Necrosition: Brink of Extinction

[Mage Hunter]

"Food poisoning? That's a laugh," One of the mercenary's companions muttered. His voice was rather dry, even as he shifted a hat to cover his face. He seemed to lean his large frame against the back of the wagon, on the pretense of rest, but the others just ignored them as they took the deck of playing cards and began to deal in. When one of them asked the large man if he was in, a casual flick of his wrist made it clear he didn't want to play for now.

Drusilia didn't dare open her sight up to the winds of magic. She was afraid she'd go blind with the various auras that she could almost feel surrounding these men. Where before she had been an eager hunter, trying to destroy those who held onto magic, she knew she couldn't even get farther than halfway pulling one of her blades from its sheath before she would be dead. These were dangerous individuals, and while they joked, teased, and prodded each other, it was clear that they could have easily ground each other to dust.

And if that was the truth, what could they do to her?

It didn't take her long before she felt like an outsider, and so, grabbing her gear she moved to the front of the cart, sliding next to Godhand. At least she felt comfortable around the mercenary, even if he was rather crass. The view of the country side was nothing to talk about and so there wasn't much talking. Drusilia was merely observing her equipment, seeing how well the elves had done on it.

Like everything she had seen made by her technical cousins, the repairs were hardly noticeable. The only exception was the armor, which had been patched up, before matching leather spread anew over the chest. A soft sigh left her lips before she began to slide the armor on once more. When she snapped the last tie into place she felt a bit more protected, yet still exposed, still in danger.

"How do you deal with them?" Drusilia asked finally, before she unsheathed the long sword the mercenary had damaged. It was almost as if that incident had never happened, such was the work that went into repairing it.

"What do you mean?" Godhand's answer was a bit vexing, as she was sure he knew what she was asking.

"How do you deal with them?" She asked jerking a thumb in the back, "I've heard so many stories about them, and none of them even hint at being controllable, let alone friendly to anyone, well except for maybe one."

Godhand scratched his chin. Already there was stubble growing back. "Well, we all came up the hard way. We just understand each other, I guess."

She raised an eyebrow before she smirked, "Do I detect a hint of emotion there? Is the great Godhand Striker starting to crack that tough outer shell?"

"Is the great Godhand Striker going to have to smack a bitch?"

A bit of laughter escaped Drusilia's lips before she looked at the mercenary, "I won't lie, I missed this. It was torture moving through here alone. I can't help but think everything has this pervasive red haze about it, like the lands waiting to kill me. It’s a bit tough to deal with constantly, unless you have some kind of distraction..."

"See? I knew it. I grow on you. Like cancer."

She only shook her head before she said, "Well if that's the case, you'll kill me slowly, and I'd rather take a slow death than a quick one. Mind if I take a drag to calm my nerves?"

[Godhand]

Godhand sucked a mouthful of smoke out of the cigarette before plucking it from his lips, seeing how much of it was left and then handing it casually to his traveling companion.

"Wrap your pretty little lips around that."

Drusilia took the cigarette before taking a deep drag. Finally she exhaled before coughing slightly,

"Been far too long since I had a nice drag. Basic Training at least..."

"I didn't even know elves smoked. You know you people act all high and mighty but really you're no better than the rest of us. But maybe I'm confusing you with the high elves. I always get you guys mixed up."

"Oh no, I have my bouts of arrogance as well. They just got few and far between with the shitstorm I seem to have waded into."

"Well, at least you know. That automatically places you higher than those blissfully self-awareness impaired baboons. But then again, maybe I'm painting in unwisely broad strokes. That sergeant, sorry, lieutenant seemed alright. What do you think my chances are with her, anyway?"

"You could have had a quickie before we left Anebrilith if you weren't so gung-ho about the job..."

"Well, I am a professional, after all. Anyway, I got this vibe from her, you know? She was way too intense. Flings like are great when you're young but I just don't have that kind of energy anymore. I barely even have the presence of mind to beat off these days."

That last sentence hung in the air with neither really wanting to explore it any further.

--------------------------------------------------

The trip went more or less without a hitch. There was some trouble in the town from a stray zombie patrol but they didn't even need to get involved, the guards handled it just fine. The town itself was something of a non-issue when it came to the war; it was far enough away from Anebrilith that it had no real strategic value, but it was still close enough that it could be used as a resupply point. Nobody was really trying to exit Raiaera by land, though, so that meant it was beyond Xem'Zund's notice. Anybody trying to use it as a hub for refugees still had to deal with nearly an entire continent-span of undead before reaching anywhere beyond the Necromancer's grasp.

