Completed The Conquest of Amol Kalit

[Infernal]

His attempt at taking Maraan had failed in a most humiliating fashion. To be captured, again, and set free like a helpless fish, it was infuriating in its own right. What was worse was how Lord Gerra might take the news, knowing his forces had been defeated so quickly. Hopefully he would show mercy, but the elf doubted it.

Still, he rode with the others as they made their way towards the blue walled city, hoping to catch his commander in a good mood. Telenar knew that he could prove himself, he just needed another chance.

He wasn't expecting to find the place in a struggle between the living and the dead.

"What is going on?" The Sheik asked, noticing the fight in the distance as soon as the high elf had. "What madness has befallen this place?"

Telenar shrugged. "I can only imagine what fresh new hell awaits, but this may be a blessing in disguise." Taking his sword from its sheath, he rode outwards to the fray, catching the group from the rear, where he was greeted by a waiting zombie. "Out of my way!"

In his free hand he summoned an orb of shifting colors, which settled on a deep, sickly green. Upon successfully throwing it, the undead was covered in a thick coat of acid, melting it until it was nothing more than a sputtering mass of goo. "For the Djinn of the Sands!" He screamed, readying another orb for the next opponent as he lead the charge into the unprepared undead.

 

[Traecon Maxwell]

He kicked a corpse off his blade as the half elf approached. But even as the body slid to the ground, again it stood, missing its arms and bits of the torso. Necromancy was so annoying in that aspect. The swordman would see to it that they wouldn't come back this time.

"Half-elf! I will clear a path! Cut off the head of the snake!"

Tossing the bastard blade forward, cleaving the body before him in half, Traecon grasped his right wrist with his left hand, mimicking a sword drawing stance. He breathed once, twice, uncaring of the horde to come down upon him, taking his sudden static as opportunity. Unarmed and seemingly resigned to his fate, what else would this undead swarm think?

"Vorpal, Dreamsbane!"

Gleaming an angry, stormy gray, his eyes glowed like floodlights as he sharpened his mind like a sword, swiping his right arm out from the left-handed grip.

A silver flash, and the entire stairways were cleared instantly, the bodies bisected into pieces, slashed at speeds completely unexpected for the swordsman's size. Within his unnaturally pale (but still healthy) arm, shone a sword, dual-colored along its blade. One side was as black as the skies above, reflecting the darkness of the cold, starless night. The other matched Traecon's eyes, glowing with the same runes once present on his prosthetic. Humming an eerie melody, the strangely colored sword was a second torch among the dimly lit streets, lighting the sands with its dual glow.

Without another word, entirely unlike the mouthing swordsman before, Traecon dove at the swarm, the undead like paper mache as he slid through the bodies like a leaf in the wind. Every silver flash turned bodies into parts, the magic in their corpses cut like a knife on strings. They would return to their master, but somewhat diminished.

Within moments, the entire entrance had been cleared of undead, the horde in the city streets already being tackled by the swordsman. All that was left was for the remaining people to follow up.

Gerra Achates RustySpork Infernal