Mask of Humanity

Nicolai grinned when another skeleton stepped out through the door. This one had a decrepit wooden shield in one hand and a club in the other, and it looked a little more sprightly than the last as it stepped out towards him.

He advanced on it and it raised the shield jerkily. Nicolai slammed a kick into the shield and the skeleton was thrown back into the wall and then he was on it, another two-handed swing cracking its skull. He heard the creak of more doors.

Now there were three but they were slow and stupid and Nicolai danced around them, slipping side-to-side, in-and-out. They lacked mass with no meat on them, which made them easy to knock over and their strikes lacked power.

‘Come on!’ he yelled at them, kicking another out the way, disappointed by how pathetic they were. He dodged a clumsy swing and countered with a savage blow that smashed another skull.

‘Worthless,’ he snarled at a skeleton he’d knocked down as it struggled to return to its feet, an overhand strike crushing its skull before it could do so. He kicked one of the remaining doors open, dove in and smashed another pair of skeletons to bits, and abruptly rage had supplanted the thrill and was pulsing through him. This was what he was to face in the new world? Ancient, useless creatures that could barely swing their rusted weapons?

He stepped out from the room and his eyes turned towards the final door. This one was a little larger, bracketed with metal. He stomped towards it and and burst through.

The final skeleton stood within, and Nicolai slowed as his eyes settled upon it, narrowing. This one was bigger, heavier, wearing some actual armour. It had a heavy helmet that wasn’t too rusted, and it hefted a simple polearm, something like a two-handed war hammer without any hooks or spike, just a big metal end that looked like it could do some real damage. It was a good weapon. He wanted it.

The skeleton was staring at a table upon which there was a large glass jar, in which floated a severed head.

With the opening of the door it turned to face Nicolai, and it moved easily, quickly. He could see the light in its eyes through its visor and the lights were brighter, two burning orbs of blue that settled onto him, holding a promise.

Nicolai spun the baton in a circle and it slapped back into his palm. He pointed it at the skeleton which regarded him with something that just might be thought. ‘Don’t disappoint me,’ he told it, and stepped forwards.

The skeleton twisted into position, holding the heavy end of its hammer low, the staff ready for defence. As soon as Nicolai came close enough it whipped the hammer towards his knees and Nicolai scuttled back, grinning, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

It outranged him. It was fast and heavy. A hit from that hammer would break something in him.

All of that made the problem of killing it an enjoyable one. He feinted in and out, drawing its strikes and avoiding them, learning its pattern. Then he saw his chance, a minor overextension, the hammer swinging past him with a little too much force. He lunged forwards, swinging the baton at one of its elbows, looking to break a limb. For some reason the skeleton had stopped moving, frozen. Then its warhammer lit up, bright lines of grey light crawling over it, and a burst of wind came from nowhere and knocked Nicolai back before he could land a hit.

He was so surprised he went sprawling but his reflexes kicked in and he turned the sprawl into a backwards roll, flipping back to his feet.

There was a heavy crack and chips of stone flew as the warhammer smashed into the ground where he’d been. The skeleton retracted its hammer and stepped towards him.

‘What did you do?’ Nicolai murmured. He was backed against the wall now and he lunged to the side, looking to get to the door.

The hammer glowed and the skeleton made a gentle flicking motion towards him.

‘Gah!’ Nicolai was knocked back again, back towards where he’d been. It was cornering him. He laughed madly. ‘You bastard!’ he screamed happily and threw himself at it because that was his only choice.

He stuttered his body to avoid its swing then dropped his baton to grab the pole of its hammer, wrestling with it. The undead was strong and it twisted the weapon, dragging Nicolai left then right, but he refused to let go.

It slammed its helmeted head at his own and he managed to twist his head aside, taking the blow to his shoulder, a crack of pain that enthused him with energy. He threw himself forwards and managed to shove it back, pushing it off balance. His foot wormed out and he tried to hook its leg out from under it but it wrenched the hammer and a gust of wind caught him in the side and sent him stumbling then its leg sliced out to try and trip him as he’d tried to trip it.

It looped around, caught him in the back of the knee, took the leg out from under him, and Nicolai toppled backwards. As he went he held tight to the polearm, and the undead was unwilling to relinguish it, so it was dragged down with him.

Nicolai hit the ground and breathed out, rolling. He threw his legs up as the undead collapsed onto him and he caught it in the midsection, throwing it over him to crash into the wall. In an instant he’d twisted onto his feet and he wrenched at the hammer, trying to take it, but the polearm glowed brighter than ever as the skeleton shoved it toward him. A scream of wind crashed into his body and lifted him and threw him. Suddenly everything was spinning around him as he was launched across the room, struggling to make sense of the blur his world had turned into.

He saw the stone floor, coming at him fast. He slammed into it but he broke the fall, placing his hands and lurching to his feet. The skeleton was on its feet already, chasing him. He ran from it, jumping and rolling around the room, harried by bursts of wind and tight swings of its hammer, his breath coming harder and faster, his limbs beginning to feel leaden. The skeleton was inexhaustible, its tempo unrelenting.

Things couldn’t go on like this or it was going to kill him. Nicolai scuttled backwards from their latest exchange and looked around the room, his eyes settling on the furniture he’d ignored, the scope of the fight expanding in his mind, the thrill twining through him.

He picked up a rickety chair and hurled it at the skeleton. As soon as the chair left his hands he was running. The skeleton predictably knocked the chair aside with a burst of wind, but by the time it had done so, he was past it and out the door. He dove into another room where he’d seen a heavy looking table.

