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"Many people have walked this world, and many have died. If we must suffer the scourge of the undead, then let us be grateful that the bulk of them become such wretches as the undead skeleton and the equally wretched zombie, and nothing worse.

The skeleton is the common foot soldier of the undead. Alone, the skeleton is weak. But the greatest problem with the skeleton is that it is so rarely alone. Whenever a foul-souled necromancer animates fleshless servants for his house, he animates many. Whenever an ancient battleground rings with steel once more and the blood of the new war-dead stains the bones of the old, the bones rise as an army. And wherever these skeletons gather in great numbers, they bear on their shoulders the threat of surrounding those who number but few, then cutting them down with the sheer weight of those numbers.

Skeletons may also be animated from the bones of creatures who are neither human nor elf. In my time, I have faced the skeletons of jackals, wolves, lions, minotaurs, ogres, basilisks and more. Two centuries before this writing, a fleet of five Hrothjurgandr longships were crossing the Sea of Opalescence when they were beset by the skeleton of a sea serpent draped in the tatters of its rotting skin, lunging from the depths as though vomited forth from Umberlee's throat. And in more recent days, one of my colleagues, Sharid Tagwarad by name, climbed Mount Perilous to reclaim the Holy Brand of Saint Merwitt from the tomb of a long-dead emir among the fire giants. The brand was kept by one guardian: the bones of the emir himself, rising from his sarcophagus to tear stones from the masonry and hurl them at Dawnsword Tagwarad with great force. So great was the giant skeleton's might that Tagwarad was forced to hasten back down the volcano's face and recover from the blows. He led two more raids on Emir Kurliumandr's tomb before the skeleton was defeated and the lost relic was reclaimed.

But the transition from fleshy life to fleshless undeath has stripped much from the skeleton, its mind being its gravest loss, followed with whatever unearthly powers it once possessed. A medusa's skeleton can no longer turn a man's flesh to stone, nor can a dragon's skeleton take to the heavens and belch fire onto hapless villages below. A skeleton is also wanting for autonomy and self-reliance; necromancers find this trade desireable, as would any slaver. Animate a skeleton and command it to stand watch at your treasure vault, and it may still be standing there long after your grandchildren are dust.

But this lack of mind and will also presents a two-edged sword for the skeleton and its enemies: an absolute lack of cunning, coupled with absolute fearlessness. We may recall the Raid on Lithis Tor in Ancient Omikoros, where Vorlimus the Lotus-Eater seized the Trumpet of the Bone Fields and used it to raise a vast army of skeletons, then turned his greedy eyes to the gold-mining town of Lithisolis. On seeing the great undead army marching their way, the people of Lithisolis shattered the Dragon Dam, unleashing a torrent of lava from the bowels of Lithis Tor. The Viamanthe River exploded in a magnificent bank of steam as the rushing lava drove the water out, and the river became a great lava floe between Lithisolis and Vorlimus' forces.

On seeing this, Vorlimus ordered his skeletons into four columns, then commanded them to cross the floe and slay everyone in the town. Anyone who has ever seen lava knows that, though it flows, it is nothing like water: a man who has the blessings of the efreet may stand on lava as though it were solid earth. But the skeletons had no such blessings and, four at a time, they set foot on the lava. And they were swiftly burned and reduced to ash. And yet the skeletons behind them heedlessly marched forward, as did the ones behind them, and the ones behind the next rank. And the people of Lithisolis gathered at the bank to watch skeleton after skeleton blindly and suicidally march onto the lava and meet its end. And the people filled the sky with laughter, amused with the skeletons' utter stupidity. Then they went to their beds and slept as night fell, assured that the blood of Lithis Tor would keep them safe.

But grave was their peril, for the lava was slowly covered in a creeping blanket of bone ash and black carbon beneath the army's relentless march. And the blanket of ash and char grew so thick that the skeletons could walk further and further across the river. Before the night's end, so many skeletons had perished to the lava that their scorched remains formed a gray, macabre bridge. And though Vorlimus had lost most of his army to Lithis Tor, there remained enough skeletons to creep into the town and butcher the people of Lithisolis in their beds. And that is exactly what they did.

