p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: .5in;"The Tales of Fallacy begin in a world of fear, tension, and betrayal. Lands still recovering from a war that spanned the entirety of the world, Talamh. The land is split between five main continents, but three of these continents can be claimed to truly rule over themselves. The Talamh Cruach kingdom that is found on the smallest of all continents, Meine, but the pride in their strength knows no bounds. Heritage has no claim in these lands as the only thing that matters is the strength in one's arms or the power in one's spells. Tir na Saor is the second-largest continent and the land of revolutionists. The men and women who fought against their ruler and won to bring prosperity to their people, yet no new power has taken control over to claim the ability to rule. The land governed as Poblacht na Fear makes up the entirety of the largest continent, Freul, and is ruled over by humans who believe in a single god and swear they are blessed, while all other races are cursed abominations./p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanLong ago the various armies of failing kingdoms decided to invade one another, desperately trying to conquer the lands of others for any reason their minds could conceive. Religion, wealth, slaves, ideals, or simple bloodlust, it mattered not to the men and women of Talamh. From this war spanning the lands, nothing was gained, and much was lost. The pain and spilled blood of the innocent stained the dirt as their homes and livelihoods were destroyed for the profit of others. The world was scarred as two centuries have passed since the start of this war, but the people of the various lands are finally rebuilding enough to forget the horrors of the past. Yet stories are passed down in the shadows, stories of the beings who ended such a war. These stories are not to hail the success of past heroes nor the defeat of some great evil but a warning to all who would claim their personal desires are more important than the world they inhabit./span/p
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h150 Years After the Start of the Falling Kingdoms War/h1
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"A storm has taken hold of the Northern Seashores of Tir na Saor, yet the thunder is not enough to drown out the sounds of screams and clashing metal. The ground is soaked and muddy, yet the stomping of countless feet can be heard miles away. The fires in the distance seem to shine bright enough to illuminate the area of the battle, enough to be seen by anyone around. "All of it is just too much, too annoying." A soft, calm voice cuts through the noise with ease, "It seems as though the battles are just becoming more frequent. It's as if those fools cannot just finish their squabbling. I have had enough of it."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"In the wind, a small house stands, seemingly unphased by the torrents of wind. The simple house does not budge and radiates a dark shadow around it. The light of the distant fires approach but cannot seem to touch the building. From that shadow, a figure steps forward. The shadow seems to grasp onto the hooded figure, as each step forward into the light, a large circular path follows them. The figure continues to walk into the light, yet none of it could shine on this being. Calmly, methodically, the being steps closer and closer to the source of light./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Once the cloaked individual reaches the hill above the battle, they could see it all. All the death, all the swearing of revenge, all the men, women, and children of this small town fighting desperately against some unknown band of intruders. The buildings on the outskirts of the town had been set ablaze, and the bodies of those unlucky enough to not make it to safety lay in the mud, slowly being put out by the rain. With a glance, this figure sees the remaining survivors holding their makeshift line in front of the inn. Crying people huddle behind their defenders, about to be overtaken by these joyful looking bandits. Hands found themselves reaching up, praying to some or other god, begging for a savior, some kind of miracle to ensure they live to see the day./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The figure looks on as their arms slowly reach towards the hood of their cloak. Dark hands pull the hood down to reveal a woman. Her skin looked dark as the night, but her silver hair almost shines as if to take the place of the full moon on a stormy night. Her expression is uncaring as if the scene before her is a daily occurrence she had long grown tired of witnessing. As if timed, she raises her hand as lightning cracks through the sky. Her eyes begin glowing deep emerald green, and a similar magical aura begins to surround her. Small particles of the light gather and circle in her hand, her body tenses as they begin to glow brighter. As the tension fades, she relaxes her body and her mouth opens smoothly to let out one word, one command, "Arise."