# Death Is Not The End!



## dave_o (Jun 8, 2002)

In true Story Hour legend fashion (Piratecat, Johnrog, etc.), I'm going to start this off with some teasers. I'll be posting a narrative written by each one of the players detailing a bit of their past, but first, let's get a little more familiar with the three I have so far...

*Calain Garath:* Male Human Ranger 2/Fighter 3. Calain is very mentally unstable, driven to this condition by his lifetime of horrors. He now simply seeks survival, and spends his days in the dark bowers of man's domain, ever-vigilant against the undead hordes.

*Ibad:* Male Elven (_Qualfei_) Fighter 2/Diviner 2/Ranger 1. Ibad is part of the rare _Qualfei_ race of Elves, a small portion of Elvenkind who had their immortality stripped away during the Betrayal. As such, they live to be only aged 50. Currently, he seeks to find Quarso, his bonded Halfling who he sent on a very dangerous mission.

*Val Ironsoul:* Male Human Monk 5. Val, his name changed to mask his heritage, being a decendant of one of the instigators of the Betrayal. He seeks to make pennace for these dealings, as well as perfect his mind, body, and spirit.

First up, we have Calain's Story...

* * *
The boy looked up into the sky, seeing nothing but fire and death raining down upon him, the motes of fiery light crafting a stark and eerily beautiful contrast against the eternally dark sky. His face was splattered with blood, his clothes a motley assortment of rags, a notched dagger bloodied and soiled in one white-knuckled hand. He lay spread-eagled beneath the corpse of a dwarf whose stench filled his nostrils with fear and loathing. Tears ran sideways down his head, and he knew he would be dead in minutes...
	The young man screamed in hideous agony as the claw of the vile beast rent violently into his ribs, sending a chilling, draining pain throughout his body. He convulsed and growled viciously, his right hand sending one shining blade flashing behind him...and there was the blood, the horrible, black, viscous ichor...everywhere, burning, eating away at his flesh...
	The grizzled veteran laughed into the ten eyes of the monstrous arachnid as it drooled on him, his sword thrust into its abdomen as the guts flowed down his arm...
	Calain Belinase snapped awake, gripping the soil beneath his prone form, a cold sweat drenching his body. He took a deep breath, letting the moist earth run through his fingers, renewing his connection with the essence of life. Closing his eyes, he struggled with himself, fought for control, his face contorted and tortured. 
	As suddenly as it had begun, it ended. It was always the same. Calain groaned and stumbled to his feet, one hand reflexively gripping the hilt of one of his blades. The feel of the grip comforted him like nothing else in the world, and he exalted in it ever so briefly. The air stunk of death, and Calain attuned his senses to his surroundings- the visions had struck him at a particularly inopportune moment.
	He heard the branch crack behind him and immediately tensed, spinning about and freeing his blades in one swift motion. The walking corpse hissed and recoiled at the sight of the blades, shining brighter than any mere steel ever could. The silver darts lashed out, one, two, cutting expertly across the monster’s chest, cutting away the dead skin like paper. The beast took a clumsy swing with its arm, and Calain dipped, launching his foot upward into the thing’s chin. Its neck snapped backward with a crack and it stumbled for a split second.
	Calain was not about to waste that opportunity. With a violent thrust of his legs, he slid in between the monster’s legs and sent a blinding flash across its leg, severing it at the knee. The undead fell, and Calain lept to his feet, coming down with blades extended, driving them both side by side into the corpse’s shoulder blades. A sickening splat resounded from the point of impact, telling Calain that he was safe, for now. 
	Sighing, he withdrew his blades and wiped them with the tattered remains of clothing on the body. Sheathing them, he lit a torch and left the body aflame, striding off into the darkness of the forest once again...

* * *

Stay tuned, I'll post the other character stories on a daily basis, as well as character synopises as I get them. I'm shooting for five players. Interested? Check out my post over in the Bits 'n Pieces > Gamers Seeking Gamers board.


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## Darklone (Jun 8, 2002)

Nice thingy.


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## dave_o (Jun 8, 2002)

*Ibad!*

Next up, we have Ibad...

* * *

The Gloom was awfully thick today.  It would be dangerous to attempt a spell, but Ibad had no choice. The vampire spawn was mounted on a dire wolf, and was speeding off into the unknown. Reaching blindly through the Gloom, Ibad grasped at the strands which he could shape into a spell. He quickly completed the pattern that he knew would summon Sachi to him. As he released the final strand, he noticed the chaos of the Gloom sever one of the lines. Acting faster than conscious thought, he braced himself for the surge of magical power that spelled the end of more than one wizard.

He was still alive, which meant that the surge wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Not having time to ponder his luck, he instead pondered what happened to Sachi. Sachi never came in the same form twice, but this time the change could only be attributed to the surge. He mounted his nearly transformed horse, and spurred Sachi into a full gallop. Within seconds, Sachi had covered half the distance the wolf-rider had covered in a full minute. It was too bad that Sachi probably would never assume this shadowy form again; Ibad had needed this kind of speed more than once before and would doubtlessly need it again in the future.

