Part #2. A Fireside Tale

"Gather round, dear friends and I will share a tale of a great adventure. These tales have daring battles, noble heroics, and, if I do say so myself, rather epic romances. This particular story starts - well, it starts out like many other tales - I was walking down the road, minding my own business. It was the first days of autumn and the leaves were just beginning to turn their color. They were ablaze with gold and red. The sun was shining, thank the gods, and I was in a rather good mood. I had recently attended a feast with my old pal, Glarus. Lovely fellow. Though, he is a bit of an awkward lad sometimes. In fact…"

Dear reader,

If you would like to learn about Kazok's fourteen and a half minute tangent about Glarus, Son of Theos trying to impress some lass and ending up with a red face and crying in a fountain, please turn to page 342.

"Anyway," Kazok continued, "the day was sunny and nothing could change my disposition. Of course, until the sun hid behind a cloud and it started to rain like buckets. Thunder shook the ground and lightning crackled around me. Of course, I don't feel much fear when it comes to those things. I do, however, hate it when my clothes shrink (it is awfully difficult to find clothes in my size). So I needed to find some shelter.

I quickened my pace and jogged down the path until I came to a village, not unlike this lovely place. The folk were kind enough to take me in and give me food and a room. I entered the tavern quietly (chronicler's note: none of the villagers believed this description) and began to eat my meal. As I was finishing my third round of a hearty beef stew, I overheard two of the old men in the village talking about some missing villagers.

"Nelson has been missing near a week," said an old fellow with a wizard-like beard.

"Those damnable shamblers are gonna overtake us all if we ain't careful," the other replied.

Upon further inquiry, I discovered two important facts: the first of these was that Nelson, in truth, was actually a pet skunk (and he was very much dead). But the second was that these 'shamblers' were actually an army of the undead. Of course, being the rather noble soul I am (and humble one at that), I swore my sword to the village's aid.

I said: "I will not rest until their corpses raise no longer and they all fall to my blade. On my honor, I swear to you that I will protect you from this dreaded blight!"

Of course, the lads merely stared at me for a moment before replying: "I'm sorry, who are you?"

After seven more minutes of clarification, I went to bed. After all, I had a big day ahead of me and it would be best that I have a good night's rest if I were to slay an entire army single-handedly.

And so, after a night of sleep, I woke up early to set off from the village towards the swampland where the undead resided. All I had with me was the sword in my hand and the pack on my back. (Okay, so that pack did happen to have seventeen sandwiches. But what can I say? I have a healthy appetite). However, as I was about to leave, a young lad no older than seventeen ran up to me, asking to join in my adventure. He was armored in birchbark for a breastplate and a bucket for a helm. He did, however, wield a rusty short sword and a wooden shield. All in all, he looked rather hilarious. But I admired his spirit.

"I am known as Loren," he said, soon clarifying that it could be a boy's name too when I started to chuckle. I liked the kid well enough, so I let him join me. Then, after he spelled his name for another clarification (further proving that his name was not "Lauren"), we set off for the swaps near the town.

We must have been quite the sight, a lumbering goliath and a brave dimwit. Our journey led us along treacherous paths until the smell of swamp filled our noses. The odor smelled like the unholy union of rotten eggs and morning breath. Oh aye, and then add death. It was enough to ruin a perfectly pleasant journey (I was even starting to enjoy Loren's retelling of how he saved the entire village from a wild turkey).

As far as the eye could see, wetlands overtook the land. The swamps were the color of moldy bread and the water seemed to have never felt the breeze of the wind. It all sat there, a stinking pit of muck and mud. As we stood there, we realized something rather odd; there were no undead anywhere to be seen.

It was late, so we set a fire and began to eat the sandwiches I had packed. I originally had no intentions of sharing, but I eventually let him have one or two. After all, the lad couldn't have weighed ninety pounds soaking wet.

Eventually, we decided to take up torches and search the damp field. We began to trudge through the mud, our eyes searching for any sign of our quarry. And just as I began to think this whole quest was a load of swamp goo, hundreds of undead warriors emerged from water and reeds. I may or may not have screamed, but my companion most certainly did. In fact, the lad was so scared that he suddenly ran off towards the village. He had a tough go of it because we were in the center of the field and swamp is incredibly difficult to run through.

I have never been one to flee from a fight. In fact, some say that I often run towards them (for better or worse). I immediately started battling the zombified ass rats, cutting them into pieces as they shifted towards me. They all groaned and clawed at me, but I fended them off with blade and torch.

I've always considered myself to be a halfway decent warrior. But even the most skilled fighter is no match for a single army. They were starting to overwhelm me, I was beginning to think that it was the end. With my final thoughts, I prayed a silent prayer to the gods, asking for a hand. Suddenly, the waters of the field burst with flames, every zombie was moaning and groaning. As they all tried to put out the divine blazes, I was able to finish them off. It only took me another hour and a half (along with a few arm cramps). And so, the village was saved and there were a few less zombies giving them trouble." Kazok finished his tale and an exaggerated slam of his mug. The few villagers who were still awake cheered and, for a little while, the Goliath found a place to rest In Kjartenholm.

Chronicler's note:

There is some dispute as to the true origins of the fire. Some claim that it was, in fact, fire from the gods. Others dare to say that Kazok Farseeker of Clan Elikanarai merely set his torch too low and the water was so putrid that it burst into flames. However, there are few, not many, but few, who believe that as Loren (later known as Loren the Legend) slipped as he ran, dropping his torch in the flammable water. In this scenario, Kazok happened to be incredibly lucky and the flames just barely did not consume him.

Dear Reader,

I hope you are enjoying this less formal story! This is, in large part, for my friends who help make up this wonderful DnD party! I might even include some of their characters in the story! Thanks for reading, all!

Kovecs