| abstract | - Three days later, the strange noises from the tower near Durnholde started to fade. Two necromancers, a dozen acolytes and a pack of ghouls gathered in a circle behind it, covered by a large amount of dying trees. One of the necromancers placed three small orbs on the ground, and ordered six acolytes to step forward. Determined and fearless, five acolytes walked up to the orbs and kneeled before Criswell, who growled, “I said SIX!” The remaining acolytes all stared at each other, and then pushed the sixth one forward. He whimpered and groaned. - And now, the ‘executioners’, Criswell hissed. The remaining six acolytes stepped forward, drew their sharpened knives and killed their kneeling peers. As their limp bodies hit the ground, Criswell chanted “Pen’guin maw'enoff margle-gargle wah'naga fat’dang”. The orbs started to glow, and emit a weird humming; the limbs of the dead acolytes twitched. - Are you quite certain this will work on long dead corpses, inquired Criswell’s necromancer companion. Criswell remained silent and stared at the orbs. The humming grew louder, and the air grew stinky. The living acolytes quickly stepped backwards as their dead peers arose, with glowing eyes and outstretched arms; their faces were expressionless and their fingers jerked, as if they were trying to strangle the air around them. Criswell looked surprised and very much pleased – he slowly moved up to one of the undead acolytes and growled, “Do you know what you are? You were an acolyte, a slave. A stupid and terrible waste of life. Now... perfected. You are undead. Whom do you serve?” - The Lich King, responded the acolyte. “And… whom do you also serve that is standing before you?” The acolyte looked around, then lowered his arms and shrugged, keeping his shining eyes focused on something far away. “Criswell, you braindead brute!” Criswell muttered and spat on the ground, then turned to another reanimated servant. “Whom do you serve?” he yelled, ignoring his fellow necromancer who tried to get his attention by pulling his robe. - The Lich King, responded the acolyte. Criswell sighed and picked up the three orbs from the ground. “We did a good job, and I believe we are almost prepared to initiate the plan…” - Listen, grumbled his necromancer companion, “I think I hear someone approach! We should hide!” “I don’t care, probably a few adventurers again. We’ll take them out.” - It could be another patrol, just to be on the safe side we should get everything and everybody inside. Criswell yawned and placed the three orbs on a table by a tree. “Attempting to give a damn... unable to give a damn. Damn not given. Just go get a couple of ghouls and slaughter any trespasser!” Criswell walked back into the tower, as his consort ordered the acolytes, both living and dead, as well as the ghouls – to scour the area and kill any living… or not living being not directly affiliated with the Scourge. Crouched down in a bush on a small hill, not far from the tower, Buri prayed to every god he could recall, with the human Sonar and the gnome Puck by his side. “So… after we distract them and lead them away, what did your big-beard say we do?” whispered Sonar, while desperately trying to keep his mechanical squirrel under control. - Tha’s th’ problem, whimpered Buri, “He didnae say… we’re just supposed to stall ‘em an’ avoid gettin’ surrounded.” Puck scratched his back with his staff, and confidently said, “Do not worry; I know how to handle undead. With a single motion of my hands, I can turn them all to ice!” - Keep it down, whispered Buri and eyed the nearby area. “A’ight, here’s th’ plan. Yeh’ll both go first, n’ I’ll go third. We’ll run around like idiots, n’ let th’ undead see us – then we run, run, run faster and run faster towards… westwards, where we’ll get across one of the small rivers. That’ll slow’em down.” Sonar scratched his head. “And when the main force is… hopefully, chasing us… a bunch of mountaineers will charge the place and bring in artillery? What if they just send a few guards to deal with us? I mean, there are only three of us…” - Shaddap, grumbled Buri, “Undead ar’ stupid. We’re smart. It’ll work, I’mma sure it will.” “And… if it does not work, you’ll be keelhauled, right?” The gnome Puck grinned at Buri, who tried to kick him in the face, but instead slipped on a rock and fell out of the bush and down the hill. A couple of ghouls spotted the dwarf, and rushed to attack him. With very little grace, Buri got back on his feet and screamed for help at the top of his lungs; the gnome and the human charged down the hill and brutally destroyed the undead creatures. Alerted by the noise and commotion, more ghouls started attacking the three from several directions. Buri spotted an acolyte who ran to get help. “A’ight, issa’ workin’”, he said while loading his rifle, “Prepare t’ run!” Criswell’s necromancer companion quickly grabbed the charging orbs from the table and gathered all the undead together, before ordering them to overpower and annihilate the intruders. Skeletons, ghouls, acolytes and a lesser abomination marched towards the dwarf, human and gnome… and mechanical squirrel. - Here they come, lots of them! Run for it! Sonar grabbed his squirrel from the ground and retreated, with Buri right behind him; the gnome Puck created a nova of frost that rooted some of the undead in place. “Free yourselves, idiots! Get them! They mustn’t find out about us yet!” howled the necromancer, who then charged into the tower. “Criswell! Three