The Fall of Amacori

From the Ashes

Just as Ignatius excepted, the hammer of the undead fell hard upon the small village of Latour-Maubourg. The party fought hard to defend the town from within it’s walls but the tide of undead was unstoppable. Ignatius and the party were forced to fall back, retreat into the sewers, and set the charges to destroy the entire village. It was a painful thought, destroying an entire village, but the party took pleasure knowing that many undead soldiers would meet their destruction along with Latour-Maubourg.

Sadly through the victory did not come without a heavy cost, Pomosa, a traveling monk, only in the village to visit the birthplace of Edward Keys but still volunteered to help defend. Whether it was the deathly moans or the fact that the undead had surrounded them, Pomosa snapped and charged head first into the sea of undead. He was quickly swallowed up right before the party’s eyes, once again reminding them the scope of this threat.

Warren Rodrick also lost his life while defending the eastern wall when an explosion caused by an undead goblin brought down the wall from under Warren’s feet. Warren showed great bravery under immense pressure and died a hero among men.

Reguardless of the losses, Ignatius and the party emerged from the sewer, the mourning’s sun warming their hearts. As they looked back they could see smoke billowing from the creator that once was Latour-Maubourg. But the scene was silent, no moans or growls or cries, it was almost pleasant. Ignatius knew that this moment would not last long, so he gave the party instructions on how to locate one of The Five Maces of Pelor, while he and the others would head east and try to join with the rest of the Amacorian army.

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The Beginning of the End

The morning mist had just began to fade as the sun peeks over the Eastern horizon. Hundreds, if not thousands, of undead march towards the small village of Latour-Maubourg. The endless moan of the walking dead echos deeply across the barren field the surrounds the village, a slight breeze carries the stench of the rotting corpses into the nostrils of every villager. The party can not help but feel disheartened and disillusioned as the battle slowly approaches for just last night did the news that New Dawn had fallen to the undead. It was unsure how many, if any, of the Amacorian army survived, it was rumored that the King himself had died along with New Dawn. The party had always hoped that the great armies of Amacori would one day rise up and crush the terrible undead, but the great army of Amacori could no longer be trusted. The last place the party could put their trust is in Ignatius, their leader. All of his predictions had come true, save for his final one, in which he predicted that all of Amacori would be in ruins within two years.

Even with his grim predictions Ignatius fought to the bitter end every single day against the undead threat. His body ravaged with scars, his face weary from too many sleepless nights, and his eyes as dull and lifeless as the enemy he fought. As he stands atop the village wall, peering out into the damp field he looks calm and cold. To the average onlooker Ignatius does not look like a great warrior or leader, if he were to take off his plated armor and set aside his mace one might assume that his profession was that of a school teacher, maybe in another life it was. He rubs the head of his mangy but undoubtedly loyal dog, Antioch, and takes a long toke on his small pipe. As he blows the smoke from his mouth, he calmly tells the party, “They’re here.”

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