All in all, the clan was doing well with the admittedly minimal prep time. We had defenses, we had some tools that could be repurposed and most importantly? We were having fun! Granted, that might just be the girls that took up the mask of the Bachus, as they sang and pipped music to go along with the pace of the fight! After all, what was there to say, as Boomer brought his baseball bat down on a zombie skull but 'Skellige winds a wild a wild'? Sure, there were others, but that was what they were singing now.
In a way, it was a shame I could not rush into the scrum, into the melee, but what was a man to do, as the dead pressed with greater strength and numbers against the walls as a singular vast tide? Why, to kick them down, chop off their ugly heads and heal anyone with a spike of bone in their own flesh. Honestly, after the first few waves, there was not all that much to say, small differences, until things looked like a level from They Are Billions. It made me wonder, if things were this bad, what was it like elsewhere?
Of course, things were better here than most would think, mainly due to the sheer presence of myth and legend that beat out. Not merely among the three who wore masks of maddening song, for the spear din rose and the iron saga was woven by hammer and axe, many of the kin becoming Bellators. Near them, my father led a number that ached for a return to order, even as they took up weapons to defend the peace in holy war, in the hope of a better tomorrow.
Some of the dead were screaming, keening moans of their hate that we yet lived, answered in kind by the rumbling storm, air and earth pushed and moved by Luke and a few of the cousins, as they worked as one, rushing about. Some of the older aunts gripped the weave of the natural world, twisting and pulling as flames danced and cackled in time with them. Which of course is when the newest and smallest surprise made themselves known, scrambling up the walls, climbing and crying all the while.
What was there to say of the Unborn other than they were scraps of what appeared to be fetal tissue, howling a simple word 'why' into the air, weeping for a life denied to them? Well, other than that they operated in swarms, were deeply disturbing and seemed to prioritize women as targets of course. In many ways, they were worse than the Screamers, Gunners or Fatties. Fatties, for all they they would batter at the walls, were slow moving targets that the others could pick off. Screamers (which appeared to be female, had multi colored hair and a damaging sonic scream attack) and Gunners (who fired bone spikes from an organic gun grafted to them) had ranged attacks.
Unborn? Unborn cried and wept like infants and screamed as they burned. In many ways, despite being the individually weakest of the undead, they were the most disturbing and damaging to morale. Yet what could we do, but fight to survive, to make it through the night and put them out of their suffering. It was not much, but it was all we could do, as their appearance made things... not as fun, as claws glowing with the essence of life tore through the horde, as flames called from mother nature wrapped around them.
Really, there wasn't much we could do other than fight, as the time between waves had shrunk to nearly nothing. Bill was able to do some ad hoc repairs with spare sheets of wood and timbers, but several parts of the walls seemed to be near their breaking point. Now, I was no architect. Nor did I have a skill or mystic ability to tell me this. At the same time, there was little to suggest otherwise with the large cracks, the widening gaps, the fact that the zombies were managing to occasionally stick an arm inside and needed to be lopped or burnt away before the wall was patched up.
You know, little things like that. All in all, I really needed to check and see about Make Whole or just looking into making some magical items. Of course, there was just so much to do, so many things to kill! It was vexing in some ways, as I decapitated another zombie that was climbing up the ramp formed from the corpses of its fellows, but there were worse things to be annoyed about. Like the flashing notification that we all assumed was the nearby light of dawn. No such luck really. Instead, we got a damn South Park reference.
[Hello Canada! Now, you guys and gals are doing great this night, and the finish line is nearly in sight! However, a group of watchers is annoyed at your success and with a hefty donation, we would like to thank the sponsors of this next Mini-boss (compared to what's showing up in the big cities!), Mothers Against Canada and their dedication to the slaughter and butchery of Canadians everywhere for the safety of children! Don't forget kids, violence is acceptable and encouraged, naughty or questionable language isn't.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Now, you are not the only group that's attracted their ire (well, just all Canadians and all Canada's), and while their donation was generous, it did not reach the 'Bend over and kiss your mortal asses goodbye' level. Aren't you all lucky! Don't forget, overcome challenges to win sweet loot! And with that... unleash the Corpse Lord Dread Necromancers!]
"You have GOT to be fucking kidding me." Because I recognized just what sort of threat that was. Kinda. I never did that much with Dread Necromancers, but... "Okay everyone, Corpse Creatures are basically zombies that kept all their mental abilities intact, no damage reduction. Undead Lord means its better than a normal one, radiates an aura that boosts undead in it, those that it kills rise up as Corpse creatures under its control, can create a patch of utter darkness and inflict fear. Since there is a five HD minimum on Undead Lord, can assume minimum of five Dread Necromancer levels."
