The late afternoon sun filtered through the thinning canopy, casting elongated shadows across the forest floor as the companions pressed on. They followed the winding path toward the farmstead, watchful and wary of any lurking threat. A hush settled among them, for they all sensed an unnatural tension in the air—a faint stirring that felt more foreboding than any ordinary woodland rustle. Some distance behind them lay Waterdeep, its bustling streets and safe walls already far from mind amid this quiet stretch of countryside. Before them, there was only the farm, whose recent silence and lack of wheat shipments had drawn their concern.
Their foreboding turned into reality soon enough. Wandering shapes, half-seen in the gloom beneath the trees, stumbled forward—zombies, shambling and decayed, yet moving with cruel purpose. At first, the group counted three of them, but when all was said and done, five emerged from the brush. Two already lay vanquished in earlier skirmishes, their bodies scattered on the ground. Now three remained, each a pitiful but loathsome parody of life.
Thalmiir’s eyes narrowed at the sight of them. Even at his advanced age, the dwarf barbarian was not one to cower in the face of undeath; an indignant snarl escaped him as he hefted his axe. The dwarven warrior’s heart thundered with the old fury that fueled his strength, and he bellowed a warning: if these creatures still possessed any spark of reason, they would do well to heed it. Bhakris Edge, standing near, clasped his shield tighter, ready to channel a divine radiance through his blade. Waer’dara, whip already coiled at her hip, glided forward, drawn by the dark puzzle of these shambling corpses. Meanwhile, Bartholemeow, in his small feline form, uttered mocking jibes that somehow lanced the minds of the undead, even though their vacant eyes suggested little capability for higher thought. Hat, scurrying around stumps and stones, fiddled with a curious contraption that spat jets of fire from afar. And Pebblesong, with a serene focus, summoned the scintillating energy of the stars, hurling tiny shards of light that seared through rotting flesh.
A chaotic dance erupted. Thalmiir’s axe swept in brutal arcs, each swing made more potent by his single-minded wrath. Bhakris seized an opening, chanting a holy phrase beneath his breath, and the edge of his blade flared with radiant brilliance that tore through the nearest corpse. He drove it to the ground in a cloud of dust. Another zombie lunged at Waer’dara, who met the blow with surprising grace, her whip lashed across decaying limbs in a snapping crack of effort. Pebblesong’s radiant blasts arced overhead, one after another, each bolt of starry magic burning away bits of foul tissue. Hat’s tiny bursts of flame flickered in quick succession, scorching the undead. And throughout it all, Bartholemeow’s mocking taunts floated in the air with a sing-song lilt, an oddly lighthearted contrast to the grim spectacle.
Though the reek of undeath pressed heavily upon them, the adventurers soon struck down the last of the three. They exhaled in relief, hearts still pounding. Then, something in the dimness drew Pebblesong’s wary gaze. She was the first to notice the terrible movement along the ground—dead flesh twitching, limbs crawling across the earth as if guided by malevolent puppeteers. It defied reason: these corpses should have been still and silent. Yet the fallen remains tugged toward each other, drawn by some hideous power.
Every pair of eyes fixed upon the ghastly sight. The scattered chunks of broken zombies fused into a hideous amalgam, an oversized monstrosity with mismatched limbs and multiple slack-jawed heads. For an instant, the group stood transfixed by this abomination, and then Thalmiir roared, raising his axe once more. The battle reignited. This time, the undead thing swung outward with a strength born of multiple corpses, forcing them to dodge and weave around its sweeping strikes. Its voices—more like low moans from various disjointed throats—rose in nauseating harmony. But though it was large and gruesome, it was crude, its flesh unsteady and half-rotted.
One by one, they targeted the monstrous growths where the unholy power seemed the weakest. Bhakris’s sword flared again with a divine glow, severing entire chunks that fell to the ground in acrid heaps. Hat focused bursts of fire on the vulnerable seams between rotting arms. Pebblesong continued her measured chant, calling down shimmering star-light that seared through the necrotic amalgam. Even Bartholemeow’s sharp-edged mockery seemed to unravel the creature’s will, his catlike grin equal parts bravado and horror at the sight. Finally, after a series of withering blows, the abomination collapsed under its own weight. In a final surge, it tried to rise again, but radiant strikes had blasted away too much of its stolen vitality. A last shudder ran through its many limbs, and it finally lay still.
Only when the forest regained its hush did they let themselves breathe freely. The smell of decay clung to them, and they all eyed the mingled remains with grim distaste. Thalmiir, stooped over one severed torso, scowled at the lack of any burial garments or identifying features—no cloaks, no boots, nothing that suggested these bodies had ever been laid to rest with dignity. The questions lingered: Had a necromancer hauled fresh remains from a pauper’s grave, or worse, had there been some massacre? No one could say for sure, but the party shared uneasy looks as they wiped off mud and gore, resolved to learn the truth.
Despite the rising dread in their hearts, they pressed on toward the farm. Daylight began to drain from the sky, washing the fields in a dim golden glow. The path grew steeper in places, winding past rough-hewn fences. Soon, a crude palisade came into view. It looked hastily fashioned—thick wooden stakes hammered into place to form a barrier against intruders. Smoke rose from small cookfires within, and a ragged voice called out from behind the fence, the timbre equal parts relief and desperation.
“Have you come from Secomber?” the voice shouted over the gate. “Bless the gods, I knew they’d send help!”
The companions exchanged cautious glances. It seemed the folk within hoped for some official guard or militia. Uncertain how to respond, they stepped forward, peering through gaps in the timber. Shadows flickered across the yard, revealing a handful of buildings no more elaborate than simple barns or storehouses. A man peered back at them, face lined with fatigue. Though his relief was palpable, the worry never truly left his eyes.
The final rays of sun sank low, painting the sky in ominous reds. Through the half-open gate, the party caught glimpses of townsfolk milling about, some carrying farm tools that had apparently been repurposed as crude weapons. Their expressions showed more than fear—they showed exhaustion. Something had driven them to erect this fence in haste, and each newly discovered detail suggested the infestation of undead might be only the beginning of their troubles.
In those final moments of twilight, the companions gathered near the farm’s entrance, unsure what they might find inside. But they had come this far. Whatever secrets these folk carried—whatever lurked in the surrounding fields—they would face it together. And so, with hearts still hammering from their brush with the undead, they prepared to walk through the gate and into a mystery that would demand all their courage and skill to unravel.
Initial Situation and Context Zombie Battle Begins Thalmiir’s Attack Bhakris’s Turn Remaining Zombies Bartholemeow’s Mockery Waer’dara’s Attack Hat’s Attack Pebblesong’s Attack One Zombie Left Zombies Form a Larger Creature Battle with the Zombie Amalgam Aftermath and Investigation Heading Toward the FarmSession Notes