down the corridor as the cannons continued to blast, supercharging the air above him and forcing him to hug the cold flagstones. He could not understand their cowardice, Ogors feared nothing! With a grim resolve he shifted his weight and attempted to crawl towards his retreating clan brushing aside carcasses and skeletal remains as he moved. A clammy hand coiled around his ankle and wrenched him back almost pulling his leg from its socket. Instinctively Sigmund rammed his spiked gauntlet into the floor to hold his position, a fruitless effort as it found no purchase between the gore and bone that littered the ground. He lashed out at his assailants grip and was rewarded with a jaw shattering blow from a club for his efforts. He hacked and coughed scarlet phlegm as he was raised above the ranks of undead by his captor. Out of a swollen eye he caught an image of the foe and would have screamed had it not been for his devastated jaw. The creature holding him was a gigantic fleshless creature, framed with a set of colossal wings and a gaping maw. His bowels loosened as the creature let out a primal screech and smashed him against the catacomb wall. He understood now what had sent his brothers fleeing however the knowledge gave him no satisfaction as his limp body was thrown aside. He landed with a sickly wet thump behind the creature, sending its own minions flying with his impact. He struggled to breathe as his mouth filled with bile and bitter metallic tasting fluid yet could not eject the liquid nor swallow. For the first time in his life he was truly afraid. His eyelids fluttered as he gargled his last breath and magenta bubbles formed around his quivering mouth. His gods had denied him.
Sigmund's body lay there long after the battle had ended. Forces had retreated and days had past. Buried under corpses of others his body had stiffened and begun to decompose. His skin no longer boasted the pale authenticity his clan was known for and instead was tattooed with a mosaic of welts, bruises and dark bloodied smears. The silence of his squalid resting place was denied as a deep chanting was heard, slowly at first but increasing in volume and fervour. The sound was invasive and seemed to not echo through the chamber but to be swallowed by everything it touched.
Sigmund's corpse twitched.
his eyes fluttered.
The shattered bones within his defeated body began to realign.
With an unnatural shudder, his back arched and and unknown force urged him back to his feet, his impossible stance righting itself as his limbs reset themselves back to a serviceable position. He reached for a battleaxe dropped by a fallen foe and became aware that he was not alone. All around him bodies were rising in service of some unknown entity. He felt his eyes lock on the tunnel that lead toward the Ogor encampment and his feet begin to carry him in its direction. His soul screamed out as he sensed the atrocities that were being commanded of him. He begged, pleaded, cursed and threatened but to no avail. This body was no longer his, and the Lord of Death would not be denied.
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