[OOC] Another Drabble
More writings. I'll actually post something IC soon, I swear. Warnings for violence and death.
Karis sighed and fingered the haft of her spear, looking northwards, up the road. It was cold. And wet. Not to mention the mud. There was also the horde of undead monstrosities a few miles back, but that wasn't really affecting her at the moment. Her company had spent the last week retreating in the face of the undead horde. They'd lost contact with other units, picked ups straggles, lost men in brief, violent skirmishes. Now they had to delay the Scourge here to give the village about a mile up the way time to evacuate. At least the rain had petered out for now and they had some food in their bellies.
All around her, the men of the company were sitting or standing, most still in their full kit. You didn't have time to take off and put on armor when the enemy didn't slow, didn't tire and would always, always keep coming. Some of them were grim, some of them tried to cover their nervousness with humor. All were tired, battered and exhausted.
Suddenly, the two men posted as sentries, came stumbling back through the muck, yelling warnings. Instantly, most of the men were on their feet, even as the surviving officers and NCOs began ordering them into line. The message was clear. Enemy spotted and closing in. In a few moments, the battered footmen had solidified into a line of steel, shields and spear points across the road. The few surviving bowmen lurked in the rear, trying to keep their bow-strings dry.
Karis tightened her grip on her spear, blinking through the vision slit of her helmet. There was always tension right before a fight, but this was different. There was real fear in the ranks. They'd been fighting the Scourge for weeks now, always losing more men, always giving ground. The army and the nation were in disarray with Arthas' act of regicide still fresh in their minds. He had betrayed them all and many hated him for it. It didn't look like anyone was going to be able to depose him anytime soon, however.
There was a faint plink as a drop of water hit Karis' helmet and she looked up as the rain began to fall, lightly at first, but gradually beginning to intensify. There was muttered cursing throughout the ranks. The ground would be even more slippery now and visibility would be reduced. Still, they had to buy time.
The first of the enemy shambled into view through the rainy curtain. Lurching shapes in the gray light. Some of them were civilians or simple townsfolk, while others were simply skeletons. Still others still wore the rusty remains of armor and clutched swords in their dead hands. Further back they could see some of the truly terrifying creatures: abominations, giant mountains of flesh and skeletal sorcerers. Lieutenant Barriold barked an order, his voice cracking for a moment before he brought himself under control; the spear-points came down, the line of men and women braced as the undead came on.
The zombies lurched at the armored men, and several were caught and pinned on spear-points. Karis thrust her own into the chest of a once-living farmer, feeling the point push past the ribs and into the spine. Then, the haft snapped as the zombie collapsed, it's legs no longer supporting its weight. With a curse, Karis fumbled for her sword and drew it, swinging her shield up in time to deflect a blow from a bony fist. All along the thin line men were shouting and fighting, stabbing and trying to drive back the undead horrors. But they came on, an endless tide of them, and slowly the line of steel was being pushed back. Here and there a man fell, sometimes being dragged back to safety by his comrades.
Next to Karis, a footman collapsed, screaming as a zombie tried to chew his face off. Karis turned, swinging her sword towards the zombie's neck. Then something caught her underneath the edge of her breastplate and drove up into lung, burning into her like a lance. Karis half-turned to see a zombified footman, his sword bloodied, swinging for her head. She stumbled, her body refusing to answer her commands. The next moment she lay on her back, staring up into the rainy skies as mud seeped into her armor, her head ringing.
Karis tried to breath, gasping for air as the battle moved past her. She turned her head to one side and retched, coughing up blood. Strange. She'd thought there would be more pain. No. Got to get up. The company needs you. Straining, the young woman tried to sit up and then collapsed back again, struggling for breath. Rain, mud, and blood spattered into her face.
The pain came in a sharp, biting wave a moment later. She was wounded. Her gloved hand tried to find the wound underneath the armor and padding. Blood spurted from between her fingers as she tore at her breastplate - there was a wound in her side. She could feel it. The strength in her limbs seemed to be draining away and she couldn't quite get her mind or body to respond fast enough. She let out another cough, more blood spattering her lips.
She was dying. In that single, terrible moment, she felt fear. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted to see her family again, to enjoy a night under the stars, to drink, to make love, to experience the years of life she ought to live. She didn't want to die.
Karis curled up against herself as another wave of pain shot through her. She tried to force the tears away, gasping for breath - it was getting harder, more difficult - and she let out a strangled whimper. “Mother... please... “
She didn't want to die. Another sob and another wave of pain. The world swam before her eyes as she tried to sit up. She shifted herself, dragging her body across the muddied ground, past corpses. She could still hear fighting, but it didn't concern her. She wanted to live. Her vision blurred.
Darkness claimed her.
She woke up, covered in warm stickiness, with a weight crushing her down. She could smell the ripe stench of death. It surrounded her, pervaded her every sense. She opened her eyes, and found herself face-to-face with a pale, drawn creature, shivering on top of her. It was making small mewling sounds, its arms ending in bleeding stumps. She strained to look around and found that she was half-covered in dirt and bodies. A mass grave. A grave that was writhing as some power brought the dead back to life. She could feel it inside of herself, a corrupting, horrible, wonderful power, that made her twitch her limbs. She opened her mouth to scream, but then her mind was overwhelmed by a wave of power and magic. She couldn’t remember. Why was she screaming again? This was normal. She was stronger. She was liberated from the weakness and decadence of life.
Most of all, she could feel them. She could hear a thousand voices whispering back and forth. Some were stronger, others were weaker. Some vanished even as she finally began to listen. Above them all, was Him. The Master.
She became acutely aware of a ravening hunger in what had once been her belly and her attention shifted back to the mewling, pathetic creature on top of her. It was trying to drag itself out of the grave, still trying to scream. She silenced the pitiful thing by tearing its throat out with her teeth and began gorging herself on its flesh, hooking her fingers and teeth in, tearing away gobbets of cold flesh and swallowing them whole. There was a volley of curses and laughter from above her, “Hell, that one’s a fighter! Pull her out and put her with the rest.”
A few moments later, the grave shifted as two moving bodies dropped in beside and clawed hands grasped her arms. She tried to struggle, snarling until one of them cuffed her upside the head with a gauntleted fist and she went limp, letting them drag her out. She was unceremoniously shoved into a large group of similar creatures; fresh (and not so fresh) zombies. Most of them stared ahead blankly, appearing mindless, without will. A sparse few had the glint of intelligence in their eyes.
She had barely been able to get herself situated when her body jerked as a single command seared itself across her mind. Move on. She turned, knowing the direction intuitively and began to walk, limping slightly. Around her, the rest of the zombie pack lurched, prodded along by a few overseers. One, especially, stood out: a pale, gaunt man in blackened armor and baring a sword. He exuded a sense of power and authority. It didn’t matter. She only knew that he had to be obeyed.
The Scourge was on the move.