Plan 42 From Inner Space

''This is merely a silly story, and has nothing to do with anything that has ever happened or will ever happen inside the game. Rated PG-13.''

Chapter I. Luck, Your Silent Partner
Towards the end of the year, during a thaw, at nine o’clock one morning, a dwarven scout approached the stronghold Dun Garok from the north. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only with great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was impossible for the scout to distinguish anything more than a few yards away.

Suddenly the scout heard a strange noise, a gargle, and she turned around – an enormous, brownish spider had somehow managed to sneak up on her, and was preparing to launch a poisonous jet of acid at its prey. The scout stood still for a moment, then ducked and rushed away; she had a message to deliver, and fighting spiders was not part of her duty. The spider growled and followed the dwarven messenger southwards, and more ferocious arachnids joined his hunt.

The dwarf finally paused near a tree, thinking she was safe from the venomous menace; she was already weak from hunger and tired from running a long distance. A high-pitched noise alerted her, and she looked on, terrified, as huge spiders approached from out of the mist, surrounding her. There was at least a dozen.

With a small dagger, she started defending herself, trying to push the animals away, but more kept coming from every direction. The scout suddenly felt a sticky web pull her to the ground, choking her slowly, while the numerous spiders all tried to get closer in order to feed. With her one free hand, the dwarf reached for her dagger, but it was too late; she felt a powerful sting in one of her legs, and then everything got hazy.

“This is it”, she thought, “Never mind the message, the duty… what about my life? I’ve just started working my way up… this was my first important mission, my ticket to recognition and greatness. Now, I’ll be nothing but the emaciated remains for some poor soldier to find… and what of Tiny Tim?” Then she passed out from the pain.

Not five seconds after that, the spiders started to withdraw, as a deafening roar echoed upon the wind. The fog slowly lifted, and the fuzzy animals escaped in fear, as the sound of metal striking metal grew louder and came closer. A huge siege machine, a tonk, rolled up next to the unconscious scout through a thick wall of black smoke and shut its engines off.

A hatch opened near the cannon mounted on the siege engine, and a gnome and a dwarf jumped out; they were both wearing the raiment of the Hillsbrad mountaineers, and green goggles.

The dwarf removed his goggles and corrected his cowl, before shouting, “Gah-damnit, Jibby, there’s nothin’ ‘ere, we might jes’ go back ‘afore sumon’ spots a missin’ tonk!”.

- Oh, learn t’ speak, Booray, said the gnome and started searching the area.

- It’s Buri, Light-damn yeh! B-u-r-i, it’s no’ hard, yeh wee bag o’ pigvomit, sprayed the dwarf.

While the gnome inspected the nearby trees, Buri stared at the siege engine; the sides of it were covered in mud, there were holes and ripples in the light armour covering the caterpillar tracks. Buri walked up to one of the dents in the armour and tried kicking it – an exhaust pipe broke off and landed on his head, spewing gas all over the place. Buri mumbled something about insurance and yelled at the gnome to hurry up.

“I was right, Booray! There’s someone ‘ere!” shouted the gnome and waved his hands around.

As the air around them cleared up a little, Buri walked over to the gnome and looked down upon the female dwarf covered in spider’s web. The gnome pulled a small odd-looking, mechanical object from his pocket and placed it on the unconscious dwarf’s forehead; after a few seconds it started beeping and flashing.

- Well, the good news is she’s alive, exclaimed the gnome and cheered.

- Crap. Ah, well. Let’s bonk ‘er over th’ head real ‘ard an’ giver ‘er t’ th’ fish-people. She could’ve seen us steal th’ tonk, said Buri.

- You mimsy idiot, said the gnome, “… we have t’ get her t’ safety in th’ stronghold. Besides… can’t you see she’s one o’ us?”

Buri stared at the female dwarf, recognizing the armour; he wiped some webbing off her arm and checked for insignias.

“She’s no officer, migh’ as well leave ‘er ‘ere. She won’t mind”, said Buri and walked towards the siege engine.

