[Channel Teaser]
Narrated D&D Story: How The Party Survived
A City Of Death And Despair
This story was submitted by our viewer, Brian.
The campaign took place in a 3.5/pathfinder
homebrew.
This story takes place roughly 10 years ago.
I had joined a friends 3.5/pathfinder campaign.
Being a fan of Eberron myself, I chose to
play a warforged artificer, named Mechanis.
My friend the DM was running a zombie apocalypse
game homebrew.
The game starts in some large port city.
The party consisted of
a gnome sorcerer/fighter whose favored weapon
was an iron ball he would enchant and use
A human paladin
An elven ranger
A half elf rogue
All of us started at level three.
Most of the party were given a magic weapon
to start out with.
My character, being a warforged, had decided
to have a modified arm that contained a crossbow
within the forearm, and shot bolts out of
the palm of the hand.
Like most campaigns we started out in the
local tavern.
While everyone is getting to know each other,
screams erupt from outside.
We rush out of the tavern to find that zombies
have started attacking the town.
In horror, we watched as the group of town
watch guards defending the gate, get overrun
by zombies and ripped apart.
More undead started pouring out of the sewers,
as well as homes and businesses that, unbeknownst
to us, had access to the sewer tunnels below
our feet.
Roll initiative, the paladin starts slicing
through undead with his mighty longsword while
bashing others with his shield.
The sorcerer lets loose with burning hands
and torches a small group of undead.
The ranger and rogue are back to back, fending
off their own undead.
Mechanis’s heavy mace glowed brightly with
the power of bane undead, smashing any rotting
skull I can reach.
Before long we were forced back into the tavern
and had to barricade the doors and windows.
Knowing it was only a short time before the
undead horde broke through our meager blockade.
The party and I retreat to the upper floors
of the tavern, blocking the stairs with any
large heavy objects we could find.
Once we felt somewhat safe, we decided to
make a plan of how to get out of the town
alive.
That first day was truly horrible.
Screams cut through the air, wails of pain
and terror pierced our ears as the undead
proceeded to wipe out the inhabitants of the
town.
It was times like this I was thankful I did
not sleep.
The rest of the party tossed and turned.
It was shortly before dawn when the screams
faded to silence.
With the rising of the sun, the rest of the
party that was able to sleep awoke from their
restless slumber.
I stepped out onto the balcony to check how
bad our situation had become.
Scores of mindless undead roamed the street.
Searching for any survivors they may have
missed the day before.
Looking across the street, I found a group
of frightened people huddled on top of the
roof of a nearby establishment.
I turned to rush back inside when I was thrown
off balance.
An undead had figured out how to climb, and
jumped onto my back clawing and biting at
me.Teeth and ragged nails, scraping uselessly
at my stone and metal body.
The rest of the party was standing in shock,
unable to help, for fear of hurting me.
After a moment I was able to grab ahold of
the zombie’s tattered clothing and toss
it against the wall.
Now that I could see my attacker, rage filled
my soul.
Before me was a young human girl.
No more than nine or ten years old.
Her once bright blue dress, now torn and covered
in dried blood.
A large chunk of flesh torn from her small
neck.
Eyes, now yellowed and putrid, stared back
at me.
She charged at me.
I was able to grab her by the face as she
lunged at me.
With a thought, the crossbow arms snapped
open from my forearm, and I released a bolt.
Her body flew back and hit the wall with a
sickening thud.
It was then that I made a vow: I would end
whomever or whatever caused this.
After it was evident that the small undead
child was truly no more, We removed her body
from where it hung, placed her inside the
fireplace of the room, and burned her.
Just because she was a zombie didn’t mean
she didn’t deserve to hang like some macabre
trophy.
Once the grim business of laying her to rest
was done, I informed my fellow party members
that I had spied a group of survivors atop
the roof across the way.
We quickly improvised a plan.
We would toss a rope across and make our way
to the survivors.
