Venture Three - That Special Dwarven Touch
Note: This chapter I found the weakest and worst-written, so complete replacement MAY happen.
Early the next morning, the rural inn was barely getting active already, Bumley made his way out of his room. Far from fit, as the constant hunger of the gluttonous dead had a hold on him, and so did pretending that the constant pain and anguish of Undead existence would not take a toll. Still, rogues are deceivers by trade, and many of those who excel, also tend to be born deceivers, as it is as useful to their ways of acquiring income, as stealth tends to be.
Sir Wightbeard, is that the old tune I hear you whistle?, inquired Bumley.
Emin glimpsed, as if hit by a cleric's Speak the truth sorta confession spell.
Shut that food-hole, me is in trouble!
Emin, we both know: You know that 'I am in trouble' is the way to say it, and we do know that you really, really, will not lose any gold by trading the two-letter word 'Me' for the 'I'., spoke Bumley.
Says an elven-blooded crypt stalker, not a dwarven elder!, stated Emin.
Seriously? We are back at no honor among thieves sorta debates?, wondered Bumley.
Naye!, replied Emin. His shoulders sank in resignation. Jenna had a bad start this morning.
So? Give her some time to put on makeup and get ready for her guests., said Bumley.
Naye. Not that sorta bad. More, like at the pond., admitted Emin.
Emin?, stated Bumley.
Sometimes, when her dreams went awry, she came over to sleep in my arms., informed Emin.
So?, awaited Bumley.
Just damn ask her yerself, and keep the mouth shut about it., insisted Emin.
Bumley noticed that Emin's hands were resting on his weapons. Also, at least one wand was plain to see on Emin's belt. Complying with his companion's proposal, Bumley went inside the room, quickly closing the door behind him.
The sun really stings today, doesn't it?, said Jenna.
Holy crap!, stammered Bumley.
Jenna had changed, and a lot so. Her white-bluish skin reminded of Emin's new skin, and her formerly brunette hair now was matte-black, in the same mockery of life that the dwarven beard of Sir Wightbeard already went through. Last night, Jenna acted on instinct. Crawling into Emin's bed to shrug off her nightmares. Wight Emin drained her by accident, and she became another Wight, as she was killed early in the night, and so darkness had a hold on her. Those drained in sunlight tended to remain dead, but not all Wights were able to remain active in sunlight.
The proverbial dice were thrown, and no knowledge of fluctuations in the early stages of negative energy and necromantic folklore could remedy it. Miranda would inherit the inn, as Jenna clearly would be a bane to secrecy and discretion alike. While most patrons were wanderers, rangers, and woodworkers, word would spread and rumors would start. Paladins would not care, and Undead Hunters were more dangerous than most city guards were to regular rogues.
Bumley bit his lower lip, as their failure in that accursed crypt had forced them into a life they did not want to live at all. A life full of surprises, a life painful and limited. A life that devoured their friends and loved ones without any shame or regret. The Undeath only deity Orcus could still keep on holy pathways.
End of my raw draft remake.