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The green-glowing particles sail from her hand as if to mirror her methodical movements. Each particle moves off into the town, splitting from one another, and seek their target. Each light seems to hone in on a body, some sail straight into the body they approached, others simply float in circles above their target. The woman's golden eyes fall on those circling lights and she calls out in a low voice, "I will end this battle here. If you want to save your loved ones, you should let my power take control. I will only keep those bandits, and you will be allowed to rest again once my work is done." One by one the emerald-colored lights sink lower and are absorbed into the bodies below them, the bodies of the town residents./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The attack seems to quiet down, the defending townspeople, gripped with fear, look on as the bandits stop fighting and almost wordlessly spread out, cutting off any chance of escape. The intruders stand silent as the thudding of a heavy footfall approaches from behind. One sounds off with a sickeningly smug tone, "We have them all here boss, any who tried to run are dead." A deep, gruff voice replies, "Good, I have a few words to share," As the bandits split, a large man steps forward into the light of the inn's torches. Heavy chainmail adorns his body with pieces of sturdy looking leather covering his arms and legs. His face is heavily scarred and unkempt, yet none of it frightens them more than the guttural growling in his voice, "Now tell me, what can you give us that is worth leaving any of you alive?"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The fear of the residents is thick, it hangs over the scene heavily and, for a moment, none seem to be able to make any attempt at a reply. The bandit leader speaks again with anger starting to seep into his tone, "Now Now! If there truly is nothing here, I take it that we should just end this!" He turns to the nearest bandit, "Take a few women and kill the rest, we've wasted our night in this shithole." With swords raising, screaming begins again but a child's voice rings out the loudest. Before the bandit leader can step away, a man dragging a child pushes towards the front of the inn. "Wait, sir! We have meager gold but it would do you better to take this boy with you!" The man is old, his figure hunching forward, hair grey and skin as rough as leather. His hands grasp tightly to hold the young boy in front of him, almost as if keeping him in front as a shield. The boy whimpers and looks pleadingly at the others around him, yet no one will meet his gaze. His heart falls and fear takes him as he falls to his knees in the mud./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The bandit leader speaks as he turns to retort but cuts himself short, "And what would I want with some boy…" His eyes widen, and a smile spreads on his face. "I see… You're wise old man. If you had tried to fool me, I wouldn't spare a soul but I suppose he is worth something." /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Back in the outskirts of town, the robed woman's expression finally changed as the shouts of the old man reach her long ears. She scowls deeply as she feels disgusted at this man and disgust toward the others for not raising protest. She takes a decisive step forward and one step after another she makes her way into town. Her face growing with disgust and anger as each step is just a little faster. As she passes along the dead bodies of the fallen bandits and townsfolk, she has no reaction as they begin to stir. With small groans coming from the cold, dead bodies, their limbs begin to move in a stiff, unnatural way. Each step the woman moves forward another body begins to move and stand. By the time the inn is within her sight, she turns to face the dead behind her./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"No body remains unmoving, those dead from swords or spears lazily start to their feet with groans, as if their souls scream from somewhere inside them. Wounds bleed, intestines hang loosely from gashes to their stomachs. The bodies of the burned raise with nauseating sounds of popping flesh, their skin black and charred yet somehow, they don't collapse to the ground. The nearest to the Drow woman looks to be a bandit who suffered blunt trauma to his head, as his cracked exposed skull shows traces of grey matter seeping through his wound. Her eyes meet that of the undead and like a queen commanding her subjects she orders them, "Kill all the bandits aside from that leader of theirs. Surround the inn so the cowardly fools who live here do not flee." All at once, the bodies of the formerly dead lurch forward and a grumbling moan from all of them fall from their low hanging mouths as if to reply to her demand. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Turning back to the inn as the small undead horde overtakes her, she slowly steps forward, not so much as to hide her presence but more to observe the scene in front of her as she makes her approach. "So old man, you wish to tell me this boy is the best your little town has to offer? I can't help but think with such a rare being in front of me, this rat-filled hell-hole has to have more hidden somewhere!" The bandits laugh loudly enough to make their victims wince. The old man shakes as he holds the boy, "We have nothing but this boy. I swear to you there is nothing else we could offer. He has no kin here yet he never left once he arrived!" The boy looks up at the old man, and with tears in his eyes he cries, "Please don't give me away, Bortem. Please! You told me I could stay!" The man grits his teeth, "Quiet, boy! If I cannot look out for my own, why should I ever help some stranger!" His words cut the boy like a knife. The boy turns his head down and sobs quietly, seemingly giving in to his fate. A deep, almost taunting chuckle comes from the bandit leader as he speaks, "Well it seems like that's it, boy. Come with us before I decide keeping these folks alive isn't worth the trouble."