With everyone gathered back up together again, Gregor felt a chill run along his spine, and tasted the oh so familiar smell of a midden heap that left a bad taste in his mouth. The overwhelming silence that seemed to hang over this place, suddenly broken apart by wailing moans that had Gregor spinning around. The chill cold in the air, somehow grown stronger as he caught sight of movement in the alleyway, his first thought was that it had to be magic, when orcs lumbered out of the shadows.

Only they weren't orcs anymore.

Flesh rotted from their bones, they wailed like wraiths haunting a burial ground, their eyes white with undeath, and lurched towards them with upraised arms.

Forced to hack off a limb that latched onto his shoulder, Gregor fell back as Guiram roared, "push forward!" His voice dimly heard over the wailing moans as more undead orcs poured through the side streets with flailing arms and gnashing teeth.

Unwittingly caught in a tidepool of flesh, Gregor hammered his longsword relentlessly into the face of a wide tusked orc, before it stumbled backwards with a missing nose.

Bellowing again to move as the elf notched arrow after arrow to his bow, they charged together along the paved stone streets. Selese her bow drawn as well, linking up alongside Gregor as he flashed his sword in a blur of steel that worked to keep clawing fingers at bay, while she sent arrow after arrow into eye sockets. Then it suddenly dawned on Gregor that something was not right.

Back alleys clogged all around them with undead, it seemed strange that the only way clear for them was straight ahead into the light alone knows where. If he were a betting man, Gregor would have said it was a trap.

(Try to break through.)

And shouted as much to the others, but with their focus being entirely on survival, few of them heard his cry, while the rest of them shot him confused looks.

(Break off.)

Eventually having had enough of being led by the nose, Gregor abruptly broke off into one of the side streets, his feet pounding hard against the stone surface, when he was hit by a swarm of undead, wriggling out of windows, pouring out from doorways, and coming up from the sewers.

Heart threatening to explode with panic, he felt his back, chest, and arms clawed to ribbons as he fought to free himself from the thick tangle of bodies, when he tripped and fell, or thought he had, and watched a fleshless orc crawl towards him. The whites of its eyes blind with hunger as it bit into his thigh.

Letting out a scream as he felt teeth dig into him, he tried to wrestle his way free, when he heard a snap, and everything became dark.

Death

(Stay together.)

Seeing no other choice but to continue on ahead despite knowing it was a trap, he muttered a curse, and prayed he knew what he was doing.

(Keep moving.)

But without any other choice but to continue on ahead, he thrust that fear aside.

+1 Morale.

And smiled as he saw the stocky old dwarf lopping off arms and legs like a bloody woodcutter, while the trio of minotaurs he hadn't bothered to learn the names of, punched a hole right through the throng of undead with such brute force that Gregor thought he could hear the rattle of their skulls.

Booted feet loud on the stone pavement, Gregor had half a mind to burn this place down to the ground as the stink of death worsened, but doubted very much that it would have been an improvement. Mouth covered with one hand, he skirted past overturned carts, barrels shattered to cinders, and debris from houses that looked to be half-demolished with walls missing.

That sinking feeling he had gotten in his chest ever since coming to this place, growing all the stronger, when the streets opened up into the marketplace. Made up of a collection of mismatched wooden stalls that should have been set up in neat rows beneath a great white pavilion, Gregor took one look around, and felt the air escape his body.

The sudden overwhelming silence as the undead vanished, leaving Gregor gaping openly, longsword covered in congealed blood, while all around him a scene unfolded from a nightmare. Bones littered the ground like a carpet of death, and piled high all around them were mangled corpses that oozed blood, and innards that had been drenched in the suns.

Morakon, probably the youngest of the group was the first to keel over, hacking up his lungs, his light tan skin a sickly white, while Selese looked just about ready to do the same.

If Gregor had ever wondered what had happened to the people here? He'd need wonder no longer, although why the undead had driven them here was another question?

Lips compressed tight from the noxious stench, he decided it was time to leave this place far behind, when he saw Selese, Guiram, and all the others staring at something behind him.

The cold familiar tingle of danger, filling Gregor with a rush of heart pumping adrenaline as he swung around slowly, and saw a gigantic grey-skinned monster lying there in the middle of the street. The voice which had been silent for so long in his mind, whispering, "you are in danger, my champion." As though stating the obvious would help him, when huge round eyes the size of boulders blinked open, blue pupils widened in surprise, before it boomed, "mmm, I smell food!"

The first words that fell from Gregor's lips. "Shit," before he spun on his heels, and started to run, when he realised the others had all frozen in place. Guiram's puckered scar twitching frantically as the rest of the fools gaped in disbelief.

No time to go back for them, he roared, "run you piss drinking worms! Run!" And saw Guiram shake himself out of his stupor, before the battle hardened elf began pushing and shoving those around him with Haddwel grumbling aloud about being too old.

Arrow drawn from her quiver, Selese glided back over to Gregor, her expression tight with worry as they simply ran. The thought of going up against such a beast churning Gregor's insides, when he half stumbled on a stone pavement, and looked up to find a wall of undead, their sightless white eyes gazing into nothing as they swayed in the afternoon breeze.

Releasing a whimper of fear, Morakon asked, "what now?" His voice unable to hide his anxiety as the young man with barely a whisper of black hair on his chin looked to Guiram.

Stern green eyes hard as steel as the elf glared back at Morakan, he exchanged looks with Gregor. "So, round ears, which way do you think will give us better odds?"

Head already shaking from side to side, Gregor wished he knew. From what he remembered of giants, the only way to kill one was to climb up to the base of its head and stab its weak point. Whereas, a battle through the undead might actually be simpler in theory, supposing they could survive long enough to get through all of them alive.

What do you do?

Choice 1. Take on the giant?

Choice 2. Try to fight through the undead?