Legacy

The Champion

The Cave

Several undead corpses shuffle around the floor, their feet dragging. Among them, the village chieftain, Rain. His deep black eyes with bright red pupils stand out in the darkness. They walk around nonsensically. They have strayed so far from being human, they don't even have the slightest idea of what they are or should be doing.

One of the zombified villagers falls into the collapsed edge of the cave's abandoned dining hall. None of the others do as much as turn, as they can hardly comprehend what is happening. They continue shuffling, with no aim, no motivation. The cold, broken tile walls serve as the only thing giving them a slight sense of direction.

Rapid footsteps can be heard... Human footsteps. And the smell. It smells like... Human. The zombies turn to face a small squad of specialized infantrymen, firing crossbows directly into the hearts of the undead. Several of them get struck unluckily, and take a shot to the eye, face, or heart. But one zombie is spared. The zombified chieftain charges at them, his comrades lying face down on the stone-cold floor.

Several Hours Earlier...

Dreadfort City

The news of the undead attack on Glacierford had become all the rage in Dreadfort City. All the troops talked about it, newspaper headlines seldom speaking of other topics. It didn't take long for the news to reach the Grand Master of the Frostbourne Kingdom, regent to a throne with no holder for the longest time, Ser Patrick, nicknamed the Saint of 18 July.

He had begun studying the maps of Glacierford, a small and unimportant yet hard to reach and icy enclave in the outskirts of the Frostbourne territory, where few commanders with their Armies ventured. The Grand Master was unaware that the city, more of a village, even had a militia to boast, but apparently it had put up quite the fight.

He had assembled a company of the finest men to be found in the City, nicknamed the Rhavenna Company for their extensive experience with marksmanship and undead hunting. The company was assembled of mostly mercenaries and Icemen whose tribes had long disappeared or been slaughtered by the undead, who showed mercy to none and hospitality to less.

With him he had brought his loyal apprentice, a bandit he had saved from the streets of the City's slums some two dozen years before. This apprentice was now very much a warrior, with quite a reputation to his name. That name was Daryll.

Some 30 or 40 men had been gathered from all parts of the Kingdom, some nomad and others civilized. Many bandits had been brought too, courtesy of Daryll, the Captain of theirs. The Grand Master had addressed them briefly, before proceeding to order them to prepare silently, in the dead of night. Later that morning, they made route to Glacierford, the ghost city.

Current Time...

The Cave

The oncoming zombie was easily recognized as the former leader, his outfit and suit having the mark of a Frostbourne official. So rather than butcher him, he was met with a hard slap from the butt of a crossbow by the bandit Captain, which sent him to the floor unconscious. "What to do with this one?", Daryll would call out to Ser Patrick.