D&D Pre-game 10-14-17

The sun set 26 hours ago.

A hunched figure shuffles along a small dirt path toward a small marble building.

Small objects fall from his person as his pace quickens.

As he approaches the building he stops and studies the door. It is made with twin pieces of polished marble. Set in the center of the door is a golden warhammer crested with a set of scales. He reaches toward the door and pulls his hand back as the skin begins to fizzle and pop.
He reaches out again toward the door and recites a series of phrases in a language none have heard in ages. The golden crest begins to melt and the stone doors slowly begin to swing open. The figure shuffles inside.

He looks upon a small single room. Two small statues of warriors in heavy armor flank the door. Scones line the walls.  A simple stone platform stands a few feet in front of the figure. Atop it rests a shrouded body. Behind this platform is a set of finely crafted and detailed plate armor.
The figure shuffles forward and then stops and smells the air.

“You can come out now. Just because you can travel the shadows doesn’t  mean you can mask your presence from me.”

A thin figure drops form the ceiling beside the suit of armor without making a sound. He lands with a flourish and bows before the figure in the doorway. He then stands, adjusts his purple and black judogi.

“Enough of your theatrics. Did you bring the sample?”

The newcomer approaches and retrieves a small metal vial from a belt pouch. He places it on the platform next to the body. He then bows and takes a few steps back toward the wall.

The robed figure shuffles forward to retrieve the vial. He then opens it, smells the contents and then pours a few drops onto the back of his hand. As the fluid hits his skin it begins to smoke and burn the exposed flesh. The robed figure forms a frightening smile with his lipless mouth.

“Tell your masters that this will do and that I require twelve more like this. Then and only then will I help with the rituals your little organization requires. Do we have and accord?” The robed figure says to an empty room. “ I will accept that as a yes.”

There is no answer.

The figure reaches into a pouch and draws forth a severed finger. He then begins to draw symbols and glyphs along the floor. He then begins to whisper words from a long dead and dark language. The glyphs begin to glow. Green flames shoot up from the wall sconces. The form beneath the shroud begins to twitch. The figures voice begins to rise. The floor of the building begins to crack. Scores of small segmented worms and maggots crawl from these cracks. The metal on the stored suit of armor begins to turn red and white like it is being heated.

The robed figure approaches the platform and pulls the shroud from atop the body. He then pours the small vial of fluid onto and into the skull and then step away all the while continuing his chant. The worms on the floor crawl up the platform and begin to burrow into the corpse. The body begins to violently shake.

A violent wind rushes into the room. The green fires in the sconces are extinguished. The fog dissipates. The worms begin to die and drop off  onto the floor. The corpse stops moving.

“Rise. Rise first of my champions.”

The corpse atop the platform slowly sits up. The once empty eye sockets are now alight with a green corpse fire. It looks upon the robed figure and lets out a scream. A blood curdling scream that is a mix of pain, anger and sadness. A scream that would make the fabled banshee cower.

“Good. Good. You remember pain and anger. I can use that. Now go arm yourself. We have to wake your brethren.”