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1998-02-09: The Dead Art Without Rest


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The Dead Art Without Rest

Author: Jasper McCarrin Published: February 9, 1998



I had planned to make my way to Trinsic with little delay, but the events of the past days hath put such plans quite to rest. The undead walk the land in great abundance. Varied sources spread across the realm hath tickled mine ear with this news. Travelers beware – these creatures, if they can truly be called such, attack with fearless abandon. Whether from a jealous craving for living flesh or merely out of boredom after spending a small eternity buried under the ground, nobody within their reach is spared from their grisly attack.

Groups of clacking skeletons are pulling themselves up from the ground in graveyards from Trinsic to Vesper. Now I know what thou art thinking, skeletons are not such a fearsome foe. We all know not to trifle with these thin, pale deathless wonders, but even I could dispatch one mineself if not outnumbered. But these skeletons are accompanied by fleshless mages and bone knights. Soulless warriors of the past and spell spouting ex-wizards. I may not leave mine house for quite some time. Well, except to venture to the local pub, of course. Yet even as the fear begins to make a home in thy gut, a soul-freezing wail is heard within the breeze. Ghouls and spectres and ghosts. Not some unfortunate friend waiting to find a healer, but the long dead apparition of some restless spirit. And mixed in among them walks a non-living thing most foul, loathsome and nauseating. Perhaps the most feared creature in existence (or non-existence, whatever). The zombie. Though I give them much credit by saying they walk. Most limp, crawl or drag their bloated bodies across the intervening distance as they head toward their prey. These evil, repugnant unbeings dribble parts of their decaying bodies upon the ground leaving a grim trail behind them. And though thou dost dispatch them quickly, thou dost then discover the true horror of the zombie. As the strange energy that didst hold them together flees, the putrid, rotting flesh explodes upon you and any who dost stand too near. The fine clothes and armor thou had been wearing should be buried even deeper than were the zombies before they clawed their way to the surface. Even so, the stench will remain with thee for days or sometimes weeks. Many feel that restaurants and taverns should offer outside seating for those who hath recently crossed paths with a zombie. Bleah.

So, dear readers, please take care when traveling the roads of Britannia in the coming days. The reek of the undead is still floating in the air. I know not what has brought this blight to our land, but until it passes beware of every squish, rattle, moan, and clank. Unless thy path doth bring thee close to the Marsh Hall Tavern of Vesper, in which case the clanking could be me with a fresh pitcher of ale and a couple extra glasses for those who don’t stink of zombie.