Tweet of the Day: On Writing – Finding One’s Voice
And ran the Adventurer did, and ran some more, and kept with the running with an horde of burning skeletons at their back. The empty innards of said skeletons were lit by dark flames. Smoke poured out of their eternal grinning mouths and hollow eye sockets. The black plumes coalesced into a thick noxious cloud that cloaked the horde, but did nothing to dampen the click, click, click, of skinless heels as they pounded the ground. Arrows whistled past the Adventurer’s head.
How can they fire through that smoke? Right, no eyes, oh and they are undead, so nothing makes bloody sense.
Ahead of the Hero lay the Cattle Cross a shallow but swift flowing river and beyond that the village of the same name. The Adventurer plunged into the icy water. They struggled against the bone chilling current while more arrows flew past. Several impacted their armor but the tough mithril links of the elven chain mail deflected the blows. The mail was light as silk which neither stop the Hero movement nor weighted them down. The same could not be said of the brand new sword that shattered in contact with the Abomination’s cleavers or the shield that the same monster cleft in two with a stroke of their hatchet. The skeleton army paused at the river’s edge enveloped in the dark cloud. The Hero emerged on the opposite bank.
Don’t want to get wet, eh?
A volley of arrow fire descended on them.
And off the Adventurer went. They ran back to the village of Cattle Cross in a desperate search for a way to defeat the Abomination of the Monastery.