Dame Paynifier Ahalin

Sir Caenarfon Corwen and Dame Paynifier Ahalin strode through the stinking mud of the war camp.  Settled into the hillside, the banners of several houses and the Silver Hand seem to cling together in a desperate and defiant hodge podge of lively color.  In the rising ground to the southeast was Tyr’s Hand, and to the north in all directions an impossible enemy, death itself, a plague creeping ever closer. The tall, black knights marched surely towards the section of the camp hung with the matching black and orange banners of the household they represented.  Their tabards and armors wore the dull grime and dirt of a patrol done.

As the dark pair made their way to the checkpoint at the perimeter of their section of the camp it...

Through the stand of dark trees the undead mage had tried to shelter in earlier, the sounds of rustling leaves and snapping twigs could now be noted by even the most amateur ranger. There slowly shambled a band of undead, larger than the earlier pack. Its size and Caenarfon’s estimation brought a grim smile to Paynifier’s face. She spoke quiet instruction to the party of paladins, “Sir Valis and I will remain here and hold their attention.  Caen, you and Brothers Owen and Bromley sit up on the rocks we came from, and attack their flank when they move in on us.”

With that the group broke.  Caenarfon and the young knights slinking back up to the rocks while Paynifier straightened, and gave Valis a feral grin.  A quiet...

A gentle breeze lifted the fetid scent of death and mold into the air.  On the breeze sung the clangs and shouts of a skirmish taking place on the rocky forest floor below.  The underbrush seemed limp and scant, and the leaf litter thick, presenting a dull backdrop to the trio of brightly armored knights cutting methodically through the ranks of a mob of rotten skeletons and ghoul-like shamblers.  Light flashed from their warhammers and their bright white and rose tabards presented a bold contrast to the dim haze of the dingy forest.

“There they are; we found them.”  A warm and rich woman’s voice declared, relief evident.

“Hold, Sister, wait.  Don’t engage yet.” A man’s eager voice commanded, with perhaps an...

Purplish muck oozed up into the crevices of his hooves.  Each step brought the scent of water, mold, and rot to his nose.  Easily he found purchase with his cloven feet, and balanced himself carefully with his tail as he climbed the hillside.  Stopping to turn; he took in the view of the Zangarmarsh.  Blue and purple mushrooms, many with some sort of colorful phosphorescence, rose overhead and as far as the eye could see.   Their glows reflected in the murky blue shallow lakes and coulees.  A faint warm mist fell from the ever grey sky, causing his cloak to cling damply to his armor.

It reminded him of his childhood, what little joys he had found, while exploring the edge of the marsh near Shattrath.  The stories of elders about...