Shared Memory

Originally posted on Tales of the Parodyverse.

Characters in this story are owned either by myself, or other posters on
the Board.

The zombie slowly lurched across the plain. Filthy, tattered clothes hung off its body, and the less said about the condition of the body, the better. This lowly example of the necromantic arts had been roused rudely from its eternal sleep, then left to wander across the moors as an unthinking and decaying hazard to the unwary.

The creature of decay staggered mindlessly in front of the hero. It was all over in one swing of the axe.

The skeleton stood behind the doorway.

No grimy and rotted bones here: The bones taken from a recently-deceased corpse, the squishy bits carefully removed and the bones themselves cleaned to a gleaming white. No mind directed this unholy creature (after all, it had no brain), but it was given the necromantic imperative to guard the door.

It stood, sword in hand, waiting for the unwary to open the door.

The hero entered, axe and shield in hand. The skeleton's single sword swipe was blocked, and its torso split with a single sweep of the axe.

As a final insult, its head was removed with the backswing.

The pigmy-like creature stood next to the ornately carved pillars that marked the entrance to its village. Around it swarmed its compatriots, wielding small blowpipes and flashing sharpened teeth. On its shoulders the shaman balanced, a mite precariously, watching over the tribe. In the background the rude thatch hits of the village could be seen, nestled within the jungle clearing.

All in all, a sight to delight the most surly anthropologist.

Alas, the average hero is no anthropologist. The hero hacked its way through the horde of chittering pygmies, ducked under the single gout of fire that the shaman managed to breathe before falling to the axe's edge and then dispatched its supporting pigmy as it tried to untangle itself from the remains of its shaman.

Me stand on the ramparts with clan, waiting for invader. Most humans no bother, but odd one goes hacking through countryside like pigmy on spotted mushroom.

This one not bright. Steams up to baracade, and hammers down with axe. Not bright. Even me know that will blunt axe.

Me attack human with club. Clan also attack with clubs and swords and axes dropped by other humans. Human give good fight. It seem like human not feel blows to head. Human knocks me back with one mighty swipe.

Me try to get back to fight but do ... two ... steps then fall flat on face. Wound burn like fire and sting like poison.

It getting dark.

My companions and I were patrolling the caves when we heard the sounds of combat. One of these human adventurers had wandered into the mountain, and was in the process of dispatching some of the ... wilder ... cave dwellers.

We knew humans were dangerous creatures. This one had fought off a horde of creatures, looked extremely hacked, and was obviously still looking for trouble. Still, my companions and I were seasoned and solid fighters - well, apart from one, who flitted ethereally around us, a ghost still defending the caves. We took up positions for ambush.

Things went wrong almost at once.

As we sprung our ambush it seemed that the human was no longer as injured as it had first appeared. It was also apparent that the human was aware of our presence as it leapt straight into the ambush, twin axes spinning in a whirlwind of death.

For just an instant I wondered how, with all our training and experience, we could have botched a simple ambush like this. Then we were engaged and there was no time for thought.

Our ghost died first. Somehow, this human's weapons tore and bit through the comrade that we thought untouchable. The beserker charged straight at the human in a frothing rage, and was diced with ease. My fellow champion and I attempted to flank the human whist it was engaged with the beserker only to discover that it could attack three creatures almost as easily as it handled one.

Three swift strokes were enough to leave me a bleeding wreck on the rocky floor. As the world faded, I cursed my carelessness and my inadequate training.

My last thought was this. Why could I remember my training, but not remember being trained?

The human has penetrated our outpost, and we stand ready to defend our master. The others may fall or flee, but we, the chosen, will stand and prevail.

Others speak our master's name in hushed whispers. We, the chosen, will shout it as we attack. It will be the last thing the accursed human will ever hear.

The human charges towards us, axes dripping with the blood of the lower orders. We engage him, howling the sainted name, as our master rains magic upon the hapless human. We glory in the demise of the foolish...

The human spins through our ranks, a whirling maelstrom of axe and death. It shrugs off most of our leader's magic, and seems to ignores the rest as being of no consequence. A number of seemingly stray cuts leaves me partly crippled, and as I look around the hall I see that the rest of the chosen are in no better shape. We gather for a second pass, but as I charge the master's name catches in my throat.

The second charge is enough to finish me. My only satisfaction is that at least I died before my master. As the darkness gathers, I wonder:

What is my name?

I am Kasstak the Enchanter, Mage Extrordinaire. My magical powers are beyond compare, and the Great One has ordered me to hold this underground crypt against the intruding human. My minions stand before me, weapons at the ready.

Far in the distance I can hear a mystic portal being opened. I hear the sounds of battle as the lesser forces fall before the intruder; I hear the sound of traps being sprung the hard way. The noises become louder and closer until at last I see the hated creature at the doorway to my chamber.

The lesser forces and the traps have done their job well. The human is badly injured and is on the last of its strength. My minions fall on it and it is swiftly dispatched.

My minions gather around me, and I praise them as they deserve. The foolish human is no more, and soon I will bask in the favour of our Dark Master. My congratulations are interrupted as the very twin of the fallen human bursts into the chamber, dons the fallen human's arms and armour faster even than magic could achieve, and then attacks my minions from behind.

Caught out of position by a completely healthy and prepared foe, my minions fall. I blast the human with all the magic at my disposal but, although I can see that I have hurt it, the human still manages to beat me back into a corner.

As the axe falls, my last thought is that this all seems so ... familiar.

As the human storms its way across the mountainside, I take refuge behind a small patch of scrub. Unlike my compatriots, I have no wish to fight the human. For some reason I feel as if I have faced it time and time again. I have heard it said that a coward dies many times before his end, and that the brave taste death only once. I know that this is my first fight, but I feel as if I have faced this enemy time and time again.

So, like the coward I must be, I am hiding. The scrub offers very little cover, and I am convinced that I will be seen as soon as the human goes past.

I can hear it coming now...

By some miracle, the human passed by without seeing me. It charged past, slaughtering as it went, but it passed me by, intent on some other goal.

I slowly make my way down the mountain, past my slain comrades; passed the broken chests and ravaged stores. At the bottom of the mountain I can see the entrance to the caverns from which the human emerged. Next to the caverns is a mystic portal. Having nowhere else to go, I step into the portal. Anywhere is better than here.

The universe spins around me. Objects pass around me, being created and destroyed as I watch. Far ahead of me is some form of nexus, glowing with an unnatural light. I head towards the nexus.

I find myself standing in a dark chamber. The only source of light is a scrying pool, showing the top of the mountain that I had just left, and the human slaughtering the last of my comrades at the top of the mountain. At least, it would be a scrying pool if one could tip it on its side without the water pouring out. The room is occupied only by a foul-smelling and oddly dressed mage, who is peering intently at the pool, taking obvious delight in the slaughter. This had to be the mage responsible for sending the human to slaughter my people.

It will all be over in one swing of the axe.

Footnotes:

This is yet another of my non-parodyverse pieces for your literary pleasure. The characters and situations may bear a slight resemblance to the Diablo II - Lord of Destruction game. This is probably due to the fact that I have been playing it continuously for most of the holiday.

The progression may be slightly clearer to the non-initiated if I note that the creatures in Diablo II fall into the following groupings:

• "Normal creatures.


• Normal creatures with a leader (who can usually resurrect fallen creatures and throw magic)


• Champions, beserkers and ghostly creatures - these are stronger versions of the normal creatures. Beserkers have better attack skills and ghostly creatures are ethereal and harder to hit.


• Uniques and minions - Named creatures with powerful servitors.