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[c] Dnd 1/2
Anyone who should ask the residents of the nearby townships what became of the great city of Baer would receive as many differing responses as they had strands in their hair (lizardfolk excluded).
Some said the city was afflicted with Gas Spores, the residents becoming single-minded beings focused only on propagating the parasitic plant. Others spoke of the kobolds that once lived there breaking into the tomb of a Mummy Lord. The unleashed curse desecrated the land, causing disease to run rampant and illness to strike down all who lived there. However, the prevailing story placed the blame at the feet of a Necromancer, driven by malice and spite, conquering the city and turning its residents into minions in his ever-growing, undead army. Of course, that was just a story spread by mothers to frighten misbehaving children.
And yet, through the forgone tunnels beneath Baer came the ring of steel. Flashes of grey, light as ice, tore through the undead, spraying their bioluminescent blood upon the dusty earth. The party’s rogue cut down one, two and a third of the reanimated kobolds in as many slashes, laughing as she did so. With each strike came a putrid smell that filled the corridor and made their noses curl.
Sir Walder similarly met his foe’s gnarled claws with his own sword. The heavy, two-handed blade cleaved through the decaying flesh like a hot knife to butter. It bifurcated the creature’s arm down to the elbow, chunks of flesh falling limp either side. And yet still the undead came after the young knight, tugging and yanking itself forward with violent disregard. Its shuffling feet slid across the floor while its eyes shone with wicked intent.
Walder was only saved by the whistle of an arrow. The steel-tip struck the creature in its singular, remaining eye and the corpse re-commenced doing what corpses do.
Clad in leather, knuckles white upon her bow and wearing an expression of frightening concentration, Lorelii released volley after volley from behind the front lines. To her side was Dunerak, the dragonborn sorcerer. Similarly keeping his distance from the fray, his clawed hands stitched magic into the world, a chill air taking hold. When and where he pointed, a barrage of Snilloc’s Snowball Swarm erupted. The cold, brutal evocation crumpled the undeads’ fragile bodies and covered them with frost.
Last was Murdan. Dwarf. Short of word as much as of stature, his Vicious Warhammer would have been too wieldy for a lesser warrior but he swung it with the strength of three men and as many maidens. For every undead that dared to tangle with the sure-footed paladin, there inevitably came another smote of righteous fury.
When the light of his divine blow waned and the dust settled, the tunnel was empty of kobolds, purged of evil and desecration.
Sir Walder sheathed his blade and wrung his hands. His armour rattled and clanked with each motion. His face was spattered with glowing viscera, the earth at his feet was covered in frost and he looked far worse the wear than any of the others. Yet still he stood.
“A rest sounds like just what the doctor ordered after that,” he surmised. “Shall we, gang?”
“Heh, what be a doctor?” scoffed Murdan, ever the prankster, as he stroked his beard once or twice and produced from within the tangles a crudely carved pipe.
“They had doctors in medieval times,” Sir Walder replied as Dunerak summoned a small flame for his dwarven friend. “Well, I think they did anyway.”
Before they could reach a conclusion however, the rogue interjected.
“Hey, no, no!” she shouted, daggers still at the ready. “We’re so close to the throne room. We have to keep going!”
The party questioned how she knew this, naturally, and not one of them entirely dropped the façade.
“Have you been here before?” Lorelii wondered.
“Is this all part of some grand ruse?” questioned Sir Walder. “Are you leading us into some trap?”
“Art thou steeped in deceit? Does thou engage in trickery most foul?” Dunerak pontificated.
“No, it’s not that,” she explained, cheeks blushing the colour of Fall even beneath her fur. “I’m just, you know, eager to get in there and slay some baddies!”
“It’s a’right, lass,” Murdan harked. “Ya doin’ ya best.” The dwarf tipped his pipe in her direction and promptly thereafter took a hit.
Tensions continued to rise throughout the remainder of the catacombs. Ahead of an ambush, the rogue was suspiciously cautious and managed to avoid a pitfall trap that caught both Lorelii and Sir Walder. When the battle turned against them, she just so happened to have a spell scroll that saved the day, counteracting the wounds they had suffered.
Her party questioned her each time, with escalating frustration, until it all culminated in a grand, last-stand in the royal tomb of Baer.
part 1 of a com for
, hope you guys like it :D was a lot of fun to draw!
story provided by commissioner
>if you enjoy my content, consider supporting my patreon!