But skeletons are easily outwitted, and their strengths and weaknesses do not end there. Because they lack flesh, skeletons are impervious to even the most horrid frost, and the winters of the distant North do not slow them in the least. Obviously, poison is useless against them, pestilence means nothing to them, and a carrion crawler's tentacles will not cause a skeleton the slightest impediment or annoyance. Weapons which pierce or slash tend to be light in weight, relying on their own sharpness to wound flesh and spill blood. But the skeleton has no flesh or blood, so expect your fiercest spear thrusts or axe swings to reap no more than mere scratches and nicks. In the stead of such weapons, take up the truncheon, the mace, the quarterstaff or the hammer. Undead bones break and shatter as easily as living bones do, or perhaps easier still. And thus, with far fewer blows, you shall return the skeleton to dust."

(Entry One: The Skeleton, from 'The Cold Womb: Al-Shadan's Journal on the Undead,' a collectible resource from my online 3rd/3.5th Edition Dungeons & Dragons campaign, 'The Fall and Rise of the House of Ainsley.'

'The Cold Womb' was the journal in which Yurel ben al-Shadan, Paladin of the sun god Pelor and slayer of the undead, detailed his many encounters with the innumerable undead scourges of all Ardonia as well as his findings on their strengths, weaknesses, conditions of creation and other such potentially useful discoveries. With the aid of his allied monks and nuns in the Order of the Radiant Chalice, his journal was hand-copied into many duplicate books, then distributed by the Church of Pelor into the hands of priests, templars, monks errant, vampire slayers and other holy defenders who exhibited the needed talents and inclinations to confront and destroy the blighted bodies and corrupted souls of undeath in all its forms.

Unfortunately, after Al-Shadan's final death from old age less than three centuries past, a maleficent alliance of the many powerful enemies he had earned in his lifetime — be they archnecromancers, vampire ancients, unholy orders or agents of the Gods of Undeath themselves — sought to erase his legacy by tracking down these many copies of 'The Cold Womb,' striking down their bearers and destroying the books. While many such copies were torn asunder or put to the torch by these enemies of Al-Shadan and of the holy church which he served, some of the pages torn from these books were hidden or otherwise spared from destruction, and their preserved journal entries may yet be unearthed by wayfarers in their adventures and claimed. While it may be possible that a a rare few complete, intact and well-hidden copies of 'The Cold Womb' continue to exist, none have yet been recovered.

May the adventurers who collect these entries from Al-Shadan's journal benefit from the knowledge they impart, the better to gird themselves against the many breeds of undeath and to fell such cursed bodies and souls more swiftly, more efficiently and with greater, more certain finality.)

Description
"Many people have walked this world, and many have died. If we must suffer the scourge of the undead, then let us be grateful that the bulk of them become such wretches as the undead skeleton and the equally wretched zombie, and nothing worse.

The skeleton is the common foot soldier of the undead. Alone, the skeleton is weak. But the greatest problem with the skeleton is that it is so rarely alone. Whenever a foul-souled necromancer animates fleshless servants for his house, he animates many. Whenever an ancient battleground rings with steel once more and the blood of the new war-dead stains the bones of the old, the bones rise as an army. And wherever these skeletons gather in great numbers, they bear on their shoulders the threat of surrounding those who number but few, then cutting them down with the sheer weight of those numbers.

Skeletons may also be animated from the bones of creatures who are neither human nor elf. In my time, I have faced the skeletons of jackals, wolves, lions, minotaurs, ogres, basilisks and more. Two centuries before this writing, a fleet of five Hrothjurgandr longships were crossing the Sea of Opalescence when they were beset by the skeleton of a sea serpent draped in the tatters of its rotting skin, lunging from the depths as though vomited forth from Umberlee's throat. And in more recent days, one of my colleagues, Sharid Tagwarad by name, climbed Mount Perilous to reclaim the Holy Brand of Saint Merwitt from the tomb of a long-dead emir among the fire giants. The brand was kept by one guardian: the bones of the emir himself, rising from his sarcophagus to tear stones from the masonry and hurl them at Dawnsword Tagwarad with great force. So great was the giant skeleton's might that Tagwarad was forced to hasten back down the volcano's face and recover from the blows. He led two more raids on Emir Kurliumandr's tomb before the skeleton was defeated and the lost relic was reclaimed.

But the transition from fleshy life to fleshless undeath has stripped much from the skeleton, its mind being its gravest loss, followed with whatever unearthly powers it once possessed. A medusa's skeleton can no longer turn a man's flesh to stone, nor can a dragon's skeleton take to the heavens and belch fire onto hapless villages below. A skeleton is also wanting for autonomy and self-reliance; necromancers find this trade desireable, as would any slaver. Animate a skeleton and command it to stand watch at your treasure vault, and it may still be standing there long after your grandchildren are dust.

