The kingdom was lost. The villages and once great cities were in ruins. The crops all had withered and died as the livestock all succumb to the plagues. The Necromancer had been successful and the undead roamed the land now in hordes seeking prey to consume or make into unholy monsters such as themselves and swell the ranks of their army.
On this day, what would be the last day, the sun sank on the horizon slowly into thick grey clouds. The sky flushed then faded and darkened, and the evening star itself seemed to tremble unwillingly into sight. Never before in the history of the world had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together. This was no disciplined march, it was a mindless rabble without order and without a goal, as the desperate people unarmed and without food, drove headlong like broken cattle towards the last possible sanctuary and into uncertainty. There was not a sound from any voice in the mass, only the combined pathetic symphony of their slowly plodding and defeated feed. It was the beginning of the rout of a civilization, of the massacre of mankind.
Onward the people moved as the vast crowd was stalled, pushed up, forced and buffered by the narrows that led towards the already packed bridge moving and pushing like waves upon a shoreline, seeking to cross the river to the hope of safety on the other side, but the mass that was assembled were too slow.
Behind them emerging from the thickness of the forest appeared the silhouette of a huge undead creature; an abomination and mockery of the living. Another came, and another, striding slowly forward and with purpose. Behind them came other foul creations, animated skeletons, zombies and things that cannot be described with words. Finally the Necromancer, the head of the undead army appeared in sight. From the mass of people an audible moan came forth, then the wide eyed screams of desperation and fear. Seeing and smelling their prey the foul undead creatures plodded forward towards the sea of people now streaming across the bridge in complete and utter panic.
Watching the undead army appear from the forest and assemble to his right and the panicked mass of humanity to his left sat a silent lone grey armored knight accompanied by a company of his men-at-arms. The mounted knight held the reigns of his mammoth warhorse tightly to his chest with one hand while speaking softly to the brave beast with soothing words of calm and comfort.
Slowly he moved along the river banks flanking the bridge and took up a position blocking the oncoming horde. Then, with a deafening roar from his throat and kick of his heels, he swung his horse about and drove at full speed towards the waiting Undead. The armored soldiers with him held up their pikes and spears and swords and with their own combined guttural cry, rushed toward the enemy horde that was now bearing down on the bridge with all their might.
The undead Necromancer released its foul dark magic but the armored knight sped on, cutting down one of the undead champions and then another with his mighty sword. Instantly the other undead creatures raised their dread weapons and long claws. Forward with one purpose they piled over each other and brought down the knight's gallant warhorse with one swift stroke. A spell of darkness and smoke engulfed the area blocking out the battle from sight.
When the unnatural cloud had finally cleared on the far bank of the river the people cut loose the great ropes that had held the bridge in place and found they were safe, at least for now. The undead would not cross the wide and deep waters. But the lone knight and his brave men-at-arms had vanished forever, taking with them the last hope of victory.
To the survivors the heavy sky over their once lush and prosperous land seemed to die with the setting of the sun, the undead had overwhelmed the land they had called home, and no one and nothing was left now to fight them. The land now belonged to the undead.
On this day, what would be the last day, the sun sank on the horizon slowly into thick grey clouds. The sky flushed then faded and darkened, and the evening star itself seemed to tremble unwillingly into sight. Never before in the history of the world had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together. This was no disciplined march, it was a mindless rabble without order and without a goal, as the desperate people unarmed and without food, drove headlong like broken cattle towards the last possible sanctuary and into uncertainty. There was not a sound from any voice in the mass, only the combined pathetic symphony of their slowly plodding and defeated feed. It was the beginning of the rout of a civilization, of the massacre of mankind.
Onward the people moved as the vast crowd was stalled, pushed up, forced and buffered by the narrows that led towards the already packed bridge moving and pushing like waves upon a shoreline, seeking to cross the river to the hope of safety on the other side, but the mass that was assembled were too slow.
Behind them emerging from the thickness of the forest appeared the silhouette of a huge undead creature; an abomination and mockery of the living. Another came, and another, striding slowly forward and with purpose. Behind them came other foul creations, animated skeletons, zombies and things that cannot be described with words. Finally the Necromancer, the head of the undead army appeared in sight. From the mass of people an audible moan came forth, then the wide eyed screams of desperation and fear. Seeing and smelling their prey the foul undead creatures plodded forward towards the sea of people now streaming across the bridge in complete and utter panic.
Watching the undead army appear from the forest and assemble to his right and the panicked mass of humanity to his left sat a silent lone grey armored knight accompanied by a company of his men-at-arms. The mounted knight held the reigns of his mammoth warhorse tightly to his chest with one hand while speaking softly to the brave beast with soothing words of calm and comfort.
Slowly he moved along the river banks flanking the bridge and took up a position blocking the oncoming horde. Then, with a deafening roar from his throat and kick of his heels, he swung his horse about and drove at full speed towards the waiting Undead. The armored soldiers with him held up their pikes and spears and swords and with their own combined guttural cry, rushed toward the enemy horde that was now bearing down on the bridge with all their might.
The undead Necromancer released its foul dark magic but the armored knight sped on, cutting down one of the undead champions and then another with his mighty sword. Instantly the other undead creatures raised their dread weapons and long claws. Forward with one purpose they piled over each other and brought down the knight's gallant warhorse with one swift stroke. A spell of darkness and smoke engulfed the area blocking out the battle from sight.
When the unnatural cloud had finally cleared on the far bank of the river the people cut loose the great ropes that had held the bridge in place and found they were safe, at least for now. The undead would not cross the wide and deep waters. But the lone knight and his brave men-at-arms had vanished forever, taking with them the last hope of victory.
To the survivors the heavy sky over their once lush and prosperous land seemed to die with the setting of the sun, the undead had overwhelmed the land they had called home, and no one and nothing was left now to fight them. The land now belonged to the undead.