choose your own adventure, episode 15a

“We must stop these undead from rising,” you say. “If they get out of control, they’ll kill everyone in Victrix and Rzoldur both. One of the spiderlings must be in the tombs, raising the undead.”

Or, perhaps, a full urdmordar itself. The thought gives you a chill. A single urdmordar is a mighty foe, and a match for even a team of Swordbearers and Magistri working together. Those few Swordbearers who have faced and defeated an urdmordar in single combat are legendary, their names among the great heroes of the songs.

Those Swordbearers who have faced an urdmordar in single combat and perished in short order are far more numerous.

But you put aside your fear. You are a Knight of the Soulblade, a Swordbearer, and it is your duty to defend these people, even if it means your death.

Sir Thomas nods. “We’ll follow you. Magistrius, Father Linus. Stay here and keep command of the militia. If the battle goes amiss, you’ll need to see our people to safety. Take them to Castra Marcaine, and let the Dux know what has happened here.”

Father Linus nods, hefting his club. “May God go with you, sir knights.”

You stride away from the church, Sir Thomas and Ulacht following you, and to your surprise Sir Hamus follows you, his massive axe in one hand.

“Father,” says Thomas, “remain in the church. You…”

“No!” roars the old man. “These are my people, and I will defend them.”

Thomas grits his teeth. “A fine job you’ve done so far, ignoring the missing children while cavorting with that…”

“Enough!” says Ulacht. “Our folk are in danger! You may berate each other after we win the battle.”

Both men manage a nod, and you stride for the base of the rocky hill, towards the pale pillar of green flame.

Soon you come to the base of the hill and the entrance to the tombs. A rocky gave mouth yawns in the side of the hill, and you see a few new undead shuffle from the entrance. A sorcerous circle has been drawn upon the ground outside the cave, and the pillar of green fire shoots from its center.

There is no sign of any sorcerer.

Ulacht growls and looks around. “Where…”

Then the air ripples, and Lady Gwenaelle appears before the pillar of fire, sorcerous power crackling around her fingers. Eight emerald eyes gleam in her face, a pair of serrated pincers distort her mouth, and crimson talons rise from the tips of her fingers.

Needless to say, you find her rather less attractive now, and you are suddenly very glad you did not kiss her earlier.

“Ah,” says Gwenaelle, her lovely voice a contrast with her half-human features, “Mother thought you might figure it out. No matter. If this herd must be culled, you can die with the rest of them.”

“Oh, wife,” says Hamus, staggering towards her, and you realize that he doesn’t see her for what she truly is. “I am glad you are safe! Come with me, quickly, to the church, where it’s safe.”

Gwenaelle’s pincer-lined mouth twitches into a hideous grin. “Husband! Behind you! Your son and that filthy orc have betrayed you! They brought the Swordbearer to murder me! Save me, husband!” Terror fills her voice. “Save me!”

Hamus turns with a roar. “You miserable traitors! I curse that I ever called you son!”

He charges at you, screaming, his axe raised for a massive two-handed blow.

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