Lemonpie wept in his frigid, barren alcove. He had been weeping a lot lately. Not many came to visit, and those who did only brought auras of depression and concern. Even the entities that spoke to him changed. Lovely spirits like Aurelux, the Angel of Golden Light, Histi, the Whisp of Laughter, and Old Arn, the Heavenly Eagle, servants of Omer who once frequented him and comforted him in his times of need had been switched out for devious minor imps like Husdharion, He Who Flays to the Bone, Ar'rghad, The Rotten Eye that Sees All, and Goobadooba, the Slug-eater, who came to taunt and torture him. Servants of the Bear. Servants of Armok. The same thing. Lemonpie had written down all interactions with the minor whisps that visited him and passed them on to Quill Arcane, so more could be learned of their nature at his requests.
Quill was one of few who still came. He often brought flavorful herbal teas with him, always tasting differently. They spoke about the status of the fortress, how it had been flourishing lately. Their foolish push for the resources outside, and the deaths it had caused. They talked about Quill's scientific advancement, the discoveries he made in the laboratory, study and library Lemonpie had ordered to be dug out in the dungeons of Sprin's castle for Quill. A shame the menagerie of exotic animals Lemonpie had captured and placed in Quill's study had been severely thinned out. New beasts would need to be caught.
Crazy Fey and Arx rarely visited when they were alive, but their recent deaths had made things even lonelier. Some ghosts who rested within the cathedral, such as Ustuth and Ganondwarf, came to talk as the sacred stones saved them from Armok's purgatory, yet none of those three had been buried here. Carefulrogue's ghost only seemed to watch.
Even Lord Omer did not talk. Lemonpie tried time and time again but all he could hear was the bear. The wretched, wretched bear. A sliver of Armok himself, the same being, yet not entirely. Inside, he felt its presence. As if it was breathing in his neck, his maw open around Lemonpie's neck at all times, ready to bite and sever his spine at all time. Lemonpie's new green eye still burnt in its socket. It had its own little will, as it darted around separately from Lemonpie's other eye. Always looking for prey.
To the outside, the fort might seem to flourish, but to those able to see underneath the veil of matter, it was clear the fortress was rotting. Negative energies, entities, spilling like black honey from a bear-thrashed beehive. And in the skies, for those that could see true, the clouds were no longer white. They were red as blood, formed like the clawed fists of a raging titan.
Armok was coming.
And no God came to help us.
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Topic: NecroThreat IV: Fortress for BFEL, God of Necromancy (Read 550742 times)