Charlie's satchel, which sat inside the lip of the sarcophagus, jangled, the sound of metal on metal. The spidery legs which wrapped the sarcophagus moved forward, following it's master, filling the air with the a strange sound. It was the sound of quite an impressive number of the metal plates which had been affixed to the various creature's ears. He had removed them, to give to Roldan, the dragon police officer. The bodies they were off, well, Charlie eyed the box, they wouldn't be missed.
But the sound wasn't heard much. It was covered up by unintelligable noises. He was surrounded by a zombie horde. Charlie had abandoned his glamour during the fight with the chimera, and was enjoying striding around, general, once again, of a small sect of the army inside the box, in his skeletal form. Shadow clung to the bones, like water on skin after a rainstorm, beneath slightly singed clothes, splattered with acid, blood, and all sorts of hellish concoctions that the creatures could spew.
Some of his more recently deceased and less terrifying undead were around the island, shepherding students and locals to the safety of the ballroom, but he still had the bulk of his horde. A couple of dread knights, brothers of those who had been maimed in the battle with the chimera. A bone crab, over five foot tall, made of an innumerable number of bones jostled for place amongst a couple of hellish flesh trolls. It's back was made of flat bones, like shoulderblades, it's claws of sharpened spines. Charlie was very proud of it. Undead british soldiers, slaughtered in machine gun fire at the somme, took up rusty bayoneted rifles. Several roman soldiers, armed with spears and shields bumped shoulders with skeletal vikings who swung axes much larger than themselves. The undead from the bonfire which had surprisingly survived thus far was still carrying the emmense chains. A group of undead templars, wielding emmense longswords took their place. But amongst it all was the ranks were the unidentifiable undead, bodies which wielded kitchen knives taped to sticks or meat cleavers. Still, ready to serve their masters, even in indeath. They weren't full zombies, you see, merely extensions of Charlie's will.
But he had performed some slightly immoral tricks over the years, meaning he still had enough power to control his undead. The trinkets which wrapped his bones were providing a purpouse. Tommorow was going to be a bit of a hangover though. He had already died earier, but that had been to restore his energy. If he didn't die again tommorow, that would be fantastic.
Several of his zombies had been burned beyond repair during fights. But, he surposed, they would still make good flesh trolls. He had taken the bodies of his undead that were beyond repair, and fed them into a grinder, then used rebar to form a sort of quick bone. Rough, ugly work, but it got the job done. That was the advantage of skeletons. They get blasted apart and you can put them back together. After the buisness with the chimera, several of his romans were currently sitting in a pile inside his kitchen, in the box. Waste not want not. That was the necromancer's creed.
Charlie heard a strange sound as the horde entered the square...
@Keen
But the sound wasn't heard much. It was covered up by unintelligable noises. He was surrounded by a zombie horde. Charlie had abandoned his glamour during the fight with the chimera, and was enjoying striding around, general, once again, of a small sect of the army inside the box, in his skeletal form. Shadow clung to the bones, like water on skin after a rainstorm, beneath slightly singed clothes, splattered with acid, blood, and all sorts of hellish concoctions that the creatures could spew.
Some of his more recently deceased and less terrifying undead were around the island, shepherding students and locals to the safety of the ballroom, but he still had the bulk of his horde. A couple of dread knights, brothers of those who had been maimed in the battle with the chimera. A bone crab, over five foot tall, made of an innumerable number of bones jostled for place amongst a couple of hellish flesh trolls. It's back was made of flat bones, like shoulderblades, it's claws of sharpened spines. Charlie was very proud of it. Undead british soldiers, slaughtered in machine gun fire at the somme, took up rusty bayoneted rifles. Several roman soldiers, armed with spears and shields bumped shoulders with skeletal vikings who swung axes much larger than themselves. The undead from the bonfire which had surprisingly survived thus far was still carrying the emmense chains. A group of undead templars, wielding emmense longswords took their place. But amongst it all was the ranks were the unidentifiable undead, bodies which wielded kitchen knives taped to sticks or meat cleavers. Still, ready to serve their masters, even in indeath. They weren't full zombies, you see, merely extensions of Charlie's will.
But he had performed some slightly immoral tricks over the years, meaning he still had enough power to control his undead. The trinkets which wrapped his bones were providing a purpouse. Tommorow was going to be a bit of a hangover though. He had already died earier, but that had been to restore his energy. If he didn't die again tommorow, that would be fantastic.
Several of his zombies had been burned beyond repair during fights. But, he surposed, they would still make good flesh trolls. He had taken the bodies of his undead that were beyond repair, and fed them into a grinder, then used rebar to form a sort of quick bone. Rough, ugly work, but it got the job done. That was the advantage of skeletons. They get blasted apart and you can put them back together. After the buisness with the chimera, several of his romans were currently sitting in a pile inside his kitchen, in the box. Waste not want not. That was the necromancer's creed.
Charlie heard a strange sound as the horde entered the square...
@Keen
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