As Elric studied the arcane functionality of the forge, the halfling monk Chord and the elven druid Vincent made their way toward the village square. The area was a graveyard of undead, once peaceful townsfolk now twisted into mindless husks, littering the ground around the ooze-encrusted well. From the shadows, Vincent drew a hempen pouch, scattering herbs in a circle as he whispered an ancient incantation. The air shimmered briefly, and with a soft rustling sound, the spectral form of his wolf companion Chamomile materialized at his side.
Chord, his ever-curious gaze fixed on Vincent's magic, pointed toward the undead with a raised finger, then back to the trio of adventurers. He pointed to himself, then to the nearest two enemies, and finally slammed his fist into his open palm with a nod, signaling that it was time for action. Vincent's eyes met his with a determined gleam, his fingers igniting with magic as embers danced across his palm.
In a heartbeat, Chord sprang from the shadows. His footfalls were as quiet as a breeze, and within moments, he was upon the first two skeletons. With a fluid motion, he launched himself into the air, delivering a swift uppercut to one’s jaw, shattering the brittle bone. Still airborne, the monk twisted mid-leap, his foot connecting with the second skeleton's skull, sending it flying into the chest of another foe. As he landed in a crouch, the sound of bones crashing to the ground echoed around him.
A nearby skeleton attempted to claw at Chord, but before it could strike, the air hummed with the sound of molten flame. Vincent, a half-elf, tossed a ball of fire into the fray, sending the skeleton tumbling backward as its tattered cloth and decayed flesh ignited in a burst of sizzling embers. Chamomile, the spirit wolf, leapt forward with a spectral snarl, its beastly form lunging onto the skeleton’s chest, reducing it to a heap of bone and ash.
Chord shot a quick nod of approval toward Vincent before turning to the next skeleton. With a fluid motion, he swept his spear through its legs, sending it sprawling to the ground. In a single, powerful heave, he drove the blunt end of the spear into the creature’s skull with a satisfying crunch. The halfling monk reversed the spear's grip and vaulted over the fallen skeleton, scanning the battlefield ahead. Two skeletons remained, surrounded by four shambling corpses that could only be described as zombies.
Vincent, his brow furrowed in concentration, conjured another ball of fire. As he studied the remaining undead, a chilling thought passed through his mind. These creatures had once been townsfolk—judging by their clothing, they had been peasants or merchants. Their daggers were missing, their coin purses severed from their belts. A mystery for later, perhaps, but not one he could afford to unravel at the moment.
The remaining skeletons charged toward Vincent, their bones rattling in frenzied haste. Chamomile, sensing the threat to his companion, raced forward, positioning itself between Vincent and the advancing undead. The wolf growled as bony hands raked at its shimmering grey fur. Vincent, his heart steady, hurled another mote of fire at one of the skeletons, the flames cleansing the creature’s remains in a satisfying hiss.
Meanwhile, Chord dashed toward the remaining skeleton, his spear sweeping beneath its ribcage with practiced precision. The creature’s legs crumbled into a heap, but the torso continued to crawl forward, its skeletal hands reaching out to strike. Vincent, seizing the opportunity, raised his staff high. An aura of magic enveloped the wood, and vines and moss grew around it, transforming it into a powerful shillelagh. With a mighty slam, Vincent brought the weapon down on the skeleton’s skull. Roots erupted from the earth, binding the remains and returning them to the soil, their unrest quelled at last.
With the last of the skeletons defeated, only the zombies remained, their movements sluggish and slow. Chord, ever the strategist, nocked an arrow to his bow and backed away, firing it deep into the eye socket of one of the creatures. Vincent, too, retreated, hurling flame at another, while Chamomile backed away as well, her low growl a warning. They continued to pick off the remaining zombies from a distance, until their backs finally pressed against the weathered door of the village inn.
The door creaked open, revealing an unnatural darkness within. The shadows seemed to twist and flicker unnaturally, as if alive. The adventurers hesitated for a moment, but a ghostly voice echoed from inside, cold and urgent.
“The living… Quick, grab the lantern. You must find light before it is too late.”
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