>check my twitter for more doodles!
>sub to the picarto to see the pics in the making :D
Some said the city was afflicted with Gas Spores, the residents becoming single-minded beings focused only on propagating the parasitic plant. Others spoke of the kobolds that once lived there breaking into the tomb of a Mummy Lord. The unleashed curse desecrated the land, causing disease to run rampant and illness to strike down all who lived there. However, the prevailing story placed the blame at the feet of a Necromancer, driven by malice and spite, conquering the city and turning its residents into minions in his ever-growing, undead army. Of course, that was just a story spread by mothers to frighten misbehaving children.
And yet, through the forgone tunnels beneath Baer came the ring of steel. Flashes of grey, light as ice, tore through the undead, spraying their bioluminescent blood upon the dusty earth. The party’s rogue cut down one, two and a third of the reanimated kobolds in as many slashes, laughing as she did so. With each strike came a putrid smell that filled the corridor and made their noses curl.
Sir Walder similarly met his foe’s gnarled claws with his own sword. The heavy, two-handed blade cleaved through the decaying flesh like a hot knife to butter. It bifurcated the creature’s arm down to the elbow, chunks of flesh falling limp either side. And yet still the undead came after the young knight, tugging and yanking itself forward with violent disregard. Its shuffling feet slid across the floor while its eyes shone with wicked intent.
Walder was only saved by the whistle of an arrow. The steel-tip struck the creature in its singular, remaining eye and the corpse re-commenced doing what corpses do.
Clad in leather, knuckles white upon her bow and wearing an expression of frightening concentration, Lorelii released volley after volley from behind the front lines. To her side was Dunerak, the dragonborn sorcerer. Similarly keeping his distance from the fray, his clawed hands stitched magic into the world, a chill air taking hold. When and where he pointed, a barrage of Snilloc’s Snowball Swarm erupted. The cold, brutal evocation crumpled the undeads’ fragile bodies and covered them with frost.
Last was Murdan. Dwarf. Short of word as much as of stature, his Vicious Warhammer would have been too wieldy for a lesser warrior but he swung it with the strength of three men and as many maidens. For every undead that dared to tangle with the sure-footed paladin, there inevitably came another smote of righteous fury.
When the light of his divine blow waned and the dust settled, the tunnel was empty of kobolds, purged of evil and desecration.
Sir Walder sheathed his blade and wrung his hands. His armour rattled and clanked with each motion. His face was spattered with glowing viscera, the earth at his feet was covered in frost and he looked far worse the wear than any of the others. Yet still he stood.
“A rest sounds like just what the doctor ordered after that,” he surmised. “Shall we, gang?”
“Heh, what be a doctor?” scoffed Murdan, ever the prankster, as he stroked his beard once or twice and produced from within the tangles a crudely carved pipe.
“They had doctors in medieval times,” Sir Walder replied as Dunerak summoned a small flame for his dwarven friend. “Well, I think they did anyway.”
Before they could reach a conclusion however, the rogue interjected.
“Hey, no, no!” she shouted, daggers still at the ready. “We’re so close to the throne room. We have to keep going!”
The party questioned how she knew this, naturally, and not one of them entirely dropped the façade.
“Have you been here before?” Lorelii wondered.
“Is this all part of some grand ruse?” questioned Sir Walder. “Are you leading us into some trap?”
“Art thou steeped in deceit? Does thou engage in trickery most foul?” Dunerak pontificated.
“No, it’s not that,” she explained, cheeks blushing the colour of Fall even beneath her fur. “I’m just, you know, eager to get in there and slay some baddies!”
“It’s a’right, lass,” Murdan harked. “Ya doin’ ya best.” The dwarf tipped his pipe in her direction and promptly thereafter took a hit.
Tensions continued to rise throughout the remainder of the catacombs. Ahead of an ambush, the rogue was suspiciously cautious and managed to avoid a pitfall trap that caught both Lorelii and Sir Walder. When the battle turned against them, she just so happened to have a spell scroll that saved the day, counteracting the wounds they had suffered.
Her party questioned her each time, with escalating frustration, until it all culminated in a grand, last-stand in the royal tomb of Baer.
part 1 of a com for
, hope you guys like it :D was a lot of fun to draw!story provided by commissioner
>if you enjoy my content, consider supporting my patreon!
>check my twitter for more doodles!
>sub to the picarto to see the pics in the making :D
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1280 x 726px
File Size 234.2 kB
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