Even better, the town was far enough away from what really happened that the Godhand stories had become hilariously distorted. It was a real treat for him to hear himself described as simultaneously a celestial giant clad in gleaming white armor and a mysterious grey-robed figure wielding a sword made out of pure light. All good things must come to an end, however, and he still had a job to do. They managed to pick up some food and water and a couple cartons of bad cigarettes. His friends smoked like a goddamn chimney and the back of the wagon looked like a smokestack the entire trip. He didn't know how they managed to breathe that smog; it certainly wasn't like they were in the open air.

Finally after a couple more days of breathing in stale smoke and playing cards where, let's face it, everybody was cheating, things started getting interesting. The zombie patrols came more and more frequently until finally it averaged out that for every five feet they traveled they had to cut through at least one undead. That's when the fortress came into view; large and imposing, it truly was the black, pulsing heart of the Necromancer's war effort. Godhand fully expected to have to cut their path through a veritable army of undead, but to his surprise the hordes seemed to part for their little caravan. Finally, they reached the gates and who should he find waiting for him but the man himself. Lord Coldin Crowley: the final target. He dressed ostentatiously, with layer upon layer of rich purple and blue robes and a golden ram's headdress. He didn't seem surprised to see the mercenary.

"Well, well, well...What do we have here? If it isn't the thorn in my side. It's nice to finally have a face to go with the name. 'Godhand'. It's a powerful name; I like it. But good name or no, do you honestly think you can beat me, me, here? Here, of all places? My master's power courses through this place like blood through an ARTERY, and it fuels my own magics. Here, my power is second only to the dark lord himself!"

The man talked like the villain in a bad novel.

"Ahh, but I can see you think I'm boasting. After all, why should you fear me when you've managed to so handily dispatch my compatriots? ...But did you? Did you really? Witness my power!"

Lightning rained down from the sky and then, as if formed from magic itself, five figures materialized where the lightning had struck the ground. It was the Necrosition in all it's glory, their powers fueling and augmenting each other until each of them wielded nearly all the other's skills. This was the apex of Xem'Zund's war effort, the Necrosition's group phylactery, and it only made sense that if the generals could be resurrected at all, it would be here.

But Godhand had prepared for this. He let out a sharp whistle, and the back flaps of the wagon were pulled apart. And then, they appeared. Bleary-eyed and psychotic, with smoke in their lungs and hate in their hearts. They, in all their glory. Dan Lagh'ratham, Lillian Sesthal, Raelyse, Seth Dahlios and Jame Whitizard-Kaosi.

The New World Order.

[Mage Hunter]

Battle was immediately joined as she saw the two more physical members of the NWO rush the other martially inclined Necrosition members. Seth Dahlios, the Lavinian Demon took on Maxwell Anderson, the antitheist. Dan Lag'ratham took on Edorad Graves, and the battle was joined by equal parts cursing and rage filled war cries. Magic and raw physical power was on display as these specimens went at it.

Godhand seemed tied up with Killian Grimstone, eager to avenge his death at the hands of the mercenary less than a month ago. As they locked in for what looked like a brutal rematch, Drusilia was already drawing blades. Moving through the chaos she focused on the leader of the Necrosition, Coldin Crowley would bleed today at her hands.

Even as she moved she could hear Nialon's taunts grace the air, possibly attacking James Whitizard. She didn't know anymore as when she swung out in an arc, Coldin blocked with his staff, and her focus was now upon the horned leader of the Necrosition. He gave her a cruel smile, showing blackened death and weathered features that looked perfectly in place amidst this battle of the dead.

"Ahh yes, you must be the Mage Hunter. How could I forget the wench who managed to catch Nialon off guard? Make no mistake young Drow, you have only signed your death warrant by attacking me," He hissed even as he extracted his staff from combat with her. The swords continued to hammer into the staff, forcing the Mage on a back foot, even as his face never lost that smile.

"Do all liches talk this much?" Drusilia asked even as she brought the sword about in an upward cleave that nearly saw her draw first blood. The over extension was her mistake, as the opening she had tried to exploit was feigned. Immediately the staff ignited into a brilliant red, heating up to temperatures that could melt iron. The staff was brought about and hit her deeply in the side, causing her to cry out in pain.

