Chronicles MA

[sansanjuan]

The undead had their own particular smell. Not just of rotting flesh but of the arcane sorcery that knitted arm to shoulder, leg to hip. The morning air carried this scent from the host of Longdead arrayed before us. The low hum of a communion began in their back rank of sorcerers and carried on the wind like angry hornets shaken from a hive. The priest next to me raised her arms, her wings ruffling. As she began her chant everything happened at once. A shout for “Shields up!” as arrows swarmed in. Thunderstrikes fell in their ranks, my senses sharpened as Wind Guide bathed me. An elephant crumpled like a felled oak as his soul evaporated. Flanking Longdead hurdled themselves into a phantasmal army that appeared seconds before they would have carved into our mages. Banishments shredded undead flesh. Scores fell on both sides. I thought myself doomed as a dozen deathless swarmed the priest and I, too many for her to banish. She was my charge and I was determined to fall before she did. As I parried, Water rained from behind and fell on me, priest and undead without selection. I remember the Longdead looming over me as the Water splashed over him. He reined back his foul steed and lifted his head skyward as the holy water dissolved the magic binding his form. In two heartbeats the priest and I were alone again, many ales in debt to the Water cadre.

-- author unknown