Apparently in my absence the hand of the death god had been preparing. I'll have to talk to Hanlon about his evil pistol someday. That damned thing had harvested all the dead people who weren't taken by the Fire God's damned (seriously Ronerawth apparently got boned and this wasn't even directly my fault this time... directly). The undead were mostly mindless, turned mostly by the magic of the death god into slobbering sad creatures that just attacked at seemingly random. Even with my shoddy sword skills from being unpracticed I managed to carve them up. Aided of course by the suit I was wearing. The only real problem was tiredness. Even with physical assists my arms were getting tired from killing the dead. It got so bad I just set up a wall of flame and sat down. I was at least aided by old runes I'd set up in case the basement had developed some kind of infestation I had to deal with.
So I was sitting there waiting for the runes to break down catching my breath as the dead slammed into them and killed themselves. This went on for three horrifying hours. Like seriously why wouldn't they give up? I mean I know why, but I wanted them to. I really really did. Because it had me wondering exactly how many dead were down there, and what had they been doing. Still they stopped eventually. The runes had held, but the dead had stopped. The light still shone of course. I wanted to leave it there. Wait for my people to come get me, maybe blow the shop up on the way out, but it started talking to me, and so you know how this story goes.
No I didn't sign on the with the gun, good lord, it wasn't anything like that. I just almost did...
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