Chapter 9: Climax in the Clearing

  The tension in the clearing was palpable, the only sound the distant crackling of burning wood. Greg’s grip on his battleaxe tightened as he watched Sienna nock a fire-tipped arrow. With a steady exhale, she let it fly.

  The arrow cut through the air in a smooth arc before embedding itself deep into the rotted, gnarled bark of the dead tree. For a few agonizing moments, the fire refused to catch, but then—fwump—the oil-soaked cloth ignited, and flames hungrily began to crawl up the withered branches.

  A sound like an unholy wail tore through the clearing as the undead twitched violently, their movements erratic, as if waking from a trance. Their heads snapped toward the fire, lifeless eyes glowing in the growing inferno’s light.

  “Now!” Aren’s voice rang out as he slammed his staff into the ground, casting Entangle. Thick, gnarled vines erupted from the earth, grasping hungrily at the undead’s decaying limbs.

  Three of the zombies were immediately ensnared, the writhing vegetation holding them fast. Two others, however, managed to break free, turning their vacant, hollow gazes toward the source of their agitation—the party.

  Greg adjusted his stance. “Hold the line!” he bellowed, muscles tensing as he braced for the charge. The ground beneath him trembled slightly. Something about this was wrong.

  Behind him, Cael muttered, “Uh… I think we might’ve woken something up.”

  Greg’s eyes snapped toward the tree. Deep within its charred core, an eerie green glow pulsed, growing stronger with each flicker of the flames. The sigil-marked ground at its base trembled, as though the earth itself was reacting to the blaze.

  But there was no time to consider the implications. The zombies were coming fast.

  Greg roared, entering his Rage, just as the first undead lunged for him. He swung his battleaxe in a powerful arc, burying it deep into the creature’s torso. The force of the blow staggered it, nearly splitting it in two. Despite the grievous wound, the undead still lurched forward, barely clinging to its unholy existence.

  Sienna, seeing Greg engage, quickly loosed another arrow, striking true into the already-wounded zombie. It should have dropped then and there, but something unnatural kept it standing.

  Trevor moved next, blocking the second zombie’s path and slashing down with his longsword. The steel cut through decayed flesh, but the creature did not slow.

  Aren rushed in to assist, staff in hand. With a solid strike, he bashed the zombie’s skull, sending bits of rot flying.

  The first zombie, barely clinging to undeath, swiped at Greg with clawed fingers. The blow glanced off his chain shirt, leaving little more than a scratch.

  The second zombie, facing both Trevor and Aren, struck out at the former.

  The hit landed.

  Trevor let out a grunt as the claws raked across his side, tearing fabric and flesh. He gritted his teeth but held his ground.

  Back at the burning tree, the entangled zombies struggled against their bindings. One managed to rip free from the vines, its grotesque, shambling form now lurching toward the party.

  Sienna, quickly analyzing the battlefield, adjusted her aim and fired another arrow—this time at the newly freed undead.

  A clean hit. The arrow buried itself into its chest, but the creature still moved.

  Cael and his men called out from the rear, “No movement in the tree line—just those three left!”

  Greg wasted no time. With Trevor holding the first zombie’s attention, he maneuvered to flank it, bringing his axe down in a punishing strike.

  The blade cleaved into rotting flesh, cutting deep. The zombie reeled, barely holding together.

  Trevor seized the opportunity, following up with a precise thrust of his sword. His blade found purchase, slicing through the last tendrils of necrotic energy keeping the abomination moving. The zombie collapsed in a heap of lifeless flesh.

  With one foe down, they turned their attention to the next.

  Aren, wasting no time, ran toward the zombie that had freed itself from the vines, intercepting its charge with a well-placed strike of his staff.

  Sienna quickly followed up, loosing yet another arrow.

  The undead staggered but still stood.

  Greg, shifting position to flank the new target, raised his battleaxe high and swung with a roar. The heavy steel met decomposed muscle and shattered bone.

  It did not rise again.

  Only one remained—the last entangled zombie. It struggled against the vines, but the magical grasp of Aren’s spell held firm.

  The party paused for a brief moment, catching their breath.