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The boy stands slowly, his nerves screaming to run away. His feet move forward slowly, as each step to him feels like an eternity. "Hurry now! Any longer and I won't be able to stomach leaving this place without burning it to the ground!" Just as the boy is about to reach his captor, a blood-curdling scream sounds off behind the bandits. All eyes turn to see a bandit in the back of the group screaming, blood spewing from his mouth and neck as some man with a broken skull chews through the bandit's neck. Screams come from all around, as they witness the supposed dead begin tearing apart bandit after bandit. One bandit attempts to run, as soon as he dodges one undead, another behind it lurches forward. Burnt skin falling from its fingers, it grasps the man's shoulder and face, instantly shredding his skin with its sharp, protruding finger bones. The burnt undead tackles the man to the floor and immediately bites his face as he screams, leaving nothing but a bleeding hole where his nose used to be. The bandit leader stands frozen for a moment, then turns to the old man with rage in his eyes, "What in the hell did you people do?!" He pulls a sword from his hip; it has a large outward-curving upper section that transitions into an inward curve that makes the blade near the hilt smaller, allowing a normal grip. Fear grips the old man, and the leader notices it. He knows this town couldn't do anything like this, they would've put up a better fight from the beginning if they had magic like this. He turns back and rallies his men, "Fools! They're nothing but rotting flesh! Clear their heads from their shoulders and be done with it!" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"As some bandits begin regaining their composure, a lone figure seems to appear from nowhere behind the horde. She is still, and her face is hard to make out in the darkness but her hair shines like a still, silvery fire. "You fools cannot defend your own home, so you put your own safety above those around you. If I hadn't already given my word, I'd let you all die without sleeping any worse tonight." The bandit leader stares with a hate-filled gaze, "So, it was you who brought these worthless bags of flesh here. I suppose you could be useful to me. My name is-" "I am not speaking to you, filth," She interrupts. His face goes red with anger, "And who are you to speak so proudly, whore?!" Her eyes don't even glance towards the bandit, "Speak unprompted again… and your soul will never know a restful death, filth." She practically spits the word at him, yet she is unmoving and shows only slight annoyance. "Hah! You think you have spine, whore!" Pointing his sword towards the figure, he grips tightly and readies himself to lunge. But before he can even plan his attack, he loses sight of her and hears the screams and gasps of the townsfolk. He turns fast, and swings with all his might, finishing his attack and smiling at the cloaked woman who stands feet from him. Before he notices the fact that the attack never landed, before he notices he no longer holds his sword, before he notices the pain, he sees a green fire in the hand of the woman before him./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Green light to his right catches his attention, and he feels pain like he's never felt before. His grin towards the woman falls and he looks where his hand used to be and only sees the flesh of his wrist burning away in a green fire. She speaks coldly, "Bringing you back as a servant has no appeal whatsoever. I'd rather just ensure nothing left of you exists in this world." He screams and quickly the fire seems to thoroughly burn his flesh and bone to ash as it spreads further up his arm. His knees give out and he screams as if every nerve in his body was experiencing their death at once. He slaps his free hand against the flames, rolls in the mud, anything he can do as he attempts to extinguish the flames yet any part of him that touches the unusual flames immediately catches fire. The onlookers watch in horror as the bandits frozen in fear from the scene are torn apart by the recently deceased. The boy, frozen since the first man fell, suddenly realizes his position. He stands right behind the woman, and fear grips his whole being. Any attempt to suck in air feels futile, and slowly the woman begins turning his way. His body tells him to run and hide anywhere he can or he will definitely die. Still, his feet won't move from the thick mud, no matter how much he wishes for it, he just cannot gather any strength. In the second it takes the woman to turn, the boy felt as if he lived years staring death in the face, he hears no sound but the thundering of his own