This is just a little short story I wrote up as the backstory for my new dnd character. Figured I'd share it. I hope you enjoy it
Winter's Dawn
Deepwood hold is a ruined place now, its halls littered by debris and a stained with blood. But there are no corpses to be found, decaying or otherwise. Perhaps a discarded limb here or there, a severed head that rolled under a bed and there awaits the poor fool curious enough to find its dead, gaping eyes. The night winds howl and whine through broken windows and cracks in the crumbling walls, and when the rains come they pour in through holes in the roof.
Deepwood Hold is a ruined place now, but it was not always so. Once, not so long ago, it was the seat of the ancient house of McAllister, the wardens of the Deep Wood, and envoys to the moon elves of old. Here was where emissaries from the adjoining realms of elves and men first met thousands of years ago to end the long wars that raged between the old empire and the new kingdoms. Here was where the druids of the green lakes gathered 400 years ago when the plague of leaves threatened to destroy all the green in the world. And here is where House McAllister found their glory when the legendary ranger, Duncan McAllister, slew the Gnoll prince Azrath two centuries ago, ending the mad beasts war on the realms of man and earning his title and land from King Osric..
Here, also, is where I, Cormick, youngest son of Seamus and Lydia McAllister was born 28 years past. On the surface that day had seemed not so different from any other. The summer sun shone warmly through the forest canopy bathing the castle in a gentle green glow. Birds sang their songs among the branches, and squirrels and badgers and other woodland creatures scurried about in the underbrush. Streams flowed and babbled over muddy banks and smooth stones. It was peaceful, quiet, and not at all the sort of day that one thinks of when imagining the birth of evil.
For you see, my birth was not the only event of significance to occur on that calm summer day. For years there had been tension among the tribes of the moon elves who still remained in the Deep Wood. Some felt humans had no place among these ancient trees, and thus demanded war. Their leaders refused. They regarded my house with respect and recognized our honor. So long as we did not desecrate the trees, or violate the ancient treaties between our people then they could not condone war. They had held this stance against the extremists for many long years, until that day 28 years ago.
Vile Elthiand and his Lady Denerial could no longer tolerate the presence of humans in their ancestral homeland. No cost was to high to see us removed. That morning they spread a poison through their camp, slaying all among their kin who did not share their views. Then, using the darkest magic, Vile Elthiand reanimated their corpses. He led his new minions from camp to camp, recruiting those elves whos shared his views, and killing the rest that their numbers could be added to the horde.
For many months, life went on normally at Deepwood Hold. Oh, there were whispers of dark shapes moving in the night, and reports of missing travellers, but that was all. It wasn't until late that winter, when snow piled high outside the castle gates that we received our first warning of the danger. A lone moon elf who had escaped Elthiand's madness came to our gates and warned us of the impending attack. My father in turn summoned every fighting man he could to defend the walls of his hold, and brought the villagers from the surrounding woods inside of those walls.
Three days later at the stroke of midnight, Elthiand's horde came against the defenders of the Deep Wood. The battle lasted until sunrise, and saw more than half the defenders killed, but they held their ground. In the light of the sun, the dead weakened and withdrew back amongst the trees. My father knew that the victory was temporary at best. One or two more battles like that and Deepwood hold would fall. He led a small band of rangers into the trees with a simple mission: kill Vile Elthiand and his Lady Denerial. They met with a partial success, Elthiand fell to my father's blade. Denerial, mad with fear and grief, escaped deep into the woods with a small number of the undead still under her control. The dead remained behind, leaderless and murderous. They spread like a plague through the forest, and even spilled into the surrounding lands. But without Elthiand's direction they were uncoordinated. My father and his companions founded The Order of Winter's Dawn, a gathering of the Deep Wood's rangers dedicated to purging the forest of the undead filth the roamed the night, as well as hunting Lady Denerial and the wicked elves who still served her.
I grew up amongst tales of these brave rangers and their clashes against the Mad Lady of the dead. When I was old enough to join their ranks, I did so eagerly and learned their craft. I fought against the dead, and pursued whispers of Denerial's madness. I fancied myself a hero who would end the battle my ailing father started, and finally restore the peace that had once characterized these woods.
Alas, it was not meant to be. Lady Denerial had spent the long years gathering as many corpses as she could from travellers, slain enemies, and the roaming groups of zombies that she was able to bring back under control. Against the walls of Deepwood Hold and the Order of Winter's Dawn it would not have been enough, were it not for the treachery of Angus Filch, one of our own. I know not what Lady Denerial must have offered him, for I can imagine no reward that would justify his actions.
He reported a gathering of the dead with the Mad Lady at its center. Alarmed at this news, my father commanded the Order to ride out in force, and we did, only to find the trees clear of threats. Angus remained behind however, and when the dead arrived at the gates in their hundreds, he let them in. Deepwood Hold fell that day, and those who were killed were raised as soldiers of the dead. The Order of Winter's Dawn was all but destroyed when that host hit our flank late in the night. Those few of us who escaped fled the woods in desperate fear. I cannot speak for the other survivors, but I have never ventured back to my old home. I don't desire to look upon those violated halls, nor the dead faces of those I grew up with.
Let the Mad Lady of the dead have her old forest, what does it matter now? But Angus Filch is another matter. I know that he too has left the Deep Wood behind. Somewhere in this world the traitor walks and eats and sleeps like any other man. When I find him, I believe that he will also die like any other man