  Greg turned toward the others, his battleaxe still dripping with congealed rot. “Alright, prepare the Alchemist’s Fire,” he ordered. His gaze then snapped to Sienna. “You keep feathering that last one.”

  Sienna gave a curt nod and nocked another arrow, her eyes locked on the last writhing corpse.

  The plan was shifting. The focus was now on ensuring the tree burned completely—and ensuring nothing else crawled out from underneath it.

  Chapter 10: The Burning Tree

  The battle had ended, leaving only the crackling of the dead tree still ablaze, its flames licking skyward, embers drifting like fireflies into the night. The air smelled of scorched bark, decaying flesh, and something more insidious—something foul that had festered in the cursed wood for far too long.

  Trevor and Aren stood at the ready, gripping the vials of Alchemist’s Fire they had prepared. Greg gave a sharp nod. “Now.”

  The two rushed forward and hurled their vials at the base of the smoldering tree. Glass shattered against the gnarled bark, and with a sudden whoosh, flames roared to life, hungrily devouring the ancient wood. The fire intensified, brightening the clearing with an eerie, flickering glow.

  Greg’s eyes narrowed as he stepped back. “Get clear,” he barked, waving the others away from the inferno. The party retreated a safe distance, watching the blaze swell, consuming the twisted, corrupted remains of whatever unnatural force had lingered here.

  The last zombie, still ensnared in Aren’s Entangle spell, twitched and struggled against the writhing roots that bound it. Sienna, ever precise, nocked an arrow and loosed it. The shaft struck true, piercing the rotting creature’s skull. It shuddered once, then slumped lifelessly, finally freed from its accursed existence.

  As the fire raged on, Greg exhaled and turned to Cael’s crew. “And that’s how you handle a curse.” His tone was gruff, but there was a hint of satisfaction.

  Cael, arms crossed, gave a wary smirk. “Not bad,” he admitted.

  Greg glanced at the others. “We need to make sure that’s the end of it.” With that, he led both parties back toward the tree, its embers now glowing red-hot, casting long, flickering shadows.

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  As they approached, Sienna suddenly halted. “Wait,” she said, eyes scanning the ground. Her sharp vision had caught something—an irregularity in the earth near the tree’s base. She crouched, brushing away loose soil until her fingers traced something solid beneath.

  A sigil. Faint, but pulsing. Necromantic in nature.

  The glow beneath her fingers sent a shiver up her spine. “There’s something here,” she called out, her voice tinged with unease.

  Greg stepped closer, gripping his greataxe, gaze fixed on the unnatural marking. “What kind of something?”

  Sienna exhaled, her brow furrowed. “A sigil. Necromantic. I don’t know if the tree was the source or just a conduit, but this… this is deliberate.” She hesitated. “I don’t like it.”

  Greg rolled his shoulders, letting out a huff. “Well, there’s one good way to deal with this.” He dropped his shield and battleaxe, unsheathing his greataxe in one fluid motion. The others instinctively took a step back.

  Without further hesitation, Greg planted his feet and swung.

  THUD.

  The first strike landed like a thunderclap, splitting the earth. Dirt and stone scattered.

  THUD.

  A second blow. The sigil pulsed angrily, as if resisting.

  THUD.

  A third strike, harder than before. Cracks spider-webbed outward, the arcane markings flickering.

  THUD.

  One last, devastating swing. The ground caved inward slightly as the sigil shattered completely, its glow vanishing like a candle snuffed out in the wind. A wave of stagnant air rushed outward, stale and putrid. Then… silence.

  Greg exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “And that's that.”

  Sienna eyed the disturbed earth, still wary. “We should wait. Make sure nothing else crawls out of this clearing.”

  Greg nodded, then turned to Cael. “We may as well make use of your camp for the night,” he said, leaving no room for debate. “And while we wait… you can tell us all about this contract of yours.”

  The fire crackled behind them, casting its glow over the clearing as the party made their way back to Cael’s encampment. The night was far from over.

  Chapter 11: Campsite Quarrels

  The battle had ended, but the night was far from over. Back at Cael’s campsite, the party gathered around the dimly glowing embers of the fire, exhaustion pressing on their shoulders. Greg stood with his arms crossed, his gaze locked onto Cael, who sat on a fallen log, rolling his shoulder as if working out unseen tension. The rest of Cael’s crew lingered nearby, exchanging uneasy glances as they tended to their own.

