The City of Silence - April Update
Many were the wars that were wages in that long month. Battle upon battle was fought, desperate and deadly. The dead rose to claim their right, and their name was legion. Gaze now, traveler, upon the hordes unleashed.
(I apologize for the varying picture quality. Not so easy taking good pictures in the winter sun.)
Of all the defenders of Stilluna, the soldiers on the walls were the last. Breached in a dozen places, the vile hordes had surrounded them entirely, besieging them within their own gatehouses. Thus it was that when the king fell, and the kingdom with it, they still stood. For a day and a night they held the foe at bay. They could only watch as the scions of the dark gods slaughtered the city. When the gatehouses were breached, the foul foe found only corpses. The men of the walls had taken their own lives, knowing that the dead would never rest easy, and could take revenge eternal.
When you stand still, do you not hear the whispers on the wind? Faint, almost silent. These are the endless cries of the Mourning Ones. Restless spirits bound not by anger, greed or dark deeds, but by love. In life they had loved more fiercely than any others. They had been passionate and strong. So utterly had their love been, that death could not part them. Yet death must come to all. So the Mourning Ones cry, and those close enough to hear find only terror in their hearts, and the knowledge that love is the cruellest curse of all.
Amongst the high towers of the city were once great rookeries. In them were bred the greatest of all birds of prey, the mighty Svart-Fugl. These were prized scouts and hunters amongst the cities troops, and feared by their foes. For these birds had learned to spot foes and report back, showing commanders which direction their foes lay. As the city burned and the rookeries were torn down, many of the great birds perished. Yet centuries of loyalty is not so easily forgotten, and when the necromantic power surges through their bodies, the tireless spirits return to once more serve their master.
Screaming Skull Catapult
The city’s garrison had long since abandoned traditional siege weapons. The hordes of the dark gods built no castles, and garrisoned no cities. Yet the engineers of the city did not surrender their knowledge. The generals had learned that breaking the foe was better than slaying them. Killing the followers of the dark gods was costly work, and victory never a sure thing. But a broken foe could be run down, and did not struggle. So the engineers and the magicians of the city worked together, and built the catapults. Throwing skulls filled with powerful magics, they hit hard and struck true. Yet it was the terrible screaming of the skulls as they flew through the air that was most valued. Even hardened veterans would be unnerved to have the skulls of their once-allies thrown back, laughing and screaming. As the legions marched forth once again, they brought the catapults with them, now filled with skulls beyond counting.
“Where there’s a whip, there’s a way. That’s what I always said”. Kald Isbre spoke silently. For hundreds of years, he had stared at the ruined remnants of his monuments. Great statues of war had gone unused, unsullied, and he had failed to activate them. “You did say that”, Mournical remembered. “But now the troops are bone, and the statuary will not care any more for the whip than they did then”. Kald looked at the vampire. It had been long, and yet he was as tall and handsome as ever. His own flesh had long since rotted, and only a few strands of hair remained upon his fleshless skull. “Aye, but I’ll whip them all the same. Don’t you see if they won’t fight a little harder”, he said, green flames burning in the sockets of his eyes.
Vampire Lord on Zombie Dragon
Pale light shone through decaying wings as the dragon passed before the moon. Once magnificent, the drake now answered only to the call of the grave, held back by the will of its rider. High Lord Karashock stared across the horizon, towards the broken city of Stilluna. His ragged band was marching far below, remnants like strips of flesh on a rotting corpse. The servants of the dark gods would be far behind, gorging themselves on his lands. On his people. And then they would follow. He would need army, soldiers and spirits and swords. Only then could he run far enough, to lands with great walls and defenders still. There he could be a lord again. And fight once more for the living.
I recon this is a bit over £50 in value. Had a lot to do for SCGT, and it all finished about the same time :p