1: Have the zombies Hide in The Village, like lying under floorboards and in Attics.
2: Raid Villages to the north and send the zombies we create there south, to this village.
3: once we have 3 more villages slain in the north come back here and direct all zombies to the southern villages.
The village of Ginkozan, somewhat larger than the last, comes under your malevolent gaze. The villagers are preparing a feast to celebrate a successful harvest, blissfully unaware of the doom that will soon befall them.
Although.
Something about the village seems to spook the brutewolves. The wights hiss nervously in their saddles. The spectres blather madly, although spectres always do that. Malkus observes the troops, and suggests the obvious; there is something afoot in this village. Perhaps it would be wise to leave them be, at least for now? You cast your eyes over the village, which does indeed invoke a vague feeling of discomfort in you, and reluctantly agree.
You ride for another day before choosing your next target, another small hamlet nestled at the head of a valley. This one has a far less worrying aspect, and you order your forces to attack at once.
Within the hour the village is destroyed, and before sunset the dead are shuffling out of the village, headed south down the valley.
You destroy another, and another, and one more for good measure. With a now slightly more respectable legion of the dead, you decide to return to Ginkozan. Their reprieve shall be short lived.
A crescent moon peeks through the clouds as the undead masses surround the village, fifty at each entrance. On your command they shamble forth, moaning and groaning as they go. They reach the first houses and bash down the doors, pouring inside and tearing the screaming villagers to pieces. Yet before they can start on the second set of houses, a bell starts to ring, and villagers, many of them armed with crude weapons, start to emerge from their homes. The mindless zombies have no concept of fear, and walk straight into the hammers and pickaxes of the enraged denizens, who eagerly crush their lifeless skulls into mush. Yet the zombies are unstoppable, and in greater numbers, and will surely overwhelm the helpless villagers- but then the village priest emerges, carrying a staff that glows like the sun, from which the undead recoil instinctively. The priest gathers the surviving villagers to him, steeling their hearts and minds against the horrors that lurk in the darkness. They then proceed to methodically drive the zombies out of the village.
Malkus takes one look at the unfolding display, and recommends a hasty retreat. Certainly none of your minions seem eager to charge into battle with the priest and his hallowed weapon. You take a look at the situation yourself- half of your zombies have already been destroyed, and the rest are being relentlessly driven back- and decide
-That Malkus is right, it would be better to cut your losses and leave this blessed place alone.
-That you shall not tolerate failure- you order your minions to attack, their fear of you overwhelming their fear of this petty pastor.
-That this requires a personal touch; you shall lead the charge into the village yourself, personally doing battle with this priest and his weaponry.
---
Meanwhile, in Nuulyd, the Mayor awakens from her drunken stupor, finding herself half naked, covered in wine, lying between half a dozen other individuals in similar states. She looks up into the face of a smiling cultist, who offers her a hand to help her stand, a towel to clean herself, and a robe to protect her modesty (such as it is). Good news, they tell her, they have just what she wants.
"Another drink?", the Mayor jokes.
"Youth, strength, and beauty", the cultist replies, "The ability to feast to your hearts desire, without feeling the weight of years upon your shoulders"
The Mayor snorts, wanting to dismiss the cultist for a babbling fool. Yet somewhere inside her burns a certain curiosity, so she allows him to continue. He explains that there is a certain ritual, developed by the New Way, that can enhance one's mind and body. A magical remedy, only available to senior members, that they have nevertheless decided to extend to her.
The Mayor is sceptical, and asks for proof that this ritual works. To this the cultist happily agrees, and bids her follow him through the manor. They head down into the basement, where four acolytes and an elderly cultist await. The Mayor is offered a seat, and the cultist disrobes, revealing the runes that have been cut into his skin, the wounds still fresh and bleeding. The Mayor squirms in discomfort, but says nothing. The cultist is seated in another chair, facing the Mayor, and bound to it with leather straps. Two of the acolytes start chanting, whilst the other two head through a door to an adjacent room.
There is a muffled scream, which makes the Mayor sit up in alarm, and then one of the acolytes returns holding a goblet of red liquid. The cultist is given a stick to bite down on, and then the goblet is poured over his head. As soon as the liquid touches the runes, they start to glow and hiss, and the cultist screams in pain. The acolytes chant faster and faster as the crimson fluid spreads down his body. The goblet bearer leaves the room again, and soon returns with a fresh cup, which they again pour over his head. A third trip sees the cultist covered head to toe in the liquid, every rune on his body glowing and giving off noxious fumes, the cultist writhing in pain. The Mayor watches in fascination.
Then the cultist's spasms start to subside, his screams grow quieter. The acolytes undo his bonds, and he stands up- and as he does so, a change overcomes him. The lines on his face smooth out, his grey hair regains its colour, bones audibly snap back into their rightful places. He stands there, tall, proud, and naked, stretching his arms and flexing his muscles.
