"There is a priestess among them, as well as a mage?" The cloaked figure looked angered. "That is quite misfortunate for our subordinates, is it not?" The being cackled and the kneeling thing before him did as well, looking up in relief, knowing that he would not be the bearer of bad news this day.
"Your orders, sire?" The thing was still kneeling out of fear more than respect. The curved blade of the scythe that lay resting no more than an arm's length away would inspire this courage to anyone who would approach is owner. "What shall we do with the spell casters?"
"Keep them busy, tire them out, and wear them down. Human beings can only last so long." He picked up his scythe and waved it in the air as signal of dismissal to his subordinate. "Go. I will be there shortly." His captain looked up uneasily, surprised that his superior would actually participate in this battle. "I am thirsty for blood."
The goblin that sat kneeling grinned in excitement. He had not seen his master in such a long time, the terrible scythe cutting through the flesh of their enemies. The scythe carried with it a dark magic, bringing back to life the bodies it had slain. With each kill its bearer made, their army would grow as their enemies would shrink. The corpse that came back to life had no intelligence; it was just a pile of reanimated bones that would walk around swinging the weapon it was holding before it had died. The reanimated body was more to strike fear in its previous friends, rather than to actually do any harm. It could be put down in one shot from a well-placed arrow, or even a glancing blow from a mace, even a sword.
The green-tinted creature stalked back to the outskirts of the town, relaying the orders, but keeping the information about his master's plans to himself: that was too good to share. A few goblins volunteered to be the first, quickly realizing their folly as many of them heard screams of their friends, right before they entered the fray themselves. They would turn the corner and see forms on the ground, twitching their last as arrows would be seen protruding from their bodies. Some of them would have no hand, no arm, or even no leg or head, its appendage removed by a well-placed slice or blow.
Fireballs would be let fly from a fortified corner of the plaza, the mage having not seen such action in so long. Loraiel was busy healing minor wounds, keeping the men in peak condition. Not one human had fallen, and so many goblins lay dead. Rynn had yet to have a positive score, knowing that the battle had yet to begin. She would save her energy, she thought, for when it was needed the most.
A huge beast burst through one of the houses, throwing rubble and shingles where it saw a body, even if it was a friend or a foe. A shingle tore through the leg of a goblin, severing it so that it could walk no longer as an arrow from a hidden archer tore bore through its skull. The huge east took another step as it grabbed the leg of the nearest man and swung him over the nearest house and outside of town.
Rynn found her moment and stepped out in front of it, staring it down as it stared back. "Orcs working with goblins?" Rynn asked aloud. Loraiel took note of the strange sight as well. Orcs and goblins, whenever they had been seen before, had always been fighting, even over the smallest things. They had never been seen working together, not even when their lives depended on it. "What do you think is pushing them to work together?"
Loraiel mulled it over in her mind as she healed a scrape on a nearby man, then again when she saved a man's life, closing his wounds and preventing a poison from spreading through his body. "Their blades are poisoned!" she yelled as a warning to all that could hear. The men nodded their appreciation and pulled their shields - if indeed they bore shields - closer to their bodies, gripping their handles even tighter.
The answer came to the priestess as she moved about the men, seeing which ones were in need of any kind of aid. The most terrible of enemies could bring even enemies under its control, she thought.
Rynn had now engaged the blundering orc, dancing around its untrained swings and painfully slow strikes. She would slash at its hands as the club hit nothing but the ground, roll between his open legs as he attempted to use his body against her, missing completely and usually squashed a 'fellow' goblin. The men were again watching in awe as the woman would laugh as she fought, a laugh of joy they did not comprehend. She quickly tired of her stupid adversary, and decided to end their dance as quickly as she could, jumping up on his arm and using it as a path to his neck, digging both claws into it and quickly swinging both blades outward, leaving a gaping hold in its throat as it fell back, clutching tightly its new method of breathing. It hit the ground as Rynn had her am in the air, waving a single katar at it; her gesture was understood as an arrow flew from an open window into its head, putting it out of its misery.
