All around them once dead bodies were moving, standing up and starting to walk off. Moonlight glinted off of blood soaked armor and blades held loosely in rotting hands. There was at least a score of them scattered around Walther, Beetle and Teion and from the sounds of it, many more in the darkness. 

Walther had been moving tactically towards the wagons when the first of the dead rose up, just to the left of his path.  He turned sharply and looked for new cover but all he found was more of the dead rising around him.  His hand went for his sword but stayed its completion when he realized that the dead were not interested in Beetle and him.  A quick look to the west showed that Teion was equally uninteresting.

Of course, he thought with no small degree of irony.  We're one of them.

But were they?  These seemed to be mindless zombies, marching off to answer some unheard call to the north.  They possessed none of the sentience shared by Walther and the others, none that he could detect in their shambling onward progression.

Clearly cover wasn't required.  The Anaheer stood upright and becalmed his exterior, then placed a steadying hand on Beetle's shoulder before he walked over to Teion.

The trainer was staring at the shambling dead, free hand rubbing at a small round stone that hung on a thong around his neck. "On my honor, I'm not an easily frightened man,"  he whispered lowly, 'but this shivers my water, and no mistake." 

"More undead madness?" he asked the mage, who likely had a better take on the unfolding event than Walther did.

"Indeed." Stated the mage. As one passed by he waved a gloved hand before it's face, but the undead solider continued on, it's gaze never flickering from it's northward stare. "However, this is not the same spell that brought us back. The energies concerned are very different, and also far more basic. The souls that once owned these bodies is now long gone, they are merely automatons responding to their masters call."

Teion turned to look at the captain "Whatever you do do not provoke them. Even though they do not see us now, impeding them in any way may bring about dire concequenses."

Walther nodded in agreement.  He had no intention of provoking them, but a sudden thought did rise in his mind like the dead.

"This master of theirs," he said.  "Do you think someone so close by with such magics at their command be a coincidence?  Perhaps this person knows something of our living death."

Teion cocked his head slightly, thinking on the matter "Doubtful." he said. "The magic being used is markedly different then what was used to bring us back. It is possible that the one who raised these is also responsible for our current state." He looked at the shambaling figures, "However, The Arcane Academy has heard that necromancers rover the boarder lands, plying recent battlefields to fuel their craft. It is just as likely that there may be others out there besides the one who has done this."

After perhaps a minute new bodies stopped standing up. Those zombies that had already started moving continued to plod on. They seemed to be heading north east. The mindless corpses had no interest in the others. Watching the cold men, noting the vacant dead stares and jerky movements, Beetle wondered if one day, very soon, this would be his fate. How could he go back to his family this way? How could he not? He shook his head sadly and tried to focus on his change of clothing, difficult at best with his arm in its current state. Best not to think about that right now. Best just to carry on with the others and hope the magician could find some sort of answer.

Walther had gathered what he'd scavenged into a pack he'd found in one of the tents.  His armor and red cloak he left in his own tent, laid out where he had fallen as some sort of memorial to himself that he thought was somehow appropriate.  Now he was clad in some other man's armor.  It was dull and unshiny but had been attended to very well by its former owner, so it would serve.  He kept his blade.  With a nod to Beetle he prepared to move north after them and their master, and perhaps answers.

They watched the zombies shamble away. The pitiful dead stumbled and staggered off. Suddenly a high pitched, nearly human scream sounded. The sound was dulled by distance, but it still pierced the mind like needles in the brain, momentarily driving any thoughts of the zombies from their minds. The sound seemed to have come from the path to the west.

"Light!" Walther spat out his curse - everything at once!  His head swiveled between the location of the scream and the fleeing zombies while his mind wrestled with his desire to follow and the lifetime of service that compelled him to know what the scream had been about.  Was a woman in danger?  Was it a Vatril patrol?

Finally he growled, "Come on," to the others and slowly started to pick his way across the battlefield to the west.  "Keep to the shadows," he cautioned the others while his eyes sought out dangers in the stale evening mist.

Beetle, struggling to get into a boiled leather chestplate, dropped the damned thing and rolled his eyes to the dark sky. You're dead my lad, and no mistake. Armor's not going to help you now, he thought grimly. At least he'd found a shirt that wasn't horribly bloodstained. He'd winced at the scream, imagining some poor dying bastard's final moments filled with the vision of a former friend chewing on his innards, then followed the Captain.

Teion paused and shook his head as though trying to clear his thoughts, then moved towards Walther and Beetle.

As the scream subsided, one of the zombies stumbled. It put one hand to the side of its bloody head, as though it was dizzy. It held a sword loosely in its other hand. It looked around, then looked directly at Walther. The moonlight glinted off its sword as it pulled its arm back, ready to swing. It snarled and stumbled towards the former captain.

Around them, a few other zombies had also taken notice of them. Three more that had been near the path staggered towards them, weapons raised in a clearly unfriendly manner.

Oh, come on, Walther's mind seethed.  Give me a break already!

"Get the mage to safety," Walther ordered Beetle, his words punctuated by the whisper of drawn steel.  Longsword in hand, the warrior squared off against the shambling agressors and placed himself between them and the others. He let his anger fire his senses until they were honed to a point.  He was a coiled spring, and Walther half-welcomed the chance to take out some of his frustrations on these zombies.