For a moment he was tired and the table was heavy but the joy of battle mixed with rage at his weakness and it all roared through him in a wave of energy. He hauled the table away from the wall, wood squealing over stone as he got himself behind it and pushed it out the doorway into the main area.

He got it out just as the skeleton emerged and, grinning with gritted teeth, he charged at it, shoving the table before him. Its hammer glowed and a burst of wind crashed into him and the table, but with the weight of the table before him and his body tense and moving forwards it only slowed him a little, pushing through. The table smashed into the skeleton's midsection and crunched it against the wall, bending it over.

Nicolai leant forwards and grabbed its helmet, wrenching as he tried to rip it off. The skeleton flailed at him, and bursts of wind caught him from either side. But his grip was tight and it was unable to bring the warhammer properly to bear, caught between its body and the table at an awkward angle.

There was a pop as a strap gave when a particularly powerful gust caught him and Nicolai was knocked back, the helmet in his hand. He hurled it at the skeleton which raised a hand to defend itself. As the helmet bounced away he grabbed the table, dragged it back and slammed it forwards again, laughing like a child. Something crunched, and it sounded important. Now the only thing keeping the skeleton up was the table.

Nicolai dragged it back and the skeleton began to collapse but he shoved it forwards again. Crack. Crunch. Crack. The next time he drew back, the skeleton fell, and it dropped the warhammer. He slithered around the table and grabbed it, saw the skeleton's skull staring up at him, one arm raised in useless defence.

The warhammer blasted through its arm and smashed its skull into dozens of beautiful pieces. Blue light seeped out, formed into a little cloud, and ran away.

‘Come back anytime!’ Nicolai roared at it. Laughing, he reeled around the room, kicked the table over just because he could then raised the warhammer to smash the skeleton again but he stopped.

It didn’t deserve that. It had been a worthy opponent.

The thundering pulse of his battle joy faded, the hammer grew heavy in his hands, and he sunk to the ground with the air burning through his throat, the world spinning around him, darkness harrying from the edges of his vision. ‘Ah.’ He shook his body like a wet dog, and then he was calm, exhausted, pleased.

As his breath began to come easier he lifted the polearm before him. It had a pleasing weight, not too heavy, not too light, and well enough balanced. He liked it. The only problem with such a weapon was that a too-heavy swing might give an opponent a chance to counter or get in close and grapple, but with the blasts of air the skeleton had generated, that was solved.

He thought examine and the gold of his Mark slithered through his fingers to touch the weapon.

Footman’s Mace

An Imbued polearm given to a skilled and loyal footman as reward for good service. This polearm is made from infused wood and metal, granting it resistance to rust and rot.

It was crafted with a Gust of Wind Symbiote, one of the previous owner's favoured tools which he wished to have always easily at hand, and when provided Oma may generate minor blasts of air.

‘Imbued and Symbiotes,’ Nicolai murmured. Both words held a pleasing air of mystery and magic that made his imagination soar. He envisioned the skeletal warrior as part of a great army of undead, crushing foes with its magical mace.

He rose to his feet and pulled one of his Oma crystals from a pouch and pressed it against the mace. ‘Wind,’ he said, moving it like the skeleton had. Nothing happened. How did this work? He really wanted to do some magic. ‘Wind, wind, wind,’ he muttered, placing the crystal on different spots on the polearm, shaking it around. Nothing. He put the crystal back in its pouch, eyeing the polearm uncertainly.

Nicolai stepped over to his defeated opponent, the footman. Leaning down he touched a chunk of bone and examined it.

Undead Footman

Once a known warrior, now nothing but scattered bone.

Nicolai snorted gently. It was nothing but bone now, but even so, he felt these bones deserved a better place to rest than here, and to not be scattered about. The skeleton had given him a good fight and a good weapon. It deserved some respect.

Putting the polearm aside, he took two handfuls of bone and carried them into the room where he’d found the warrior, kicking bones belonging to the other skeletons out of the way as he went. He placed the footman’s bones on the ground in a corner of the room near to where the skeleton had been standing, and as he rose his eyes fell upon the big glass jar of liquid with the severed head floating inside.

The head was grey and aged, but it still had skin, hair, eyes that were closed. He hesitated for a moment, wanting to examine it closer, but opted to finish transporting the skeletal warrior to its final resting place first.

After completing the task he retrieved his metal baton which he shoved through his belt, then the polearm which he kept in hand, and stood before the jar with the head, peering at it. The head was a little smaller than his own. It had ears, but they were small and slightly pointed. It had a squashed little nose and a thin-lipped mouth. It had long dark hair that was spread through the liquid around it. It had two closed eyes, with a thick brow ridge. It could have been asleep.

Nicolai tapped on the jar with his finger. Tap, tap, tap. The glass rang, a dull tone.

The eyes of the severed head burst open, latching onto his own. The whites were faded, yellowed, the iris was a muddy brown, and all of it was ran through with the red zig-zags of burst veins.

Nicolai wasn’t surprised. Why wouldn’t it still be alive?

‘Hello,’ he mouthed slowly, waving at it.

The bloodshot eyes twisted left and right then locked onto his own. The head opened its mouth and started speaking, gibbering soundlessly. It looked upset.

Nicolai stared at it in wonder. He poked the jar again and grinned when the head snarled at him. It kept flicking its eyes upwards, and he followed the gaze, looking to the top of the jar where it was sealed by a big screw-on metal cap.

Understanding what it wanted, he rested the polearm against the table the jar was on and began unscrewing the cap. If the head wanted out of its jar, he was happy to oblige.

If it was capable of speech, there were many things he would like to ask it.