The gnome sighed and started cutting the webs away from the female dwarf. With great trouble, he managed to drag her all the way to the tonk and forced her down the hatch.

- Hey! Wha’ did yeh do tha’ fer, Buri shouted from inside the machine, “I’m tryin’ t’ get this thing started!”

The gnome squeezed himself into the tonk and slapped Buri, before taking control of the siege engine and steering it back to Dun Garok. With grace, he managed to park it some distance away from the base, with the most damaged side facing Thoradin’s wall.

- In case anyon’ ever finds out… this was all yer idea, said Buri and glared at the gnome. The gnome sighed and dragged the unconscious female dwarf to the great gates of Dun Garok, where she was taken inside by two guards. While the gates were open, Buri managed to sneak inside, knowing very well that he was supposed to guard outside.

After reassuring himself that the gnome wasn’t around, Buri headed towards the tavern area, carefully avoiding patrols on his way. The tavern was mostly empty; there was only the bartender and two mountaineers in a corner that Buri did not recognize.

Buri sat down by the counter and removed his hood; after some fiddling with his belt, he also managed to remove his axe and put it down on the floor.

The bartender was Nusslich Silverhammer, a kind dwarf, and not so much Buri’s friend as Buri’s sympathizer. For as long as Buri had served in the base, he had managed to sneak off-duty at least once a day to visit the tavern – not because he enjoyed the food or company, but because he despised the guarding-duty.

Nusslich eyed Buri up and down, and said, “So, Grimwold, yer all sooty and blackish… have yeh been cleanin’ th’ tonks? I heard frem a rifleman tha’ one o’ those took off this mornin’. Any idea wher’ it might’ve been headed?”

Buri grunted, “Tah’ yer mum’s house, yeh galoot – I’ve go’ no idea… stop botherin’ me with questions n’ give me piece o’ cheese. An’ sum’ bread t’ go with th’ cheese, n’ sum’ butter to go with th’ bread, n’ sum’ drinks t’ go with ev’rythin’ else.”

- Yah shouldn’t drink on duty, Grimwold, said the bartender and grinned.

- Light-damnit, grumbled Buri, “… I’ll drink whenevah’ I want, yeh crispy noodle. I’mma so tired o’ this, no-one’s tellin’ me when t’ drink!

- Th’ superiors won’ be happy, Grimwold, said the bartender and smiled.

“Well, th’ superiors can kiss mah hairy ar…”

Buri’s sentence was cut in half as Eitri Flareaxe, a captain in Buri’s brigade, sat down by his side and stared at him. Buri started to stutter and managed to say, “Kiss mah… kiss mah hairy, aromatic… dog?”

Eitri sighed and ordered himself a pint of cherry grog, before stroking his long, greyish beard and glaring angrily at Buri.

“Buri…” he said, slowly raising his voice as he spoke - “I am no’ an evil person. Bu’ seriously, ‘ave yeh any idea wha’ I’ll do to yeh if I fin’ yeh doin’ things yeh shouldnae be doin’ at the wrong time, inne’ wrong place, one more time?"

Buri squeezed out a faint answer, but before he could get to the part about someone else being responsible, Eitri grabbed him by the beard and muttered angrily, three inches from his face;

“Yer useless, Grimwold – yeh’ve always been useless, yeh’ll always be useless. Bu’ it’s yer JOB to be useful, so th’ least yeh can do is TRY, yeh knuckleheaded chicken-humper! Now, th’ whole base is on alert after sum’ undeads were spotted inne’ area, an’ we jes’ got one injured to th’ trauma centre. Yeh get down ther’ an’ help out, tha’s an order!”

As Buri saluted, grabbed his cowl and rushed off, Eitri leaned on the counter, muttering; “That’ll keep ‘im busy fer an hour or two.”