  Greg wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “Alright, now talk,” he ordered, voice low and firm. “You’re gonna tell me what you really know.”

  Cael sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I figured you’d ask,” he muttered. “We weren’t just here by chance, you know. We had a contract—nothing special, just recon work. That’s what we were told, anyway.” He hesitated before glancing toward the clearing where the sigil had been destroyed. “But I get the feeling our employer knew a lot more than we did.”

  Greg narrowed his eyes. “Keep talking.”

  Cael shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “There’s talk of dark forces at work. Necromancy. And not just your run-of-the-mill grave robbing, but something big. We were supposed to keep an eye on this region, but not interfere. Just observe. The problem was, every night we stayed, we saw things. Movement in the shadows. A chill in the air that wouldn’t go away. Orders came down to stay put, even when the dead started walking.”

  Trevor scoffed. “So what? You just stood by and let it all happen?”

  Cael gave a tired chuckle, shaking his head. “What else were we supposed to do? We’re not exactly monster slayers. And when we started asking questions, the answers stopped coming.” He looked at Greg directly now. “Whatever’s going on here, someone wants it to happen—or at least, they don’t want it stopped.”

  Greg crossed his arms. “Then you send word. If your employer’s got a clue, they need to know things have changed.”

  Cael nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ll make sure word gets out. Not that I think they’ll be happy about it.”

  Sienna, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. “And what about you? What’s your next move?”

  Cael exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly? We’re leaving. Heading back to Waterdeep, see if we can figure out who exactly set us up with this job. Maybe find a new one while we’re at it.”

  Greg watched him for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough. Just make sure whoever hired you knows we shut this down. And if they’ve got a problem with that—” he let the threat linger in the air.

  Cael smirked. “Oh, I’ll be sure to pass the message along.”

  The rest of the night passed uneventfully. The group took turns keeping watch, but the forest was quiet now. Whatever malevolent force had gripped the land seemed to have faded with the destruction of the sigil. By morning, there was no sign of restless dead, no lingering chill in the air—just the scent of damp earth and burnt wood.

  As the sun rose, Greg stretched, rolling his shoulders before gesturing to the others. “Pack it up. We’re heading to Ormstead.”

  Cael’s crew was already gathering their supplies. He gave Greg one last nod. “Good luck. Something tells me you’re gonna need it.”

  Greg smirked. “I always do.”

  With that, the party set out, leaving the ruined clearing behind, their path now leading back toward town—and whatever awaited them there.

  Chapter 12: Return to Ormstead

  The dawn broke over the forest, casting long shadows as the first light touched the treetops. The eerie stillness that had once gripped the woods seemed to have lifted, replaced by the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. For the first time in what felt like days, the oppressive weight of the undead’s presence had waned.

  Greg and his party stood at the edge of the clearing where the cursed tree had once loomed, now reduced to smoldering embers. The ground where the sigil had been shattered bore no trace of its former corruption. Though their battle had been fierce, they had succeeded. The immediate threat appeared to be gone.

  Cael and his crew prepared to depart, their mission to report back to their mysterious employer now complete. The uneasy alliance between them and Greg’s party held for the time being, though trust was still a commodity in short supply. Greg exchanged a final glance with Cael, offering a curt nod. “It'd probably be best if our paths don’t cross again."

  Cael smirked but said nothing. He and his men disappeared into the trees, leaving Greg and his companions to their own path. Both parties were not sorry to see the others' back.

  * * *

  The return journey to Ormstead was markedly different from their trek into the cursed woods. The air was lighter, the unnatural chill that had clung to the land now dissipated. The group moved at a steady pace, wary but no longer under constant threat. Still, old habits died hard—Greg and the others remained vigilant, expecting some lingering danger.

  As they traveled, they stumbled upon the remains of the zombie bear they had encountered days prior. This time, it was truly lifeless, the dark magic that had animated it now fully extinguished. Greg paused, staring at the once-great beast. For a moment, he felt a strange kinship with the fallen creature. Despite its fate, it had endured until the curse was broken.

