Mikhail hated everything. He hated the stuffy mausoleum, his pint sized instructor, the spreading smell of decay, but most of all he hated the fact that he had left Rollo outside. A cavalier without a mount was about as useful as an axe without a handle. Sure, one could still get the job done, but it was going to be a messy, if not bloody, affair. Not only that, but he had left his Silver Lance sheathed in the saddle. 

But now was not the time for complaining. Mikhail had seen the kind of damage a single Risen could cause. It took a great deal of effort to keep himself from shuddering from the thought of what kind of havoc seven of them could cause. 

The Iron Sword left its scabbard with a dull rasp. Indeed, this was definitely not the time to waste his breath with complaints. [color=008000]“I’m going to end the mage in the back before she becomes a nuisance,”[/color] the cavalier announced, his voice calm and collected despite his irritation at the situation before him. 

His advance was slow and cautious, ready to dodge an incoming arrow at any given moment, but that strategy had to be abandoned as the melee combatants fell upon them. With a quick flick of his wrist, he parried a savage cut one of the Myrmidon’s had thrown his way. Sidestepping another, he bumped shoulders with Claude. [color=008000]”I’m going to need your help cutting through to her,”[/color] he said without taking his eyes off of the approaching Risen.