[RPG] [Atamara] The Mad King

[zmobiebob]

And Gauihu strode into the light of day, surrounded by his loyal guards. He
walked through rubble-strewn streets as if they were royal gardens, and
inhaled of the air as if the prevailing scent was roses, instead of the
decaying corpses of thousands of human beings.

One of the royal agents approached him. "Sire; the boy is dead, but the girl
was taken away far to the south," the man reported.

Gauihu nodded soberly. "Half a loaf is better than none," he commented. "And
is only half as dangerous."

The royal agent had nothing to say to this. He'd been Captain Bremham's
second-in-command for less than three months, but before that had served the
kings and queens of Abington, and all their attendant minions and worries,
for many years.

The king seemed to make up his mind about something. He waved a hand
dismissively. "Very well. Why don't you go hang some peasants or something?
Try a few really-starved ones, if you want. They swing in the breeze; it's
really quite beautiful."

And he kept on walking, not waiting to see if this order was carried out. He
was beyond worrying about loyalties anymore.

There was a series of screams from ahead. The guards formed up protectively
on instinct - annoyingly, thought Gauihu. "Out of my way, I want to see!" he
demanded and pushed through.

A small riot greeted him. The guards hurried up again, swords drawn. A few
of them gasped in horror - expecting angry peasants, or even marauding
soldiers, they weren't ready for this sight. Dozens of walking corpses
lurched about, attacking the living with their teeth and claws. Some of them
languished on the cobblestones, gnawing on the flesh of those who had been
too slow, too starved or just too unlucky to escape.

"My lord, I recommend we retreat," a sergeant said shakily.

"No," Gauihu said, reflectively. "No, stay right here."

The guard looked furtively at his nearby comrades, but the king didn't
notice. He was already walking ahead - straight into their midst.

"My lord!" someone called out, alarmed. But Gauihu ignored the brave soul.

The snarling, groaning undead saw him now, much to the relief of a
half-dozen or so citizens who used the opportunity to break free and run
away. They came closer, jaws agape, worm-ridden tongues flexing in mindless
anticipation.

Gauihu examined them. Some of them looked like peasants, but others had been
wealthier. Perhaps nobles. He fancied he could recognize familiar faces in
their dead countenances. Feldric... Ulrich... Deschain... El Cidd...
Vigilantius... Doad... I Will Survive... Damargo... Carriantor... even
Spiritmonger.

He knew this wasn't so, knew they were just commoners, or had been, in life.
Yet he enjoyed the thought.

"Ah, but now," he cooed. "Now you are all my subjects. Released, you are my
true servants. Liberated, you are my true children. How many of you there
are, my beloved! How many more than that simple-minded woman could produce!
How greater your legacy!"

They surrounded him, but did not attack. It was more as if they were
indifferent, rather than in awe or fear. The undead rarely seemed to have
much variety in terms of facial expressions, though - it was hard to tell
either way, and so Gauihu imagined they were in awe.

"You see!" he cried out to the stunned royal guards. "*They* know their True
King! *They* recognize the glory of my work! *They* know what needs to be
done!"

Laughing, he lifted his arms, turning slowly in a circle. "My children! My
beautiful children!"

A royal guard dropped his sword, either in total astonishment or fear, or
both. The clattering sound of iron on stone changed the tableau. Undead
faces looked toward the hapless man and his soldiers. The two groups were
evenly matched, but the King was in the midst of the other, unharmed - what
were they to do?

The question was answered by Gauihu himself. He grinned, a terrible, hungry
smile, and lowered one of his raised arms, pointing at the Royal Guard as if
in command. One of the survivors even swore that the king made some sort of
corpse-like hissing sound, and then... the undead advanced on the king's own
soldiers.

"Do your duty, brave men!" he shouted at the melee, chortling.

And Gauihu kept on walking, now very much alone, through the garden of
Riverholm.



--



Athys II watched in utter horror as the royal guards were torn apart. Some
of them fled. Some of them fought. But the events preceding the battle had
taken their spirit... and Athys's own.

*My own cousin...* he kept telling himself.

"Sire, should we intervene?" Erdred had been careful hiding it in his voice
before, but now clearly wanted his lord to turn against this monstrous king.

Athys hesitated. "King Malice hasn't responded yet. I don't know."

"On such things I can't say, sire. Still..." and the implication was left
hanging, as obvious as the stench of rotting corpses and the screams of the
dying.

It was the old argument: Gauihu would never accept a duel from Athys,
especially not now when the throne was at stake. And Gauihu was always
surrounded by his guards-

*Oh,* he thought with sudden realization. There was the other argument -
loyalty versus betrayal - but as he stared down on the scene in the
blood-spattered streets of his city, at the fading garment of the cousin who
even now held the family fortune locked to him, he realized this was no
longer a real issue either.

*It's time to do the right thing,* he told himself with new determination.

"Alright. Gather the men!" Athys shouted, his battle-orders voice carrying
throughout the courtyard. Ten, fifteen of the Blades of the Hammer were
already there, waiting, their gear worn, their bodies exhausted from days of
struggling to maintain order and peace in the near-dead city. A little more
than twice that number came rushing in from surrounding portions of the
duchal palace.

Athys II stood before his soldiers. He was proud of them. They'd suffered
horribly, but they'd scaled the walls of this city and fought bravely. A
thousand years ago, that seemed now, during Spiritmonger's secession. He
raised his longsword high in a sharp salute.

But this was no time for speeches. "Okay, boys. The king's gone mad."

Scattered grumblings of agreement met this statement of the obvious.

"And it seems he's... in collusion with, the undead. Some devilry is at
play!"

More muttered agreements, somewhat louder.

"Right now the king's out there with a mob of almost sixty undead and the
city's falling down around us. So we're going to leave this fortification,
apprehend him and bring him to justice!"

Dead silence.

Athys sighed. "Look," he said in a voice that was less blustery and more
genuine. "This isn't going to be easy. Whether we stay here or not, our
chances are probably not good. But all of Abington is cursed by an evil,
evil man. And he's right out there. We can save a lot of spilled blood...
maybe save the entire bloody kingdom... but we have to move now. So who's
with me?"

Erdred, his captain, lifted his chin. "We're with you, my lord!"

"Okay, I will be leading us out. Erdred, you take up the rearguard. You,
sergeant, and you too, follow me in the front. Follow my movements. Don't
fight unless you're absolutely caught. We're going to move quickly, so pay
attention. You got that?"

"Yes, sir!" came a more unanimous shout. The soldiers seemed to have their
spirits lifted now that it was confirmed Athys would be leading personally.
They were almost enthusiastic. *It's ironic,* he thought wryly. *If I'd
stayed behind, they'd either mutiny or desert en masse. Oh well.*

Athys II and his thirty-four swordsmen left. And while perhaps most of
Riverholm's population (dead or alive) might be facing them as obstacles,
they had only one target: Gauihu, the Mad King of Abington.
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