As fast as his hands could move, Ibad drew his bow and nocked an arrow. He muttered no prayer to any god, and loosed it upon the wolf. One after another, he laid down five arrows into the foul beast. The wolf limped to a halt, and then fell, breathing heavily and then not at all. The vampire spawn was obviously alarmed; it knew that it was many hours away from its coffin, and that this elf was probably aware of the same fact. Damn him! If he destroys my body, I’m too far from my refuge to reform…

“Don’t move, abomination. Continue to look at the ground.” The command came from the sullen elf atop his shadowy horse, “I know that you don’t wish to be quieted. I also know that you cannot betray your master, so I won’t even attempt to subvert you. I permit you only one choice: answer me a single question truthfully, or die.”

Unsure of the proper recourse, the minion began to turn towards Ibad, just in time to dodge an arrow that lodged itself directly in the wolf’s heart. “It’s a good thing you moved. That arrow would have hit you,” said Ibad.

The precision of this elf is amazing, thought the spawn. Were that arrow to pierce my as it pierced the wolf, I’d be at his mercy. Or perhaps that’s what he would like me to think…

The spawn turned defiantly and smiled, with a kind of twisted malevolence that only the undying could muster. As the arrow left Ibad’s string, the vampire spawn’s body dispersed into so much dust, leaving only a ghostly vaporous outline of the creature. The silver-tipped arrow passed harmlessly through the cloud in the precise spot where the spawn’s heart lay, and buried itself in the wood of a nearby tree. Curse the foul! These silver arrows cost me a gold crown apiece. I didn’t buy them to shoot trees!

As the gaseous spirit passed overhead and off to the east, Ibad smiled to himself, Flawless execution. He will lead me directly to his master. Sensing his own master’s pleasure, Digo became alert. “Yes Digo, I once again need your service. You are to be my eyes and ears,” and Ibad released the bat into the night sky. Doing his duty, Digo used his echolocation to follow the nearly invisible form of the vampire spawn through the air while remaining well outside the immaterial vampire spawn’s dulled senses. The hunter becomes the hunted.

Knowing how slowly the vampire spawn would move in his gaseous state, Ibad had no more need for Sachi. He allowed Sachi to wander off, knowing that the magic that summoned it prevents actual harm from befalling the steed. Ibad disappeared into the shadows of the night, and allowed Digo’s sight to guide him towards the vampire spawn’s master.

Ibad was exhausted at the end of the pursuit. He had been awake for at least 30 hours, though it is sometimes difficult to tell with any precision. Only his mind’s fine tuning to monitor the duration of his spells gave Ibad any sense of time whatsoever. Within the last two hours it became obvious where the vampire spawn was headed, but some grim determination pressed him on through the wilderness. Ibad finally decided to take his rest, for the simple reason that his body was not as strong as his mind, and he had overextended himself before. He quickly found a good spot in the boughs of a tree to set up camp where the Gloom was thinner. He pulled at the strands and tied them into a slow knot. Over the next few hours, this ward would alert him to any danger while he went into his rejuvenating trance.

Upon waking, Ibad went over the details he assembled during the trek. It’s a good thing I have Digo. I wouldn’t have been able to track that vampire spawn otherwise. I don’t like this place in any case. He mouthed the word, “Sudeil.” The Valley of Blood. If this spawn is a minion of whom I think he is, this won’t end well for me. The vampire spawn is subservient to his master. Perhaps I can find one of the master’s more willful allies to strike a bargain with. “All I need is the right lever, and I can move mountains,” was the only thing Ibad said aloud. So he set off to find his mountain and the lever that would move it.


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## Horacio (Jun 10, 2002)

Interesting story... Horacio remains tuned...


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## dave_o (Jun 10, 2002)

*Val!*

Next up, Val's Story. Keep in mind there are still open slots for this game! Check out the Bits 'n Pieces > Gamers Seeking Gamers board for details.

* * *

Val sniffed the air, trying to recatch the elusive scent.  There, on the northern breeze.  The sickeningly sweet smell of rotting flesh.  He had heard rumors that the Dwarves had been amassing an army of the unliving, but never dreamed that they could be on the march so soon.  Even from this distance, he was starting to hear the rattling and moaning of the mindless legions, and the thought of what would happen to anyone who stood in their path turned his stomach.

Suddenly, a thought exploded into his mind like a bolt of lightning.  Talemorn.  The tiny farming village would have no chance at defending itself, he had to go back and help.  Hastily stomping out his campfire, he bundled up his few possessions and  jumped onto the back of his jet black stallion.  He kicked its flanks and the beast galloped off in the direction of the town.  As he rode, he lit the special torch he always carried.  Its tip was coated in an unusual chemical which made the flame glow green, the color of alarm among the humans of Harracht.

He shouted “To arms! To arms!” as he rode into town.  By the time he reached the village square, most of the townspeople had gathered there to see what the emergency was.

