In the far corner of the tavern, there's a vacant stool.

 Though there are plenty of customers looking for a seat, none of them dares go near this one. You take a closer look. The seat is oddly decrepit. Dust lies over the black leather, as thick as a woollen blanket.  The wood is discoloured. It creaks in protest the moment you come close.

"Ah, you've noticed," the bartender chips in. He put an arm around you, steering you back to the bar.

"That's a sad tale. There used to a young girl, Brynhild, who sat there, you see. She lived in the next village over. Haven't seen her in years. There's a rumour about what happened, though. Take a perch, and listen. Not there, though."

"If the rumours are true, you don't want Brynhild catching you in her seat."

Brynhild lost her family as a very young child.

She was forced to watch from her hiding place as her whole family was butchered, in recompense for her father's unpaid gambling debts. The house was burned. Brynhild crawled to safety through the sewer.

The world is a frightening place for a young orphan. Completely alone, Brynhild swore to bring her family back, though she had no idea how. Lucky for her, the village housed a wizard. A solitary fellow, rumours had abounded for years that he was deeply involved in necromancy. One step into the wizard’s home confirmed the truth of the rumours. 

Brynhild begged the wizard to teach her. The surly old man, though, had no interest in taking on a student. He reacted harshly, insulting and dismissing the young girl. Desperate, she convinced him to hire her as a servant instead. If she could not learn directly from him, Brynhild was determined to learn indirectly. 

The wizard was a hard master, but at least Brynhildhad what she needed. She hid around corners, watching him at work. When he was out, she read his books, even began experimenting with spells herself. It took 15 years of patient study and practice, but Brynhild was finally ready to raise her family from the grave.

The night came. 

Brynhild stole into the graveyard, and settled by her family's graves. She was excited, but apprehensive. Really, though  she was still as much a novice as she had been 15 years ago. Brynhild thought she had everything prepared. Sadly, the lack of formal training combined with her own nerves proved to be her undoing. Nothing she had raised had ever been dead for longer than a few hours. The inexperienced girl forgot to compensate for 15 years of decomposition. What she brought back lived only for a few seconds.

Something in the girl's mind snapped.

Blaming the stubborn old wizard, Brynhild returned to his home. Her magic was crude, naïve even, but effective. Brynhild tore the wizard to pieces. Her inexperience also resulted in the unintentional destruction of half of the village. When the survivors came to stop her, Brynhild was too far gone to recognise friend from foe anymore.

 She slaughtered every last one of her neighbours. 

Succumbing fully to madness, she did with them what she could not with her family. Brynhild became the mad queen of the undead.

Nobody knows if the village, or Brynhild, are still out there.

Nobody dares find out.

Nobody even dares sit in her old seat.