The Hilltop
A Murder of Crows in the air, transforming into a creature that stunk of extra planar energy. Incinerating fire from the walls of
Alliria dealing death to the
Orcs that had stormed the small breach that had formed in the
cities defenses. The
Undead had fallen, the Orcs were slaughtered and thousands littered the field of battle.
It seems Alliria had risen to the challenge. The Defenders had amassed an enormous force of soldiers be they Mages on the battlements, Paladins in the field or common Foot Soldiers fighting to defend their families. Unfortunate but not entirely unexpected.
The Horde would break, the Dragon could feel it however Geladryx, the Emerald Death had an ace in the hole. The Dragon was patient and he had waited, waited until almost the last moment before he'd chosen to act.
From the Hilltop where he'd positioned himself in the rear of the Horde the frills that ran down the length of the
dragons neck rose and fell, almost gyrating with energy and Geladryx, canting his head would nod to the Trumpeter that remained close-by....
"Sound the retreat."
...the dragons voice was a hiss, carrying itself across the wind while he continued to settle on his haunches.
The Trumpeter responded by signalling to the Horde, the Drummers (those who remained) would likewise change their tempo so that the survivors knew to withdraw. The Orcs that lived would understand what the change in the tempo of the drums meant, they needed to retreat and they would get another chance.
As the drums changed the dragons chest rose. Geladryx maw had stretched wide, he breathed in and his breast inflated, the orange of his eyes began to transition to a more vibrant color and pulsate with energy.
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Necromancy was the most powerful magic.
Evocation. Divination. Shamanism. Abjuration. Conjuration. Enchantment. Illusion. Transmutation.
Divine Magic.
Magic for the lesser races.
Necromancy was command over life and death.
The Price for such Magic could often be steep, souls were quenched and burned away in acts of grandiose spellcraft. It paid to choose a time and a place.
The time was now.
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The Defenders of Alliria had been resourceful, they had been potent and they had been altogether foolish and frivolous with their powers. All this fire raining down from the Walls of Alliria, all this Divine Magic that allowed the Paladins and their compatriots to cut through the Undead; it all had a price. Eventually the power of the Mages would be snuffed, the Paladins would find their divine spark diminished and then they would learn what was meant when wise men said 'Discretion was the better part of
Valor'.
The Emerald Deaths breast swelled, he breathed in deeper.
Every magic had a price. Often this involved the vitality of the caster. The Essence of the Soul, the vitality of the Body, the stoicism of the Mind; these things were the coinage of the Mage.
The Battlefield was now littered with the coinage that Geladryx would pay. Thousands of Dead equated to the thousands of Souls, invisible and unseen to those who had no connection to the Dark Arts or the Veil between Worlds. The Ethereal, the Spectral, the Spirits; they all existed on a plane that few could perceive.
As the Dragon breathed in the dead fueled his power. The Souls of Orcs, once soldiers in the Horde fed the Dragon. The Souls of Defenders, fallen in battle in defense of their city fed the Dragon. All of them would be denied the afterlife. When the Emerald Death drank in the souls of the dead, drawing them in from across the battlefield he would snuff them, extinguishing their eternal spark inside of himself. These Souls were the Price that Geladryx paid, offsetting the personal cost that the Dragon would need to pay so that his own vitality wouldn't need to suffer.
And then....
"RISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
...the voice that was once a sibilant whisper, a hiss carried across the battlefield in a tremendous roar that could be heard past the Outer Walls of Alliria deep into the city proper. A chill would travel across the spines of the common folk who heard it. Even battle hardened soldiers would feel a sense of dread.
In an instant the souls that Geladryx had drank in and swallowed were snuffed, extinguished from existence.
The Magic that the Emerald Deaths voice carried flowed out from the Dragon, spreading across the battlefield, the battlements and into the city of Alliria as far as behind the Outer Walls. It had been a simple command but often the most potent of magics were simple and carried grave results for all those involved.
As the Winds of Magic carried out away from the Dragon, rippling outwards from him at the epicenter the dead would stir.
Soldiers fallen in battle would twitch. Warriors cut down be sword or spell jerked. Orcs incinerated to nothing more but blackened husks stirred. Zombies, Skeletons dead twice over, smashed and shattered answered the call.
Orc. Allirian. It mattered not. All the Dead answered the call.
All the Dead rose again.
On the Outer Walls, in the Slums and littering the battlefield all of them would rise.
Unlike the Undead that had accompanied the Horde originally this new flood of undead was different though. They didn't answer to the Dragon, they answered to no one.
They existed with but a single driving force....
Hunger.
No one was safe.
@Everyone
