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Enchanted Trinkets Complete--a hardcover book containing over 500 magic items for your D&D games!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="dave_o" data-source="post: 218680" data-attributes="member: 2933">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.* * *</blockquote>

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