heartbeat./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She looks the boy in the face, her eyes shine like gold in the night and the boy's eyes go wide. "They're the same…" He mumbles. With as much courage as he could muster, he takes a raspy, uneven breath and says, "Your eyes, you have the same eyes as me." Her gaze has no hint of changing, and it makes him feel like sinking into the mud. But as if sensing this, she lets a small smirk rise, "It seems I do, but your eyes are not why I am here, boy." Her hand reaches forward, and he flinches fearing the same fate as the bandit leader. But her hand gently touches his head, rubbing mud from his hair she uncovers platinum-blonde hair. "Boy, you are an Aasimar, correct? Why are you not with your people?" His eyes open with shock, he meets her gaze again and with a whisper, he replies, "I don't know my people, I have been alone as long as I can remember." Her smirk falls, she looks disappointed, almost sad. "Well, it looks as if there's no place for you here anymore. Come, we will leave these cowards here."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The boy looks away from the woman, he hadn't even noticed the screaming of the bandits had already stopped. The rows of undead took their place and surrounded the inn on all sides. His head whips to where their leader once stood, but all he sees is ash among the mud. His throat feels thick with bile, but he holds back his urge to vomit. His gaze falls on the townsfolk but they show nothing but fear. None move to thank the woman, and none protest her taking the boy, how could they? They nearly sacrificed him for their own safety. His lips form a thin line as he fights back tears. "What happens to them?" The woman looks back, "I promised their dead to help them. I can lie to the living but I swore never to abuse the trust of the dead." She turns back to the undead townsfolk near her, "I have kept my word, you are free to rest." The boy cannot believe it but all the undead residents seem to nod before they all lay in the mud and simply cease moving. She turns back again and with disgust in her eyes, she addresses the town. "Bury your dead, they did their part in saving your worthless lives." And off she walked, leaving all speechless./span/p
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p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; padding: 0in; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The undead bandits turn to their creator and follow with few moans. The boy looks one last time at those who tried to sell his life. Pain and sorrow fill his heart as he turns to leave what he thought would be his new home. Before he can walk far from his spot, his eyes fall on the sword of the man who is now nothing but ash. Despite the race of emotions and thoughts in his mind, he grabs some nearby torn cloth and rope to fashion a makeshift cover. He slings it over his shoulder and trudges forward, following behind his savior, and her undead servants. The last thing he hears before leaving the inn full of survivors is a single word uttered from the old man, and it is one he would never forget. "Monsters…"/span/p
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p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanLong ago the various armies of failing kingdoms decided to invade one another, desperately trying to conquer the lands of others for any reason their minds could conceive. Religion, wealth, slaves, ideals, or simple bloodlust, it mattered not to the men and women of Talamh. From this war spanning the lands, nothing was gained, and much was lost. The pain and spilled blood of the innocent stained the dirt as their homes and livelihoods were destroyed for the profit of others. The world was scarred as two centuries have passed since the start of this war, but the people of the various lands are finally rebuilding enough to forget the horrors of the past. Yet stories are passed down in the shadows, stories of the beings who ended such a war. These stories are not to hail the success of past heroes nor the defeat of some great evil but a warning to all who would claim their personal desires are more important than the world they inhabit./span/p
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h150 Years After the Start of the Falling Kingdoms War/h1
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"A storm has taken hold of the Northern Seashores of Tir na Saor, yet the thunder is not enough to drown out the sounds of screams and clashing metal. The ground is soaked and muddy, yet the stomping of countless feet can be heard miles away. The fires in the distance seem to shine bright enough to illuminate the area of the battle, enough to be seen by anyone around. "All of it is just too much, too annoying." A soft, calm voice cuts through the noise with ease, "It seems as though the battles are just becoming more frequent. It's as if those fools cannot just finish their squabbling. I have had enough of it."