adventurers, they’re running. What should we do?” - Get the meat wagon; said Criswell, “We’re moving towards the dwarven fortress at once! Call everyone back! Fetch the ceremonial robes! It’s time to initialize… plan 42… from INNER SPACE!” Criswell cackled and armed a skeletal guard with a small orb. “Everybody gets one!” The necromancer ran outside and tried to call the troops back, but it was too late; they were all still in sight, but too far away to hear his words. The human, dwarf and gnome were running for their lives, with a large army of smelly creatures behind them. “Holy paladin on a pogo stick! I didnae expect this many!” yelled Buri. - What’s a pogo stick? Yelled Puck. - What’s a paladin? Yelled Sonar. After about two minutes of running, they got to a small river – not too deep, but probably difficult to cross if your flesh is rotting and your body is falling apart. - I don’t know about this - my armor is too heavy, yelled Sonar, barely audible over the roaring undead moving closer from the east. “Did yeh jes’ say “I”, badger-hunter?”, yelled Buri. - Sonar did not, yelled Sonar. “Yeah, yeh did! Yeh did, jes’ now!”, yelled Buri. - Sonar thinks we should agree to disagree, yelled Sonar. Puck scratched his beard, and then made some strange gestures at the water, trying to turn it to ice; it did not work. “Hold on,” screeched Buri, “We haftah get over here, or we’re-ah toasted!” As the thundering masses of undead got closer, Buri grabbed the gnome and flung him across the small river. He landed with a loud ‘thud’ in the mud on the other side. - Now yeh do th’ same fer me, Sonar! Sonar stared at Buri, and mumbled something about how he does not recognize dwarf-tossing as an activity quite fit for a noble badger hunter. But he swallowed his pride, grabbed Buri by his belt and tried to fling him. Buri landed in the middle of the river, and got smashed by Sonar, who threw himself in just afterwards. Puck managed to grab Buri’s hand and helped draw him up on the other side of the water; Sonar courageously saved his mechanical squirrel from drowning before crawling up himself. The undead horde stopped at the water and cursed. A few acolytes moved forward and carefully stepped into the river, followed by a couple of ghouls and the mindless abomination. Soon, more of the undead started to move through and across the water, displaying swimming-skills they rarely had a chance to practice on. - Okay, boys… now I guess us haftah run ev’n more, panted Buri. “Les’ jes’ hope that th’ attack on th’ tower goes as planned… or I’m screwed.” Sixty dwarves and gnomes had gathered on the east side of the necromancer’s tower, not far from the road leading towards the Arathi Highlands. Next to the formations rolled two siege engines, prepared to bomb the living (or dead) crap out of anything living or dead. This was the greater part of the Third Brigade from Dun Garok, called in to storm the Scourged outpost and recover whatever superweapon they were supposedly hiding inside. There was much whispering and flinching among the mountaineers; they had beheld parts of the large undead horde leave in the opposite direction, and from the looks of it, the Scourge soldiers were quite unlike the cute and frail beasts usually found around the area. “Hold yer ground, yeh blimmin’ idiots!” screamed a pretty short but very angry dwarf with a large, red beard. He walked back and forth, inspecting the troops, while the siege machines positioned themselves closer to the road. “The undead scum yeh idiots will face tahday will be like the one yeh might see innah plagued lands, not like the ones yeh’ll see on yer next trip tah the mills of Tarren! They’re stupid, sure, but strong! STRONG, I tell yeh!” The dwarf coughed up some phlegm and spat on the boots of a mountaineer. He grabbed him by the beard and roared, a few inches from his face; “YOU SPIT OUT THAT GUM, SOLDIAH!” The mountaineer, though taller than his commander, whimpered like a small dog, removed the chewing gum from his mouth and saluted. “An’ donnae salute me, yeh freakin’ retard!” panted the red-bearded dwarf, “They could ‘ave sharpshooters fer all we know. Who knows what them filthy undead ‘ave come up with all the way up ther’ by now.” - Ah… Ah think tha’ if they ‘ad sharpshooters, they’d already know yeh wassa’ cap’n, sir, squeaked the mountaineer. - Feck yeh, replied the commander and continued his inspection. - Scryer second, he growled, while staring down at a young gnomish woman with pigtails, “… that haircut is nae regulation. Rather on the gaudy side, don't you think?” The gnome pulled up her cowl and tucked the pigtails away, as the red-bearded dwarf caught sight of some undead near the tower, heading southwards. - Ev’ryone… left-face! The mountaineers all turned to the left, facing south, except for recruit Bronzeforge, who somehow managed to trip over his own feet and hurt his ankle. Four skeletal guards holding orbs escorted two hooded figures towards the dwarven fortress with haste. - Faster, you pathetic creatures, howled one of the figures, “… and try to look unimportant. They may be low on ammo!” The dwarven captain yelled out, “Wlad, Dorhan, Gairoch, Hirck, Thogor and Sam! Terminate with extreme prejudice!”, and a small team of mountaineers ran towards the escaping necromancers. Slowly but surely, the siege engines started moving towards the tower, and the remaining mountaineers were ordered to follow the captain westwards.
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