"Before you begin your inane babble, perhaps you should strike first blood," Crowley crowed over her as he brought the staff in a wide arc forcing the Drow to retreat back. One sword stabbed deep into the ground as Drusilia focused on fighting with only one, she would need to fight cleanly. Already the damage to her side was hindering if only for the burn she could feel in her ribs. The pain was distracting, but it was a teacher in this case.

"First blood is not as important as last," Drusilia hissed even as she brought her sword about in a harsh blow that knocked Crowley's staff off balance. Even as the Necromancer sought to bring it about to a useful position, Drusilia twisted her wrist, and brought the sword into a stab that saw her enter the Liche's body. The cloth began to stain a pitch black as she grunted, and continued to bring the sword out through the side, even as the staff began it’s downward decent, still gleamed a hot red.

"Futile little one, for you cannot hope to-" His tirade stopped when the staff rebounded off her arctic hide armor, and he saw that the matte black of his Delyn staff was just that, missing the heat it once held. As she sank to a knee and grunted under the bludgeoning blow, it lacked the punch his first two blows would have delivered. Even as his staff recoiled off her armor she had brought her shoulder up into the other man's chest. Heaving with the exertion she stood there as the man was sent back off his feet.

"Shut up," She managed. Her eyes took on a hardened look even as she remained hunched, recovering from the pain in her back, and further her ribs. She was certain she would have to get her ribs treated for at least a blistering burn. She knew however, that it could have been worse, had she been lit aflame, the damage would have been immense indeed.

Crowley brought himself to a raised position before with a gesture, a wind picked up. The winds swirled about Drusilia as sand and dirt began to cut at her exposed skin, slowly stripping it until it bled. Her stamina was giving out under the pain she was experiencing, even as she slowly began to drain the magic in the area. Crowley growled lowly as he focused his concentration on bringing more mana into the mix, but as fast as he could fill the area, so was she absorbing it.

"Useless whore! You can't keep that up forever, and the winds of magic will punish you for taking upon yourself so much energy! You only buy yourself a moment's time," Crowley raged as he continued to fuel her draining of magic in the area. Drusilia was reduced to a knee, even as she continued to drain the magic of the area. A wry smile lit up her face infuriating the leader of the Necrosition more. Finally he called out, "Warsmith? Where are you? Finish off this wench!"

[Godhand]

Every member of the NWO seemed to have a preference when it came to which opponent they fought, and Godhand was far too busy to try and lead them into a cohesive force. Beyond that, he knew it would be useless. He was only really close enough to a few of them to coordinate any combined attacks which maximized their skills, and he also felt that they were strong enough that no member of the Necrosition could manage to take them down one on one.

It was thus unfortunate that they weren't fighting one on one, and more than a century of teamwork had rendered the Necrosition almost a preternaturally focused unit. Any time one started chanting a spell, another finished it if the caster was cut off mid-sentence. Not only that, but each of their individual strengths seemed to become universal to the group now that they were all together. Once reunited, Xem'Zund's Necrosition was far more than the sum of it's parts.

They still couldn't match the NWO, though.

Dan Lagh'ratham had the gravedigger in a headlock and was currently punching him in the face, meanwhile Lillian was easily managing to overpower Warsmith. What little power she had absorbed from Godhand still rendered her far superior to the Necrosition's schemer in physical combat. The mercenary didn't have the time to watch what happened next as suddenly an enormous boulder rose from the ground and began to roll towards him. It burst apart as Godhand greeted it with a huge right hand, but before the smoke could clear several large stones suddenly flew through the air towards him. He barely had time to bring his arms in front of his chest before they plowed into him with the size and power of granite cannonballs. He flew backwards and hit the ground but used the momentum of the rocks to help roll himself back to his feet. Immediately a hand shot into his trench coat and produced a steel tomahawk which he hurled at where he made out Grimstone's outline through the dust of crushed rock.

The dwarf instantly protected himself by summoning a column of stone from the ground to hide behind, the hatchet embedding itself in the stone thanks to Godhand's powerful throw. That was just the break the swordsman needed however and in the blink of an eye he was in front of the stone barricade, rearing back and then lunging forward with a chest kick that shattered the column like dynamite. Through the dust he made out the geomancer's silhouette and he drew his blade with one powerful stroke, cleanly slicing off his opponent's head.