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"In the wind, a small house stands, seemingly unphased by the torrents of wind. The simple house does not budge and radiates a dark shadow around it. The light of the distant fires approach but cannot seem to touch the building. From that shadow, a figure steps forward. The shadow seems to grasp onto the hooded figure, as each step forward into the light, a large circular path follows them. The figure continues to walk into the light, yet none of it could shine on this being. Calmly, methodically, the being steps closer and closer to the source of light./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Once the cloaked individual reaches the hill above the battle, they could see it all. All the death, all the swearing of revenge, all the men, women, and children of this small town fighting desperately against some unknown band of intruders. The buildings on the outskirts of the town had been set ablaze, and the bodies of those unlucky enough to not make it to safety lay in the mud, slowly being put out by the rain. With a glance, this figure sees the remaining survivors holding their makeshift line in front of the inn. Crying people huddle behind their defenders, about to be overtaken by these joyful looking bandits. Hands found themselves reaching up, praying to some or other god, begging for a savior, some kind of miracle to ensure they live to see the day./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The figure looks on as their arms slowly reach towards the hood of their cloak. Dark hands pull the hood down to reveal a woman. Her skin looked dark as the night, but her silver hair almost shines as if to take the place of the full moon on a stormy night. Her expression is uncaring as if the scene before her is a daily occurrence she had long grown tired of witnessing. As if timed, she raises her hand as lightning cracks through the sky. Her eyes begin glowing deep emerald green, and a similar magical aura begins to surround her. Small particles of the light gather and circle in her hand, her body tenses as they begin to glow brighter. As the tension fades, she relaxes her body and her mouth opens smoothly to let out one word, one command, "Arise."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The green-glowing particles sail from her hand as if to mirror her methodical movements. Each particle moves off into the town, splitting from one another, and seek their target. Each light seems to hone in on a body, some sail straight into the body they approached, others simply float in circles above their target. The woman's golden eyes fall on those circling lights and she calls out in a low voice, "I will end this battle here. If you want to save your loved ones, you should let my power take control. I will only keep those bandits, and you will be allowed to rest again once my work is done." One by one the emerald-colored lights sink lower and are absorbed into the bodies below them, the bodies of the town residents./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The attack seems to quiet down, the defending townspeople, gripped with fear, look on as the bandits stop fighting and almost wordlessly spread out, cutting off any chance of escape. The intruders stand silent as the thudding of a heavy footfall approaches from behind. One sounds off with a sickeningly smug tone, "We have them all here boss, any who tried to run are dead." A deep, gruff voice replies, "Good, I have a few words to share," As the bandits split, a large man steps forward into the light of the inn's torches. Heavy chainmail adorns his body with pieces of sturdy looking leather covering his arms and legs. His face is heavily scarred and unkempt, yet none of it frightens them more than the guttural growling in his voice, "Now tell me, what can you give us that is worth leaving any of you alive?"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The fear of the residents is thick, it hangs over the scene heavily and, for a moment, none seem to be able to make any attempt at a reply. The bandit leader speaks again with anger starting to seep into his tone, "Now Now! If there truly is nothing here, I take it that we should just end this!" He turns to the nearest bandit, "Take a few women and kill the rest, we've wasted our night in this shithole." With swords raising, screaming begins again but a child's voice rings out the loudest. Before the bandit leader can step away, a man dragging a child pushes towards the front of the inn. "Wait, sir! We have meager gold but it would do you better to take this boy with you!" The man is old, his figure hunching forward, hair grey and skin as rough as leather. His hands grasp tightly to hold the young boy in front of him, almost as if keeping him in front as a shield. The boy whimpers and looks pleadingly at the others around him, yet no one will meet his gaze. His heart falls and fear takes him as he falls to his knees in the mud./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The bandit leader speaks as he turns to retort but cuts himself short, "And what would I want with some boy…" His eyes widen, and a smile spreads on his face. "I see… You're wise old man. If you had tried to fool me, I wouldn't spare a soul but I suppose he is worth something." /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Back in the outskirts of town, the robed woman's expression finally changed as the shouts of the old man reach her long ears. She scowls deeply as she feels disgusted at this man and disgust toward the others for not raising protest. She takes a decisive step forward and one step after another she makes her way