A/N: I had this crazy idea of "what if the characters all played D&D sometime?" and this is what I've snowballed that into. I've decided to re-edit this, so bear with me and pardon the dust! I'm including segments of life for our heroes in the prison as they play the game. The story is my own, as is the world of Karin'Tor. As for character faces and behaviors? Those are mine too. Except the visages of those I'm borrowing from The Walking Dead. Which I don't own nor make money from. Enjoy everyone!

Cast of Characters

Hershel: Count Herkimer de la Terra, palladin (retired from service)

Countess Derys de la Terra, Morganite's mother & Herkimer's first wife (deceased), cleric

Countess Serina de la Terra, Beryl's mother & Herkimer's second wife (deceased), herb-witch

Maggie: The Honorable Morganite de la Terra, Count Herkimer's eldest daughter and heir, fighter

Beth: Lady Beryl de la Terra, Count Herkimer's youngest daughter & Morgan's half-sister, bard

Otis: Henrik Orison, a Man-at-Arms in service to Count Herkimer, fighter

Patricia: Charmaine, a minstrel living and entertaining in the de la Terra household and Beryl's favorite tutor.

Randall : Wolff Uniron, Beryl's childhood friend, a Villein of the de la Terra holdings.

Jimmy: Jacobi Anteon, Beryl's confidant and would-be lover, a Small Holder of her father's holdings.

The Cast Will Grow!

Prologue

The prison sat silent, nothing more than the soft sounds of Michonne working out, Daryl cleaning his weapons and Beth humming quietly. The barest sounds echoed along the corridors. They'd been snowed in for a day, grateful for the break. It was cold enough the walkers were either frozen solid or bogged down in snow-banks and couldn't get to them. So they waited, made repairs where they could and otherwise passed the time.

After the third day, Beth had grown tired of singing, Daryl had cleaned his weapons and equipment before offering to go through the guns Rick had brought and cleaned them too. Beth watched from between bouts of reading a boring book as he finished the last of the handguns.

Glenn had returned from watch, trading with Maggie and Carl. Hershel and Rick were in another room talking and playing with Judith, giving Beth a break.

"So, um…" Glenn said, "I found something a while back. Been saving it for," he blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck, "well, a rainy day. Just in case we get bored." Beth sat up straighter and looked over at him.

"Spit it out, Glenn," she said good-naturedly, "What'd ya find?"

Glenn smiled and held out a hand, "Wait here, I'll go get it." He dashed out for cellblock C and came back shortly, carrying a stack of books and papers. He sat them on the table. Beth came and sat at the table with him, lifting the top volume.

"'The Dungeon Master's Guide?'" she read aloud, a smile in her voice, "Glenn I didn't know you played D&D."

He looked at her with a little surprise, "You know what D&D is?"

"Sure. It's been a heck of a long time, but Jimmy and his friends used to play. I was usually too busy."

"Well, do you want to try it?" She shrugged.

"Why not? Nothin better t'do. Besides, I think you'll make a good D.M."

He grinned and sat down, sorting the volumes and lifted a folder. Lifting out a sheet of paper, he handed it to her. "I made this for you. Thought you might like it."

She smiled as she read, "You made me a character! Beryl?" she mused aloud, looking at him.

"It's a blue-green stone," he explained. She shifted in her seat and moved closer. He handed her a set of dice and sat back, grabbing another sheet of paper.

"I made everyone a character, actually," Daryl glanced over at them, an eyebrow raised as he checked a magazine. "Thought everyone might like to try it out, at least. How 'bout it, Daryl?"

Daryl turned his attention back to the guns. "Nah," he said around his cigarette, "Gotta finish this." He went back to polishing.

"So," Glenn began, "We'll do a solo story for you and people can join later if they want. I made up the world, it's called 'Karin'Tor' and…

Chapter 1: A Dark Cloud

Beryl pressed her lips against his own, relishing the warmth, the soft texture. His calloused palms gently stroked her cheeks, hot from the blush suffusing them. She pulled away, guilt forming a knot in her throat. "We shouldn't" she whispered.

"I know." He said softly. He pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. She let him, holding him in return. Her oldest friend. She pulled back to look into his brown eyes and put on a brave, sweet smile. Jacobi. His tousled hair and peasant clothes contrasted sharply against her own, hanging in a long plait down her back. She wore a simple kirtle of soft wool, the high quality of the material a subtle difference beneath the drab grey cloak she wore.

They'd been sneaking away to spend time together more and more often of late, no doubt to the suspicion of her Father, Count Herkimer. As his youngest daughter, she had been brought up to expect marrying a member of the peerage or the aristocracy.

She knew, from the beginning, that this could only go so far. They'd been lucky that they hadn't been caught, that her father was a kind and understanding man. They'd been friends since childhood, since she and her sister, Morganite, had climbed over a fence and into a field in search of rabbits. That was how she met him: he'd caught her one, which she kept as a pet until it passed several years later. She'd still been a child, then.

The sounds of hoof-beats sent them flying from one another, she kneeling on the ground to inspect a non-existent pebble in her shoe while he kept his hands on his hips and stared down at her in an attempt to look concerned.

Glancing up, she took in the blue-grey eyes of her sister, her light brown hair braided around her head in a tight cap. Her riding clothes were also brown but her face stopped Beryl short. "Morgan, wat's wrong?"

"Come with me," she said sharply. She held out her hand and helped Beryl up behind her on the horse. She glanced at Jacobi and back at Beryl, but said nothing. Beryl sensed she knew, a lump forming in her stomach. "Go home, Jacobi," she said firmly as she rode away.

