Fallen Empire

Libero's Chronicles

There is something very wrong in this town. Something more than goblin attacks and magic. It’s not the first time that I’ve guessed that everything might be linked but I’ve rarely been so frustrated by it.

A look inside a trunk in the barmaid’s confirmed everything and I do not know whether to be relieved or troubled. Bree had not tried to kill us. A shapeshifter had taken her place, and it had taken her place recently. In the morning it was discovered that the late Innkeeper, Tak, shared the same brutal fate as Bree. That’s two more lives lost due to our pursuits. Despite the good we’ve done, it makes me wonder if we should have ever come here, or if we should continue to stay.

The guards were alerted before I could intervene, another brilliant idea by my one of my companions. They’re really on a roll in their decision making as of late. The guard’s reaction was far better than I could have hoped. We were evicted and left without a warm place to stay, but remain free from arrest.

I sought the mayor for answers, both to where we might find room and board as well as details about the ledger. Unfortunately, he was also seeking us for help with another matter. When it rains, it pours. Orin, a farmer, had just arrived with his family, driven from his land by the sight of some beasts working his land. When my companions heard the tale, they reacted as should be expected, with an eager hunger for adventure and heroics. Alas, a simple chronicler can do little more than follow and document yet I cannot help but think that rushing from one threat to the next is doing little more than treating the symptoms rather than the underlying cause. At least it makes for a good tale and a more exciting epic, and exciting it was.

The beasts that Orin described were still there. As I suspected from the information he gave me, they were giant heaps of flesh that we had previously encountered. This time, though, they weren’t alone and they weren’t after us. Accompanied by two winged creatures that acted as look outs, they were working a pit that we later discovered to be filled with undead.

The response by companions was swift and effective, as it often is in these situations. They seem to have grown over these past few days, unleashing amazing feats from calling down lightning to summoning some otherworldly beast. It was like some nightmare made real, with countless pale tentacles that that writhed and clung to all within reach, and the sounds they made… It was all awesome but terrifying and makes me all the more wary of what Malvo is capable of.

Not to be outdone, Kriv on his newly summoned stead was glorious in combat and rode down the vile, spiked creature as it tried to hurl fire from afar. MacPhearson’s unbound wrath continues to surprise me as he cleaved through our foes, carving through the monstrosities with little effort. When the dust settled, we were left with even more questions as we discovered that it wasn’t the flesh beasts working the pits, but milling undead armed with shovels and pick axes. As I said before, it’s not the first time that I’ve guessed that everything might be linked.

Malvo's Diary
Undeath and the Unfathomable


The last few days have been most interesting. Libero discovered that the pretty simpleton whom had been serving us our meals at the Crossroads was actually a shapeshifter! I had seen it’s like before during my schooling at Tanzerward Hall, but never a live specimen. I must say, the transformation was uncanny—It had everyone fooled. I later heard mention that Libero found the body of the real girl hidden downstairs in her room, drained dry of blood. Poor thing. No doubt Libero had been trying to get into her knickers for weeks. Perhaps it was better in the end that her body was twisted into a pretzel and shoved into a box.

The following morning, we were evicted from the premises by some lout. I noticed Libero and the fellow engaged in discussion (by the looks of which, was rather heated), but I didn’t catch any of what was said. Truthfully, I care not. It is likely the local constabulary declaring the place condemned, in shambles such as it is. The lout certainly had the air of buffoonery about him that I’ve typically found amongst bureaucrats.

Speaking of which, no sooner had we vacated the inn than we found ourselves once again in the company of the mayor. This time he had us meet with some peasant farmer who was going on about illegal digging in his fields or some such drivel. Truth be told, I feel my eyes develop a heavy glaze whenever we’re in the proximity of the mayor. At any rate, as there’s no competent force of men-at-arms in these parts, we were contracted to go out and resolve the matter.

And that Diary, is when things began to look up. Once we reached the farmer’s land it wasn’t long before we ran into the trespassers he was complaining about. What the wearisome half-wit failed to realize (or at least certainly failed to mention) was that his trespassers were undead minions! No less than 4 hulking brutes of indeterminate origin, standing in-line adjacent a large pit.

At the sight of them, a giddy thought overtook me that I can’t be sure was mine own. I suddenly felt compelled to close the distance between us, and release a spell into their midst. Before I even knew what incantation I was casting—what fell utterances passed my lips—a tear in the fabric of reality opened in their midst, and I witnessed the unholy birthing of what I can only describe as my waking nightmare. It was beautiful.

I’ve never felt so elated. Not even when I forced that tortuous whelp to grapple with some flying nuisance which only resulted in both of them being vaporized by a bolt of druid lightning. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw the outline of his frame illuminate in the blast for split second, and hear his squeak of anguish echo through the back of my mind.

Not even discovering an undead legion workforce, toiling within the pit with pick and spade was as glorious as the comprehension-defying abomination I spewed forth into this plane. I marveled at their digging. Uncoordinated as they were, it still must have required much discipline to control a collective so large as what we saw that day. Someone after all had to have reanimated them. Rarely do the rotting undead rouse by themselves, and never en masse. I wish I had spent more time in academy studying necromancy, but Al’Set always dismissed that particular school as “an inefficient and belabored party-trick unbecoming of those who would seek true power.” I bet the mad old bastard wished he wasn’t so dismissive of necromancy now!


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