Exhausted from their run through the city, Merle, Lamaia, and Era attempt to catch their breath as they bask in the shadow of the massive twenty-foot long horn. Some shuffling from above alerts them they are not alone. Striking as fast and as hard as lightning, an unarmed orc decends down, driving his fists into Merle’s head.
He and Merle traded blows, each a master in their preferred martial arts. With a sickening roundhouse, the orc leaps back atop the horn and then strikes down at Era. A flurry of fists erupt around her, many hitting her shield, but a few make contact. In a surprising display, he turns to Lamaia and unleashes a gout of flame.
Little did the orc know, Lamaia’s fiendish heritage protected her from the flames of the mortal world.
He would soon know the extent of a devil’s wrath however, as Lamaia instinctively called upon the very fires of Hell to sear her enemy. Consumed by the hellish fire, the orc collapsed upon the horn, which was quickly set ablaze. Unfortunately, the horn, now wreathed in fire, was visible to all in the city. The sounds of distant cries and the echoing clamor of armored feet prompted a great deal of anxiety.
What could they do? Where could they go? A rare instance of good fortune smiled upon them in that moment. Bogchamp, the goblin they had freed at the crossroad between Ambleshire and Karakzhar, suddenly appeared, clamoring over the ledge. He bore healing aughts-though he was suspiciously silent on where he got them-and the location of a safe place to hide.
With a quick drink, and the haling magics surging through their bodies, the three followed Bogchamp to across more rooftops, to the edge of a building. He looked down into a blackened void and bid the companions to jump. They were, of course, reluctant to jump off a building into nothingness, but the sound of orcs climbing up to their location was all the encouragement they needed. They jumped, and fell for a long ways before hitting cold water.
They all swam to a nearby shore and pulled themselves up onto dry land, cold but alive. Bogchamp scurried up an embankment to a five-foot wide hole in a stone wall. He informed them that it was an entrance to the sewer system, and that in the few days he had been down there, no orcs patrolled it. As the others made their way up the embankment, they noticed that it was littler with strange, round stones. With some quick investigation, they made a grizzly discovery. They were not stones at all, they were skills, and judging by the beards that still hung to some ragged flesh, they were dwarven. Hundreds of dwarven skeletons lay strewn about the embankment. Strangely, the skulls all had odd runes carved into them. Era tried to decipher them, but could not make heads nor tails of them.
It wasn’t long before the four heard a strange chanting echoing down the ravine. Suddenly, the bones began to shake and leaped into the air, forming bodies, until half a dozen skeletons stood before the companions. They strode forth with grim purpose, a pinprick of red light shone in their empty sockets. While Bogchamp hid, Merle, Lamaia, and Era fought against the undead dwarves until the last one was smashed to bits.
After a taxing day, they decided to take an extended break, gather their thoughts, and bind their wounds. After a few hours, they trudged on through the sewers, which, to their surprise were immaculately clean. This then reminded them of the dwarves’ warning of gelatinous cubes roaming the sewers, and they proceeded on cautiously. Bogchamp wished them luck, and assured the, he would keep that small section of the sewer safe for them.
After some time, they found themselves at a ladder leading up to a sewer grate. Lamaia climbed up to get a feel for where they were, and if there were any orcs above. What she found was a lone orc in a cloak, hunched and old, leaning over a circle of bodies. He seemed to be occupied, jamming something into one of their skulls. Lamaia slid out of the sewer, quiet as a mouse. As she slowly approached, she heard the orc muttering something incoherent. When she was nearly in striking distance when the dead orcs began to rise. The elderly orc turned to her, his face hidden behind a wooden mask. It was the witch doctor she had seen in Korrog’s throne room.
He began to walk off, when Lamaia struck him. At this, he bid the orc zombies to kill. They obliged, biting and tearing at the tiefling rogue. Merle sprang from the sewer, bypassing Lamaia and pursuing the witch doctor. He landed a solid strike upon the aged orc, who turned and leveled a curse upon the monk before walking away.
Lamaia’s screams brought Merle back to reality, and he quickly came to her aid, throwing himself into the mass of zombies. They too ripped and tore at the monk, bringing him low as the thief escaped, She and Era fought off what few zombies remained, but not before Lamaia was grievously wounded. Era pulled he unconscious friends to a nearby shop, where she barricaded the doors, and went to work mending their injuries.
If orcs hadn’t been bad enough, now they were rising from the grave, and the foul witch doctor was still out there… somewhere.