Arrows would fly out of houses systematically; no two consecutive arrows left the same house before another had let theirs fly, and no two arrows ever struck the same target, unless it was needed. It was as if the archers were telepathically connected, knowing who would shoot what and when, even where. Their supply of arrows would not run out soon; they were smart with their shots and careful of their targets. They would only attack an already engaged enemy if it was in a position to do harm, but would not shoot if someone else had already �called� the unlucky enemy as their target.
Rynn had returned to the priestess�s side, deflecting rocks and darts that were now being thrown. The human archers shifted their attention to the targets on top of the roofs, to the humanoids that were hurtling small objects to distract or harm the men. The singular twang of many arrows being released at once sounded like a symphony to the townspeople, and the dropping of bodies on to the ground was its ending note, a sound of triumph in their dead beats.
The sounds of skirmish began to die out as the townspeople regrouped once more, counting their losses: totaling one. The mage had not yet begin to tire and the priestess had yet to exhaust even a fourth of her healing spells. The battle would continue on, with the dark master outside the town, sending in groups of troops when and where he saw fit. His men were taking massive losses, but he did not care; he was never one to care for his men. They were just something to soften his enemies a little before he arrived for the kill.
As the night had passed, the expected relief of the daylight did not come. It had been many hours and still the sun did not rise that morning; it was as if it were still night, without any bright stars and without any natural light. The men's morale was beginning to suffer without their precious sun: the one being which they believed would give them a temporary reprieve from the siege. They had sent a few scouts out to gather intelligence on their enemy, only to have them returned to them, their bodies dropped from the sky as their lungs released one final scream before their bodies made contact with the earth or a roof, stopping their screams - and their lives. The priestess could find no time to revive them as their enemies kept her busy, not allowing her to sit too long in one place, not long enough for a resurrection.
Rynn was becoming agitated. The enemies that did attack were blundering idiots, without tactic or cunning, and merely had brute force or numbers on their side. She had slain five orcs and even a giant ogre on this night, adding to the mystery that was their enemies forces. Their enemies consisted of mainly the undead: stupid, unintelligent beings who would wander into battle blindly swinging their swords and maces at whatever moved, even the corpse that walked beside them. They would be cut down by a human, or burned to a crisp by the mage, or turned by the priestess, never really killing unless it was one of their own who they slew.
Goblins were plenty this night as they supported the undead zombies and ghouls with their slings and darts, being much more of an annoyance as to cause any real harm. The occasional being would bring a spear, but would not make it to the front lines before being cut down by an 'allied' zombie. Their darts would be tipped with a strange poison, having different effects and strengths. Sometimes, the poison would act so swift as to numb the hand on contact, and at other times the poison did not act at all, as if the tip was not even poisoned.
"Where is that Amendir, captain of the guard? I'm sure he could lift his own men's morale," said Rynn as she was looking over the troops. They had, at the beginning of the battle, broken the locks on the shops nearby to obtain magical swords and armor which had aided them in their fight. The fletcher was in his store, busily creating arrows for the archers that remained hidden. The smith went to work repairing cracked armor and replacing broken blades, as an apprentice priest blessed them with a little magic to aid them in their fight of the undead. They would add to their strike a hint of fire damage, hopefully being enough to burn the body and turn it to ash. Loraiel was busily blessing bows, so that with the arrow that it let fly would attach a piece of light to its end, leaving its mark in the air and singing the flesh of any undead it would by circumstance meet.
"Where is that man?" though the grey-clay priestess. It did not seem like him to be one to abandon his men, or even his men at a time such as this, when they needed him most. A man with such honor was hard to find these days, but they were not hard to lose to such a thing as mutiny or leave. They would be the first one to fight and one of the very last to stand, if duty called, as it always had.
"These darn things make the air all stinked up!" Garmd complained. He was one of the two guards that had assigned themselves to the duty of making sure that the priestess was never alone and never in harm's way. Rirhat, the second of the two, did this duty as well.