When the dust cleared, however, he saw that it was only a stone dummy Grimstone had erected to distract the mercenary. He'd used the time to sharpen a spike, now a veritable lance, of rock that he'd summoned from the ground in the meantime. Suddenly he threw it at the swordsman, and it was all Godhand could do to throw himself into a mid-air spin to avoid getting impaled. He narrowly avoided the attack and heard an agonized scream behind him. He could only hope that it was one of the member's of the Necrosition that'd gotten run through by the attack the dwarf had intended for him.

"Godhand!"

The mercenary whipped his head back to see who had called out for him. Dan Lagh'ratham, the slayer of the rot (Godhand considered that his moniker had perhaps never been more appropriate) had just managed to lift up Edorad by the legs just a short distance away. As he was falling back down, the mercenary understood just what the zombie-hunter wanted. He ran towards him and then leapt up into the air to catch the gravedigger's head as he was falling, snapping his weight down at the last minute and breaking his opponent's neck with a tandem strike.

Before they could celebrate their victory, however, the gravedigger hoisted himself right back up, broken neck at all. It was no good; as long as the Necrosition's necromancers were still active, any victory would only be a temporary one. They needed to single out the re-animators among their foes and vanquish them if they were to have any chance of putting Xem'Zund's death lords down for good.

[Mage Hunter]

Still the mana continued to drain through the area, even as Drusilia reached behind her, trying to find what she needed to end the drain upon her vitality. Crowley continued to force more mana at her, even as the winds continued scratching her across her skin, but unable to do more than annoy the young Mage Hunter. Finally she felt contact with the porous rock as the grin became predatory.

Let's see you fight without your parlor tricks...

A white flash spread out over the area, and every member of the Necrosition was hit full force. Crowley who had been the lynchpin of their strategy, and the one helping to coordinate them, was suddenly cut off from them. A few in a position to do so checked to see if the Necromancer even lived, and were reassured that this was in fact the truth. The problem was, Crowley had been erased from the winds of magic, as had the pool of mana Drusilia had managed to collect.

In one moment, Drusilia had turned what would have been a deadly amount of mana, into a harmless pool of nothing. Releasing her grip upon magic in the area, her sword began to swing about again. The staff was slower, the age of the decrepit bag of bones calling itself Coldin Crowley showing as he lost the preternatural agility and speed afforded through his rites and magic.

As she beat a staccato tempo against his staff she began to nick and cut at the Necromancer. With each slash that clanged off the delyn staff she began a litany of fury, her voice clear and in her accented common, "Magic is for the weak!"

"Shut up!" Crowley growled as he brought it about in a wide swing, that Drusilia ducked before slashing deeply into the Liche. After the deep blow she reversed her grip on the blade and brought it up in a block that saw his staff bounce off her sword.

Clang!

"It corrodes the body, and withers the spirit!"

"Useless whore!" Crowley was sent into a back peddle as magic slowly returned to the area. He could feel a tenuous grip with the flow of mana in the area, and yet he was unable to fully grab it, such was her vigilance. No longer could he even begin to cast a spell, let alone complete it. Her sword rebounded off his staff twice while he tried to do something useful with it.

Clang! Clang!

"It drains the courage and befouls the air!"

No longer could Crowley continue his defensive strategy. Slowly, she was beginning to chip away at the delyn material of the staff. Lowly steel swords, reinforced by the best elven weapon smiths had become his undoing, as she pounded relentlessly upon the same spot, over and over again. It forced the Liche to a knee as he struggled against her.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

"It gives the weak false hope, and the pathetic false wisdom!"

Soon Crowley realized what was going on, as her blows buckled the staff. She had been reciting litanies of hate against her foe, and Crowley couldn't understand why until now. The rhythm she had been fighting upon was in time to the words. Each blow was more powerful than the last. Her sword was chipped with the sheer force of hitting his staff, but her strength, and reliance upon that strength had come through, as the staff began to bow and bend in response to the repeated efforts. Always the same spot was struck.

Always the loud clanging that rang out upon the battle field…

Clang! Clang! Clang! SNAP!

"Magic is for the weak, only nature is strong," The Drow finished as her chest heaved. Pain ran through her arms from the repeated blows. Further, her ribs continued to rail against her mind, and for a second she was certain her chest had rebelled against the rest of her body and torn itself away, in a secession that would leave her crippled by the pain. As she fell to a knee the sword was dropped, before her hand rested on the hilt of her other blade, left standing solitary in the dirt, and a vile grin crossed her face.

