Saelyn's Story

*THUD THUD THUD* echoed in the empty castle chamber, as the rotten wooden door finally gave way to the Dead Kings boot and fell to the ground in splinters. The old skeletal like figure grasped his spine and straightened it with a raspy sigh as he strode through the empty arch way, leaving behind the room he'd been sealed in for the past thousand years, an old rusted sword of elvish make in hand. The air that flooded through the room swept away the pile of dust that was once the corpse of the great hero. His footsteps echoed through the vast halls of his stone domain, torches along the walls flaring to life as he approached them and flickering out as he left them behind. He eventually reached his chambers, flinging the doors open with little care for the priceless vases they destroyed as they broke off their hinges. He approached his dresser and pulled it open, and his moisture deprived lips parted in a sick and twisted grin. Un-damaged by the ages, lay a sword with a gently curving blade nearly three feet long, carved from a black dragon's horn and inscribed with the curses of a hundred black mages. Next to its hilt lay his crown, an all encompassing helm plated with gold and covered in small horns. He took his crown upon his head and took his sword before leaving his chambers, until the day he could say he had conquered Faerun, and rule it from the throne that rested in his main hall.

For miles around the "Dead King's Spine", the mountain under which his kingdom had been sealed, a great boom swept across the earth, flattening weak trees and tipping a cow or two as they grazed in the tall grass, as the side of the mountain suddenly exploded in a shower of earth and stone, and a pair of iron doors twenty feet tall swung open to permit the Dead King out into the realm. He scowled at the sunlight that beat upon the baked earth and waved his hand, a dark and vile cloud soon forming in the sky to blot out the sun's light. Taking the rusted sword that had once been used by the Hero, the Dead King declared, "Your Hero is slain, his soul tormented in the Ninth Circle of Hell! Prepare yourselves heroes of Faerun, for Aldric Van Krist, the Dark King, walks amongst you again!"
He grasped both ends of the rusted blade and twisted his hands, watching as the blade snapped and shattered, its rusted iron falling to the ground. He tossed the blade's ends into the dirt and marched across the unforgiving ground as the iron doors slammed shut behind him.

His time is come, the Dark King walks again. Faerun finds itself in need of a new hero, one who can undo the evil that has been done this day.

Ezryell was hunched over an elf she had felled by the weight of her coffin drinking greedily from the neck of the still conscious but now paralyzed victim when the shockwave passed her carrying with it a powerful evil presence. She dropped her prey and crushed his head to prevent him from turning to stand in awe of the sheer destructive course laying waste to her surroundings. She smiled and praised Frythuul for giving her direction to the destruction she so desperately sought in her journeys thus far. She picked up her coffin and began the long walk towards "Dead King's Spine".

The small city was full of people bustling around, going about their daily lives. The loud obnoxious sound of people talking and laughing hurt Saelyn’s ears, and not for the first time she wished she was back in the forest with her clan. The smell of body odor and animal feces permeated through the air, practically making her gag. Every time some human carelessly bumped into her she gave a silent pray of thanks to Ehlonna that as soon as she stocked up on supplies she would be out of there and back into the forests and rural countryside.

Looking around this city made of brick and stone, she almost regretted her decision to be messenger to her sister clan. But the Dead King was back and she couldn’t leave them out of the loop, their safety depended on it. If they had any hope of defeating the villain, they would have to be united and strong. She looked up and saw her hawk, Solonor, perched on the roof of a building and sighed. The odds of defeating the Dead King even with her sister clan seemed slim.

Ahh, the peaceful river village of Nelderid, having rested for these long years in the lazy shadow of the Dead King's Spine. The peoples wore brightly colored robes of cotton, mostly to determine occupation. Blue for fisherman, red for traders, yellow for merchants, and purple silks for the... less spoken of but still quite common and well respected "professions". Quite an efficient system of identification really. Slowly, the black garbed figure strode through the small village, flowers in window sills wilted as he passed, fruit ripened and rot, fish gave off putrid odors and even the flies dropped to the ground, dead. Those he passed in the streets stared in awe and in fear, as all knew that black was the garb of a killer or criminal, and something else about the man put a sense of intense dread into their hearts. The Dead King merely grinned, a molar long rotted falling out of his sickly gums, and he raised his hands to the sky, the black aura of dark magic surrounding him like inky smoke.

Not but an hour later, the town lay in ruin, and the Dead king sat in a small boat, manned by two undead oarsmen, a raven perched on the boat's helm. Half the buildings lay in piles of rubble, and those that were not made of stone burned with black fires, sending inky black smoke into the darkening sky, blotting out the sunlight for a second time that day. The towns people lay dead or dying in the streets, their valuables laying at Aldric's feet, though there wasn't much. An overly ornate, and quite useless longsword, a few bags of stashed away gold, a small ruby, and a steel kite shield of relatively high quality, which the dead king was currently "personalizing" with his kingdom's emblem, a blood red skull wearing a crimson crown. For the sake of accuracy, he was using blood as paint.
"What do you think? To gaudy? Not morbid enough perhaps?" he inquired of the raven perched beside him.
"No milord, I think it's quite intimidating. Right bone chilling if you'll excuse the word play!" the raven squawked in reply.
"Ohohoho! That's quite alright Dust, a little humor always gets my funny bone."

The boat made its way down the river, headed west, as flames danced on the red waters surface.

The Drow vampiress had reached the gates of the castle with little trouble. She gawked and marveled with great wonder at the gates and took in every little detail. Her curious eyes wandered over to the doors lock which she curiously pondered over the mechanist before stepping back apprehensively before knocking on the door "Hello! Anyone home!?". Her innocent voice betrayed her malicious and destructive nature as she tried the door three more times before attempting to force it unlocked [Roll 1d20. result 19+Modifiers].