After the rogue rolled poorly on their use
rope repeatedly, the paladin took it upon
himself, and with a mighty heave the grappling
hook sailed through the air and clattered
onto the ledge of the roof.
The people on the other roof quickly figured
out our plan and helped to tie off the rope.
Once our end was secure, the party proceeded
to make their way across.
The nimble gnome ran across the taut line
with ease.
Next came the rogue.
She may not have been able to get the rope
to the other building on her own, but she
nimbly walked it like it was second nature.
Up next was the ranger.
Slowly he walked across, losing his footing
and barely catching himself before falling
to what surely would have been a horrible
death.
Then on our paladin’s turn, he elected to
hang below by his knee and pull himself across.
Finally, it was my turn.
Following the paladin’s example, I also
hooked my knees over the rope and attempted
to pull myself across in a similar fashion.
About a third of the way across, a loud crack
sent a tremor through the rope, and the rope
went slack, as the wood railing of the balcony
which it was tied off to gave way.
I dropped like a stone into the undead masses.
My fall was broken with a sickening cracking
of bones as my large metal, stone and wooden
body came crashing down.
Now covered in the putrid gore of some freshly
crushed undead.
Cautiously I rose to my feet, my hand reaching
for my mace.
Ready to fight.
Though the fight never came.
Being covered in the viscera of their crushed
brethren, the mass of undead surrounding me
paid me no heed, I guess without a heartbeat.
And now, smelling of things undead, they either
thought I was one of them, or just a gore
encrusted statue.
Slowly I made my way to the other building,
shouldering my way past the undead.
I eventually made it to the building.
My little sorcerer friend noticed I was not
being attacked, and had the party lower me
the rope and helped to pull me up to safety.
The small group of survivors consisted of
the building’s owner, a dwarven blacksmith/merchant,
a pair of elderly humans, a rather young elven
female, still decades away from being mature,
and a couple of town guards.
They were clearly scared, tired and hungry.
But as luck would have it, the building we
were currently seeking refuge on top of was
one of the town's largest general stores.
Below our very feet was a veritable cache
of supplies and equipment.
I of course volunteered to go retrieve what
I could.
And of course, I agreed to go, seeing how
successful I was in making it past the shuffling
undead just a few minutes prior.
Before heading down, I quickly infused my
trusty mace with another bane undead, just
in case there was a zombie that decided to
see what metal and stone tasted like.
Down the stairs I went, old wood creaking
under the weight of my body.
If I had needed to breathe, I’m sure I would
have been holding my breath.
After what felt like hours, even though it
was a span of just a few seconds, I made it
down to the second level of the building.
Thankfully, this is where the dwarf stored
all his extra wares.
As quietly as a 300-pound walking statue could.
I quickly rummaged through the store of goods.
Grabbing a few sacks from a nearby shelf,
I quickly loaded one with rations and found
a couple of kegs filled with water.
Then I made my way back to the roof.
After depositing my first load on the roof,
I went back to see what else I could find.
During my second search I located a small
locked chest.
Giving it a quick shake, I was able to make
out the tell tale sounds of glass.
Using the butt of my mace, I smashed open
the lock.
Upon opening the chest, I found a stash of
various potions.
That was when I heard it.
A low half growl, followed by the dragging
of a foot on the wooden floor.
Before I could react, the undead abomination
was on top of me.
Eyes blank, broken teeth snapping in the air,
fingers raking at my face, while I held it
back with one hand as my other felt about
for my mace, that had gone skittering across
the floor when the zombie lunged at me.
Left with no choice, I balled up my left hand
and hit it with all the strength I could muster.
Metal and stone met, decaying flesh and bone.
The first punch left a large dent on the side
of its head.
A second blow made it even deeper.
By the third, the undead corpse was no longer
moving.
After shoving it off me, I retrieved my trusty
mace and stowed it in my belt.
Grabbing the chest in both hands, I ran back
up the stairs and re-barricaded the door.
In my absence, my party had learned some things
from the survivors.
For weeks now, prisoners had been taken to
the town keep, only to never return.
