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It's a tale- about me, told by me, about what happened to me.
The cool wind swept across my grizzled face, stinging me as it passed. I didn't really feel it though. It was wind so cold most men would die from exposure. Not me, I was fine. It was night, darker than most. All around me there was the smell of death. Not fresh either, no this death had been here for a long while. The ground at my feet had recently been upturned and mounds of dirt spaced evenly apart could be seen torn asunder all through the graveyard. I had suspected foul play a few days ago - ya' know, evil shit.
Trapped, I was surrounded by what may have been dozens... no, hundreds of the undead. A normal man would've died on the spot from fear. Not me, I was fine. I lit up another cigarette as they began to enclose. At the drop of the first ash I sprung into action! The sounds of flesh, not mine, ripping and bones, not mine, breaking was all I could hear. They say the undead don't have fear, but I'm pretty sure I saw the expression of terror on all their ugly faces.
-description of the fight-
A zombie swings hard, nailing the man in his hand and knocked away his mace. The man says calmly,
"That was... rather rotten of you."
He then proceeds to punch the zombie's face. After dispatching several foes another creature, this time a skeleton, gets a lucky hit in on his midsection. He smashes the foes around him leaving the skeleton last.
"I've got a bone to pick with you,"
the warrior says as he begins to smash the skeleton into dust.
-end-
Covered in gore, not my own, and mud I walked out of the cemetery. I walked into the inn receiving praise from those not brave enough to confront the threat with me - which was everyone there, but me. The prettiest girl in town came to me asking to tend to my wounds. I denied her help and closed off whatever ever wound I needed to with the end of my cigarette. After all, the only wounds I received were the ones I wanted anyway. How else would they have hit me?
The next day and the weeks after I was the town hero. I was modest about it since I had been so many other town's hero before. Ya know, come in, kill a shit load zombies, then they want you to marry their favorite daughter. Most men would love to settle down, have a family, and forever be the great hero. Not me. For wherever there is a creature of the night prowling the darkness, it's my duty to kill that bastard. It's a burden I have to bear.
A few days back I heard a traveler tell of the land of Sundren. There the dead walk and there is even talk of vampires tormenting the people. As I began to walk out the door the barkeep asked me, "where you headed this time?" "Sundren," I replied coldly. "Sundren? Well that's quite a ways a way eh?" he asked. I stared at him, "Ya, most men wouldn't go." I lit up another cigarette and continued, "But, I've been bitten by ghosts, haunted by mummies, and slapped by vampires. It's not easy being me, but being me is what I do." I then slammed though door behind me. It probably broke due to my strength.
Every step I take toward Sundren the a zombie quivers in fear. It's only a matter of time you unholy assholes... a matter of time before Duke Sterling smashes your heads in with his size 13 boot! Until then, enjoy your time left.
The cool wind swept across my grizzled face, stinging me as it passed. I didn't really feel it though. It was wind so cold most men would die from exposure. Not me, I was fine. It was night, darker than most. All around me there was the smell of death. Not fresh either, no this death had been here for a long while. The ground at my feet had recently been upturned and mounds of dirt spaced evenly apart could be seen torn asunder all through the graveyard. I had suspected foul play a few days ago - ya' know, evil shit.
Trapped, I was surrounded by what may have been dozens... no, hundreds of the undead. A normal man would've died on the spot from fear. Not me, I was fine. I lit up another cigarette as they began to enclose. At the drop of the first ash I sprung into action! The sounds of flesh, not mine, ripping and bones, not mine, breaking was all I could hear. They say the undead don't have fear, but I'm pretty sure I saw the expression of terror on all their ugly faces.
-description of the fight-
A zombie swings hard, nailing the man in his hand and knocked away his mace. The man says calmly,
"That was... rather rotten of you."
He then proceeds to punch the zombie's face. After dispatching several foes another creature, this time a skeleton, gets a lucky hit in on his midsection. He smashes the foes around him leaving the skeleton last.
"I've got a bone to pick with you,"
the warrior says as he begins to smash the skeleton into dust.
-end-
Covered in gore, not my own, and mud I walked out of the cemetery. I walked into the inn receiving praise from those not brave enough to confront the threat with me - which was everyone there, but me. The prettiest girl in town came to me asking to tend to my wounds. I denied her help and closed off whatever ever wound I needed to with the end of my cigarette. After all, the only wounds I received were the ones I wanted anyway. How else would they have hit me?
The next day and the weeks after I was the town hero. I was modest about it since I had been so many other town's hero before. Ya know, come in, kill a shit load zombies, then they want you to marry their favorite daughter. Most men would love to settle down, have a family, and forever be the great hero. Not me. For wherever there is a creature of the night prowling the darkness, it's my duty to kill that bastard. It's a burden I have to bear.
A few days back I heard a traveler tell of the land of Sundren. There the dead walk and there is even talk of vampires tormenting the people. As I began to walk out the door the barkeep asked me, "where you headed this time?" "Sundren," I replied coldly. "Sundren? Well that's quite a ways a way eh?" he asked. I stared at him, "Ya, most men wouldn't go." I lit up another cigarette and continued, "But, I've been bitten by ghosts, haunted by mummies, and slapped by vampires. It's not easy being me, but being me is what I do." I then slammed though door behind me. It probably broke due to my strength.
Every step I take toward Sundren the a zombie quivers in fear. It's only a matter of time you unholy assholes... a matter of time before Duke Sterling smashes your heads in with his size 13 boot! Until then, enjoy your time left.