Potter's Field

Carrion birds took flight as the lone tower’s bell tolled. Nothing that stirred there could be considered living, the arrival of anything that was was heralded by the ring. The detect living enchantment was cast in good faith by a displaced lich after he was permitted dwelling and the settlement’s residents came to endearingly regard it as the dinner bell. Aberrations that laid patiently beneath the earth began to claw their way up, prehensile tongues wagging in anticipation.

The “settlement” was a place where the undead lived in mockery of society. All manner of ghouls, wights, and revenants were said to be found there. Food and fresh bodies came willingly as many a fool traveled to check the authenticity of Potter’s Field. And they were welcomed as they rose again. At least the ones whose bodies were left well enough intact. That night was no different, the macabre cycle of new residency would continue.

As the dark elf of the order of the Rider, a dwarf who wore only furs, and a human holyman found themselves at the center of the morbid town, the sight of the dark horde greeted them as bodies rushed forward on all fours, serpentine tails, broken legs, and headless mounts.

The dwarf fell first unsurprisingly. Rushing forward in his bloodlust guaranteed the only the berserker's own would be spilled. He went down screaming and kicking as the ghouls fell on him en masse and even they acknowledged that only an ignorant savage would come dressed in pelts and one measly iron maul to a place such as this.

The dark elf was more of a coward than his companions, blindly firing crossbolts behind himself as he fled. He turned alley after alley in effort to lose any pursuers before his head rebounded off an invisible wall near what was once an apothecary’s clinic.

Nunez cursed to himself as he cupped his broken nose. How stupid could they be to anticipate only a few mindless corpses when it was called a damnable village for a reason? He expected Theoric, even with his already diminished dwarf intellect, to also run and yet he surged forward while that milksop cleric fumbled his passages.

As the dark elf finished his mutterings, what he saw as he turned paled even his gray-ebony complexion. A robed skeletal figure descended towards him in silence. Without so much a sound besides that of the wind, the lich raised a fingerbone and a blast of orange-yellow light shot forth.

Nunez braced himself, clenching his eyes shut as the spell made contact. It felt like the miniscule spatterings of hot grease that leapt upon his skin whenever he had to prepare the pork rations at camp, a sensation completely unlike the pain he imagined The feeling came as quickly as it went. He opened his eyes and looked down, confused.

To Nunez himself, for all intents and purposes, he felt fine.

Through lightless sockets, the lich just stared knowingly.

Then Nunez began to wince, the butterflies in his stomach being replaced an angry hornet’s nest. He was sure he felt something rupture as his lungs grew heavy. As his breath labored, the sensation only intensified. His lungs painfully expanded, pushing around his internal organs and jutting his ribs outward. Nunez didn’t even so much as scream as he bit off his tongue from the pain. His chest was now broken open. His lungs retracted before inflating out of his back like a grotesque butterfly. With one final agonizing gasp, they deflated.

The holyman remained where he stood. His scalding light kept the majority of the writhing masses at bay while he desperately belted out mantra after mantra. The undead would simply not route. Fear was beginning to cut through Kualum’s blind faith. His legs shook as did his arms, his voice faltering as the illuminescent bulwarks began to crumble. His heart felt like it would burst.

Cold, watery bile gurgled up from his esophagus as he seized over. Kualum whimpered one final plea to his ancestor-deity as he felt his heart give out of sheer terror. Tears stung his eyes as the radiant aura that surrounded him abruptly faded.

His god had left him on the verge of death.

And though his veins froze over and his grew body cold, his eyes continued to blink. The Undead left him lying there undisturbed, shambling towards his cohorts’ corpses. The hiss of a phylactery rang through the settlement among the gnashing of teeth and tearing of gristle.

That’s me. you’re probably wondering how I got myself into this mess. Well buddy, buckle up because we’re starting from the beginning.