Which was a lot to say in one go, as the dead seemed to be getting more organized. Crap. "Practically that means negative energy touch, close range fear aura and bursts of negative energy, along with damage reduction that needs magic weapons to overcome, and it can cast spells and command undead." There is a sudden stabbing pain in my eyes, as I stumbled and shook my head, black dots swimming in my vision. "So, can confirm its at least level four, as it just tried to magically blind me."
The good side of things? The family was actually listening to me as something of a subject expert. The downside? Even as the dead were pulling back to the tree line, it was obvious to tell they were forming up and being assembled into formations. They had gone from a mindless horde numbering in the hundreds to something a lot more... Well, a slightly organized horde numbering in the hundreds.
That doesn't sound like too much of an upgrade. Not at first. But then here was the thing, here at the compound. We had some good defenses, decent improvised equipment and were rested. We also had a stout wooden wall that was reinforced in several places by cars and trucks. We had enough ranged and area attacks to at least hold the dead off (to a point) and we were doing.... well. Mostly. Yes, I wasn't the only healer. Technically. You see... Crusader Strike and Martial Sprit weren't supernatural abilities.
So, they could be freely used by Bellator's and those tapping into Bellator mythos. And so, it turns out all of our Templars and Fighters doubled as healers as they fought against the evil dead. Something that was more than a little useful, as I panted, claws tapping family members, life furnaces blazing and soaking them with the energies of creation to revitalize them. Sure, most of the clan was level one. A lucky hit would take them down... except that we covered each other. That, and the four additional points of constitution were not hurting in giving an extra buffer.
So, scrapes and bruises... and a need to spend some mythos points as soon as possible to cure disease just in case. Not sure if it can spread via disease... but it was best to try and get ahead of that. Well, after the coming boss fight, as the dead shuffled forward, and as a surge of black and purple magic swept over the wall even as Unborn rushed upwards, crying and weeping, Fatties screening Gunners (which in turn happened to provide occasional shots at anyone exposed on the ramparts)... as pale white bones formed from the night, shadows stitching themselves together.
The creature, the size of a grizzly bear, reared up, and gave a hissing 'hoot' sound, claws of the skeletal owlbear gleaming.... before four cackling elderly women threw fire at it even as a burning spitball was lobbed. I blinked and chuckled, as the bones burnt and fell apart. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all!
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Remember Matt, you fat fuck, not to tempt Murphy next time, because that sadistic bastard doesn't believe in consent or lube! After all, a fighting wedge of Fatties smashed into a narrow point of the western wall, backed up by a large number of the walking dead as they moved in through the breach, trying to pour in... and even as claws and axes swung, as flame belched and flesh charred, other parts of the Horde moved and needed to be fended off. Two went down. We grabbed them and took them back to the house.
The good news. No deaths yet, close shaves. Constant wave of healing from martial strikes, almost all the Fatties were down, all the Screamers silenced. No sign of Unborn for a while and fairly sure the Gunners ran out of ammo and are resorting to trying to use their guns as bludgeons. South wall cracking at two points, Fatties tearing in, not able to shift forces to prevent breach at both locations. Move, claw and slice, sky brightened. A gleaming pyramid that slowly rose.
And the dead did not burn, as we howled the war cry and the bagpipes played. We were tired. Aching. We had fought and fought for hours, and even with bodies meant for war, there were limits. So, we broke. We broke towards the enemy. Dawn was coming, and there was nothing left to do, but to rip and tear till it was done!
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Dread Necromancer Mini-Boss #58
The humans were on the verge of falling. Sure, it wasn't the greatest tactician, those skills were not needed. At the same time, it had enough to accomplish its tasks. Which honestly was mostly getting the local forces into position to shatter this node of resistance. And so, it made use of the assets against the compound. The chief issue was largely from the well prepared and coordinated defenders, as they made a number of critical mistakes.
Firstly, they did not clear the tree line to remove cover and increase visibility. There were no trenches, no earthworks (which would make the palisade an even greater threat) and they lacked the numbers to fully man the wall. They also lacked armor, proper weapons for the most part or significant ranged weapons (which given the tree cover would have been of reduced effectiveness anyway) or mystical support. Well, the later was more obvious after some probing attacks.
The simple fact was that the humans here were tenacious, resilient and had a great deal of healing power that paired well with their focus on melee combat. They were also limited in number, and soon pressed in via the breaches created by the Bulk Walkers. Even as two more breaches were to be created... the humans wavered. Ah, it would seem that they were.... charging!!!!!
There was no time left to think, as the humans abandoned defense entirely, as they howled like Screaming Walkers, maddened as the pipes and music washed over the forest like the roaring of a maddened dragon. There was nothing sane, nothing restrained in them as they moved. No time to flee, as they cut through the horde, as they screamed and tore him apart with their bare hands.
The last the mini-boss would see was a notification window. [Warning, The Canadians are entering War Mode].