"Aw shut yer trap!" the bearded one complained. "Yer always one to complain or I'm a bearded gnome. And I'm no gnome, y'know." He looked up, winking at the woman, who was grinning back down at him. "Just do yer job, marm, and we'll all be better off for it." There was no understatement in his tone.
Rynn climbed to the top of the fountain, trying to peer into the darkness as she threw some flying objects into the blackest darkness. She would hear her projectiles tear through flesh every once in a while, but she was more likely to hear the sound of metal hitting stone, rock, or dirt, creating a sound that put the men on edge. They didn�t much like the empty ringing of metal that echoed through the town. A few of them pleaded with her for a little while before she gave in. "Alright then, I'll stop." She jumped back down and checked on the mage.
"I am nearing exhaustion, m'lady," the red-robed wizard said. Beads of sweat could be seen on his forehead, his weight on a staff held in his right hand. His left hand held open and aloft a spell book, its pages turning as his eyes closed and mouth moved in preparation of another spell. The magic formed in front of him as he continued his enchantment, one that would rejuvenate his energies and allow him to continue the battle. "Realus irra mat palcalou," he finished, as a quick flash of light filled the surrounding area as the spell was completed, the mage no longer leaning on a staff for support. "Exhaustion is no longer near, m'lady." He smiled as he renewed the lights that kept the men on their toes, their only source of light in the darkness that was not night.
Quiet for some time, the men began to rest on the ground as the woman brought out bowls of water. The children were no longer crying as they lay sleeping in the houses, safe from the dangers of the dark. Rirhat and Garmd were still the acting escort for Loraiel as she moved between the friendly forces, offering words of aid and healing spells, driving away sleep and pain. The mage sat half-relaxed in a chair, his legs over one arm and his back to the other, in a position which seemed a little too relaxing. Jokes abound were being told as everyone became a little more at ease, hoping this battle had finished somehow.
Rynn was again atop the fountain, but no longer blindly firing her shards of metal. She was about to step down when she caught glimpses of a slight movement in between two of the houses, near the two man entrances to the town square. She looked back down beneath and around her to peer at their defenses.
The men had overturned carts to use as shields, using the houses that were laid out in a circular motion around the center of the town. They were well protected she though, as the mage had moved near the center and away from the side to gain a better vantage point for any oncoming attackers. Some of the woman had moved outside, their positions behind their husbands and the upturned carts, able to fire between their friends and into their foes. She herself had constructed a few traps, ones that would explode in a violent flash of metal scraps, or searing flame, or vicious acid onto the unlucky one that would unknowingly set off the trap.
She looked again to the place where she had seen the movement, thinking that her eyes had deceived her, hoping that what she though she had seen she had indeed only imagined.
Green eyes peered back at her, meeting her gaze before they turned away and she saw the thing slide in between the shadows that were not hard to find. It stopped for a moment, looking back at Rynn, who was still helpless to do anything, not even to call out in warning to the others before it had left. It turned and continued its slithering-like movement in the shadow of shadows, only seen by one person in its reconnaissance.
It returned to the scythe, kneeling before it, this time not in fear, but in triumph. "We are ready."
The cloaked figure stood up and stepped over the messenger, his scythe carried viciously at his side. He brought its wraith-like blade under the chin of the goblin, lifting it up into the air as it held on unwillingly, unknown its future destination. The scythe bearer smiled as it uttered a single sentence: "You shall lead the charge."
An evil laughter filled the air as the goblin's body flew into it, breaking the moment of rest for the people in the town. All hushed, they listened intently as the laugh died into the mists that had now rolled into the plaza. A figure of the goblin hit the ground near Loraiel's feet who stood unstartled by the obscene gesture at which it stood for. Both of her escorts, the beard and the bald, jumped back in astonishment.
