Madison crept along on her stomach, ignoring the brambles and thorns that caught in her clothing and tore at her skin. When she reached the crest of the low, grassy hill, she lifted up onto her elbows and peered out over the valley below.
Undead. Thousands of them, milling about aimlessly, some with purpose, their jerky shambling immediately recognizable. A few burnt fields were nearby, a smoking farmhouse.
Madison dropped back flat to her belly and cursed softly. Even with her little band of commoners strewn about Vaal, an army like that was - was...
Suicidal?
She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, then once again levered herself up - this time onto her knees. She reached for the longknife, spear and rusty old sword she'd left lying nearby. A quiver, a gnarled longbow, its string water-stretched but still, barely, serviceable. Her armor would make noise, so she left it behind. It'd only draw their attention. And all she needed to do was remain unnoticed until she was close enough to kill their leader - behead the champion, and the rest would crumble back to dust before her eyes.
Why the hell was she out here again? It wasn't as if she owed that nobleman any oath of loyalty. She wasn't even native-born to the region. And yet here she was, doing his bidding because... because...
Because he was cute.
Gods, she was stupid sometimes.
Moving slowly, trying to match her movements to the jerky staggering of the undead, Madison crept down the hill. Mud-caked from head to toe, with dry blood on her skin: she matched them in appearance, but the wind had changed. Her smell drifted toward them, stirred them, and the mindless mob moaned in animal hunger. They couldn't place her exactly, though, not just yet - they milled about restlessly, questing with their hands, and she avoided them, ducked her way through the throng of undead and -- and then --
-- one turned, lunged for her, and the entire plan collapsed in on itself. The entire army - for army it was - imploded toward her with screams, clawed hands, sunken eyes and howling mouths. In a panic, trying to break free of the swarm, Madison stabbed, hacked, suffered bite after bite as she fought her way toward the edge of the sea of bodies, back toward the hill where at least there would be high ground in her favour. Blood blurred her vision. A gash had opened a jagged, shallow wound along her forehead, over her eyes.
And then, there, the champion before her.
In desperation, bleeding from half a hundred cuts already, Madison threw herself at the creature, bringing her longknife - where had the sword gone? the spear? she'd broken her bow strangling a gap-mouthed farmer boy who had. just. refused. to. die. - up to slash at its face. All she had to do was kill it, open its throat, sever that spine - and she would live. Just that, and she'd escape the jaws of death yet again, like the lucky bitch she was.
Ice in her side, then fire.
And darkness.
After 3 hours, you finally find an organized undead army.
They are lead by an undead champion, an evil creature with more power and intelligence than the usual lot.
You fight with zeal and strength - but the undead are unimpressed. They feel neither pain nor fear, but you do. Lots of it.
Then you give up trying to defeat them and you only try to get away - but you find yourself surrounded! There are too many of them, they corner you and then the champion comes for you. It is a hard fight, and you put down a couple of them. But it is no use. Then, you feel a sharp pain as the rusty blade of the champion enters your abdomen. You don't feel it leaving you through the other side, thankfully. He stares at you with that undead grin on his face and watches you slowly bleed to death.
You have been killed. Alone and outnumbered, you are dead.
Piecemeal armour left piled on a hill.
