Open Chronicles In the Hollows of the Rocks (open skirmish)

[White Swallow]

Yelhix'w rose his hand and the entire company behind him came to a halt.
Some of the soldiers already began to ready their bows but stopped the moment the white swallow spoke.
»Those are undead. They won't last long if they've come out so suddenly.«
»My my, White Swallow. You speak from experience?« Yelhix'w craned his neck, but the other merely shook his head. »I've had the opportunity to see some mages in person.«


»Soheil. Peyam, Hesam, Morad, follow me,« he waved his hand and then glanced at the other in command. »I'll find its source, they're either true undead or puppets. With the later, I may just have a way to end it.«
The group of five assembled and began pacing towards the lone mage that has not escaped the observation of the keen-eyed.
Zakariyya switched to his mace that rested on his being all so long, the rest of the troop likewise took for their sidearms as the part of the undead began to ravenously aproach.

 

[Ledhros Caur]

Togle and Bant, the Dwarven scouts who'd seen the Silver Key through so many dungeons and mountains alike, were gone. There wasn't much left of Bant. Togle lay on his face, a burning projectile who'd dropped a pair of Ledhros' archers. Mages, Emperors, ghosts, undead, horsemen-

"Pull back!" Ledhros roared. "Pull the feth back, boys! Cease fire!"

The Silver Key forces were only too happy to oblige. Behind them was a small mesa, a flat surface without cover. It terminated in a slope that could let them slide to safety, if safety existed anymore. The archers got in behind the spearmen with their shields. They didn't attempt to perforate the Emperor and his men again. Nor did they fire at the sudden rise of the undead. Nor was there anything useful nearby for Ledhros to eat.

Keeping a wall of shields between them and everyone else, the Silver Key withdrew at a careful pace.

Gerra Uvogin Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk White Swallow Caddell

 

[Halul]

Uvogin had held his breath as the mercenaries let loose their arrows. There was little, if anything at all, he could do to deflect so many arrows. He put his faith in the Vizier which turned out to be a rewarding gamble. It had been a risk in the sense that Uvogin didn’t wholly trust Jerik. The Immortal breathed a sigh of relief as several shafts fell to the sand before drawing upon the magic bow again.

An arrow never flew as Gerra shouted for peace. Uvogin relaxed, though he kept the bow ready and his fingers on the bowstring.

His attention snapped to Jerik and his expression twisted into a snarl under the metal mask. The Captain was not at all keen of the undead making a surprise appearance. Their plate was full enough as it was.

“The Vizier is right. It is not safe here.” Not that it ever was, but his words were especially true now. Uvogin remained wary of the retreating mercenaries.

 

[Gerra]

As the shades of the dead began to loom upon the plateau, a cold fist of rage wrapped around Gerra’s heart and squeezed until he could feel himself trembling. It consumed his thoughts, leaving room for nothing else but hate for them.

The Eternum.

Who else could it be? Here to try to kill him once more.

But even ghosts feared the hellfire of Imamu.

“Jerik. Burn them.”

 

[Caddell]

Everything was cold. Caddell had to be laying in snow. He had to be. Why else would his body feel cold right now and the shivers not stop? He couldn't be in the desert surrounded by sand and heat and death....

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The spirits of the dead wished for nothing but companionship. They knew not where they were going to go only that they knew they wanted to drag more of the living with them. If they had to go then so to did all of those they fought against and with.

Marching forward, people would find that the spirits were unaffected by the weapons of the physical plane. What was needed was magic and the blessed. Despite how swords of steel and iron passed through the spirits they did not seem to suffer the same. Their bodies and spectral arms would clash into shields and armor and forms with pure force. Like a gusts of wind and waves of water crashing into stones. How long could the living survive the force of nature that was the spirits of their own dead?

========

The spirit rushing towards Caddell with speed unnatural even for its own kin. At first it was seemingly running forward on foot but then it had a spectral steed beneath it. Its original blade had become a spear. Like the wind itself it took it no time to be upon its summoner. Aiming low to strike at him, the rider and horse crashed into the circle upon the sands. A loud thud occurred and ripples seemed to carry themselves through the air. Inhuman screams boomed from both the rider and steed as their march came to its sudden and abrupt end. The steed vanished and the rider was doubled over with their hands over their face on their knees. The spirit continued to scream.

Caddell's eyes flickered back open as the assault of sound struck his ears. His head was filled with fog and his ears rang with bells. He didn't know where he was at. He didn't know what was going on either. What did he even know?

Slowly Caddell tried to rise. It wasn't working. No command seemed to reach his limbs. Or perhaps he just had no energy left for them. The shivered began once more. Everything felt cold and his entire body was beginning to ache already. What was going on with him?

The spirit stopped screaming and stood. The spear it once had was just gone and had been replaced with a mace or just a large blunt thing. It took it in both hands and rose it high. A roar of pure bloodlust echoed forth as it began to swing at the barrier preventing it from getting to its prey. It would smash this and then the living.

White Swallow Gerra Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk Uvogin Ledhros Caur

 

[White Swallow]

What tether this undead belonged to was entirely spectral.
Yet they still seemed to appear solid in form, and their attacks had some kind of weight behind them.
Soheil drove a sword deep into one of the spectral men, the undead kept on standing as if unharmed. One usually saw spirits deal with spiritual matters, yet this was unusual, nevertheless, debates had to be delayed.

The mage was certainly a catalyst for these heinous dead, and yet they're as much under attack as how it was seen from their place. what was his motive? What was his agenda, or that of any of these people? And especially why summon the dead?

»SOHEIL!« The Swallow's call rallied the man behind him. They split from their small unit and set off to the downed necromancer.
Lances readied in hand, their steeds ran through the salty circle. One after the other the two aimed for him.