Kaodi
Legend
Theodore was having a nightmare. Warsavage and his fellow knights had driven off the first wave of undead that had attacked town at dusk, but soon darkness had overtaken them. They had lit a number of bonfires out past their defensive line, fed them with dead bodies, but they were slowly sputtering out. Just beyond the light of the flames shuffling of many feet could be heard. Then a cacophonous moaning arose and the horde advanced into the dying light. Rotting, shambling corpses dressed in torn and filthy clothing of all kinds, including bloody uniforms of Lastwall worn over rent and battered armour. Suddenly the undead were upon them, and it was all Theodore could do to chop and hack apart his fallen countrymen and -women as they reached him. Friends and comrade were falling left and right, and suddenly he heard a wailing behind him. He turned, and in that moment he saw his wife stumbling towards him, sobbing tears of blood, her life pouring out from multiple mortal wounds. And in her arms was their young daughter. But as terrible as the scene was, nothing could prepare him for the horror of the realization that their daughter... had already been turned. She was clawing and biting at her mother. But as Theodore took a step closer he was tackled from behind - the horde was on him. He screamed - and the scene shifted. The ground beneath him was hard, but it was moving, bumping up and down. He was in a wagon, and they were riding hard. Warsavage struggled to get up. Behind the wagon the horde was coming, a wave of corpses stumbling over one another. He blinked and they were right behind the wagon! Clawing to get up and inside - to get at him. He tried to scream again - but there was no sound. A nearly skeletal form clawed its way over the others and into the wagon, its bony hands grasping at his fe-
Suddenly everything goes black. Warsavage frantically cast about, breathing heavily, covered in a cold sweat. Where did they go? Down past his feet there is a faint scraping sound. He pulls himself up into a sitting position and his eyes begin to make sense of the dim light. He is in a cramped room with dark walls and a stone floor. At the far end of the room is a set of iron bars, only faintly illuminated by flickering light from what is likely a torch. He can smell the burning pitch. But there is a shadowy figure clawing at the lock. What is it!? Wait... this is the prison. Theodore is in Molthune. This isn't Lastwall. Suddenly there is a click and the iron doors begin to swing inward. He can feel the fear rising again as he struggles to his feet and gets ready to defend himself.
"Not a ghost," comes the whisper of a husky, feminine-sounding voice. "Though you look like you've seen a few of those." Theodore can make out the shadowy outline of a woman now as she approaches, though he cannot quite discern her features yet. "I'm making a break for it, and I'm guessing you've had enough of the Molthune military's hospitality too. So whaddya say? Want to chance it with me, or should I let you get back to sleeping and whatever is haunting you?"
He paused a moment to collect his thoughts. Theodore had mostly tried to avoid the attention of his fellow prisoners in the time he had spent in this cell. He only rarely went out to the yard, and mostly only because they were forced to when a crew came to clean. He should probably have been thankful that authorities here were into hygiene like that - in many places they would happily throw you down a hole and wait for you to die in your own filth. There were not that many female prisoners in this jail though and if he had to guess this might be that woman he had caught looking his way once or twice. She had had a vaguely orcish look about her, though at a glance you might have thought her pallid skin was a sign of sickliness. Especially given her wiry build. That woman had had a thick mane of coarse hair too, somewhere between dirty blonde and chestnut brown, which fit with the silhouette before him.
"The guards have a schedule, and I gotta get moving," the voice comes again. "So are you staying in, or are you getting out?"
Suddenly everything goes black. Warsavage frantically cast about, breathing heavily, covered in a cold sweat. Where did they go? Down past his feet there is a faint scraping sound. He pulls himself up into a sitting position and his eyes begin to make sense of the dim light. He is in a cramped room with dark walls and a stone floor. At the far end of the room is a set of iron bars, only faintly illuminated by flickering light from what is likely a torch. He can smell the burning pitch. But there is a shadowy figure clawing at the lock. What is it!? Wait... this is the prison. Theodore is in Molthune. This isn't Lastwall. Suddenly there is a click and the iron doors begin to swing inward. He can feel the fear rising again as he struggles to his feet and gets ready to defend himself.
"Not a ghost," comes the whisper of a husky, feminine-sounding voice. "Though you look like you've seen a few of those." Theodore can make out the shadowy outline of a woman now as she approaches, though he cannot quite discern her features yet. "I'm making a break for it, and I'm guessing you've had enough of the Molthune military's hospitality too. So whaddya say? Want to chance it with me, or should I let you get back to sleeping and whatever is haunting you?"
He paused a moment to collect his thoughts. Theodore had mostly tried to avoid the attention of his fellow prisoners in the time he had spent in this cell. He only rarely went out to the yard, and mostly only because they were forced to when a crew came to clean. He should probably have been thankful that authorities here were into hygiene like that - in many places they would happily throw you down a hole and wait for you to die in your own filth. There were not that many female prisoners in this jail though and if he had to guess this might be that woman he had caught looking his way once or twice. She had had a vaguely orcish look about her, though at a glance you might have thought her pallid skin was a sign of sickliness. Especially given her wiry build. That woman had had a thick mane of coarse hair too, somewhere between dirty blonde and chestnut brown, which fit with the silhouette before him.
"The guards have a schedule, and I gotta get moving," the voice comes again. "So are you staying in, or are you getting out?"
. I will just go ahead and roll again for you with the proper die to keep things moving.