Crowley, was left holding the two halves of his staff before he stared at the Drow wide eyed and managed, "How can you still smile?"

"Second verse, same as the first..."

[Godhand]

Godhand stared down the newly resurrected gravedigger and ran his tongue across his teeth. The air was pierced with lightning and explosions and then sudden bouts of near-total silence that only served to heighten the roar of magic once it resumed, like a gunshot in the dead of night. Slowly, careful to watch out for any sudden movements by the mercenary, the gravedigger picked his trademark alloy coffin from the ground. Godhand was surprised that it seemed to be in perfect condition; when he'd fought Edorad before, he'd made sure to smash closed the lid so that it's powers could never be used again. He didn't know why he'd done it; something about the magic just seemed wrong on some base, instinctual level. Like cannibalism or necrophilia, something about the item simply stimulated some forgotten part of Godhand's primitive, reptilian brain. All he knew was Edorad had to be defeated and his weapon destroyed.

He thus charged at the ghoul full speed, intent on savaging him with a clothesline and then battering the coffin into an inoperable state with his thuggish fists. The swordsman saw Edorad adjust his shoulder, and knew he was going to swing the massive box him as soon as he was in range. But Godhand didn't worry: he'd taken worse hits from better people. He had a skull like a fire hydrant, and he'd be damned if some emaciated holdover from an age best forgotten was going to intimidate him. He lowered his head, intent on goring the gravedigger like an animal, but was unprepared for what happened next.

Instead of swinging coffin at him, Edorad unclasped all the locks in what seemed like the blink of an eye, threw the doors open and then braced the thing with his back. He'd moved impossibly fast, and it was all Godhand could do to throw his arms out and catch the edges of the coffin to prevent himself from plunging headlong into that portal to the abyss. Just because he'd managed to prevent himself from falling in, however, didn't mean that he hadn't entered it. Godhand's head had gone through the plane-gate, and what he saw on the other end was so horrifying it was nearly indescribable.

Godhand wasn't a squeamish man. He didn't fear God or Hell, and wasn't terribly scared of dying. With all that said, he was but a man. What he saw on the other end of that coffin was a confused, non-euclidean pastiche of all mankind's horrors and regrets. A thousand disembodied rectums shitting into the smiling maws of skinless deviants, the sounds of children laughing. Women forced into dark chambers, raped and subsequently forced to bear children for tentacled, amorphous horrors three times a day, then getting violated by those same children and so on until the whole plane was bursting with these monstrosities, the entire dimension straining to pour out like sewage into the real world. And the smell. Dear god, the smell.

He finally managed to pull his head back from the strange gravity exerted by that hellplane, and he could feel blood seeping out of his ears, nose, mouth and tear ducts. Every single cell in his body seemed to ignite from his brief stay in hell, and he used his anger. He easily smacked aside the coffin from where the gravedigger had planted it, already lesser abominations creeping out of it's open doors, and easily caught the punch Edorad threw his way. With his free hand he grabbed the man's forearm and crushed it. But the death lord didn't scream; he didn't even flinch. Godhand subsequently grabbed him by the cuff and then threw him towards the coffin, walking up and dragging him the rest of the way until he managed to lay the man's swollen neck against the lid of the coffin. He then held him down with one arm and lifted the lid on the other, before shutting it as hard as he could against his face. He punctuated each one of his words with a violent slam of the door.

"NEVER!"slam"EVER!"slam"IN MY LIFE!"slam"HAS ANYONE DONE!"slam"SUCH A HORRIBLE THING!"slam"TO ME!",slam"AS YOU DID, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

He then lifted the gravedigger up by his legs and tossed him into his own hellgate, shutting the door and then sealing it shut with such a finality that he knew no magic would ever open it again. He heard a roar from behind him, and instantly knew another member of the Necrosition was going to try to avenge his friend. Taking a chance, he grabbed the coffin by it's leather clasps and swung it blindly with all his strength behind him. He couldn't see who it was, but he felt the reassuring thunk their body made against the metal before they were fired into the woods like a rocket.

[Mage Hunter]

She raised the sword in her hand as he approached the Magus. Her boot kicked the hilt of her nearly destroyed blade, sending it spinning off, and out of immediate sight. Still as Crowley rose holding the two halves of his delyn staff, his eyes burned with a loathing she thought impossible to reproduce.

Little did she know, it was in her eyes as well.