Rumors of evil rituals and other unholy things
had made its way throughout the city.
Some say the lord of the town made a deal
with a demon or some other worldly being.
One of the two surviving guards confirmed
that prisoners had been taken up to the lord’s
keep, which is unusual because all executions
were performed in the center of town.
He spoke of how the lord had shut himself
in his keep as of late.
At first, he thought it was due to the unfortunate
passing of the lord's only child.
He was murdered by would be cut throats, when
the lord refused to pay her ransom.
Then the prisoners started being taken there,
never to be seen again.
Once the town’s prison was virtually empty,
travelers would go missing in the dead of
night from the inns nearest the keep.
Their belongings left in their rooms, never
to be reclaimed.
Slowly the citizens themselves would disappear.
With racking sobs, the guard told of his own
beloved wife’s disappearance a few days
prior.
His worst fears confirmed when she re-appeared
in the basement of their home.
She was his wife no longer, but an undead
monstrosity.
He recounted how he was forced to cut her
down with the sword she had gifted him the
winter prior.
Now with some semblance of a clue as to where
to go next, we started moving from rooftop
to rooftop.
Sometimes the buildings were close enough
together to step or jump to the next.
For others, we had to create bridges using
loose planks of wood and ropes.
By the end of the second day we had made it
roughly halfway to the keep.
When the sun set, we decided to camp out for
the evening.
No sense in risking our lives when we couldn’t
see in the dark.
Because I didn’t need to sleep, I would
take most of the watch.
It was unsettling to be sitting in the heart
of a bustling city, as night fell.
Normally the watch would be moving throughout
the city; torches would spring to life as
those responsible would remove their covers,
allowing the magical flames to illuminate
the encroaching darkness.
Not on this night, though.
Occasionally I would spy fires come to life
on the roofs of buildings in the distance
as survivors would make their beds for the
night.
While my companions slept, I pulled a small
block of wood from a pouch on my belt.
As the undead shuffled in the streets below,
I carved a small statue from that block.
As the morning sun rose, I finished my carving.
In my three fingered hand stood the small
girl I had laid to rest the prior day.
After stowing it away in another pouch, I
roused my comrades from their slumber, and
proceeded to prepare myself, and my mind,
for the coming day.
Once the sun had fully risen, I was ready.
We decided to continue making our way to the
keep via the rooftops.
Occasionally we would come across another
survivor or two huddled together, fearing
for their lives.
We helped those we could and sent them back
the way we had come.
More than once we had to deal with a zombie
that was either a survivor that made it to
the roof before succumbing to the dreadful
disease, or had been stuck up there, searching
for more victims.
We would quickly dispatch them and move on.
Curiously, we noticed the closer we got to
the keep, the less undead would be seen.
By the evening of the third night we had made
it most of the way to the keep.
My comrades and I proceeded to make camp once
again.
While they slept I maintained watch.
The roof we were currently making camp on
was on a hillside, offering us an elevated
view of the town.
From my position I could see more of the city
than the night before.
Though the amount of fires that could be seen
didn’t come close to the count I had made
the previous night.
About half past midnight while the moon was
high, I felt it.
Waves of pure evil emanating out from the
direction of the keep.
With each wave the undead that were wandering
the street below would stir.
Their moaning growing louder, their aimless
wandering more purposeful.
Before dawn, screams could be heard from where
we had been just days before.
The rising sun did little to make any of us
feel better.
Screams, battle cries, and the clanging of
weapons could be heard in the distance.
As survivors bravely fought off the zombie
hoards.
How many more the undead claimed we would
never know, though we did find that there
were no longer any undead in our immediate
area.
Without any more rooftops between us and the
keep, we decided now was as good a time as
any to get back on the ground.
As soon as the last member of the party got
their feet on the ground, we started to sprint
for the keep.
Curiously not a single undead was to be found
between us and our destination.
Once at the gates of the keep, we knew we
found what we were looking for.