"Such fleeting pain for such an eternal reward", whispers the cultist standing behind the Mayor. "We can even leave your face and hands free of runes, so that no one needs to know what you have done"
The Mayor strokes her chin as she inspects the Lesser Wordbearer, who seems to grow more healthy by the second. She inspects her own hands, which indeed show some signs of age, and feels her own muscles, which are weak from spending so long cooped up in an office. She ponders things for a minute, then eventually agrees. The cultists smile, and bring forth scrolls inscribed with the runes she will need to cut into her flesh, a sharp knife with which to cut, and herbs to deaden her nerves whilst she does so. Somewhat nervously and clumsily, she cuts the first rune into her arm- and feels a chill pass through her. She cuts another, and the chill gets worse. A third, and the chill becomes a true sense of dread. Yet she grits her teeth and goes on and on, even as her body tries to warn her that this is a
very bad idea. The last runes the cultists carve for her, as they are on her back, and include the runes that spell out NOKLUVGN, which must be carved correctly.
With the last rune cut, the Mayor is strapped into the chair by smiling cultists. Then the fourth acolyte comes out of the back room leading a bound and gagged woman with gashes all across her body. The Mayor freaks out at the sight of the captive, and tries to break free from the chair- but the straps are strong and tight, and she cannot move- only watch as the acolyte takes a knife and cuts deep into one of the woman's veins, causing blood to gush out, into the goblet. The Mayor pleads for them to stop this madness, but the acolytes merely jam the stick into her mouth and start chanting. She screams uselessly into the gag as the brimming goblet is brought over to her, and can only stare in horror as the first drop spills from the rim and onto her head.
The earlier chill is instantly replaced by a searing fire as the blood touches the runes. The mayor bites down on the stick with such force that her teeth leave indentations in the solid wood, and the pain only gets worse. A rushing noise fills her ears, drowning out the sound of chanting, and her vision starts to blur. Dark shapes move in the corners of the room, and the rushing starts to sound like the whispering of a thousand voices. As blood flows down her body, the noise grows louder and louder, but also more distinct- she realises that it is the sound of hundreds of voices chanting various phrases including the name NOKLUVGN; "Worship Nokluvgn. Serve Nokluvgn. Love Nokluvgn. See Nokluvgn. Hear Nokluvgn. Breathe Nokluvgn." She starts to hyperventilate, and in so doing breathes in the fumes emanating from her own runes. The toxic gas sears her lungs, but also fills her head with visions of strange things, of writhing fingers and walking smoke, of wolves and skeletons and other, worse things.
By the time the second goblet is poured over her, the pain has passed the point of rationality. Her brain constantly tries to knock itself unconscious to avoid dealing with the pain, but the spell keeps her awake for every agonising second. As the pain grows, she begins to wish fervently for death to take her, anything to avoid feeling one more second of the searing heat. But no such release is coming, and the third goblet is poured over her head, covering every inch of her skin in the victim's blood.
Then the voices- the ever whispering voices- start to change. "Nokluvgn relieves the pain", they whisper, "Nokluvgn brings the strength". The Mayor closes her eyes and shakes her head in an attempt to banish the voices, but they only grow louder. "Worship Nokluvgn, and end this agony", they say, "Only the faithful may receive his rewards". The mayor screams as a fresh wave of pain washes over her, and the heat grows and grows until it feels like the fat beneath her skin is starting to boil. "Praise Nokluvgn", the voices insist, "End the pain"
After what seems like hours, but is actually only seconds, the Mayor breaks, and mumbles into her gag "Praise Nokluvgn". Immediately the pain diminishes, and she continues; "I serve Nokluvgn"- the pain recedes further. "Nokluvgn Nokluvgn Nokluvgn", she mumbles, each time she speaks the cursed name corresponding with sweet relief from the fire beneath her skin. Her runes slowly stop glowing, the fumes disperse, and the acolytes undo her restraints and remove her gag. The Mayor collapses out of the chair, hugging the cold stone floor.
A cultist approaches carrying a mirror, and the Mayor is dragged up so she can look into it. Before her eyes, her wrinkles disappear, her greying hair grows vibrant once more, and she feels newfound strength surging through her body. Gasping for breath, she looks down at her body, and notes with astonishment that it is twenty years younger, and rippling with muscles she never knew she had. She looks down at the bleeding captive, then up at the smiling cultists.
"I love Nokluvgn", she says.
So, uh, you rolled
two natural ones on a d81 at Ginkozan, and a 4 on a d150.
Which is to say, you got
wrekt.