  With a solemn expression, Greg took the time to perform a fire rite, setting the beast’s remains alight. Trevor, Sienna, and Aren stood in respectful silence, watching as the flames consumed the last remnant of the undead’s hold on the land.

  * * *

  By midday, the treeline thinned, and the familiar sight of Ormstead’s wooden palisade came into view. The guards at the gate, who had seen them off days prior, straightened at their return.

  Greg raised a fist in victory. “Send word to the captain,” he called out. “I think we managed to smash whatever got the zombies going in there.” He gestured toward the distant woods behind them with his thumb.

  One guard turned to his companion, who quickly darted off toward the barracks. The remaining guard lowered his spear slightly. “You’re saying the whole undead mess is handled?” he asked, skeptical.

  Trevor, brushing soot from his armor, smirked. “More or less. Got a big ol’ heap of cursed firewood still smoldering back there, and a few dozen corpses making their second trip to the grave.”

  Sienna, as usual, simply nodded.

  The guard let out a low whistle. “Hells, if that’s true, you’re gonna be the best news this town’s had in weeks.” Moments later, the first guard returned, breathless. “Captain’s waiting at the barracks. Says to bring ‘em in right away.”

  The group made their way through town, passing curious and relieved townsfolk whispering amongst themselves. Some called them mercenaries, others heroes. By the time they reached the barracks, Captain Eldrick was already waiting at the entrance, arms crossed.

  “About damn time you lot came back,” he said, his gruff tone betraying the slightest hint of relief. “Come inside and give me the full story.”

  * * *

  Seated in the captain’s office, Greg launched into the tale of their endeavor—tracking the undead through the night, battling a small horde of twisted creatures, encountering the rogue operatives, and the climactic battle at the cursed tree. He spared no detail, though his recounting had a bit more flourish than was strictly necessary.

  Captain Eldrick listened intently, his expression shifting from skepticism to grim understanding, and finally to something bordering admiration. As Greg finished, the captain exhaled sharply and rubbed a hand down his face. “Well,” Eldrick muttered, shaking his head. “You certainly didn’t do things halfway.”

  He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a leather pouch, tossing it onto the table. The clink of coins was a satisfying sound.

  “Not sure how much of a collection that is,” he admitted. “But, you all earned it.”

  Greg eyed the pouch, then glanced back at the captain, sensing there was more to come.

  Eldrick leaned forward. “There’s something else. You didn’t just clean up a local mess—you likely saved this whole damn town. We could use people like you.” He let that sink in before continuing. “If you want it, I can arrange for you and your team to stay on in our garrison. We could always use more capable fighters, especially if something bigger was stirring in that forest.” He then smirked slightly. “Besides, you already look the part.”

  Greg looked down at his newly acquired gear—armor, shield, and battleaxe—and chuckled.

  The captain let the offer hang in the air. “No obligation. Just give it a think. Regardless, I’d say you’d be welcomed in Ormstead anytime, mercenary or not.”

  Greg, still eying the coin pouch, gave a lopsided grin. “Well, I’ll think about it… after I get something to drink.”

  Eldrick chuckled, waving him off. “Try not to drink through your whole reward in one night.”

  Greg and his party exited the barracks, coin in hand, with options ahead of them—their journey complete, at least for now.

  SESSION 0 END.

  Up to this point, the combat encounters ran rather smoothly. Outside a few bumps here and there which were easily corrected with a single input.

  But not for this one ??

  It was a right damn chore trudging through this clearing event.

  Not to mention going through all this using the free use limits made it more frustrating because the inputs need to make the correction might lock me in a 2-3h delay.

  And sometimes I would have to wait half a day to continue on.

  So I actually had to go through this scene twice, relatively speaking, after this re-direct. Because the fix I tried to implement in Chapter 8 got lost somewhere in the AI.

  It was also a far longer conversation in the gameplay version because of this and had to be trimmed down in the revision process to cut out the bits that wouldn't make sense.

  Eventually, I rewrote this as the contract this crew took on was a simple scouting mission only for them to watch it take a turn for the worse.

  And the crew would have no idea who issued this contract, even though they seemed to have known this undead curse was gonna pop up in these woods.

  Outside of an exchange of lines here and there being condensed.

  It also helps that the last Session 0 chapter was relatively shorter than all the others.