“Good people!” he called out from horseback, “An army of the undead approaches, you must all take up arms if your village is to survive!”  The words stirred up a great commotion as people rushed home to barricade their doors, or grabbed pitchforks and other farming implements to defend themselves.

Over to one side, a young mother comforted her two small children.

“Mama…” sobbed a little girl, “What will we do?”

“Shush little one… Isilme will protect us,” the mother said, trying to steady her shaking voice with little success.  Val couldn’t help but pity them, their innocence and naivety.  His pity turned to a solid resolution: these three pure souls would not be added to the festering horde.  He couldn’t save the whole village by himself, but maybe he could save just these three…

“The battle begins!” came a cry from the outskirts of the small town, and the shambling troops marched, rank and file, into the town square.  The people were surrounded in moments, and only minutes later their numbers had dwindled to almost nothing.

He called to the mother, who grabbed her children and came running.

“Madame, I deeply apologize for being the harbinger of such horrific news, but please, let me save at least you and your children,” he pleaded to the young lady.  She mutely nodded her head and followed obediently as he lead them to a nearby shop that seemed more or less defensible, having only one door and no windows of any significant size.

He stood in the doorway, using his stout quarterstaff to fend off the skeletons who struggled to pass.  Val fought valiantly, but in the end seemed to make little progress; each skeleton he shattered reformed and came at him again; the blasted things felt no pain.

Without warning, the building began to shake.  He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the shop’s back wall torn away by the thickly muscled arms of a giant, turned into a zombie by some foul form of necromancy.  Its hands were gone, and had been replaced by steel claws resembling those of a gigantic bear.

Val slammed the front door of the shop closed and secured it as tightly as possible.  It wouldn’t hold long, but perhaps it would buy him enough time to get the woman and children out.  The skeletons were now the least of his concerns.

The monstrous zombie lurched forward, and Val threw himself on top of the beast.  It stumbled, but caught hold of his left arm in its giant metal claw.  He could feel the blades digging into his flesh, and blood ran down his arm.  He looked inside, concentrated, and felt the pain rush away as he used his usual method of depersonalizing it.  Suddenly, the pain wasn’t his, that wasn’t his arm being torn up, it was someone else’s.

He fought to free himself, to little avail.  The rotting giant lifted him several feet off the floor, his legs dangling uselessly.  At that moment, the door exploded inward and a battalion of skeletons rushed in, led by a Dwarf with an evil glimmer in his eye and blood in his beard.  Human blood, no doubt.  He obviously hadn’t seen much fighting himself, even his armor still shone with a dark luster.

“Well, well, look what we have here…” he chuckled in a thickly accented rendition of the common tongue. “A hero.  Tell me Hero, what is your name?”

Val stared at the demented little man for a moment, then spat in his face.

“I see, how noble.  Stupid, but noble.  Well, Sir Hero, I was going to give you quite an opportunity to serve as a commander in our glorious army, but I can see you wouldn’t accept anyway.  Perhaps this will teach you a little respect.”  He gestured to his rattling troops, who descended on the woman and children and swifly tore them apart.  Moments later, they had picked the corpses clean, and the bones rose up and took their places in line.

If looks could kill, the Dwarf’s entire family line would have never been born.

“I swear,” said Val through his hatred and clenched teeth, “If it’s the last thing I ever do, you and your kind will be wiped off the face of Harracht.”

“I’ll make you a deal, Hero,” said the Dwarf.  “I’m going to let you go, and we’ll see how far you get with that…”

The massive zombie hit Val across the back of his head, and his mind spun down into darkness.

Val woke up amidst rubble and gore.  The cuts along the inside of his forearm were already scabbed over, forming thick crusts of dried blood.  His mind echoed with thoughts of the woman and children.  Their names pounded themselves indelibly into his psyche.  Sarra.  Jance.  Tem.  Three faces.  A woman.  A little girl.  A young boy.  He had tried to save them.  He had failed.

After a long time, he managed to get up.  He had to keep moving if he wanted to survive and keep this from happening again.  He walked to the door, but looked back for a moment.  He couldn’t stop seeing those three faces, or let himself forget.  He managed to find a bottle of ink and a knife, and carefully dipped the the tip into the ink.

Slowly, he carved the three names into the back of his left hand, dripping a black mixture of blood and ink onto the ground.  Sarra.  Jance.  Tem.  As long as he lived, he would remember those three names.

The village was deserted.  Most buildings had been burned to the ground.  Not a single corpse was left behind, but there were organs and bits of skin everywhere.  There was nothing else he could do for these people, so it was best to move on.  His horse was long gone, having either bolted or been killed by the skeletons.  It was a shame; it was a good animal.

As a light rain began to fall, Val Ironsoul walked off into the night.

* * *


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## cthuluftaghn (Jun 20, 2002)

Good.  Graphic, but good.  Children and tragedy have a profound effect on the mind of a parent.... I'll be looking forward to seeing Val stomp some undead arse as revenge!


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