UNCLASSIFIED – FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY
LOCATION: NECROPOLIS GATES
PARTICIPANTS: Zombie King Zeke, necromancer Dar’tanian
BRIEF SUMMARY: Conflict between ZKZ and D’T
DESCRIPTION OF EVENT:
“I’ve heard quite the tale of you, Zombie King.” The man sneered. The bones sown into his clothing clinked as he adjusted the horned skull sitting atop his head. “Tis a pity but I, Dar’tanian the Dark Master, must remind you of your place.”
Zeke remained silent, leaning casually against the gates of the Necropolis as he eyed Dar’tanian and his approaching entourage. He stood alone, having dismissed Spike a few minutes prior to the necromancer’s arrival. His gravely voice broke the silence. “Our place?”
Dar’tanian grimaced, then drew himself up haughtily. “The dead are the slaves of the living! Tools of the past, to be used by those alive in the present. This fiction you have wrought, the free will of soulless husks of rotten meat, will be buried here today.”
Zeke’s gaze slid from Dar’tanian’s dismissively, and he spoke to the gathered horde. “Is this truth?”
The approaching dead slowed and stopped, as if considering. Dar’tanian wiped the gathered sweat from his forehead and laughed. “Oh, so you offer them a new master. Slavery to a king sold as freedom. How simply …er, uh, the word escapes me.” He frowned, placing one hand against his temple and massaging it.
Pushing himself from the iron gates, Zeke began walking forward. “None compel the dead of Dark Atlantis. They are free to join the Necropolis, or seek their fate elsewhere. Your fate, however, lies with me.”
The dead closed in behind Dar’tanian, but otherwise made no move. Those with eyeballs focused them intently on the approaching King. Dar’tanian glanced behind him quickly, then he pointed to Zeke and his voice rang out. Words of power slid between his lips and dark tendrils of necrotic magic slithered down his arms and into the hushed air.
Even from the rooftops I felt a crawling sensation combined with a swift kick to the Fight or Flight response. But as each word rang out, Zeke drew closer, and each word seemed less certain than the last. The pauses grew longer, and Dar’tanian’s eyes darted wildly.
His breath came in gasps like he had just run a marathon, and his mouth twisted erratically trying to form the right shapes. As Zeke loomed over him, and Dar’tanian fell back and screamed, “NOOO! Stay away, stay away bad man! Not hurt Dennis! Hurt..hur hu h—”. He began sobbing and babbling like a child as he rolled back and forth on the ground.
Zeke laughed, a sound I hope to never hear again. His eyes seemed more alive somehow, and as he turned away there was a bit of Dar’tanian in his arrogant stride. “As he once held your will, now you hold his flesh. I hope you will show it the same respect that he gave you.”
The dead fell upon their screaming master, and while dramatic it was thankfully short. A few disappeared into the city, but most of them crossed the gates to join their new King.