The trauma centre was located in one of the lower wings of Dun Garok – injured and sick mountaineers and soldiers of the Alliance were brought there for healing and recovery. Currently, only three beds were occupied. The dwarven scout rested in one, a mountaineer whose foot got run over by a tonk rested in the other, and in the third rested the medic, mountaineer second Fuleth Morgenstern – famous for his laziness and general incompetence.

Buri sat down by the female scout, and inspected her. They had managed to remove most of the webbing, and she had a bandage around her leg; she was still dressed up in the mountaineer second uniform, but without a hood or gloves.

With an annoyed grunt, Buri eyed the sleeping medic, and then turned his attention to the great amount of strange vials and potions stored on shelves all over the room. Buri enjoyed switching labels on the vials whenever he got the time, just to confuse and irritate people. The only time he got in trouble for doing that, was the time when captain Sorn from the second brigade found out that Buri was to blame for the nearly lethal amount of gyrocopter fuel he just consumed, thinking it was apple juice.

Suddenly, the female dwarf blinked, and muttered something vague about ghouls and spiders. Buri stared at her, before waking up the medic by slapping him across the face.

Fuleth cursed and spat on the floor, then started tending to the scout, who kept on grumbling about messages and undead. As he corrected her bandage, a note fell out of her pocket – Buri grabbed it and sat down in a corner to read.

The note was covered in hastily scribbled dwarven runes, spelling out:

''The necromancers received the materials sooner than we thought, and they are already assembling the first “doomsday-device”. If we are to stop them, we must strike now! I have spotted three large groups of ghouls; they are heading towards Dun Garok – so am I.''

Buri gasped; doomsday device? Something had to be done, someone had to be told!

Chapter II. Criswell Predicts
It was a wonderful day to be alive, and the undead Scourge cursed this fact as they dug up graves near an abandoned tower west of the ruined Durnholde Keep. They had now managed to hide from not only mountaineers on patrol, but also the forsaken and the humans in the area for almost two weeks.

The head necromancer, commander of the few Hillsbrad Scourge-soldiers, was the somewhat notable Criswell the Horrid, low-ranking member of the Cult of the Damned and an all-around bad person.

Two acolytes noticed that no one with a pulse was watching them, so they snuck off and sat down by a tree while the ghouls carried on their dirty work.

“Have you any idea what they are doing?” asked one of them, staring at the tower, from which strange, low-pitched noises could be heard. The second acolyte shrugged and removed his hood; his face was pale and covered in blisters – he cringed from the sunlight and crawled into the shadow of the tree, growling rude things while rubbing his eyes. “Ever since that ghoul bit you, you’ve been looking sickly,” said the first acolyte, “… maybe you should let the necromancers take a look at you.”

- Are you insane, replied the second one, “… they’ll turn me into one of those shades. I would rather stay human and ill than ghostly and healthy.”

- Maybe being one of those shades isn’t that bad, said the first acolyte. “I mean, they can move very quickly… they enemy cannot see you, well, most of them cannot; and you don’t have to do all this smelly work.”

- Have you even seen one of those things, muttered the sickly acolyte, staring angrily at his companion, “… they can’t taste anything, and they can’t feel anything. The main reason I became an acolyte from the beginning was the dental. And those things don’t have teeth.”

- Still, you will never be promoted, looking like that, laughed the first acolyte, before noticing that a necromancer was approaching them from behind.

The sickly acolyte put his hood back on and the two rose up, facing the necromancer, hailing him with a ‘where shall our blood be spilled?’

The necromancer ordered them back to digging, and then carefully entered the ruined tower, ignoring the skeletal guard trying to form a sentence to say hello.

The tower was a mess, and it smelt like a mixture of rotting flesh and elixirs gone wrong. There were four acolytes desperately trying to clean up after Criswell the Horrid, who was standing at a table, pouring a gooey liquid into a pitcher that he emptied into a small sack that looked as if it were made of human skin. The Horrid one put another pitcher over a campfire to boil, then turned to greet his fellow necromancer, tripping over a cage in the process, allowing the terrified rabbit inside to escape.