The drawbridge was down, and the portcullis
raised.
The moat that used to be filled with water,
was now thick and red with blood.
Cautiously we made our way inside.
Party all at the ready.
Once inside the main courtyard of the keep,
the portcullis drops into position.
From a balcony we hear a maniacal laugh sound
out.
“Fools, you come here seeking salvation,
but here you will only find death,” said
a figure cloaked in dark robes.
Before any of us could say anything.
Doors burst open, undead strode through.
Not the same mindless zombies that we had
seen in the town.
No, these were more akin to undead champions.
Suits of plate filled with the bones of their
former owners now stripped of flesh, an unholy
green light emitting from their eyes.
Swords raised, and mocking laughter rasped
out of their fleshless faces.
First to make an attack was the little gnome.
His iron sphere glowing bright flew from his
hands and into the face of the closest undead
knight.
Iron met bone with a cracking sound, the paladin
was next, laying into his adversary with a
mighty swing of this sword, while praying
to his god.
With a blinding flash his foe was smited.
Both ranger and rogue engage their foes in
a battle to the death.
One knight advanced on me, swinging its blade
in a wide arc.
Raising my off hand, I deflected the blow,
leaving a sizable dent in my arm’s metal,
and attacked with my own mace.
Glowing a bright gold, with the energy of
bane undead, the head came crashing down into
the knight’s skull, causing the suit of
armor to topple into a heap at my feet.
Beaten and battered, but still alive, we proceed
to make our way inside, and up.
It was on top of the keep’s tower that we
found the so-called lord of the town, waiting
for us as we came rushing up.
He cast Hold Person on our little group of
heroes.
Somehow, I had managed to make my saving throw,
while my fellow party members did not.
Recognizing what he was doing as we came through
the doorway, I decided to play along, and
came to a halt with my compatriots.
“So, now what do we have here?”
the lord barked out a laugh.
“A group of heroes here to save the day.
I think not.
You will not make it out of here alive.
I will take my time and make each of you a
new undead champion for my army.
I plan on cleansing this world of the filth
of the living.
Not long ago I was like you, ready to help
those I need.
But as I rose in power, I realized something.
Life is meaningless, a virus that seeks to
destroy everything.
I will remake the world!”
He cried out, turning his back to us, believing
our group to be helpless, he continued to
drone on about how many evils he has tried
to correct but always failed.
How the only way to save the world was to
destroy it and start anew.
It was then while his back was turned to us
that I made my move.
Using the rage I felt for that little girl,
whose life was stolen from her.
I charged and tackled the undead lord and
carried him over the side of the tower with
me.
I bellowed with pure rage, and the lord screamed
like a wounded beast.
Down we fell.
Me holding him with one hand, as my other
continued to pummel his face.
The shock of hitting the moat’s surface
briefly separated him from my grip.
Half blind and sinking, I was able to grab
onto his robes as he tried to escape from
my righteous fury.
Down I dragged him with me until my feet hit
the bottom of the moat.
With both hands I pulled him to me, as he
struggled to escape.
He would not see the light of day.
Once my three fingered hands found his neck,
I proceeded to ensure this would be his crimson
grave.
As the last bubble escaped his lips, my rage
set.
I let go.
His body sank further down into the muck.
Slowly I made my way out.
Screams of joy rang out as my head breached
the surface, my party members cheering from
the balcony above.
My DM sat there, speechless.
The next words from him were “You killed
the big bad evil guy.
He was supposed to escape, and you were supposed
to battle him again.”
The DM then said the undead that he had created
stop functioning, and all fall to the ground,
for they were linked to the big bad.
As long as he lived, so did they, but with
his death, their unlife had ended.
A city of undead, a player set on revenge
and a BBEG going down before the DM even finished
their plot arc.
Perfect.
Please let us know what you think and comment
below!
Don’t forget to subscribe to our channel,
All Things DnD.
Our next video will be posted in 2 days, so
stay tuned for more amazing Dungeons & Dragons
content!
