You push open the rusted and well weathered door of a ramshackle simple farmer’s cottage. The old wench in the tavern boasted so convincingly that the farmer’s wealth wasn’t what he grown, but in the gem vain found in the fields.
So, you took the job not letting the Wench finish the tale. You did not hear the rest of the tale of vengeance, betrayal and death. Years after the farmer found the gems, as one would expect, he grew very wealthy. With the wealth the farmer obtained he was able to amass a grand collection of riches and at the same time the Farmer ran into troubles.
Day after day and year after year as the farmer’s wealth grew the envy and hatred from the surrounding people also grew. At first the threats were nameless and faceless, but soon the threats grew more into the open and out right calls for the farmer the share or else. The farmer had by this time become quite jaded and selfish and he refused to share the wealth that he had amassed. The Farmer soon became paranoid and soon took to have walls built and hiring thugs to protect his person.
Much was fear and he soon looked to the arts of a necromancer to protect himself from the pre-sieved danger. A wizard was of the most cunning nature that farmer was unable to protect himself form the greed of the wizard. The Wizard did what was asked of him but at the same point was gathering support from the hired cut throats which the farmer trusted to guard his boarders. Soon the farmer came to the realization that all his wealth now belonged to the wizard and his hired men were now in league with the necromancer.
After a time, the necromancer ran low on spell components and the Farmer was the answer to the wizards need. That is to say, the farmer’s parts were needed in the Wizards cruel concoctions. In the Wizards greed and vanity, the magic that he was working on, failed. The lab spewed forth a fog that moved quickly covered the lands of the farmer. The men and all creatures caught in the mists we doomed to a fate held only in your nightmares. The flesh of all, once in the mist, instantly putrefied and rotten, life became death and the dead rose to walk endlessly.
That was many years ago and to this day. Many adventures quested for the farmer’s cottage, in which is said to be stored the gems of a thousand lives, a fortune of a massive massiveness. However, the path to the cottage is through a land that is dead in all ways, and the dead keep it.
But all of this was missed by you, your greed defend you to the tale that was meant as warning. You got the directions form the Wench and speed on your way. The path was all what the story said it would be. The dead kept the roads and the fight to the cottage was intense and at many points the life was in the balance and there was a question if it would continue.
The Cottage you found and to the doorway you walked. Pushing the ancient door open you step through and the sight that assaults your mind is unbelievable.
Gems!!! Gems of all types, big ones, small ones, some with a fire blasting within dancing light throughout the small cottage. You run to the far side of the room, drunk with greed your hands fumble with the gems. With your hysterical laughter echoing in the rafters, the door, seemingly by itself swings shut, and with a laud slam and bang the bot in the door is shot. You spin to face the door and through the light which bleeds through the door and that are reflected into the room your eyes see a shape near the door. A shape, maybe it’s a troll? Your nostrils as assaulted and filled with the taint of old sweat, blood, ale, wet leather, and death…. It moves…. And in the pale light you can spot a face….and a horrible scream ….. “Spooooooooooooooooooooon!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The Shape charges you and the last thing you are able to feel though the pain of the axe wound to your chest, is two hands on your hips and a whole new feeling coming from behind.
Cronicles of Astar