The Survivor Part 1: The Intro

[Wheatley 24]

"Do you think they're gone?" Willow asks. "They're never gone. They only hide," replies Darius. "You're all depressing me, the lot o' ya. Come on, we might as well drink the last of the ale." Grimlon suggests. "Cheers to that," concurs Ugg. Trevor sits in the corner of the shelter, polishing his bow, glaring at the rest of us. Willow, an elf. Darius, a human. Grimlon, a dwarf. Ugg, an orc. And me. I guess we never did anything to win the mori's favor, so I can't blame him for hating us. Everybody underestimated those unintelligent brutes, so no one ever expected they'd become a threat. They killed off the spiders, the endermen went back to hide in the end, and frankly, they're the lucky ones. Those blasted undead.

"I'll go out and check, will that help?" I say. "Lad, you ain't going nowhere," Grimlon refuses. Willow shakes her head in agreement. "It's way too dangerous, you'd never survive." Heh. Survival. The rest of them know nothing of survival. I lived on nothing but scraps, killing and stealing when needed. Darius was handed everything growing up. Willow lived on a farm, so no shortage of food there. Ugg grew up in a traveling caravan, and they shared everything they found. Grimlon worked as a tavern boy, and later, the owner, so I guess he always had money. Trevor's the only one I'd trust my life with, but he'd probably just stab me in the back.

I wait until they are asleep to leave and survey the area. We need to leave soon, or the zombies will overwhelm us. I grab my old diamond sword that I "borrowed" from the king after The Infection. They really should have locked the throne room doors tighter. Then the "zombies" might not have gotten to him. I see the body of a girl I used to be fond of. I cut her head off. No use in risking it. I hear the telltale shuffling of feet and clanking of bones. I turn to the source of the noise, raising the sword to fighting stance. "Whoa, there, son! We're just here to bury our dead. Got a little cut on me leg, sorry if I made too much noise." Stupid wood elves. I look them over. The man in front does indeed have a wound on his leg, and he is carrying a small, wooden box that can only be a child's coffin. "That a bite, sir?" I ask, not lowering the sword. The woman behind him and the little boy she is carrying gulp, but the man denies it.

"Huh. Well, the graveyard's over the hill. Just answer me one question." "What's that?" the man asks, visibly relieved. "Do normal cuts turn green?" He turns pale at that. "Please, just let me bury my son," he pleads. "Before I die!" I hesitate, and he drops the box he is carrying and lunges at me. I've had butter that's harder to cut than this guy. I turn to his family just as a hand bursts through the box. "Damn. Skeleton. Ma'am, you and your boy had better run," I inform them. "But...that's my boy too." "Just run!" The small skeleton rises from his coffin just as the two survivors run away. It is easily dispatched, but the noise draws...them. The first few are no trouble. Then, a high-pitched shriek echoed through the air. I turn in horror. It can't be true. No, I'm imagining it. They all left. Not true...

[Knox213 10]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.