into town. Her face growing with disgust and anger as each step is just a little faster. As she passes along the dead bodies of the fallen bandits and townsfolk, she has no reaction as they begin to stir. With small groans coming from the cold, dead bodies, their limbs begin to move in a stiff, unnatural way. Each step the woman moves forward another body begins to move and stand. By the time the inn is within her sight, she turns to face the dead behind her./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"No body remains unmoving, those dead from swords or spears lazily start to their feet with groans, as if their souls scream from somewhere inside them. Wounds bleed, intestines hang loosely from gashes to their stomachs. The bodies of the burned raise with nauseating sounds of popping flesh, their skin black and charred yet somehow, they don't collapse to the ground. The nearest to the Drow woman looks to be a bandit who suffered blunt trauma to his head, as his cracked exposed skull shows traces of grey matter seeping through his wound. Her eyes meet that of the undead and like a queen commanding her subjects she orders them, "Kill all the bandits aside from that leader of theirs. Surround the inn so the cowardly fools who live here do not flee." All at once, the bodies of the formerly dead lurch forward and a grumbling moan from all of them fall from their low hanging mouths as if to reply to her demand. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Turning back to the inn as the small undead horde overtakes her, she slowly steps forward, not so much as to hide her presence but more to observe the scene in front of her as she makes her approach. "So old man, you wish to tell me this boy is the best your little town has to offer? I can't help but think with such a rare being in front of me, this rat-filled hell-hole has to have more hidden somewhere!" The bandits laugh loudly enough to make their victims wince. The old man shakes as he holds the boy, "We have nothing but this boy. I swear to you there is nothing else we could offer. He has no kin here yet he never left once he arrived!" The boy looks up at the old man, and with tears in his eyes he cries, "Please don't give me away, Bortem. Please! You told me I could stay!" The man grits his teeth, "Quiet, boy! If I cannot look out for my own, why should I ever help some stranger!" His words cut the boy like a knife. The boy turns his head down and sobs quietly, seemingly giving in to his fate. A deep, almost taunting chuckle comes from the bandit leader as he speaks, "Well it seems like that's it, boy. Come with us before I decide keeping these folks alive isn't worth the trouble."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The boy stands slowly, his nerves screaming to run away. His feet move forward slowly, as each step to him feels like an eternity. "Hurry now! Any longer and I won't be able to stomach leaving this place without burning it to the ground!" Just as the boy is about to reach his captor, a blood-curdling scream sounds off behind the bandits. All eyes turn to see a bandit in the back of the group screaming, blood spewing from his mouth and neck as some man with a broken skull chews through the bandit's neck. Screams come from all around, as they witness the supposed dead begin tearing apart bandit after bandit. One bandit attempts to run, as soon as he dodges one undead, another behind it lurches forward. Burnt skin falling from its fingers, it grasps the man's shoulder and face, instantly shredding his skin with its sharp, protruding finger bones. The burnt undead tackles the man to the floor and immediately bites his face as he screams, leaving nothing but a bleeding hole where his nose used to be. The bandit leader stands frozen for a moment, then turns to the old man with rage in his eyes, "What in the hell did you people do?!" He pulls a sword from his hip; it has a large outward-curving upper section that transitions into an inward curve that makes the blade near the hilt smaller, allowing a normal grip. Fear grips the old man, and the leader notices it. He knows this town couldn't do anything like this, they would've put up a better fight from the beginning if they had magic like this. He turns back and rallies his men, "Fools! They're nothing but rotting flesh! Clear their heads from their shoulders and be done with it!" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"As some bandits begin regaining their composure, a lone figure seems to appear from nowhere behind the horde. She is still, and her face is hard to make out in the darkness but her hair shines like a still, silvery fire. "You fools cannot defend your own home, so you put your own safety above those around you. If I hadn't already given my word, I'd let you all die without sleeping any worse tonight." The bandit leader stares with a hate-filled gaze, "So, it was you who brought these worthless bags of flesh here. I suppose you could be useful to me. My name is-" "I am not speaking to you, filth," She interrupts. His face goes red with anger, "And who are you to speak so proudly, whore?!" Her eyes don't even glance towards the bandit, "Speak unprompted again… and your soul will never know a restful death, filth." She practically spits the word at him, yet she is unmoving and shows only