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Author Topic: Dark Resurrection  (Read 2277 times)

Offline Hieronymus

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Dark Resurrection
« on: November 21, 2012, 08:43:26 PM »
A bit of fluff I had fun writing last night. I thought I would share it with you guys.

I would appreciate any constructive feedback.

N.B. This doesn't include grammatical errors, I'll get onto them!
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Offline Hieronymus

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #1 on: November 21, 2012, 08:43:46 PM »
          Ludo von Dihr stared morosely at the passing countryside; gnarled, leafless trees raised skeletal branches towards the bruised, overcast sky, and stunted, thorny scrub threatened to overrun the borders of the pitted, mud road. The only noise Ludo had heard for the past three days was the rhythmic fall of horses hooves, and the squelching rotation of the carriage's wheels. A sudden pothole bucked the carriage violently, causing Ludo's elbow to slip from the carriage's window, sending a sharp bolt of pain through his head as his lip cracked the ledge; the taste of blood bought Ludo out of his catatonia, and a fresh wave of bitter thoughts rose in his mind. Why had his father sent him to this forsaken land? “As an envoy,” he heard himself mutter, “to renew the bonds of fellowship between our noble houses.” Ludo had never even heard of the von Steins, and he doubted that his father, the esteemed Baron von Dihr, had any real interest in relations with what must be a poor and, probably, inbred, line. Then why had he really sent him? “To get rid of you, because he's ashamed of you, ashamed of what you did.” Ludo had always known this in his heart, but vocalising it brought up a fresh tide of shame, bitterness, and anger; third son of a piss-poor provincial Baron, no inheritance, no status, and that bitch laughed at me, she had it coming, “Oh yes”, Ludo spat, “she had it coming.”
          Overhead the sky darkened, the clouds turning a sullen deep grey, and a slight wind sent the branches groaning softly in apprehension of the approaching night. Somewhere out in the dusk, a wolf howled, a mournful cry that soon was answered by the voices of its kin; Ludo shivered, the noise was so alien after days of near silence, and it was heavy with threat. Drawing his cloak tightly around him, Ludo cursed his luck, his father, and the von Steins for his situation; the coachman had better find an Inn soon, this was not a land to be caught out on the roads at night; he had heard stories, preposterous of course, but still, everyone knew that Sylvania did not welcome visitors.
« Last Edit: November 21, 2012, 09:05:31 PM by Hieronymus »
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Offline Hieronymus