"What are you doing, beryl?" Morganite asked, irritation and concern plain in her voice.

"Nothing," she replied firmly.

"Don't lie to me, little sister. I know you're sweet on the boy. Won't be fair for him, if'n you two get caught." Beryl laid her cheek against her sister's shoulder and said nothing more as they rode to the Keep.

"Stay inside," Morgan said as she handed the reins to the stable-boy. "I think there's trouble coming and I don't want you getting into any more trouble." Beryl nodded and followed her sister though the courtyard and into the double-doors.

"Morgan," she said, stopping their departure, "What's wrong?"

Morgan turned to her and looked her in the face. She smiled, but it was a false one meant to keep her from worrying. "It could be nothing. I'll come tell you if something comes from it."

There they parted ways, she taking the left, toward her bower while Morgan took the right to the great hall and their father.

The drawing room was warm from the fire and sunlight streaming through the windows, the glass a gift from one of their vassals. Herkimer stood, wearing his customary brown trews and matching velvet tunic. Serina, his second wife, had insisted he wear clothes suited to his station while not in the field. The brown had been their compromise.

He smiled when he saw his eldest child enter, blue eyes crinkling in his weathered face. He strode to her and embraced Morgan. She pulled up short and laid a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Father, there's something wrong." He blinked and looked into her eyes, reading the concern reflected in blue.

"What is it?"

"When I was in the woods today" she often went hunting when her duties didn't keep her busy, "There was a quiet. But there were no signs of predators and the silence wasn't…natural. I've got a bad feeling."

"Morgan, you know we can't alarm our people needlessly. Did you see anything? I can't just tell them you 'had a feeling.'"

"I know, Papa. I –I think I saw tracks. Goblin tracks." His eyes grew dark with foreboding and he took a deep breath.

"I'll send out Henrick immediately. Where, approximately did you see these tracks?"

"It was in the east, near the ridge. I'll go with him."

"Alright, but be careful. I'll organize the guard and make sure we're prepared for an attack."

Beryl sat in her bower and wondered what had been going on. She'd spent time tuning and cleaning her rebec a few times before she tried to play to calm herself. It was an interesting instrument, a gift from her father. She smiled, remembering how he presented it to her. She'd seen it in his drawing room growing up, always curious. The tales he'd told…

It was a strange piece of functional art, reinforced around the bowl with metal. It was reinforced in a lot of places and its strings were made up of different metals as well. He'd told her it was used by a dear friend of his in The War. While it was meant for use in battle, he approved of Beryl learning to play and use it for more peaceful ends. He felt its previous owner, the King's Bard Endymion, would have approved as well.

She kept playing until her sole focus was on the instrument. After settling into a simple tune of a lullaby, she continued to play until she didn't need to consider shifting the bow over which strings, when or how. She focused on times when she'd felt relaxed, sitting in the sun outside with her sister, playing for her father before he retired for the evening, meals and holidays they'd shared.

The vibrations of the familiar instrument did calm her, but then she'd been practicing what Charmaine had been trying to teach her. She smiled softly to herself when she realized it had worked. She had tuned into that inner space in her mind, her heart, where the music resided. And brought it forth through her instrument and calmed her with that subtle magic.

A knock on the door broke through her quiet exultation. She laid the instrument aside and went to the door, puzzled to find neither Morgan nor Herkimer on the other side. It was an older boy, one of Morgan's friends and a vellein of their lands. His dark hair was combed back, slick with an oil and his clothes were clean, well kept. He held out a piece of paper to her wordlessly. She took it, leaving the door open as she went to the fireplace to see well as she read the note.

Meet me tonight after dusk.

There was nothing more. She looked up, a thrill of fear breaking the last of her self-enchantment. She whirled to the young man at the door. "Wolff, did he give this to you?" They'd spent enough time together; he'd known whom she meant. He nodded.

"Your father's ordered everyone to stay inside. Everyone's been moving behind the walls for the night until he's sure we're safe." She cursed quietly and he blinked, startled at her demeanor. "He's out there, Lady Beryl. We didn't receive the orders until after he'd left." She cursed again vehemently and whirled for the closet, retrieving a jacket and her cloak. She slipped them on while Wolff waited by the door.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

"I have to go after him! He doesn't know! If something happened to him –

She couldn't finish the thought. She grabbed her knife and slid the sheath into the top of her boot.

"I'll go with you," Wolff said. She nodded and thanked him.

"Morgan would appreciate it," she said, fingering the gemstone at her neck.

They'd snuck out through the kitchens and servant's entrance to the Keep. It helped to have Wolff there, she realized. In her drab grey-colored cloak, she was less noticeable next to him and less suspicious. Together they walked in the shadows of the buildings and when they got to the gates, she took a sharp left for a spot on the wall which had deeper shadows.

There was a small structure, thatched, which held grain. She climbed from a stack of crates to the top and from there to the wall and began climbing with ease.

"Do this often?" Wolff asked.

"Only three times a month," she grunted as she climbed higher on the use-smoothed stones, "for the past several months."

"Jeez," he muttered, "What about the guards?" He began climbing up behind her, paying attention to where she placed her hands and feet as she climbed.

"They can't see us. I came by while bringing water to the guards one day and made off with a sconce and its torch. Makes it harder to see us."

They scaled the wall and down the other side in silence. When they made it to the ground Beryl took off like a shot for the western woods.