Paradise Lost (A Dominions/Worm Crossover)

Your undead minion shields Skitter from the enemy with its body while you hear more cracking noises like minuscule bolts of lightning and feel the air around you shift with whatever magic projectile is moving past you. The stars shine brightly as one more Astral pearl shatters to intensify their potency.

Another bullet passes by you, the enemy presumably panicking as all around you vast swarms of insects are drawn out towards every direction, consuming and searching as a wave rather than creatures. Skitter's inborn mystic capacity shows itself well as air hardens in a wave around you, catching a few slugs in its grip. Metallic darts? It's an Ulm situation all over again, isn't it?

Controlling the exasperation you focus on the casting of magic itself, weaving natural power into your sockets thusly enhancing the very idea of sight until you can count the individual mosquitoes in the swarm at a dozen paces. The target will not escape your sight, no matter their sorcerous hiding techniques.

Right there, hiding up above in a nearby building is the would-be assassin. Dark skin and dark clothing mix together in a hazy morass of colours, barely visible to any sight but your preternaturally sharp one. Focusing intently on the matter they appear to be holding out some form of weapon.

Another shot from it is beckoned with a spray of fire from the barrel, this time finally impacting you solidly on the sternum, cracking it with a noise of breaking dry bone. Skitter looks over to you, assessing your health presumably. You care not for petty mortal injuries as fury boils.

Taking command of the winds they fall to your sides and legs, driving you forward with preternatural, unrelenting force. First, you attempt to draw on the power of stars to befuddle and break their mind into a cycle. Reaching out to it you attempt to place it into that unenviable cycle, but the Drain in the air diminishes your efforts, making the assassin easily able to fight you off.

Fine, they can die bloody. As you see them raise up attempting to escape, you break into a frenetic sprint with an inhuman cry that rattles the life of all nearby. You leap upwards, supernatural vigour granting you the ability to smash up and through the windowsill in a plume of dust.

The assassin stumbles, trying to point the weapon towards you, but it is a moot point with your speed. The metal groans as you jolt forward and tear it away from his hands. He screams something in his native language that you ignore, moving a hand to grasp for a throat or whatever else is conveniently in the path of it.

This turns out to be an arm, one that you crush in your grip feeling flesh and bone pop around your fingers until you have a solid, powerful grip between the radius and ulna. Dragging them by it you pull them to the edge of the building before throwing them off the second-story opening you made with your body.

Impacting on the ground with more cracks you jump down, landing on them with a dull thump of pulverized meat. Skitter rises up to peek over the car at your gristle-coated frame. Interrogation is a moot point, they die too quickly and you aren't willing to bring them back.

All around you, insects swarm to different buildings, screams come from them as men bearing firearms are driven out of buildings and, in one case, out of a window and onto the ground below with a splattering sound, by hordes of stinging monsters looking for flesh. Very impressive.

Looking upwards, you see in the far distance a shape, one which your eagle-like eyes telescope towards. Human, two miles away and closing at some speed. The locals, perhaps their Pretender. You settle onto the ground drawing air around you, letting it back the entirety of your body and lighten its weight, able to fly upwards at a moment's notice.

And, thinking on it, minions are required. Something simple, easy and cheap using a resource you don't much care for. Nature gems are brought out and shattered in puffs of sweet-scented smoke. Energies spread like wildfire in the spaces between, reaching out to transport wolves from a great distance to you.

From around corners, lurking in the darkened corners just out of the daylight, a hundred wolves, sharp-toothed and gray-furred lurk, raring for prey. Many near you, taking chunks out of the corpse that just freshly came into existence. Wolves that are well-fed but still hungry. A terrible sign for civilization in their hunting ground.

The shape finally gets near enough to observe its features. A sculpted face and thin frame along with the local skin tone suggest a magician of local noble birth, especially with the flight and light glow of energy roiling in the mortal's hands.

She lands ahead of you, causing the wolves to growl, along with some strange, violent equivalent of such a noise from your undead. The light blonde hair and glowing features of the woman before you seem to brighten with the noise, either intimidated or concerned.

Eye contact or what can be considered such with you, lacking eyes, continues until finally after an age of waiting, she says something in her native language. "Why are you here, dead man?"

You place it as a Machakan dialect immediately and prepare to speak the language. "To lay claim and dominion, glowing one." Your words cause her face to tighten as wolves continue their growling, backed by the growing noise of a swarm from Skitter working her own might to grow her tide.

"I protect this city and all inside its domain. Turn back or face defeat." The mortal speaks with assuredness, her hands growing in brightness as a sign of power you presume. "You've one choice, mortal." A glow appears in your eyes, the subtle signs of an undead nature roaring alive with a mere effort of will. "Surrender to me, serve me."

"To do anything else is to play games with your life, and," Betting on some instinct of chivalry, you continue with a small lie, "The lives of your people." Wolves growl loudly, staring at the odd child still looking out of an open window. She freezes, looking at the swarms of creatures you have and the disturbing closeness they have to the peasantry.

Sadly, your convincing tones don't seem to work as well as you hope. Annoyingly this seems to be one of those self-confident types. "A threat is only as powerful as the strength behind it." She glistens with solar light, something you place immediately as it annoys your dead bones by its presence alone.

"I say again, turn back or face defeat!" The hero raises her voice, demanding your attention like a spoiled child. Sighing deeply, you are left with the choice of what to do with her. Thankfully, your enchantments still hold.

[X] Just kill her, move on with your day and finally lay claim to the damned city. (1x power, appeals to getting on with it.)


[X] Continue the conversation and say something to convince her. (0.8x, will lower if argument does not in keep with pride and self worth.)
-[X] Write-In argument.

[X] Something Else?
Write in Undead Command?
Write in Spell List?
Spell Listing