The two once again began combat, as Crowley dropped both halves of the shattered staff before beginning the next incantation. Immediately Drusilia was off slashing at the man, only to grow frustrated when she realized one of Crowley's spells was going to be completed by another minion. Still she continued to push at the man, giving him no room to dodge, forcing him to defend. Her blade arced through the air as she continued to nick and cut away at the liche's long dead flesh.

Looking upon the necromancer her hair flew about her, the tie within it long since having been lost in battle. Her blade was swung with a ferocity unmatched by any of the Necrosition, and that was because of its primal nature. Death, while having the ultimate hold over life, could not pierce the determination within her heart. Her blade swung upwards, cleaving deep into the flesh of Crowley's face before his horned helmet was caught by the tip of her blade, and knocked from off its perch.

The hair was only faint wisps, unlike his beard. White and smoky in color, it barely registered within her mind. It was almost as if death had begun reclaiming the liche, and here in the Sepulcher of the Necrosition, she could think of no better place to do so. A grin crossed her face as she twirled, stabbing backwards upon following up with her strike, and punctured a rotted lung.

Crowley's body shuddered, but there was not gasp, no wheeze as a living opponent would have made. If anything underlined the fact that the Mage Hunter was fighting a member of the undead plaguing this forgotten country, it was the fact that she heard nothing when Crowley was punctured. Instead, his hands wrapped tightly about her throat.

"I got you! You insipid meddling Drow!" The words rang out across the area as Drusilia realized her folly. The blow was meant to stun and set up a decapitation, only to find that she had never truly gotten the experience she had been expecting against the undead. Of course Crowely wasn't stunned by the blow, he had no need of the lungs, and they never functioned in the first place.

Now she would pay.

Her vision began to slowly shrink away from the real world, slowly yet surely. At first she lost the edges of her vision, as he feeling of being tired overcame her mind. She struggled, clutching at the hands about her throat desperately, and in the process dropping the steel swords she had carried. Her mind railed against the situation, as she cursed herself for being so stupid. Had she truly thought that she could defeat the leader of the Necrosition so easily?

Blinking, fear overtook her mind as she saw nothing anymore. She was fading, and her eyes had lost focus to the rest of the world. Still she struggled, if only a token resistance, and it was then she heard the whispering voice in her ear, the last words she might ever hear before that too would fade, "You cost us much Drow. We are the creeping death that shall consume this world, even as you fought, and struggled against us, you only tightened the noose about your own neck."

She struggled, trying desperately to figure out what to do. It was then, as the Liche continued his melodramatic speech that a sound like an over ripe fruit splattering upon a wall was heard. Something wet trickled down the back of Drusilia's neck, and before she could even consider what had happened the world came back slowly into focus. Her breathing came in deep gasps, and with the sudden ability to breath, she passed out.

She had fought, and fought valiantly, but ultimately the victory was not hers.

Spoils:

Drusilia Liadon has finally grasped the Litanies of Hate and their purpose, used int he timing of blows in a rhythm designed to create a crescendo of violence.

Litanies of Hate - Upon beginning the Litanies of Hate, Drusilia may begin a tempo of blows that increases with each line of the litanies. If she should do so her speed will increase and the strength of each blow will increase as well, until they end at double her most powerful output, and at double the speed. The downside of this maneuver is that it requires her target to hold still and be held under the rain of blows, meaning that if she misses at any time during the litany she will find her energy wasted. She must repeat the initial strike again and again, only being able to move forward at a slow pace, as she continues to swing the blade.

[Godhand]

Godhand, ascertaining that he was in no immediate danger, took a moment to survey the battlefield. Nialon Sunscar was valiantly striving to strike Raelyse with his many pulsars, but the Myrusian was easily able to negate the necromantic beams by crossing them with supercharged bolts of electricity. The crossing of the elemental and unholy energies lit up the night sky, but even through all the glare the mercenary could see that Sunscar was on the defensive. Seth Dahlios was exchanging blows with the paladin, Maxwell. Even though the unbeliever's very gaze was enough to dissipate most magical creatures, the NWO's enforcer was still managing to push Maxwell back. Even though his abilities were halved thanks to the man's tapturn shutdown, fifty percent of his power was still more than enough to crush almost anybody. Jame was soaring through the air above him in his dragon form, occasionally making his presence known whenever a large number of zombies tried to force their way into the melee. A single breath from the powerful halfbreed reduced every intruding undead to ash, freeing up the rest of the New World Order to focus on the Necrosition itself. Killian was easily overwhelmed by Dan Lagh'ratham, and Lillian must have killed the dark apothecary nearly ten times by now only for him to be raised.

