So there I was. Ahead. The Undead is the weakest faction. Since ages forgotten, these hallow lands have been desecrated. Ransacked, pillaged of its inheritance, its power, its wealth, its honour; camped and farmed, by the lowest level adventurers, who rotate their shifts to share the experience and riches, to ensure the Undead legion never returns to its former glory. Like a playpit for spoilt children, caretakered by the occasional ‘slightly higher’ leveled adventurer.
Oh. Did I say I was ahead? I meant a head. A gaunt, shriveled one, brazed to the back of a large, undead snail, lured by the warmth of kindling fire. As was I. For my old eyes see only shapes. Jovial, noisy shapes, enraptured by their own strung racket. Even without musical charms their instruments still grated my skull. With every high note, I ground another tooth to cracking. They did this to me. Bards. I despise bards. Those drunkards, those repugnant squishbags, those weak adventurers driven by cupidity and ego, hours into their cups. How dare they dance and laugh. How dare they frolic in my presence. How dare they ignore me. Where do they think they are? These are the sacred unholy lands, not their playground. How did it come to this? To what end must we suffer this insult?
There are other territories, filled with powerful creatures and alliances, favoured and protected by the dungeon master, with enhanced spawn rates, increased treasures, and rarer creatures to defend their monarchs. But, that's going to change.
A floppy shape staggered up and belched, then loomed over the severed head, followed by the sound of a zipper. Before the fruity fragrance of wine and pungent cologne could repulse the head’s senses, the taste of urine filtered through the hole in its skull, through the hollows of its eyes, and out through its mouth. A hot mist steamed from the skull and obscured the red glow from deep within its eye sockets. When another one, gentler pitched and slighter, crept up from behind the figure and reached around the front of the offender then whispered in his ear.
‘What do we have here?”
The man startled and stumbled in his own mess. He reached out to guard his fall, the both of them entangled and brought low by their own debauchery. His fingers fell firmly in the head’s mouth that had widened with bloodlust at the chance.
The head’s teeth clattered shut. The man yelped and withdrew in fright, while the other figure gasped and fussed over him to a background chorus of laughter and applause.
[Cursed Saliva reached lvl 2!]
She tutted. “Whinging like a baby when it barely cut you?”
“I thought it took my fingers!”
“Ha! It can barely close its mouth. Lucky it didn’t take something else!”
The man paused, then said “...surprised it even drew blood”.
But drew blood it did. The head gnashed its red teeth and scowled, its pickled brain soggy with piss, and with all the effort it could muster, it grinned with malice.
The softer voice broke first.
“...is that head...smiling at us?!”
“No… Couldn’t be… They’re just mindless monsters”
“Beirk, it’s scaring me!”
“Now who’s the baby?”
“Let’s get away from it. Come on, I’ll wrap your fingers”
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
--
Several hours passed. The fire had faded to crackling embers. The bard and his band slept.
‘No…’, thought the head, ‘It couldn’t be?’
The one he bit had tossed and turned throughout the hours. His condition worsened. His breath could be heard above the rest of them, and his cough once started did not abate.
‘Impudent knaves! Would they dare travel our lands without curse protection?! The insult! It cannot be! I won’t believe it!’
When the man’s breath slowed, thinned, then eventually stopped.
There was a moment of intense bewilderment when the message he hadn’t seen in aeons flashed in his mind once again.
[You’ve slain a lvl 7 human bard]
The leathery head’s teeth shivered with excitement.
[Experience awarded]
[You leveled up!]
It watched. Atop the shell of its singed ally, the head circled the embers with the passage of time, the glow reflected in its pearlescent eyes that fixated on its victim. When it happened. The dead man twitched his foot. The head chattered its teeth once again. Slowly the corpse rose from its slumber and shambled over to his nearest cohort, his female companion, who openly embraced him under the furs. Whispers turned to yelps, which turned to shrieks, which woke the rest of them. The head delighted in the chaos. There was a brawl. They tussled and argued and screamed, truly these bards were singing beautiful songs, finally, music to his ears, when once the fever pitch had simmered down, it happened again.
[Through your curse, a lvl 5 human bard has been slain]
[association experience awarded]
[You leveled up!]
Another victim. They were beside themselves. Their anguish, their sorrow, their rage. The head breathed it all in. He’d waited so long for vengeance.
“What about me?! I haven’t been bitten! Why should I wait with Sherese? She’ll turn like the others!”
“Someone needs to stay to keep her safe. We drew straws fair and square. Unless you want to carry her through the dungeon? We’ll-” The man interrupted himself with a cough, “-we’ll run back to town for curse talismans and potions. So just hold tight”
‘Town?’ Thought the head. ‘Have humans really built settlements on unholy land?’
The three remaining figures split. Two moved off into the gloom beyond the head’s blur, while another sat beside his companions. Two corpses, and one feverish girl.
Several more hours passed. The man had wrapped himself in furs and continued to mutter into the fire. When it happened again.
[Through your curse, a lvl 7 human bard has been slain]
[association experience awarded]
…
[Through your curse, a lvl 8 human scout has been slain]
[association experience awarded]
[You leveled up!]
Then the feverish girl croaked her final death rattle.
[Through your curse, a lvl 7 human bard has been slain]
[association experience awarded]
The lone survivor slumped back against his packs and into his hands. How long had it been since the head looked at its status?
[Cursed Head]: lvl 4
HP: 3 / 5
MP: --
Strength: 1
Toughness: 3
Agility: -17
Intelligence: 6
Willpower: 5
Magic Affinity: 3
Skills:
[Passive: cursed saliva](lvl2) slowly drains the lifeforce from living creatures. Converts the lifeforce of living creatures into cursed energy, bolstering the ranks of undead.
Resistances:
(Natural) Cold Resistance: Immune]
[Curse resistance: Immune]
[Dark resistance: Strong]
[Nightmare resistance: Strong]
[Elemental water resistance: Weak]
When one of the corpses twitched. Then another. Before long, two zombies shuffled towards the slumped figure of a broken man, then fell on top of him. The man had little time to react. The glint of something from his side was raised high and plunged into the falling corpse, but it was too late. They were upon him.
The head could only rattle in amusement, in joy, his enemies had been defeated this day, and it was all its doing.
The crunch and crack of human flesh and bone serenaded his senses. The man had screamed his last lungful of painful terror when finally, it happened.
[Through your curse, a lvl 4 human bard has been slain]
[Association experience awarded]
[You leveled up!]
[You’ve reached max level(5). Transformation available]