Tales of the Zombiepocalypse
This story actually was part of the campaign, but it was well outside the normal area and definitely had a "silly side adventure" feel to it. I'm not sure it will make the book, but this is the closest to a standard zombiepocalypse the game ever came. This is also much later in the careers of Pidir, Hope and Ilondra, when they had powerful magics at their command. I hope you enjoy your first full Tale of the Blademasters.
Pidir, Hope and Ilondra trudged through the desert. It was hot and dry, just as they had expected. In the distance, the walls of the city were the only break in the endless desert. "The City of Howling Winds," was the name given by the Tri-Kings. The city was home to a vast ziggurat, rich palaces and soaring temples. It was also one of the few places where necromancy was practiced openly, with zombies performing the endless tasks of holding back the sands.
Apparently, the Tri-Kings had incorporated necromancy successfully into their society for many generations. It was accepted under the guise of a polite fiction – golems and other inanimate servants were not unheard of in the very magical kingdom. Necromancy was introduced, along with the Order of Servitude, keepers of the undead. The undead were not used where they were easily visible, mostly working by night, or out in the desert.
While there were some who found the practice distasteful, even the staunchest opponents had to admit it saved lives and resources. Shelters were maintained in the deep desert for travelers in need, but living workers would never be able to stay ahead of the encroaching sands. The undead would stack, carry and dig; a sandstorm could literally strip the flesh from a man’s bones. Even that would not stop an undead servant from completing its task.
The Tri-Kings were powerful masters of all magic – of the mind, the earth and the spirit. Their ability to interweave the three magics in complex rituals allowed them to stretch their powers well beyond what any three mages could ever hope to accomplish separately. The ritual that created the Order of Servitude was focused on a massive gemstone which became the heart of the order, and its ability to control the undead minions. Acolytes who would normally struggle to compel a single undead could channel the power of the gem and easily direct dozens.
The gem was warded against theft, against magic, against incidental damage. It was not warded sufficiently when the heavens tore asunder and meteors rained down. Had the warding been weaker, the gem likely would have been destroyed, and the undead would likely have collapsed without its magic to sustain them. That would have been a powerful blow to the economy and functionality of the City of Howling Winds, but it could have been overcome.
Instead, the gem simply cracked. The magic that had been finely tuned to disperse from the gem like a prism instead escaped in a flood. The undead were made stronger, and were no longer to be controlled. Worse yet, every time a villager died, whether to accident, murder, or zombiepocalypse, the power of the gem raised them again, adding strength to the ever-growing undead horde.
Pidir and the others did not know all of this as they rode toward the city.
The trio rode slowly, the scraggly ponies provided by the Tri-Kings were used to this terrain, and appeared unbothered by the heat and the blowing sands. Pidir was slowly revising his vision of hell, as grit and sand found their way into every crack in his armor. Hope appeared unbothered, but Ilondra was disconcerted by the total lack of trees or cover. She also wasn’t much of a rider, though that problem would soon solve itself.
They had approached within about 100 yards of the wall when they first saw movement. Several sand dunes to either side of them began to shift unnaturally, and figures began to emerge from the sand. First a few, then a dozen, and before long more than two score creatures had emerged and began to advance on the group.
“I guess there are still zombies here,” Pidir said, drawing his blade. The icy-blue gem in the hilt glowed and the entire blade was engulfed in a blue aura. “It’s going to slow us down, but not for long.”
Ilondra was scanning the area, and noticed another group of creatures moving up from their right flank. “Do you want the bad news, or the worse news?” she asked Pidir.
Pidir as undaunted. “Both, of course.”
“The bad news,” Ilondra continued, “Is that there are closer to 60 of them counting this new group to our right.”
“Ha, bring ‘em on,” said Pidir.
“The worse news,” Ilondra added, sounding a bit concerned even as she knocked an arrow to her bowstring. “I don’t think they are zombies.”
Pidir and Hope both exclaimed in surprise at that. Following Ilondra’s gaze, they saw the figures advancing, not in the shambling walk of a zombie, but at an easy lope which was fast turning into a full sprint. The creatures had the desiccated flesh of zombies, but the glowing red eyes and wicked claws revealed their true nature – ghouls.
Pidir drew his sword, and Ilondra began firing arrows into the horde of undead. The enchanted arrows plunged deep into the creatures, and a pair dropped in their tracks. Several other arrows found purchase in arms, legs and torsos, having little effect on their targets. After a moment the runes on the arrows glowed brightly and they disappeared, ready to be fired from Ilondra’s quiver once again.
“I can keep this up all day,” Ilondra said. “But I’m not sure how much it is helping.”
Pidir started to respond with his usual bravado, prepared to wade into the horde and hack off limbs, but Hope cut him off.
“We won’t be able to save the ponies,” she said.
“What?” responded Pidir. “You’re worried about the ponies?”
“You can take care of yourself,” Hope said, already slipping into the familiar concentration that meant she was preparing a spell. “Let’s hope the ponies can, too.”
Hope’s hands glowed with an airy aura of magic, and she reached out to touch Pidir on the shoulder. She repeated the effort for Ilondra, and again for herself.