Godhand was tired, and frustrated, and nearly half a year of resentment for this land and it's people was threatening to spill out at any moment. He limited himself to gritting his teeth and shouting,

"Alright, people! Let's wrap it up!"

And with those simple words, it was almost like a switch had been flicked for the entire New World Order. Their attacks tripled in intensity and strength, showing that up until that point they'd only been toying with and feeling out their individual opponents. Godhand ignored the anguished screams of his enemies as he climbed unto the back of the wagon. Emerging with the suitcase clasped nonchalantly in one of his hands, he calmly walked towards the Necrosition's fortress.

"Striker!"

The mercenary turned just in time to see Seth Dahlios whip the paladin towards him. As Maxwell flew through the air, Godhand greeted him with a savage forearm smash to his head. It nearly detonated on impact and the swordsman winced as some brain matter sprayed unto his shirt. He resumed his steady gait, only for another shout to pierce through the chaos.

"Godhand!"

From his peripheral vision he could see that Dan had fallen to his knees and was holding himself up by his hands just in front of Grimstone. He was the member the mercenary had known the longest, so he instantly knew what it was he wanted. Godhand ran up to the slayer, braced his foot on the man's back, leaped into the air and broke the bewildered dwarf's neck by hitting him with a flying kick to the head. He immediately chastised himself for it, however, knowing how delicate and temperamental the package he was carrying was. He kept on walking, speeding up a bit when he witnessed Lord Coldin Crowley attempting to squeeze the life out of his new friend. He didn't think he'd be able to manage it with his weak, decrepit limbs, though. He was a mage after all.

Finally reaching the Necrosition's otherwise preoccupied leader, Godhand lifted the suitcase into the air, let go of the handle, drew his blade and severed the ghoul's head in the same fluid stroke, stabbed the sheath into his belly and caught the suitcase by the handle before it could hit the ground again. The mercenary didn't pay attention to the necromancer's impotent floundering; he'd seen the sheath drink enough souls that the gruesome spectacle no longer interested him. The enormous double-doors to the Necrosition's keep were shut, but all it took was a stout kick from Godhand to send them flying open. Godhand knew their phylacteries were in there somewhere, but he had neither the time, energy or patience to search an entire castle for a room that would doubtlessly be well guarded and well hidden. Instead, he took a few steps into the main hall, gently laid the briefcase down in front of him and opened it. He flipped a switch and then turned a knob, then walked out of the keep and closed the doors he'd kicked open.

He emerged just in time to see the necromancer's last errant twitches as his sheath devoured whatever remained of his magically-fueled soul. Removing the sheath with an audible snap of the leathery flesh, he sheathed his Muramasa and helped the newly awakened drow to her feet. No doubt her head felt like it was splitting open thanks to her brain being denied air; he felt sympathy for her, as he'd been nearly choked to death enough times to know that it was never fun. The rest of New World Order had easily dispatched their generals once he'd given the command, and had already helped themselves back into the wagon. He took a moment to address his mage hunter companion as they were walking back to their vehicle.

"Now, how do you think I beat them?"

"You were...Smarter than they were."

“Not at all. Most of those people were smarter than I could ever hope to be. I beat them…", he paused for effect, "Because I had superior intelligence. That is to say, I knew more about them than they knew about me. See, I knew the necromancer’s friends. He didn’t know mine. I knew his abilities; he didn’t know mine. So, I planned ahead. In the end that’s all that really matters. No matter how badly someone outclasses you, if you have the right intel then they’re just as easy to take down as anybody else. It’s all about putting them in a situation that maximizes their weaknesses and maximizes your strengths. And my strength?” He paused and took a moment to point out the NWO, “Lies in the company that I keep.”

He hefted himself back unto the driver's seat and took a moment to fish out a pair of ear plugs that he'd purchased back in Radasanth. He popped them into his hears and then pulled out a cigarette and his lighter from his coat.

"Oh, and you might want to cover your ears."

He flicked open the lighter and leaned into the flame just right. Instantly a deafening explosion was heard from behind him as the timer on the bomb he'd set ran out. The horses drawing the carriage panicked and began to pull the wagon back towards the last town at an enormous speed.

Behind them, the keep of the Necrosition crumbled. Their members were obliterated. Their emblem burned.

