Captain Daggrande has been a warrior his entire life, which some of his dwarven kin says he is older than Mt. Waterdeep itself—though not to his face, nay. These dwarves may also say, with sincere admiration, that Daggrande is exceedingly loyal to his friends, to his kin- the Melairkyn Legion, aye and to General Grumphery; which is why Daggrande responded at once when the General summoned him.
“Wher’s the fight’n at?” Gustaf Trueshot asked as Captain Daggrande trundled past the over enthusiastic axe musketeer.
“No fighting today Trueshot, I have orders to see General Grumphery.” The captain said, not slowing in the least. Daggrande could not help but feel pity for Gustaf because despite his birth-name; a true shot Gustaf was not. A fact that led to his fashioning that odd axe-musket weapon, a combination scatter-shot and hand axe, as well as Gustaf being refrained from formal armed service. Daggrande could hear Gustaf trying to keep up, but the din of his pursuit quickly faded out behind him. Daggrande would see him again soon he thought with little eagerness.
After three security check points Captain Daggrande was led into General Quintin Grumphery’s war-room. The General as well as two others were hunkered over what Daggrande recognized as a map Underhome, it was made of many tattered pieces and was mostly incomplete. One dwarf was Blok Grimface, whom Daggrande knew quite well while the other he only knew from the dwarf’s reputation. He was Savin Lightguard (and his war-drums of deafening), champion of the Melairkyn and blessed of Clangeddin.
Daggrande greeted them all in kind, joined their palaver only to be startled to find a black skull staring at him from the center of the piecemeal map.
“Well, well.” Daggrande said as he reached out to examine the skull, but pulled back quickly when he felt the cold radiating off of it. It started to thrum, then shake, and suddenly the skull exploded sending black bone shards darting around the room.
“What is all this now?” Daggrande inquired as he recovered his wits.
“Something is causing the dead to rise to become what you just saw: black-skull skeletons” General Grumphery explained looked from Savin to Daggrande.
“It may be mischief from this mad-mage we have learned about.” Blok theorized.
“Perhaps,” said Savin. “But I bet me axe that our problems are about to double I warrant.”
Blok screwed up his dwarven features in confusion; he now looked like he had just tasted something sour.
“Because,” Daggrande concluded. “As we rid our Underhome of her monsters and vermin; we will have to contend with them yet again as skeletons unless we take certain precautions or soon this whole level will be roaming with undead."
With understanding Blok handed down orders: From now on each creature slain to reclaim Underhome will have one of its feet removed.