“I’ll get the ponies a head start,” she said. “Meet me on top of the wall.”
Even as she spoke, Hope wheeled her mount and called to the other mounts to follow. Three ponies and the pack mule raced off with Hope on the lead mount, while Ilondra and Pidir literally floated in place, their mounts having ridden out from beneath them.
“Might as well hack off a few heads on the way,” said Pidir, flying slowly toward the outer wall of the city. He turned expertly in mid-air, too high for the ghouls to reach, but low enough for his blade to reach them.
The three regrouped on the top of the city’s wall. From the vantage point they could see most of the city, and the hordes of shambling dead throughout the streets. Hope peered anxiously behind, until she could no longer make out the fleeing ponies, or the pack of ghouls pursuing them. “Good luck little ones,” she whispered.
Ilondra had started counting zombies in the city, quickly gave up as she passed two hundred. “Good luck to us, too,” she said quietly. “If we don’t figure out how to fix this, it’s going to be a long walk home.”
“How long can you keep us in the air?” Pidir asked Hope. He was studying the situation before him, weighing their tactical options. Hacking through hundreds of zombies sounded tiring, but it looked like there were a few other options.
“Thirty minutes without trouble,” Hope responded. “Longer if you don’t expect much else from my magic.”
Pidir pointed toward the sagging ziggurat which had once been home to the Order of Servitude. Though the building was largely collapsed in on itself, the powerful magic emanating from within could be felt as a vague sense of cold and unease. “It’s like death is poking us to see if we’re still alive,” whispered Ilondra.
Hope traced a brief rune of warding in the air, and the feeling of unease reduced somewhat. “There’s not much more I can do,” she said. “Don’t get dead.”
“Thanks for the tip,” responded Pidir.
While Pidir and Hope discussed the best way to reach the ziggurat, and what they might be able to do once they got there, Ilondra was drawn to a trickle of smoke from the northern edge of the city.
“Zombies don’t need cooking fires, right?” she asked, drawing the attention of the others. They followed her gaze to see a thin trickle of smoke emerging from the chimney of a large building, probably an inn. Numerous dead zombies could be seen outside the door, and the broken windows appeared to have been boarded up from inside.
“If whoever is in there has held out this long, they’ll just have to hold a little longer,” said Pidir. “Much as I’d like to help them, we need to turn off the giant death ball or it won’t matter.”
“We should let them know we’re here,” Hope said. “I’d hate for them to give up when rescue is this close.”
“That’s assuming they’re still alive at all,” Pidir began, but trailed off at Hope’s expression. “Yeah, yeah, yeah … let them know there is Hope, and make sure the horses are alright.”
Hope glared at him for a moment, then said simply, “Exactly.”
Hope renewed the enchantments which allowed them to fly, and the group rose high above the city before making their way to the inn. From the vantage of 100 yards up, it was easy to see where the city had been damaged in the cataclysm. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, were likely killed in the initial rain of fire. Then came the reign of terror.
To Pidir’s tactician’s eye, it was obvious where the survivors had tried to rally and make a stand as the recently deceased arose to join the undead servants of the city. The inn appeared to be the only building where the zombie hordes had been successfully held at bay. Ilondra did spot a pair of figures that did not appear to be zombies, apparently moving about freely. They looked to be human, and wore the black robes of the Order of Servitude. It appeared that while their magic no longer allowed them to command the undead, it still protected them.
“If members of the Order are still alive they should have done something,” Pidir growled, his eyes flashing with anger. “They should have saved these people.”
“Maybe they tried,” said Ilondra. “I only see two of them, there must have been dozens, before.”
“Let’s focus on the ones we can save,” said Hope. “And bring peace to the rest as soon as we can.”
They descended onto the roof of the inn, managing to avoid attracting the attention of the undead on the street below. Pidir approached the chimney where smoke still trickled up from inside, struck by the familiarity of the scene to the day the companions found Bradsher, trapped beneath the Order of the Blademasters compound. He hoped the results would be as positive.
“Hello the inn,” Pidir shouted into the chimney.
“Who’s out there?” came an excited cry from within. “Are the zombies back under control?”
“We’re working on it,” responded Pidir. “What’s the situation in there?”
“Twelve survivors and one very tired cleric keeping us that way,” came the response. “We’re ok on supplies, and the barriers seem to be holding.”
“Ok then, hold tight,” Pidir called down to the survivors. “We should have this under control soon.”
“And here I thought Hope was the optimist,” muttered Ilondra.
Pidir and the others took off from the roof of the inn and gradually made their way to hover above the ziggurat. The pulsing magic hit them in a wave. Hope later described it as if thousands of invisible hands were tearing at her essence, trying to rip free her soul. Ilondra was reminded of the dark things in the deep woods, always menacing at the edge of your awareness, sending a chill down your spine, but never seen.
Hope concentrated for a moment, opening her senses up to the orb.
“I think I can handle it,” said Hope, indicating the remnants of the magical structure which housed the gem. Several zombies shuffled nearby. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to go down there.”