Godhand just enjoyed his cigarette.

Necrosition series COMPLETE. Godhand's sheath absorbs the soul of Lord Coldin Crowley, last member of the Necrosition. Their phylacteries are destroyed and they can never be resurrected. Their keep is in ruins. The zombies they controlled are now in disarray.

Spoils: By consuming the last soul of the Necrosition, Godhand's sheath has acquired a minor divinity unto itself. As a result, it cannot be unenchanted by any means or it's powers deactivated. (Please keep in mind that I've been building up to this ability for six quests.)

Also, it occurs to me that since the NWO played a critical part in this quest, I might be eligible for the HQ reward that means I get an extra fifty percent experience bonus. I'll let you guys figure it out, though.

[Amaril Torrun]

Necrosition: Brink of Extinction

Let me start off by apologizing for the absurd wait you guys had to go through. Most of my commentary will be focused on Mage Hunter’s and Godhand’s posts, as Painkiller only had a small role in the story.

STORY

Continuity ~ 5 As the ending to a long series, you guys should have told more about the story of killing off the Necrosition as a whole. There were a few hints to past pieces of the story, but not nearly enough. Even in a series, each thread needs to be able to stand on its own, and good back story is a key part of that.

Setting ~ 3 This was your weakest point. With so many locations involved in this thread, the lack of any real detail of the surrounding areas made the whole story seem much too rushed. Drusilia’s battle with Nialon was a bit more fleshed out than the rest of the story, with some attention paid to the grim fate of Eluriand, but there was still a feeling that the events were taking place in an empty space. After mentioning that they were arriving at a great fortress, the climatic battle took place in a complete void. With such a preoccupation with the fighting, the surroundings simply didn’t exist.

Pacing ~ 4 As I mentioned, this story was a bit too rushed, more so on Godhand’s side. There was simply a lot going too quickly and not all of it seemed necessary. The stops at the restaurant and tailor allowed for some insights to Godhand’s character, but took a lot of steam out of the Necrosition story. The mugging incident and the nonchalant mentioning of a pirate attack on the trip back to Anebrilith, did the same thing. Random occurrences like those, as realistic as they may be, can be momentum killers in the grand scheme of things when writing fiction. That was the case here. I don’t suggest completely changing this style of writing, because I do like the realistic approach. Just be careful not to let it overshadow the real story.


CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 7 I loved Godhand’s dialogue and his character shined through his words. Drusilia’s speech is a bit plain, though the added drow cursing really helps add some flavor.

Action ~ 7 Godhand’s weeping over the meal was a bit unusual. It looks like you wanted to add another dimension to who he is, but it didn’t really fit in well. On the flip side, his queasiness after meeting up with the butcher was a written well, showing that even the toughest men can’t always be made of stone. Drusilia’s actions stick to her character, but she is somewhat predictable. This is a good thing, though a curve ball or two every now and again can help solidify who she is.

Persona ~ 6 Drusilia is a guarded individual when it comes to her emotions, but there is still room to build on who she is. Telling what she is feeling throughout the story, most of the time being anger during her battles, only scratches at her surface. Questioning herself on whether she might have feelings for Godhand helped. Continue building on who she is by describing rather than telling your readers how she reacts to her surroundings. I have a pretty clear image of Godhand, and I can tell that you have a firm grasp of how to present him. By touching on his softer side, you did wonders to bring him to life.


WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6 A lot of the writing seemed mechanical and rigid, though phrases such as “… it tasted like pure glory…” helped. Godhand’s writing was more comfortable and relaxed, though still lacked a stylistic use of the English language for the most part.


Mechanics ~ 6 There were some mistakes throughout, but the most glaring was around the middle of the story where there were some tense and point of view changes.

Clarity ~ 6


MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 7 Congratulations on finishing such a great achievement by killing off the Necrosition… twice!


TOTAL ~ 57

Godhand earns 6696 experience (after doubling) and 500 gold.

Mage Hunter earns 3091 experience (after doubling) and 500 gold.

Painkiller earns 573 experience (after doubling) and 200 gold.

Drusilia’s Litanies of Hate is approved until her next update, where it may need some minor tweaking at the discretion of the RoG.

Godhand’s sheath can not be disenchanted nor have its powers deactivated, subject to further approval at your next RoG update.




If you guys have any questions about anything, feel free to catch me via PM or AIM: loligagerrofl12

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.

Mage Hunter levels up to 3!