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AUTHOR'S NOTES
This is a story I was planning on writing based on my Dungeons and Dragons campaign with my friends. All the main characters are the characters of my friends and I, Arya being mine. I doubt whether I will ever continue with it, seeing as how I really just don't have the time or motivation to finish it, but if I ever do get the urge to continue, I will most definitely post it here for all of you to read.
If you like what you've read and want me to continue on with it, then please don't be afraid to comment on this entry or to send me an email if you're just visiting from another site.

Chapter 1 ~Partially Finished~

Sandirahn
A terrified scream broke the silence of the still, summer night, piercing the air like a thorn pierces soft skin. This scream was followed by others, until not even the wails of the lost souls in Hell could have made itself heard over the chaos. Arya Liadon’s eyes snapped open. Her husband had already been alerted and dragged his wife out of bed, shoving her into the carved, oak hallway.

“Undead!” he shouted in Elven. “Run, Arya!” Arya’s senses sharpened into focus and she pushed past her husband, refusing what he asked.

“No, Aramil! Not without Tharion!” she cried, making a dash for her son’s bedchamber. How did the undead break through the protection spells placed upon the forest of Sandirahn? Arya herself had had a hand in protecting her home using druidic magic. A breach was unthinkable. Before Arya and Aramil had a chance to get to the door of Tharion’s bedchamber, Arya heard her husband yell in surprise. Whipping around, she saw one of the undead make its way through an open window and wrap a grotesquely deformed arm around his neck. “ARAMIL!” she screamed, calling on the forces of nature to aid her in destroying the disgusting creature, but in that split-second of preparation, Aramil’s spinal cord had been brutally torn from his back. Her husband was dead before he ever had a chance to scream. Horrified tears streamed down Arya’s cheeks and she fled down the hallway, leaving behind the gruesome sight of her dead husband and the fiendish grin of satisfaction on the undead’s face as it so maliciously stole Aramil’s life. Arya would mourn her loss later. Right now, she needed to get to her son. Flinging open the door, she immediately identified Tharion, huddled at the back of his bedchamber in fright, covering his long pointed ears in a poor attempt to block out the devastating cries of anguish and destruction all around him. At the sight of his mother, the elf child began to cry.

“Mother… I’m frightened.” he wept. Gathering her son into her arms, Arya fled back down the staircase towards the exit of the ancient tree that was their home, only to be denied escape by another animated corpse, its flesh rotting away from the tendons underneath and radiating its ungodly stench a good twenty feet in all directions. It stood between Arya, Tharion and the exit, baring its teeth and sizing up both mother and child for attack. Turning around, Arya saw that she was surrounded and had no means of escape. Clutching Tharion to her chest, she attempted another piece of magic, this time to protect her son, but this was the wrong move. The moment the undead sensed her magic, they advanced, one of their numbers violently wrenching Arya’s screaming son from her arms.

“THARION!!!” Arya screamed, desperately clawing at the vile monster now tearing her child to pieces before her eyes. A large, painful blow to the back of the head ended Arya Liadon’s awareness…

**********

The eyelashes of an elf druid flickered. Her emerald-bright eyes slowly revealed themselves to the morning sun, shocking the woman’s senses. Arya blearily shielded her eyes with her hand and sat up, pushing her waist-length, smooth obsidian hair from her face. Gently feeling her head, Arya winced. She felt a welt and dried blood beneath her long slender fingers. Looking around, she realized she was still in her front hallway, with its ornately carved designs etched into the wood that served for the walls and the earth beneath her packed so tightly it served as glossy smooth flooring. The only thing out of place was the blood. It coated everything in sight. Arya allowed her eyes to follow the crimson splatters to its main source and screamed. She clapped a horrified hand to her mouth at the sight of the bloodied heap upon the floor beside her that was her son, mangled beyond recognition. Her terrified cry gave way heart wrenching sobs of grief.

“Oh Tharion… oh my poor, poor child…” she moaned over and over again, rocking back and forth on her knees as a madman would. The memories flooded her mind, causing the elf to retch violently. The undead attack, her husband Aramil’s murder, Tharion’s murder… her family had been cruelly torn from her life. The sorrow Arya felt soon bubbled into rage, flowing white-hot throughout every vein in her body . How dare they intrude into her home where she had felt safe and take away everyone she had loved and held so dearly to her heart? What right do they have to slaughter an innocent child of sixty years, leaving her widowed and without a child?

Unsteadily getting to her feet, Arya walked out of her house to survey the damage done to her society. The sight was sickening. Every single tree and home had been burned to the ground, while the charred and beaten bodies of hundreds of elves lay strewn about haphazardly. Some of them Arya recognized, others she didn’t. The undead had long gone, leaving behind only a devastated Elven forest, along with a few deanimated corpses of their own kind from those elves who had been lucky enough to defeat one before being brutalized by an even greater number. Sandirahn was no longer the same forest glade that had served as Arya’s home since her birth over a century ago. It was a wasteland. Not a single living soul, whether Elven or natural was left. There was nothing. This realization dawned on Arya and proved much too difficult to bear. She had lost everything. Her husband, her son, her home, her friends… everything. She ran. Ran as far away from the remnants of evil as she possibly could.

Gurthen
Caelic Firesword stalked down the streets of Gurthen in a temper. He and his companions had been adventuring for almost two weeks without a good fight to the death! The evil dwarf was antsy and restless, stroking his delicately braided beard.

“Caelic!” a voice yelled out. Caelic recognized the voice right away. Illuden’s figure became clearer as he neared the dwarf. “Viet and I were looking for you, but he got sidetracked.” Caelic rolled his eyes. Illuden may be a member of his party, but he certainly wasn’t his friend.

“What do you want… elf!” he snarled. The cleric crossed his arms in exasperation, making it clear that he had heard this insult on hundreds of previous occasions and was getting quite irritated at having to correct this misconception.

“For the last time, I’m a half-elf!” he retorted, tapping his foot impatiently as he looked down on the scruffy dwarf.. Caelic sighed and shrugged.

“Eh, at least you’ve got the decency to be half-human.” he grumbled reproachfully. “What sidetracked Viet?” he asked. Illuden scowled and stuck his nose up in the air to show his disgust.

“Some dirty pub caught his attention. He’s probably drinking himself into a stupor as we speak.” Getting drunk may have been a rather pointless way to pass the time to Illuden, but to Caelic it meant a party! He let out a heartfelt laugh and clapped his hands together.

“Ah, a pub ya say? Why are we still standing here then?” the dwarf demanded, reaching up to grab the half-elf cleric by the scruff of the neck and dragging him along the road until they reached the pub Illuden had mentioned.

Just as Illuden had predicted, their dwarven friend Viet could be seen chugging down a pint of ale, with entire barrels empty beside him. He let out a loud belch and although his eyes had a drunken glassiness to them, the dwarf was still able to stand… barely. “Disgusting.” Illuden sighed, sitting down at a nearby table to watch. The cheering crowd around Viet urged him to down another barrel, Caelic being among the loudest. Grinning, Viet obliged, taking only five minutes to drink the entire barrel.

“Ah, Illuden! Caelic! Great ale, come have a pint!” Viet called out, his voice only slightly slurred. He had drunk quite a lot, even for a dwarf.