Elf Captain!
In the heart of the encampment, amid the clamor of swords clashing in training and the low hum of arcane practices, a desperate cry shattered the momentary peace. "Help! For the love of the gods, we've been stricken with corpse poison!" Scar's voice, once booming and full of life, now cracked and rasped through the air like a dry leaf skittering across the ground.
Beside him, the blacksmith named Black fared no better; his situation was dire. Were it not for Scar's trembling support, he would have collapsed into the dust, his body succumbing to the invisible assailant within.
The cry for aid did not go unanswered. Like a storm, a contingent of armored mercenaries, their swords gleaming menacingly at their sides, burst forth from their quarters, rallying to their comrade's side.
"What in the god's name happened to you, Scar?" The urgency in their voices matched the concern etched across their faces as one among them, without hesitation, administered a vial of antidote between Scar's parched lips.
"Aye, how could warriors of your caliber fall prey to corpse poison?" The disbelief was palpable, a mix of awe and fear at the predicament that had befallen their brethren.
But the antidote, it seemed, was but a drop against the inferno of poison raging within. "It's no use! The poison's roots run too deep; we need arcane intervention, now!" The call for a mage to cast purification spells echoed urgently through the camp.
"By the stars, my spells hold no power against this poison! Where is Captain Finn? Only he possesses the skill to navigate this dark tide!" Panic began to lace their words, the situation growing more dire by the moment.
Like a beacon of hope, Captain Finn appeared, his presence commanding silence. With hair as golden as the dawn and skin as fair as porcelain, his ethereal beauty belied his formidable power. Adorned in silver steel armor embossed with golden wheat and mystical runes, he was a vision of strength and purity. The sword at his side, equally splendid, whispered promises of protection and might.
Despite his youthful visage, Captain Finn was an ancient soul, a forest elf whose years spanned more than six decades. His life, dedicated to the mercenary path, had sharpened his skills to an unparalleled edge, his mastery over elven magic deep and varied.
"Fear not," his voice, calm and steady, cut through the mounting despair. Approaching the afflicted, he laid his hands upon them, his touch as gentle as it was potent. Murmuring incantations in a voice barely above a whisper, a divine light emanated from his palms, weaving through Scar and Black in waves of purifying gold.
The transformation was immediate. Color returned to their cheeks, and the oppressive weight of death began to lift. Within moments, the poison that had claimed dominion over their bodies was expelled, its dark presence cleansed by Finn's powerful magic.
Though weakened, Scar and Black stood, their lives pulled back from the brink by their captain's unparalleled skill. The relief was palpable, a wave of gratitude and awe sweeping through the onlookers.
"Scar, walk with me," Captain Finn beckoned, his voice now a soft command. Together, they stepped away, leaving the crowd in silent reverence of the power and bond that defined them.
Inside the confines of his private tent, Captain Finn's countenance bore the gravity of the situation as he beckoned Scar closer. The air was tense, filled with the silent anticipation of a truth yet unveiled. "Scar," he began, his voice a blend of command and concern, "what transpired out there? No creature in these borderlands should have the capacity to reduce you to such a state. Tell me, was this the work of an unfortunate encounter with the deceased?"
Scar's face, usually a mask of resilience, took on a somber shade. "Flea and Dom... they didn't make it," he uttered, the weight of the news hanging heavily between them.
Finn, his eyes shut, absorbed the blow of Scar's words. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with sorrow, "I had feared as much."
Scar delved deeper into the grim tale. "I stumbled upon them too late. Flea had been turned, feasting upon Dom remains," he recounted, the horror of the scene painted vividly in his tone. "I managed to decapitate Flea without sustaining injury, but it was then that his corpse... exploded."
"Exploded?" Finn's eyes snapped open, disbelief etched across his features.
Scar affirmed with a grim nod, "Yes. Both the blacksmith and I were caught in the blast, tainted by the corpse poison."
Finn's brow furrowed in confusion. "But why would the corpse explode? That's unprecedented."
"The manner of their demise might hold some clues," Scar speculated, a bitter edge to his smile. "Flea met his end on the sharp end of a spear and halberd, while Dom... it seems a moose might have trampled him."
"And their garments were removed. Such acts are beyond the behavior of mere beasts."
Through his observations, Scar pieced together a chilling narrative, suggesting a perpetrator far removed from the wild denizens of their world.
Finn peered intently into Scar's eyes, seeking the unspoken truths that lingered in the depths. "Do you believe we're dealing with a human antagonist, or could this be the work of a high-level undead, lurking from the shadowed recesses of the Undead Mountains?"
High-level undead, entities borne from human remnants, possessed a cunning and intelligence that mimicked that of the living, blurring the lines between man and monster.
"Though it bears the hallmarks of human violence, my gut screams otherwise," Scar confided, tapping his temple to emphasize his point.
Finn's nod was one of respect for Scar's intuition. "Your experience has always guided us well. Yet, a thorough examination of the scene is imperative before drawing our conclusions."
"If our foe indeed hails from the darkened peaks of the Undead Mountains, then we, the Eagles, face a threat most grave." The weight of Finn's words lingered in the air, a silent oath to unearth the truth and stand against the encroaching darkness.
Finn's smile radiated a confidence that seemed to light up the dimly lit tent, a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness. "Our expedition into the Undead Mountains was always destined to confront the skeleton general lurking in its deepest shadows, wasn't it?" His voice carried a tone of unwavering resolve, a testament to their original, daring objective.
Scar, unable to suppress a grin that matched Finn's in its ferocity, responded, "Indeed, Long Ears, you couldn't be more correct." The camaraderie between them was palpable, their shared determination a forge for their resolve.
With a decisive gesture, Finn outlined their strategy, "The plan shall evolve. Shield bearers, swordsmen, mages, archers, and priests will band together in quintets, sweeping through the Undead Mountains. Should we cross paths with any high-level undead, they shall be our quarry!"
Meanwhile, a world apart from the strategizing and preparations, Blacksmith Black grumbled his way home, his recovery from the poison leaving him in a less than charitable mood. "Curse it all! Why am I indebted to Scar and the Eagles?" he lamented, the frustration evident in his every step.
He ranted against the injustice of his situation, "Was it not enough that I never sought Scar's antidote? That others decided upon my fate?" His financial woes weighed heavily upon him, "Eight hundred copper coins in debt... How am I to ever settle such a sum?"
His mood soured further upon sighting his neighbor's door, shut tight against potential debt collectors. "Philip, you coward! Hiding from me will not save you!" Black burst through the door, unleashing his pent-up fury upon the unsuspecting boy within.
After leaving Philip bruised and battered, Black issued a chilling directive, "Once you've recovered, make yourself useful to Captain Wolf of the Eagle Regiment. Understand?" He referred to the formidable orc captain known for her strength and fearsome demeanor, hinting at a disturbing solution to their financial dilemma.
Satisfied with his machinations, Black left, his spirits lifted by the prospect of settling his debts through such means.
In the aftermath, Philip lay on the ground, a mixture of pain and hatred boiling within him. "Power... I must attain power," he seethed, the determination to rise from his current plight igniting a dark ambition within him.
In a desperate, final act, Philip turned to a forbidden ritual, willing to pay any price for the strength to change his fate. With blood flowing freely from his self-inflicted wound, he whispered his dark plea into the night, ready to sacrifice everything for a glimpse of power.