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #2 on: November 21, 2012, 08:44:44 PM »
          Ludo awoke with a start, to the sound, the sound of... nothing. The carriage stood stock still, and the complete silence was oppressive; outside, the dim glow of the coach lamps showed a nondescript section of the road, trees towered up to the sky, where a fat, sickly green moon squatted among scattered clouds. Glancing left and right, Ludo looked vainly for an Inn, or any sign of what passed for a dwelling in this dreadful place, but he saw nothing, they were entirely alone. They. In a slightly cracked voice, that he found himself reluctant to make, Ludo asked, “Driver? Why have we stopped?” Silence greeted him. Ludo felt a stab of anger overwhelm his trepidation, the witless fool was probably drunk, and had passed out. Didn't he know he was working for nobility? This would not stand, he was a von Dihr, an noble of an old and distinguished house! What was this peasant think he was doing! He had important duties to perform, and this inbred, slack-jawed nobody was making him wait! “Driver!” Ludo snapped, “what in Sigmar's name are you playing at? Stop dawdling, and get us moving at once!” Silence.
          Incensed, Ludo slammed the door of the coach open, with more force than he intended, and plummeted into the stinking mud. Spluttering, Ludo dragged himself to his feet; in the puddles that dotted the road, the rotten eye of Morrslieb looked at him mockingly. Ludo stumbled to the front of the coach, looking up at the high coachmen's perch; against the night sky, Ludo saw the figure of the coachmen silhouetted, his tricorne hat perched atop what Ludo vaguely remembered as a clumsy, ugly face, stained with dirt and holding two eyes that had been oddly flat and dull. But now that face was in darkness, apparently looking fixedly at the road they were travelling down. Snarling in annoyance, Ludo grabbed one of the coach lanterns that hung from a short iron chain, and directed it at the coach men, uttering as he did, “Listen to me, if you think you are getting paid for this incompetance, you've got another thing...” the rebuke died in Ludo's throat, and he stumbled backwards, making a thin, strangled cry, his eyes bulging in terror. The lantern, released from his grasp, swung backwards and forwards, and on each upswing, it showed in stark relief, the oddly shadowed coachman, his throat slit, his eyeless head staring sightlessly, his entire body awash with blood.
          Through his terror, Ludo was dimly aware of movement in the trees; figures slowly lurched out of the gloom of the forest, simply pushing through the scrub and low branches, and stood stiffly in a circle around the stage coach. Frantic, Ludo scrabbled backwards through the mud towards the horses, desperately hoping he could unhitch one before the dark shapes could close in any further.  Glancing down at the ground around him, Ludo started and gave a short yelp, and bolted upright onto unsteady legs. The mud was red. Something in his terrified mind told him that there was far too much blood here to be just from the coachman, and as his fear addled mind put together the pieces, he turned slowly to look at the horses, which still stood at the front of the coach.  Ludo clutched at the nearest horse, and screamed as his hands touched the cold, dead flesh and came away, sticky with gore. Ludo was dimly aware that the figures around him were stirring, and as he collapsed to the floor, he saw a stooped, hooded apparition  moving through the darkness towards him, and as his mind relieved its self of the torment of consciousness, he faintly heard the figure whisper, “Sleep.”
« Last Edit: November 21, 2012, 08:48:26 PM by Hieronymus »
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Offline Hieronymus

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #3 on: November 21, 2012, 08:45:10 PM »
          Ludo stirred. His vision swam back into focus, and he found himself staring down between his legs at a dry, dusty floor. Memory came flooding back; the coachman, the horses, all that blood, those shapes, that, that, figure. Ludo snapped his head up, panic sending his heart racing, the noise throbbing in his ears in the eeire silence of the night. Panic threatened to drop him into unconsciousness once more, but with a surprising exertion of will, Ludo glanced up and took in his surroundings. He was sitting on the coachman's perch, and the blood that had been spilled there was soaking into his breeches; a single lantern burned on a table in front of him, giving him a faint impression of a barn, tall beams pushed into the darkness to support a high roof, through a gap in which, Ludo could see the dull globe of Morrslieb nearing its zenith. Ludo craned his neck behind him, and as he did, he felt something cold and metallic rub against his wrists, glancing down he saw that his wrists and ankles were manacled to the coach, and he felt a fresh surge of panic send a a tremor through his body, jangling the links of the manacles.
          Ludo strained around him, glancing at the roof of the coach, and stared. With a strange, detached, clarity, he realised that someone had removed and replaced the roof of his coach. From his position he could see shining nail heads, bright against the painted black wood, and fresh paint glimmered wetly in the dull light. Straining to look down at the doors to the stage coach, Ludo felt incensed to see that the von Dihr coat of arms had been painted over. An odd, irrational anger seized him, pushing away his fear and instilling a measure of courage into his soul. Ludo's voice came out in a dry rasp, but his words didn't quaver, and he addressed the dark, “What is the meaning of this? Do you not know who I am? Release me this instance, and perhaps I will show you clemency!” Somewhere behind the lantern on the table, the darkness moved.
          The same stooped figure moved into the light; it was dressed in cheap, dark robes, and a dark cowl hung low over its face, the light from the lantern only giving a faint indication of stubbly chin and hooked nose. The figure bore a thick, gnarled staff in it's right hand, and as it shuffled into the light, the staff clunked dully on the straw-covered floor. For a moment, Ludo felt doubt seep into his indignation, but he managed to keep his tone imperious as he addressed the figure, “I am Ludo von Dihr, son of Baron von Dihr, a noble of the Empire, and I demand you release me!” The figure stopped abruptly, and started shaking slightly a dry, grating, sound emanating from beneath its voluminous cowl. “Oh forgive me, my Lord, how remiss of me,” a quiet, male voice croaked, “I forget myself, indeed, proper introductions are in order for such a,” the figure stopped for a second, taking exaggerated care over it's words, “a noble personage.” The figure took a step forward, until the lantern on the table was almost directly beneath it, the light casting deep shadows up its self, and pulled back the cowl.
« Last Edit: November 21, 2012, 08:48:55 PM by Hieronymus »
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Offline Hieronymus