“Ilondra, you’re on over-watch,” Pidir said. “I’ll keep them off of Hope, you keep them off my back.” He drew his sword and began to dive toward the zombies. “Let’s go.”
Between the mobility of the flight spell and the enchantment of his blade, Pidir had no trouble dispatching the zombies in the immediate vicinity. Hope landed in the newly cleared space, already gathering her mystical energies about her. She drew deep, steady breaths, and a visible aura began to form around her hands. Breathe in, breathe out, the glow expanded. Breathe in, breathe out …
Pidir saw movement some 50 feet away. He stood easily, blade at the ready, not greatly concerned at the appearance of a single zombie. Ilondra, more attentive to detail as always, was firing her bow even as she called out a warning to Pidir. The mithril-tipped arrows streaked toward the target, only to turn aside at the last instant as the being waved its hand in an almost casual gesture of magic. Even as Ilondra’s cry – “that’s no zombie, Pidir” reached him, the creature pointed a finger at Pidir and unleashed a bolt of pulsing shadow. Pidir felt a moment of unearthly cold, and then his own blade flashed in response and the bolt was gone.
“Bad idea zombie,” Pidir called. “Or lich, or whatever you are.”
More arrows arced in from above, and while the creature was able to deflect most of them, two bit deep into its remaining flesh. The creature raised both arms, and the shadows cast upon the room began to stir. Soon a dozen wraiths, insubstantial images of warriors woven entirely of darkness, rose and moved to assault Pidir. Ilondra fired at one of the shades, and her arrow passed harmlessly through its incorporeal form.
“You get the caster,” Pidir called out to Ilondra. “I can handle these guys.”
Hope continued to focus. The glowing aura now emanated from her hands, creating an orb of pure energy drawn from the depths of the earth itself. This energy was raw magic in its most natural form. Handling it was dangerous, but Hope was certain it would counter the unnatural aura of necromancy emanating from the gem. Well, almost certain. Breathe out, breathe in. Almost ready.
Pidir was hard-pressed by the shadow warriors. His blade bit deeply, removing the head from one and dispersing its form. But it passed cleanly through the next, leaving Pidir off balance and exposing him to a strike from a shadowy blade. Just as it met his flesh the blade solidified, drawing a stinging line of blood across his biceps. Pidir smiled grimly, knew how knew how to fight these creatures.
Ilondra circled above, raining arrows on the caster in hopes of thwarting its spells even if she didn’t do any real damage. One arrow sank deep into the creature’s chest, and the cry that escaped from its mouth brought to mind the demon hordes of hell. It staggered back, clearly wounded, but as Ilondra took aim again, it motioned almost dismissively in her direction, and she began to fall.
Breathe in, breathe out. The glow began to slowly reach from Hope’s outstretched hands, expanding and preparing to surround the gem. The amber glow crept slowly forward, absorbing and trapping the darkness. Hope’s focus was intense, but she saw a familiar figure plummeting from the sky out of the corner of her eye. She had a split second to decide … stop the zombiepocalypse, or save her friend.
Pidir began a routine of defensive fighting, leaving an obvious opening which the shades would attempt to exploit every time. Pivot, parry, and while creature is still solid, strike. He had destroyed six of the shades using this method, and was preparing to strike number seven when Ilondra slowly drifted to the ground beside him. She reached into her quiver for a special, runed arrow with a red feather.
“I’ll make you a deal, Pidir,” she said. “I’ll take care of these guys if you’ll finish off the lich.”
“This I’ve gotta see,” muttered Pidir, already weaving his way past the shades. He lashed out at a shade as he passed, and his blade bit deep. He turned toward Ilondra to say “I left you five,” when she fired her arrow into the ground in the shades’ midst. The fireball burst forth, consuming the remaining shadow creatures, expanding to fill the space between Pidir and Ilondra, but leaving them both untouched.
“Not bad,” Pidir said, blinking his eyes against the sudden blinding glare. “My turn.”
Pidir charged the lich, his sword held before him to deflect and absorb the barrage of shadow bolts that flew his way. The air grew cold as he closed upon the creature, but it was nothing compared to the ice within his blade. Pidir prepared for a powerful, two-handed swing, intended to separate the head from the shoulders. The lich raised both arms, once again calling upon the powers of the shadow realms.
Breathe in, breathe out. Rebuild the aura. Ignore the distractions. Out stretched the amber glow …
The lich’s head flew from its body, even as the body crumbled to dust. The rising shadows fled as if before the noon sun. Hundreds of bodies came crashing to the earth, throughout the City of Howling Winds, and beyond.
“You’re welcome,” said Hope.
The two acolytes and the dozen in the inn appeared to be the only survivors in the city. On the bright side, Pidir thought, zombies don’t care about loot, and nobody is left guarding the treasury. We’ll just help ourselves to our well-deserved pay, and call it a good day’s work.
Laden with gold, enthusiastic over their success, the trio decided to travel with the others until they reached civilization. The ponies, of course, were long gone, though it appeared they had made good their escape.
“Nice job everyone,” Pidir said.
“I told you it would be a long walk home,” Ilondra responded.