Criswell wore a long, blue robe, covered in soot and blood; four small human skulls decorated his belt, to which a number of vials were strapped. He had a long, black beard, but did not wear the traditional necromancer headgear; a golden circlet instead decorated his forehead.

- Heisenborg, I can see you made it here… safe and sound, he said, with a raspy and cold voice. “Excellent. Are you prepared to see the device?”

The two necromancers descended into the basement of the tower, while the four acolytes chased the escaped rabbit. The basement was filled with crates and lockboxes littered with alchemical equipment and strange tools. In the middle of the room there was a pedestal – on it rested a strange orb-like device, similar to a gnomish bomb. It was engulfed in shadow and seemed to emit a strange humming.

- It is very flawed, we are not even completely sure it works, said Criswell, “…but if it does, this could be an incredible breakthrough for us, the bad news is… if we produce too many of these, we will be without a job.”

The other necromancer did not know whether or not to laugh, so he just approached the orb in silence, then asked; “Have you revived anyone yet?”

- One, said Criswell, “…but it turned out excellent, all the limbs were alright, and the brain seemed to be working quite well.”

The other necromancer took the device and held it with both his hands; it was heavy, and very warm.

- How do you activate it, he asked, and stared at Criswell, who took the device from him and started chanting. The orb hummed louder, and a bright, purple flash was seen; the air quickly grew colder for a moment, then turned back to normal.

- If there had been any dead bodies within a certain area, they would now be very much awake, serving us, commented Criswell. Suddenly, two acolytes were heard screaming at the top of their lungs, somewhere outside the tower.

- Oh, that’s right. There are dead bodies within the area. Well, not anymore.

The two necromancers left the device in the basement as they exited the tower and beheld the gruesome sight of five undead monstrosities brutally tearing the two lazy acolytes apart.

- This would never have happened if we were shades, screamed one of them.

- Shut the hell up, yelled the other before they both fell to the ground, drowning in a pool of their own blood, as the working ghouls attacked the undead monstrosities, who slowly fell apart and died. Again.

Criswell the Horrid coughed and scratched his beard, explaining, “The orb has to be within a safe range of the corpses, or the result will be… short-lived and very unsatisfactory. But at least there was no effort involved, and I’ve seen powerful necromancers wake even more useless dead!”

- When can the device be used again, asked the other necromancer, eyeing the dead acolytes worryingly.

- We used it twice, three days ago, with a four hour interval. It… did not go well. We will keep testing it, said Criswell, with a confident tone. “Well, we should all move inside, the commotion might have been heard by the nearby humans, or maybe even the forsaken.”

The two necromancers entered the tower, together with the surviving ghouls, where they were approached by one of the acolyte servants.

- My master, we captured the escaped rabbit and put it back into its cage, he said, smiling at Criswell.

- Yes, yes, very good. You and the others go outside and get your two friends into the meat wagon, then hide it near the tower and cover it with something. Go!

The acolytes trembled with fear and stared at their master, then quickly moved outside.

As the two necromancers again descended into the basement, the newly arrived one asked, “So… back in Silverpine, they were worried. They said you have exhausted important resources, important materials for your little invention. The masters are suspicious, and want to know the requirements for… for that thing.”

The necromancer pointed his long, bony finger at the orb-looking device, and added; “To be precise, they want a list of what materials you need to produce another one. The workers back in the forest say you took very expensive things from them before you left.”

- They were… expensive, but I assure you, it will be worth it, Criswell assured with a grin.

- This little outpost could be discovered at any time, the masters are furious that you are handling this research here… even keeping some of the materials around, said the other necromancer. “Is it true that you used two Void Crystals to complete this thing?”

- Three, actually, said Criswell, “… and a few large, prismatic shards… and quite large amounts of thorium.”

The other necromancer opened his mouth to speak, but Criswell silenced him and showed him to his private corner, where he assembled the magical items.

“I will show you, you will help me – we shall make another one, compare them, research, turn them into flawless machines of unlimited resurrection!”

Chapter III. To Entertain Strangers
To be continued.