slight annoyance. "Hah! You think you have spine, whore!" Pointing his sword towards the figure, he grips tightly and readies himself to lunge. But before he can even plan his attack, he loses sight of her and hears the screams and gasps of the townsfolk. He turns fast, and swings with all his might, finishing his attack and smiling at the cloaked woman who stands feet from him. Before he notices the fact that the attack never landed, before he notices he no longer holds his sword, before he notices the pain, he sees a green fire in the hand of the woman before him./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Green light to his right catches his attention, and he feels pain like he's never felt before. His grin towards the woman falls and he looks where his hand used to be and only sees the flesh of his wrist burning away in a green fire. She speaks coldly, "Bringing you back as a servant has no appeal whatsoever. I'd rather just ensure nothing left of you exists in this world." He screams and quickly the fire seems to thoroughly burn his flesh and bone to ash as it spreads further up his arm. His knees give out and he screams as if every nerve in his body was experiencing their death at once. He slaps his free hand against the flames, rolls in the mud, anything he can do as he attempts to extinguish the flames yet any part of him that touches the unusual flames immediately catches fire. The onlookers watch in horror as the bandits frozen in fear from the scene are torn apart by the recently deceased. The boy, frozen since the first man fell, suddenly realizes his position. He stands right behind the woman, and fear grips his whole being. Any attempt to suck in air feels futile, and slowly the woman begins turning his way. His body tells him to run and hide anywhere he can or he will definitely die. Still, his feet won't move from the thick mud, no matter how much he wishes for it, he just cannot gather any strength. In the second it takes the woman to turn, the boy felt as if he lived years staring death in the face, he hears no sound but the thundering of his own heartbeat./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She looks the boy in the face, her eyes shine like gold in the night and the boy's eyes go wide. "They're the same…" He mumbles. With as much courage as he could muster, he takes a raspy, uneven breath and says, "Your eyes, you have the same eyes as me." Her gaze has no hint of changing, and it makes him feel like sinking into the mud. But as if sensing this, she lets a small smirk rise, "It seems I do, but your eyes are not why I am here, boy." Her hand reaches forward, and he flinches fearing the same fate as the bandit leader. But her hand gently touches his head, rubbing mud from his hair she uncovers platinum-blonde hair. "Boy, you are an Aasimar, correct? Why are you not with your people?" His eyes open with shock, he meets her gaze again and with a whisper, he replies, "I don't know my people, I have been alone as long as I can remember." Her smirk falls, she looks disappointed, almost sad. "Well, it looks as if there's no place for you here anymore. Come, we will leave these cowards here."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The boy looks away from the woman, he hadn't even noticed the screaming of the bandits had already stopped. The rows of undead took their place and surrounded the inn on all sides. His head whips to where their leader once stood, but all he sees is ash among the mud. His throat feels thick with bile, but he holds back his urge to vomit. His gaze falls on the townsfolk but they show nothing but fear. None move to thank the woman, and none protest her taking the boy, how could they? They nearly sacrificed him for their own safety. His lips form a thin line as he fights back tears. "What happens to them?" The woman looks back, "I promised their dead to help them. I can lie to the living but I swore never to abuse the trust of the dead." She turns back to the undead townsfolk near her, "I have kept my word, you are free to rest." The boy cannot believe it but all the undead residents seem to nod before they all lay in the mud and simply cease moving. She turns back again and with disgust in her eyes, she addresses the town. "Bury your dead, they did their part in saving your worthless lives." And off she walked, leaving all speechless./span/p
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p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; padding: 0in; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The undead bandits turn to their creator and follow with few moans. The boy looks one last time at those who tried to sell his life. Pain and sorrow fill his heart as he turns to leave what he thought would be his new home. Before he can walk far from his spot, his eyes fall on the sword of the man who is now nothing but ash. Despite the race of emotions and thoughts in his mind, he grabs some nearby torn cloth and rope to fashion a makeshift cover. He slings it over his shoulder and trudges forward, following behind his savior, and her undead servants. The last thing he hears before leaving the inn full of survivors is a single word uttered from the old man, and it is one he would never forget. "Monsters…"/span/p
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