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #4 on: November 21, 2012, 08:45:39 PM »
          The man that faced Ludo was old; his skin had an odd grey tinge to it, and as the hands released the cowl, Ludo caught sight of liver spots and knotted sinewy fingers. Grey eyes regarded the young nobleman calmly, without a trace of concern at Ludo's outburst. Thin, colourless lips parted, and the damaged voice creaked, “I am Nicodemus, and you, are at my service.” As he spoke, shapes moved from behind him, and the light from the candle showed the upright corpse of a young woman. She had been pitifully thin, and her features were gaunt from malnutrition, a simple peasants dress hung shapelessly on her, and Ludo saw many shapes like her, move into the dull aura of light produced by the lantern, surrounding the stage coach. Nicodemus didn't even pay attention to the gruesome shapes, instead, his grey eyes remained fixed on the Ludo. “I would introduce my, things, but alas I didn't have a chance to catch their names as I ripped the life from them. I trust that this concludes the formalities, and we can move to the real business of the evening.” Ludo stared, and he found himself croaking stupidly, “You're... you're... a Necromancer.” Nicodemus gave Ludo a wide smile, revealing a collection of stained, yellow teeth, “How perceptive of my lord to notice,” he cackled, “I profess, I am surprised that you would even recognise me for what I am. No matter, I don't think you will be passing on your observations to anyone.” Nicodemus turned to move back into the shadows, and as he did Ludo spoke, in a quiet, broken voice, “This is so wrong, this, this is evil.”
          Nicodemus whirled round, his ancient face was livid, his eyes bulged alarmingly, and his grey skin turned a dull, blotchy crimson, “WRONG? WRONG?” Nicodemus shrieked, “No, you are the ones who are wrong! The only evil here would be if someone of my talent, my genius, were to shrink and wither to the curse of mortality! That the world would lose one of the greatest minds ever birthed to something as prosaic as AGE AND INFIRMITY, IS WRONG!” Nicodemus strode between the motionless corpses of the horses, the light of Morrslieb casting odd shadows on his face, his cheeks and eyes sunk into shadow, and the dull green light gave him an strongly cadaverous cast. Glaring up at Ludo, the skull spat, “They didn't understand, my learned colleagues,” and jabbed his staff at Ludo, “for an Order so concerned with death, that draws it's power from Shyish, they couldn't even countenance the notion that we should master Death, instead of being beholden to it! They could not understand the power of death, the power we could control!” Nicodemus lurched suddenly, a dry, hacking cough bending him double, forcing him to lean on his staff. As the coughs subsided, Nicodemus straightened, and walked back towards the table, his composure settled, and his dry voice pronounced, “It is of no matter, those fools are my masters no longer. I have found a new master, one who understands true power, and after tonight, he will lavish me with power so great, I will transcend the understanding of you simple, little, people.”
          The corpses moved into the light, a skull, covered in bloody arcane sigils was clasped in each pair of cold, dead, hands. The dead surrounded the coach, and for the first time Ludo noticed thin chalk lines etched onto the floor in dizzying complex, interweaving circles. As they reached the edge of the circle, the eyes in the skulls burst into life, a sickly green fire burning in their sockets, and a palpable tension crackled in the air. Ludo started screaming, all arrogant nobility escaping him, and he thrashed helplessly against his bonds, blood seeping from his wrists as he desperately tried to free himself. Nicodemus' voice rose in a chant, his arms outstretched towards Morrslieb, which had almost reached the apex of it's arc, and bright green tendrils flew from the tips of Nicodemus' outstretched fingers, whipping around the coach in a frenzy of light and energy. The confusion of light, chanting, and Ludo's agonised screams reached a crescendo, and the corpses surrounding the circle, exploded into green fire, burning like torches in the cold, Sylvanian night. Ludo slumped forward, his body held in position by the manacles, and the corpses crumbled into small piles of ash, the skull that each had held, steaming gently.
« Last Edit: November 21, 2012, 08:49:27 PM by Hieronymus »
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Offline Hieronymus

