The kitchen door slams into the wall with a bang as Fetch bursts through it. The cook, a half-elven woman, has pressed herself up agains the farthest corner of the room. The pounding on the door is louder now, and the wood around the lock is starting to crack and splinter. A heavy hand crashes down upon the glass of the window, shattering it into dozzens of shards. Through the gaping hole, the blank, mindless faces and clumsy, exagerrated motions of several undead can be seen out in the night.



Out on the street, Gronth and Templar can see the whole of the street. The inn sits at the north-western corner of a T shaped crossroads, To the east, the streetlamps cast small pools of light down the whole of the block, illuminating the shadowy fronts of homes and shops and a number of shambling, humanoid forms. To the west, the road splits to the north and south. You can't see around the inn to see much of whats down the road to the north, but you can see a distance to the south, and the view is just as grim as to the east.

Of more imediate concern are the dead that are shambling from the alleyways across from the inn. There are four of them on the street right now, but from the screaming coming from the inn's kitchen, you don't doubt that there are more of them in the darkness.