Also, the cultists you sent off to join the army arrived at the capital, and now await commands. Please define what sort of cult you want them to form, and what actions (vaguely speaking) you want them to do (precise orders cannot be sent over such long distances without using a messenger, or having a magically talented receiver on the other end)
Name: Nokluvgn
Age: 8.75 months
Physical might: 50 (+3 p/w: province-wide suffering)(-1: Leakage)
Mental might: 52 (+3 p/w: province-wide suffering)(+3: Worship)(-1: Leakage)
Followers:266 (153 cultists, 7 magically trained cultists, 22 Nails, 28 Nails (armed), 1 Finger (heavily armed), 40 mercenaries (armed), 3 Lesser Wordbearers, 4 Wordbearers, 2 trained Wordbearers (armed), 7 knights (heavily armed), 1 Mayor (lesser Wordbearer), 1 Duke)
Slaves: 18 (4 priests, 1 high priest, 7 guards (armed), 6 captives)
Servants: 143 (8 Brutewolves, 3 Smokewraiths, 15 spectres, 4 giant-rat-packs, 10 black imps, 4 ultraviolet imps, 8 skeletons, 4 Hollow Remnants, 3 fungal druids, 84 zombies, 3 Klrntvs, 8 Wights)
Cults:
The New Way: Medium organization. 216 members (103 cultists, 7 magically trained cultists, 22 Nails, 28 Nails (armed), 1 Finger (heavily armed), 40 mercenaries (armed), 3 Lesser Wordbearers, 4 Wordbearers, 2 trained Wordbearers (armed), 5 knights (heavily armed), 1 Mayor (lesser Wordbearer), 1 Duke)
Slaves: 18 (4 priests, 1 high priest, 7 guards (armed), 6 captives)
Power level: 24 (12 used)
Of which: 3 spent recruiting, 3 spent worshipping, 3 spent tying up loose ends, 3 spent converting engineers at the mine.
Secrecy estimate: Reduced activity, and the silencing of a few nosy individuals, restores the cult to a semblance of secrecy, although suspicions remain regarding the mass kidnapping. (Somewhat risky)
Resources: 991 (+40 p/week: Duke's income)(+3: Copper mines)
Locations: Nuulyd: Merchant & town council & jail connections. Mayor converted.
Castle Brylib: Court connections+.
Oegorda: Nokluvgn may have been detected here. No wizards to be found.
Fözdoch Province (misc): No special features.
Other: A few nosy citizens who poke around the New Way's manors are arrested for trespass, and find themselves in the confines of the New Way's dungeons, where their blood is used to fuel a new ritual devised by Mischa to turn cultists (and mayors) into Lesser Worbearers. Conversion of Engineers at the mine goes poorly, with only one seeming corrupt enough to be immediately convertable, and two others apparently extremely devout followers of the gods, who will need to be 'dealt with'.
Unnamed Cult at the [unnamed] Capital: ? Organisation. 50 members (50 cultists)
Power level: ?
Resources: 0
Locations: Army camp near the capital. Divided amongst several units of trainees.
Other: Pray to Nokluvgn to let him know that they have arrived, and await his orders.
Champions:
Mischa Alwiz: The Duke's 'loyal' companion, now corrupted by the allure of evil.
Physical Might: 2 (+1: the Vessel)
Mental Might: 12 (+5: the Vessel)
Knowledge: Magic, adequate Necromancy.
Possessions: Grey imp (knowledge of human & demonic magic, disguised as a crow), the Vessel (An urn containing 100 souls and a chunk of Nokluvgn's essence; +1 physical and +5 mental, enhances spell-casting stamina. Large and unwieldy, requires knowledge of Necromancy to use)
Other: Devotes her efforts into studying the nature of Wordbearers, and quickly devises a way to create less potent versions at the cost of the fresh blood of an unwilling victim.
Malkus Rom: The captain of the mercenaries in the Duke's employ, he proved an especially eager convert, requiring only the most minor of rewards before pledging his loyalty to you.
Physical Might: 9 (+2: Devil-horse)
Mental Might: 2
Knowledge: Competent Tactics.
Possessions: Devil-horse (A huge black horse with demonic strength and intellect; +2 physical strength, greatly increased mobility)
Other: Can tell that these villagers have experience with combat. Perhaps they often fight off bandits?
"Kate": A female Wordbearer, trained in combat and magic and provided with arms and armour, now the vessel for your demonic offspring.
Physical Might: 6
Mental Might: 5
Knowledge: Adequate Mesmerism, basic Magic.
Other: 2.25/9(?) months pregnant. Oversees recruitment efforts in Nuulyd.
Demon-Brutewolf offspring: 1/2(?) months to birth
Physical Might: ?
Mental Might: ?
Other: None
Fortresses:
Fellshore: Was a small fishing village nestled between a small lake and a forest (with mountains not so far in the distance), it has now been razed. It is undermined with many tunnels and chambers forming a twisted maze, lit with smoky torches, where the shadows form strange shapes in the corner of your eyes.
Smallish labyrinth (10, increases secrecy)(being upgraded to Medium Labyrinth 56/200), Crude wall (construction halted. Defence value of 5. 32/100)
Hidden altar: A suitable place to sacrifice to you and praise your dark name.
Copper Mine: A recently reopened mine. The engineers recruited by the Duke are not yet converted (1/10 converted)
Copper Veins: Generates income (5 resources p/w) if fully staffed (requires 100 workers and 10 overseers)(currently at 60 workers and 10 overseers, generating 3 r p/w)
Author
Topic: Demonhood 2 -Number of giant minions lost: between 0 and 3- (Read 143416 times)