"Here they come!" Rynn cried, jumping off from her vantage point. The men grabbed their shields and their swords as the priestess worked hurriedly to cast some enchantment to whisk away the obstructing mist. Undead poured into the streets into plain view, making easy targets for an over-eager mage, casting his fireballs left and right in quick succession, innately quickened by his innate powers. They burst into the ground in a crimson explosion, singing flesh and sending bare bones and rock into the air. The men worked swiftly to form small defensive groups with backs to one another as they would circle around, keeping the undead at bay.
Arrows flew without pause from the windows, their only presence a white streak before entering and destroying the undead with their magical tips, burning their already rotten flesh to ash. The smell horrific; some men had even puked as they fought, the stench so horrible in their nostrils, lingering as they slew more of those that had already died. Rynn fought alone, as she always had, and managed to attack in a whirlwind of claws the priestess had never seen before.
Loraiel herself, when not busy chanting the all-healing spells that were needed during the battle, as there were too many of her allies being wounded and needing treatment at once, turned a few undead or called for rays of light to strike down upon them. She saw Rynn tear through a group of lumbering ghouls, throwing their bodies away with the force of a passing hurricane. Men all around were encircling in circles, their defensive positions nearly untouchable by the mindless attackers.
The goblins and orcs and ogres had long ago been all slain, the mastermind now resorting to these undead. Or was this its plan, Loraiel thought? She finished her chanting of another spell of turning as she sought some motive in this attack. It wasn't for any material possession, she knew that much. For someone having the power to control undead, material wealth was not high on their list of priorities.
Then she looked around her, at the number of people in this small village; there were enough bodies present on this night to make for a grand addition to an army of undead. She began to shift her position once again, in order to seek a better vantage point of how the battle was faring when she froze. She could not move, even though she pushed with all of her strength to move. She looked up at Rynn, who stood immobilized on top of a table, the enchanted steel extensions of her arm still within a body fallen twice. She stood, unmoving as well. The other men were untouched though, but why?
She looked for the mage and saw him standing, leaning heavily once more again his staff. Had he not just revitalized himself, she thought? No, this was not a matter of strength, or fatigue...
It was the knowledge of despair, of knowing the final enemy.
The cloak moved into sight, the undead shuffling madly to remove their own bodies from his path. Those that able to scurry out of the way were cut down by their creator, only to be reanimated a moment later by the black magic of the weapon that had severed their bodies. Rynn, by sheer force of will, had been able to turn to face her adversary. Loraiel, using all the knowledge that she had of fighting these types of auras, broke free and stood at ready for what was about to happen. The mage collapsed the undead crawling over him as he could bear the strain upon his mind no longer.
"I am glad you could join the party, priestess." His scythe waved menacingly before him. "I know not how you broke free from my overbearing will, but you have done so. Congratulations!" His scythe banged the ground, scraping the rock as it created a horrid sound.
"Loraiel, what is that thing! I can't even move!" Rynn struggled hard, her mind struggling to overcome its presence, sought to move once more and to strike out at it. It stood close enough for her to tear into its body, but she could not move her hands or her feet. "Ugh!" She managed to spit at the thing, causing it enjoy its show even more.
"Well now," it grinned, turning back to his undead, "you can stop. I see that I have to take this one into my own hands." His scythe was tracing circles in the air with the expertise of a weapons master, a profession that had lived long past his due. "I, Vy'Lryak the lich, shall show you true fear." He stalked toward his prey: the woman clad in grey. He found her ready for a fight, one arm in front of her and the other behind, her legs ready to spring into action.
"Have at it, foul beast; you should have rested in your grave." Loraiel stood, tensely motionless, her mind racing as to what incantations might help her win this battle.
"So you intend to fight me with your fists, is that it, girl?!" Its voice began in a whisper as it ended in a shout, as if the sight amused him to a great extent. "Ah, but you would be dead before your first strike..." He removed his cowl and brought his scythe to his face so that everyone could see what exactly he was. "I was Amendir Desend, my lady," he said, sneering the last word, "and you are about to succumb to my will!" His scythe clattered to the ground as his arms rose into the air, waving some vile spell of domination as his enemy prepared her defenses. "You are no match for the greatest of the undead!"
