Thursday 27th October 2016

Watch Tower

Garran stood on the watch tower, it was cold, cold, dark and miserable. An icy drizzle fell from the sky, not even the rain's heart was in it this evening. Garran had often wondered what the point of posting guards on a tower in the dark was, him and Berrick could not see anything in the pitch-black night. It was quite tonight, maybe the rain and made the beasts retire early he thought, cold, dark and silent like the grave.

Garran started out of his half-slumber, he heard something scratch on the stone below it sounded like his mothers cat scrabbling for purchase on the dry stone wall back at the farm. He peered over the edge, the cold steel pierced his left eye, Garran's brain shutdown almost immediately, the puzzled look was still on his face as he fell into the night, light dying in his eyes he wondered how the cat had gotten so high up the tower.

The ghouls advanced on to the battlements, only their bony, clawed feet made any sound as they scrabbled for purchase on the slick wet stones of the castle wall. The flesh of their feet had been torn by the sharp teeth of the land during their forced march on Ka. The ghouls felt the pain of the injuries, but they weren't allowed to care, nothing would stand between them and their master's purpose. Trapped and oppressed in every way their only outlet was their violence. All their hate was poured out on the living, cold, silent hatred, every savage blow was filled with the jealous rage of the damned. They flowed over the city like an evil flood, the stench of the grave rank in the street, vile corruption flowed from them as desperate guards tried to mount a defence. The guards efforts were in vain, nothing could stop the onslaught. The horde even destroyed the ships at anchor in the harbour, they scurried like rats up the anchor chains from the briny murk and overwhelmed those on-board. The damned out-numbered the living ten to one at the beginning of the attack and as the guards fell before the rusty blades, they in turn rose up to do the cruel bidding of their new master, the Lich's generals passed down the street, working foul magicks to reanimate the dead as slaves to His will. By dawn, all who survived had fled, a meagre handful of survivors who ran before the storm, these few were all that remained of the once mighty Ka. The grand city was torn stone from stone the tireless undead pulled at the fabric of every building, the ceaseless will of their master driving them on until nothing remained. The Lich was true to his word, it was as if Ka had never existed at all. In the coming weeks the horde welled out from Ka's heart and ravaged the entire land. Dark magicks twisted the land and killed off all but the hardiest fungus and moss, trees blackened, lost their leaves and started to rot where they stood, a diseased winter hung over the land like a shadow