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #5 on: November 21, 2012, 08:46:04 PM »
          Nicodemus lowered his arms, ragged breaths flew from his mouth in clouds of condensation, and he wearily gestured to Ludo's still cooling corpse. The manacles opened at his unspoken command, and Ludo's body fell into the straw in a crumpled heap. The spot where Ludo had been held was not empty however, a cloaked figure sat, hunched forwards, it's hands clutching a pair of spectral reins that were attached to the skeletal forms of the horses that had been transformed by Nicodemus' spell. The wraith turned, and the hooded head stared at Nicodemus, and what could have been a flicker of recognition glimmered briefly from under the dark folds; Nicodemus met the wraith's gaze, and slowly intoned, “I am Nicodemus, and you, are at my service.” The wraith bowed it's head, but Nicodemus had moved to the side of the coach, and had pressed his palms and ear to the dark panelling, listening expectantly. For a moment, nothing happened, and a flicker of doubt and terror crossed Nicodemus' ravaged features, but then slowly, a power coalesced within the confines of the coach, almost indistinguishable from the background thrum of magical energy left from Nicodemus' spell, it was a spark, but after a brief moment, it gained an awful sentience, and awful hunger.
          Nicodemus smiled, a lunatic grin that split his features, and pulled himself away from the black body of the coach. “Awake, my Lord,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent, “I have bought you back. Rest now, my Lord, the winds of Dhar will nurture you, and in time, you will regain your former glory and take vengeance on the mortal fools that left you in that marsh.” Nicodemus circled back round the coach, and climbed up with a creaking of joints, to sit beside the wraith that had been Ludo, and murmured quietly, “Then, we can discuss my reward.” The wraith lashed the reins, the skeletal steeds reared high, and the Black Coach burst through the wall of the barn, Nicodemus' hysterical laughter filling the air; the light from Morrslieb bathed the nightmarish scene in a dull green, and a shaft of moonlight briefly flashed across the ornate coffin nestled in the depths of the coach, and across a name enscribed in ornate gothic script, “MANNFRED”.
« Last Edit: November 21, 2012, 08:49:52 PM by Hieronymus »
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Offline Derek Contyre

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #6 on: November 22, 2012, 12:02:35 AM »
That was a good short story...

I had always wandered how they made black coaches lol.

SO are you starting a vamp counts army?
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Offline Hieronymus

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #7 on: November 22, 2012, 10:13:54 AM »
Thank you.

Nah, I'm not starting a VC army; the background for them is very interesting, but I don't think that they have a lot of character on the tabletop.

I'll probably post some more of these vignettes if I can think of anything interesting to write about!
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Offline Derek Contyre

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #8 on: November 22, 2012, 11:45:36 PM »
Thank you.

Nah, I'm not starting a VC army; the background for them is very interesting, but I don't think that they have a lot of character on the tabletop.

No problem there.
And it is interesting you should mention that, I had planned to start a Vampire counts army ages ago, but couldn't seem to get really motivated. With Empire it is easy, I have so much lore written up that it is hard not to delve straight in and pick something out, but a lot of the other races I find it is hard to motivate oneself to write about them and so they lack substance
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Offline Hieronymus

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Re: Dark Resurrection
« Reply #9 on: November 23, 2012, 12:05:48 AM »
It almost doesn't need to be said that humans are the most 'relatable' faction!

Personally, I'm a big fan of Warriors of Chaos - I am not sure that they lend themselves particularly well to fiction, however.

The Skaven fiction from C.L. Werner is great fun - the Thanquol series in particular had me sniggering perpetually. If you haven't read them, I would recommend them.
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