The first zombie swung, a clumsy overhand blow towards Walther's head. The experienced warrior easily blocked the attack, turning it to the side and pushing the zombie off balance. His counter attack sheered into the zombie's neck, nearly decapitating it. It staggered back several steps, arms limp and barely hanging on to its sword. Walther's second attack found its mark directly opposite the first and the zombie's head went tumbled off, bouncing into the dark. The headless corpse collapsed and stopped moving, but the other three were directly behind it, about to attack.

"Don't suppose you've got any," Beetle's fingers wiggled about before him, "that would be of help here yer worship?" The trainer had taken up a position before the mage, spear tucked in the crook of his good arm. If the magician couldn't summon fire or frost or whatever-it-was that they did, Beetle would do his best to defend the man. Running seemed a rather pointless proposition, as who knew what was lurking amongst the trees. Here at least there was a clear field of battle.

Teion sneered, but quickly dropped the expression as it pulled at his burnt skin. He held forth a hand and began to chant. Flames danced in the palm of his hand and he threw them at the nearest zombie. A bolt of flame shot past Walther's shoulder, striking the zombie in the chest. The dead flesh was quickly engulfed in flames. The zombie writhed around, flailing its arms, before collapsing.  

There were only two zombies left, coming towards them and Walther had positioned himself between the zombies and his companions. The first lashed out with an axe, but Walther easily sidestepped it. The second swung a sword, and again Walther blocked it and shudder going up his arm from the force of the blow. As far as soldier went, these things were terrible fighters, but they certainly were strong.

Walther swung back at the second zombie, scoring a deep slash across its arm. Thick clotted blood dripped from the wound, but the zombie seemed completely unfazed by the blow.

The zombie with the axe swung up, catching Walther with the blunt back end of it in the arm. It stung, but wouldn't leave more than a bruise. The second zombie raised its arm, but over balanced itself stumbling back. Quick to take advantage of this, Walther circled around, aiming a horizontal slash at the zombies head, crushing its skull. The force of the blow pushing it over. The zombie collapsed and stopped moving. Seeing an opening, Teion hurled another bolt of flame at the remaining zombie, striking it in the chest. The zombie took two slow steps towards Walther before collapsing, flames eating through its dead flesh. Teion leaned heavily on his staff, obviously wearied by the effort of using his magic. ((NPCed...))

The other zombies on the battlefield didn't seem to notice the commotion. Most of them were beyond their sight and the rest were mere shadows in the night. They were alone once more.

"Right then," Beetle rasped cheerily into the silent darkness, poking cautiously at one of the charred and smoking corpses with toe of his boot. "That's sorted. Carry on?" 

Walther sheathed his sword after a moment or two made sure there would be no further attacks, and then he nodded at the trainer. 

"Let's go," he said, and he took the mage's arm and put it over his shoulder to help the man walk as quickly as his weakened legs would allow, off towards the area they first heard the screams.  His own legs were quivering with adrenaline and would be for several minutes more, the combat veteran knew.  Yet he managed to remain steady enough to keep the mage upright and moving.

They headed back down the path towards Ettermoor. It was eerily silent. Only a light breeze moved through the night. Finally, they saw something ahead. There was a glint of metal and the shadowy forms of people standing in the road. With the distance and the darkness it was impossible to tell how many or who they might be, but there were quite a few of them, at least half a dozen, probably closer to ten or fifteen. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention and had not reacted to the new arrivals.

"More deaduns?", Beetle whispered at the Captain, bushy brows lowered as he squinted (with no success) through the gloom, trying to pick out who these newcomers might be. 

The Captain just shrugged and got low down in the lower ground at the side of the road.  He turned to send a cautionary signal to the mage before he took the lead, stepped in front of Beetle, and slowly stalked forward to get a better look and maybe a listen.

Beetle and Teion hung back doing there best to hide in the shadows at the edges of the path while Walther crept forward. He could hear a low muttering. It didn’t sound like a conversation. It was more like someone talking to them self. The closest figures shifted, stepping aside to allow another by. There were turning east, back towards the battlefield and directly towards Walther and the others. A chance bit of moonlight illuminated the group. There were ten of them. The man that had stepped out and was now in the lead wore a long heavily patched cloak. The others had worn clothing and a few had bits of rusty or dented armor, often mismatched. Several of them had weapons at their belts or in hand.

However, their ragtag bits of equipment were not what was unusual about them. The man in the lead had stitches running across his face, holding different patches of skin together. Some of his skin seemed to be rotting. Those that followed him were in little better condition. They were all clearly dead and decaying. They seemed about to leave when the leader stopped and looked towards Walther. It was clear that he had been spotted, but the creature in the lead seemed to be considering what to do.

Walther cursed inwardly at having been located so easily by these men, assuming they were men at all.  Were they like him?  Were they dead and forced to scavenging replacement parts or skin from battlefields?  If they thought him a cache of flesh they would learn the price of skin was somewhat more then they bargained for, he mused while gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.
 
As a test of their intentions, and partly to not alarm the trainer and the mage, Walther remained still and allowed the other to make the first move.


((New page. Go to LAD: Dead Men Tell Few Tales))