O Little Town of Spirodon
After their liberation of the besieged capital, the heroes of Helmsport settled down for some well-deserved rest. For the next few months, the battle against the forces of evil would be someone else’s problem, as the characters returned to home, family, or the open road.
But on a gray, stormy afternoon, an acquaintance of the heroes arrived in Great Rock in search of his allies. Caedrus, the rogue who had previously assisted them in forays into Nightfang Spire and the Shadow Realm, stumbled into town exhausted and drenched to the bone. When Duran arrived at his side, Caedrus related his chilling tale.
Since he hadn’t taken part in the assault on the Warlord’s cave, the rogue had received none of the accolades granted the other characters. Of course, that fit Caedrus’s preference of anonymity perfectly. Thus, once recovered from the adventure in the Shadow Realm, Caedrus had returned to his solitary career. Eventually, he was drawn back to the place where he had first worked with the rest of the characters: Nightfang Spire, the temple-tomb dedicated to the dragon-cult of Ashardalon.
After spending some time in Beloyannis researching the cult, Caedrus traveled to Spirodon, the closest human settlement to the spire. To his surprise, he encountered a quiet, empty town, devoid of any signs of activity. As he investigated further, he spotted a group of travelers entering the village, religious pilgrims seeking shelter from the autumn rains. Suddenly, the tranquility was shattered as dozens of figures appeared from the shadows: shuffling, rotting corpses animated by foul necromancy! Horrified, Caedrus could only watch as a small army of zombies, previously concealed within the homes and shops of the village, descended upon the unsuspecting pilgrims, tearing them limb from limb.
Realizing that he could do nothing to save the victims, Caedrus used the diversion to escape the village. This news had to reach the ears of the Church, but unfortunately, the rogue had a poor relationship with that organization owing to some misunderstandings about “borrowed” religious antiquities and the like. Thus, he set out immediately to find the one cleric of Altius that he trusted: Duran Fortnite of Great Rock.
Duran wasted no time in alerting his allies and contacting the Church. Sure enough, a pilgrimage from Helmsport led by high-ranking cleric Lydia Albinus had set out some weeks earlier for Spirodon, retracing the route of a long-dead saint. This was almost certainly the group that Caedrus had witnessed being massacred in the streets.
Once assembled, the heroes boarded a ship for Beloyannis, the nearest port to Spirodon, and arrived just outside the too-quiet village two weeks later. A brief scouting of the area confirmed the deserted nature of the town, but also found that the humble temple facing the town square seemed to have some activity.
Without further ado, the heroes stormed into Spirodon, their minds set on vengeance for the fallen. The effect was similar to poking an anthill, as the town suddenly swarmed with zombies. Several more powerful undead burst forth from the church itself, led by an armored woman wearing a familiar jackal’s-head helm (previously seen in Nightfang Spire). With a shock, Duran and Alarion recognized the woman as Lydia Albinus, the cleric who had led the doomed pilgrimage. Worse yet, it was clear that she was no longer human: the former priestess of Altius was now a bloodthirsty vampire!
The heroes split up and took positions around the village. Some climbed to the rooftops to gain a better vantage point (and firing position) while others took the fight to the undead leaders of the army. As the tide began to turn in the heroes’ direction, the vampire Lydia animated a wall of bones into an enormous skeleton, but even this only postponed the inevitable. Soon, nothing remained of the undead legion but dust.
The grim heroes regrouped in the town square, their emotions mixed between the joy of victory and the guilt that this horror could have, should have, been prevented. For there was no doubt who was to blame for this grisly scene: Gulthias, the master of Nightfang Spire, had extended his grasp beyond the desolate valley where his tower stood. No longer was the vampire-sorcerer merely a nuisance to be avoided. He was now a threat to the entire region. Though they had fled from his power once before, the heroes knew that they could not do so again. This time, the score would be settled once and for all.
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