I had a headache when I posted this last time, so I didn’t really give any inside info on it before. I actually wrote this on my commutes between my house and New York City. It helped me take my mind off of the crowds and the noise.
“I… I can’t,” stammered the knight. “You’re a Deathknight… you, you’re one of them!”
“A Deathknight that is fighting on your side!” snapped the elf, losing his patience. “Leave the chains if you must but let me save the city!” His eyes flashed with a cold blue light and he raised his commandeered blade. “Or would you like to try to kill me instead?”
With his strength and stature restored, Aravos stood on a level with the knight. Even chained, the Deathknight was an imposing figure, with his silvery skin etched with softly glowing runes. The soldier swallowed nervously, eyeing the long sword in Aravos’ powerful hands.
“Here,” he said shakily, digging a ring of keys from one of his pouches. “What do we do now?”
Aravos let the chains fall to the ground and rubbed his raw wrists. “The hordes are lead by greater undead, Deathknights, liches, vampires… we need to find whatever is holding this together and kill it.”
“Where?” panted the knight, following Aravos as he jogged away. “Where is it? How do we find it?”
Aravos hesitated at a crossroads, disoriented from his long imprisonment. “If we get close enough, I should be able to sense it.” His jaw tightened. “Without my own blade and armor my magic is weak. If the undead take my mind again, you need to take off my head, understand?”
He pierced the soldier with his strange blue eyes. “Understand?”
“Yes,” said the knight. “How will I know?”
Aravos gave a half-hearted chuckle. “When I stop killing the dead and start trying to kill you.”
To their relief the gates were intact, though skeletal warriors swarmed the ground outside, some raising crude ladders while others clawed their way up to the ramparts. The throwers had stopped, though the damage was already done. Aravos could hear the screams and sounds of fighting as more of the flesh golems stalked the streets, adding to the rampant chaos. The sun had long since vanished, overcome by thick black clouds. Thunder rumbled as the knight and the Deathknight fought shoulder to shoulder, sweeping shambling zombies and ravening ghouls from off the battlements. Aravos fought carefully, conserving the magic of his crude runeblade as much as he could.
The undead had overcome many of the knights manning this section of the wall. The few that remained were trapped near the guard tower, hemmed in by dozens of moaning corpses. Zombies turned on Aravos without fear only to fall beneath his blade. The men at the guardhouse watched in awe as the small swarm disintegrated.
“Hold this wall!” thundered the Deathknight, barely slowing as he shoved through the door to the guardhouse and across the deserted room to the far door.
The center of the wall was little better, though he could see clusters of knights gathered around shining paladins. The mighty champions fought with unequaled fury, fueled by the light and a deep hatred for the undead. It seemed, though the monsters roved the walltop, that nothing could stand against the holy men and women of the Church of Light. A cold feeling pierced Aravos’ heart and he hesitated.
The knight stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“A lich,” Aravos replied, pressing his thumb against his blade, wincing as it bit his calloused flesh. The knight watched in concern as he drew a series of crude, bloody runes on the wide blade.
“Lich?” the man asked. “Aren’t liches wizards?”
“Most of them were wizards once,” Aravos said grimly. “Men who turned to undeath to extend their lives and their research. Their magic is strong… stronger than mine.”
“How do we stop them?” asked the knight.
“They are creatures of ice,” replied the Deathknight. The runes on his skin and sword flickered and bluish fire lined his blade. “We need to use fire… it will weaken it enough to kill it.”
The knight spun around and ducked into the guardroom before returning with a brand from the fire. Aravos nodded approvingly. “Good. Now let’s go!”
Almost at that instant, something appeared at the walltop beside the nearest paladin. A tall figure, ghostly and shining with a pale light hovered over the battlements, its translucent robes fluttering in a non existent wind. Only its skull seemed solid, staring down at the champion with red lights that shone from empty eye sockets. Several smaller spirits, lesser ghosts, flanked the lich, striking at the knights with spectral swords. The blades drew no blood, but more than one soldier fell, stricken by the horrible chill.
Aravos swore. “Knight, do you wear a holy symbol?”
The man nodded and pulled a pendant from under his breastplate. “This.”
“Good enough,” said the Deathknight. “Wrap the chain around your hilt and repeat after me.”
When he said the once familiar prayer, the words caught in his throat. For a moment he felt sick, but gathered his strength, barely skipping a beat as he forced the incantation through clenched teeth. The knight followed quickly, stumbling over a handful of the larger words. Aravos grunted, glancing back at the lich and the paladin.
“That will have to do,” he said. “A consecrated blade will drive the ghosts away. Try to keep up!”
Within the Endless Skies 