But this lack of mind and will also presents a two-edged sword for the skeleton and its enemies: an absolute lack of cunning, coupled with absolute fearlessness. We may recall the Raid on Lithis Tor in Ancient Omikoros, where Vorlimus the Lotus-Eater seized the Trumpet of the Bone Fields and used it to raise a vast army of skeletons, then turned his greedy eyes to the gold-mining town of Lithisolis. On seeing the great undead army marching their way, the people of Lithisolis shattered the Dragon Dam, unleashing a torrent of lava from the bowels of Lithis Tor. The Viamanthe River exploded in a magnificent bank of steam as the rushing lava drove the water out, and the river became a great lava floe between Lithisolis and Vorlimus' forces.

On seeing this, Vorlimus ordered his skeletons into four columns, then commanded them to cross the floe and slay everyone in the town. Anyone who has ever seen lava knows that, though it flows, it is nothing like water: a man who has the blessings of the efreet may stand on lava as though it were solid earth. But the skeletons had no such blessings and, four at a time, they set foot on the lava. And they were swiftly burned and reduced to ash. And yet the skeletons behind them heedlessly marched forward, as did the ones behind them, and the ones behind the next rank. And the people of Lithisolis gathered at the bank to watch skeleton after skeleton blindly and suicidally march onto the lava and meet its end. And the people filled the sky with laughter, amused with the skeletons' utter stupidity. Then they went to their beds and slept as night fell, assured that the blood of Lithis Tor would keep them safe.

But grave was their peril, for the lava was slowly covered in a creeping blanket of bone ash and black carbon beneath the army's relentless march. And the blanket of ash and char grew so thick that the skeletons could walk further and further across the river. Before the night's end, so many skeletons had perished to the lava that their scorched remains formed a gray, macabre bridge. And though Vorlimus had lost most of his army to Lithis Tor, there remained enough skeletons to creep into the town and butcher the people of Lithisolis in their beds. And that is exactly what they did.

But skeletons are easily outwitted, and their strengths and weaknesses do not end there. Because they lack flesh, skeletons are impervious to even the most horrid frost, and the winters of the distant North do not slow them in the least. Obviously, poison is useless against them, pestilence means nothing to them, and a carrion crawler's tentacles will not cause a skeleton the slightest impediment or annoyance. Weapons which pierce or slash tend to be light in weight, relying on their own sharpness to wound flesh and spill blood. But the skeleton has no flesh or blood, so expect your fiercest spear thrusts or axe swings to reap no more than mere scratches and nicks. In the stead of such weapons, take up the truncheon, the mace, the quarterstaff or the hammer. Undead bones break and shatter as easily as living bones do, or perhaps easier still. And thus, with far fewer blows, you shall return the skeleton to dust."

(Entry One: The Skeleton, from 'The Cold Womb: Al-Shadan's Journal on the Undead,' a collectible resource from my online 3rd/3.5th Edition Dungeons & Dragons campaign, 'The Fall and Rise of the House of Ainsley.'

'The Cold Womb' was the journal in which Yurel ben al-Shadan, Paladin of the sun god Pelor and slayer of the undead, detailed his many encounters with the innumerable undead scourges of all Ardonia as well as his findings on their strengths, weaknesses, conditions of creation and other such potentially useful discoveries. With the aid of his allied monks and nuns in the Order of the Radiant Chalice, his journal was hand-copied into many duplicate books, then distributed by the Church of Pelor into the hands of priests, templars, monks errant, vampire slayers and other holy defenders who exhibited the needed talents and inclinations to confront and destroy the blighted bodies and corrupted souls of undeath in all its forms.

Unfortunately, after Al-Shadan's final death from old age less than three centuries past, a maleficent alliance of the many powerful enemies he had earned in his lifetime — be they archnecromancers, vampire ancients, unholy orders or agents of the Gods of Undeath themselves — sought to erase his legacy by tracking down these many copies of 'The Cold Womb,' striking down their bearers and destroying the books. While many such copies were torn asunder or put to the torch by these enemies of Al-Shadan and of the holy church which he served, some of the pages torn from these books were hidden or otherwise spared from destruction, and their preserved journal entries may yet be unearthed by wayfarers in their adventures and claimed. While it may be possible that a a rare few complete, intact and well-hidden copies of 'The Cold Womb' continue to exist, none have yet been recovered.

May the adventurers who collect these entries from Al-Shadan's journal benefit from the knowledge they impart, the better to gird themselves against the many breeds of undeath and to fell such cursed bodies and souls more swiftly, more efficiently and with greater, more certain finality.)