�Galka vordiok!� the priestess cried, a surge of dark magical energy hitting the barrier she had put up just in time to protect her from his spell. �I knew there was something different about you, Amendir; it seems we were right, Rynn!� A staff appeared from the folds of her cloak, bearing a blinding, searing light to the undead as they backed away from it - all save the former captain of the guard.
�And I as well, have tricks up my sleeve, if I had any sleeves at all!� His scythe floated rose from the ground as he thrust his hand forward, uttering a spell that would launch it into the globe of light. �Hairla manlalis reparas,� he cried, �and may you never rest in peace!� A purple ball of energy flew after his scythe and encased it within its colors.
The staff intercepted the flying blade, causing it to freeze in mid-flight. �May you rest in peace, lich,� Loraiel whispered, almost as if she was hesitant to begin her prayers. The scythe dropped to the ground as did her staff, smoldering to ashes at her feet, the globe of light diminished to the brightness of a small candle.
Her mind began as a blank space, focusing on the only thing she had to begin with: nothing. She felt the imposing telepathic waves of her adversary, standing far across from her. Her mind fell into some unnamed symphony, the one she felt and heard and believed when she had always began to turn away and destroy the undead, a priest�s most favored foe. The lich sensed his failing impedances as he tried harder to gain entrance into her mind, to fill it with despairing thoughts, to break her, and to bring her down.
That knocking became louder as she began to tune herself to the simple melodies and harmonies of this music, this song that she had heard before but never could completely remember. She build it piece by piece, note by note, thought by thought as it became louder in her mind that the vile voice on her mind belonged to the most powerful of the undead. Her mind wove through the music as the lich became desperate, not knowing that any thing or person, at the very least a human, could escape his control.
The undead began to shuffle backwards, trying to reach some escape as the men once again renewed their assault against those who had died yet would never die again, only to be banished to some other form of existence. They walking, rotten flesh could feel the tremendous power building within this grey-cloaked woman, as they tried with all their might to find some escape from it.
The symphony was nearing completion as the priestess opened her eyes once more, meeting the gaze of the lich, holding his gaze in mockery. It looked tired, she thought; it looked like the mage from earlier. It did not matter, she told herself; it would all be over soon. She raised her arms, as if bringing the very essence of life out of the earth around her to help aid her in her quest.
Amendir stepped back, faltering in his determination. He had reached the limits of his power and could no longer offer anything that could break this spell that the priestess had woven within her mind, protecting her from his now draining powers. His attention fully on the priestess, his aura had disappeared into the nothingness he was about to become. Rynn was now sitting beside the wizard, helping him to sit up as they watched the transpiring spectacle that lay before them.
Loraiel sadly looked on the man she knew as Amendir Desend, the captain of the guard of Ferala. But then again, he was not this man she knew. This was a creature, dead, against all laws of nature: a blight upon the land. There was nothing more she could do for him, or what was left of him, than what she was about to accomplish.
�Safe journey to wherever you may be going, Amendir Desend.� She closed her eyes once more and fell fully into the symphony that she had created, a light surrounding her very body. It was faint at first, creating a soft, ambient light that was pleasant to look upon. Then, in great surges of light did it become brighter, utterly destroying the undead nearest to her and knocking down those farthest away. The lich himself was on one knee, struggling to keep from lying prone on the ground. She opened her eyes once more and thrust her hands into the air, into a circle and then to her side, as if she was a conductor signaling the final note of a performance.
Blinding light erupted from around her, spreading through the village and the country side.
The darkness dissipated, the twilight began to emerge around them, forcing the onset of the setting of the sun. There was no more rotting flesh, no more mobile bones; there was only the town, the people, a bodyguard, and a form lying still on the ground.
Rynn sheathed her claws and walked over to her friend�s unmoving body, offering condolence to her friend: �You did it.