Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-2600:8801:2A00:4D6:7D57:5F11:9F39:BFB8-20190827002841/@comment-36855838-20190828220812

I walk into the basement, and grab my grandfather's most treasured possession.

The gnarled, knobby old walkimg cane is cracked in several places, but it still has some power left.

I copy the design as faithfully as possible, carving day and night, until at last I have replicated the Necromancy staff.

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My wife stands at my side, tasting the blood in the air with her hyperactive tongue.

The armies have arrived.

Monsters and humans alike clash, their commanders barking orders, creating wards and blasting barren sooty blotches into the landscape.

Our city rests amongst it all, and the bodies of the dead pile high as the battle continues.

I slink my way through alleyways and hidden passageways, raising mindless skeletons into all shapes and sizes.

Sone walk like men, others are more like wolves or serpents.

The bones are many, and the bones serve me.

The gods and demons may war now, but us necromancers know.

The same worms will eat them, too.