Lore Pieces #8.2

Our path had become a trail of sorrow and loss. Each time we encountered refugees—families clutching little more than each other or the clothes on their backs—we were reminded of the devastation left by the undead scourge. Homes reduced to hollow shells, fields stripped of life, and belongings abandoned in the desperate rush for survival were common sights. The refugees had carried only what was essential, leaving behind a life’s worth of memories and treasures.

Yet in their gratitude for our help, some offered us guidance toward valuables they’d had to abandon. They spoke of hidden caches of jewelry, family heirlooms, and metal relics, nestled in the ruins of homes or buried near their lands. These scattered treasures, they told us, could aid us if we dared to reclaim them from the forsaken villages now infested with lurking undead.


With heavy hearts and resolute spirits, we ventured into these desolate places. The towns and villages were eerie, cloaked in silence except for the whispering wind that blew through hollowed-out homes and scorched fields. The walls bore signs of frantic, last-ditch defenses; furniture lay overturned, some splintered into makeshift barricades. Yet among the broken beams and forgotten rooms, precious remnants of the past gleamed in the dim light.

In one home, a silver mirror remained unbroken, reflecting only shadows. Another held a forgotten chest under a shattered staircase, with coins and small trinkets still inside. Some treasures were hidden more securely, in cellars or behind bricks, left with hope they’d survive the carnage. The undead had no use for these things and had left them untouched. These treasures, however, held great value for us. They would be melted down, reforged, and repurposed—transformed from cherished possessions into a lifeline for our soldiers.


As we gathered what we could, it became clear just how much potential lay within these ruins. Though sorrowful, these metals would become powerful weapons, shields, and armor, empowering us to press forward. It was as if the memories and sacrifices bound within these items gave us strength, fortifying our cause with every sword reforged from them. The undead, driven by their mindless hunger, could never understand the value of what they had left behind. But soon enough, they would face the consequences of their ignorance.


The refugees moved on, leaving their pasts behind to forge new lives elsewhere. Yet they had given us something invaluable—both their trust and the materials we needed to continue our struggle. With our wagons now loaded with precious metals and relics, we left those ravaged villages, determined to turn sorrow into strength, despair into defiance, and to meet the undead with weapons forged from the remnants of everything they had tried to destroy.

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