---

---

Maceron

The skies were never clear in Maceron. Day after day, the smoke from the metal foundries would drift lazily into the sky, mix with the clouds, and form a putrid greyish haze high above the city. The square city rarely had a day of sun. It showed on the pale, ghostlike faces of the peasants in the foundry district. On a usual day, the city would be filled with white faces visiting market stalls and speaking in the streets. Children would sit at the edges of alleys, watching the carts of traders lumber down the main trade roads. Guards would stand attention at the gates and patrol the markets, watching for thieves. Occasionally a knight or thane would ride through the city to raucous applause.

But today, things were different. The streets were packed not with peasants but with travellers, adventurers and warriors from all over Tithe, here to see the Marching Dead, as it was being called. It was true, the high walls of Maceron castle were surrounded by a writhing sea of the dead. They stood at attention, swaying rhythmically, their vacant eye sockets staring up at the top of the castle. Their jaws bobbed up and down, but few could tell what they were saying. A stream of wights still entered the city from outside, walking through gates or, if none were open, walking through the walls.

Pietro Machelli was one such traveller. He stood in a side street, facing the center of the city where the wights congregated. He tossed an apple in his right hand. Laying down on the ground next to him was a massive bird-like creature, a griffon. Its wings were spread in front of it like a pillow and its head rested atop them. It was incredibly tired from many long days of travel. Pietro couldn’t blame him. He too felt as if a nap would be welcome at any moment. He took a bite of the apple and chewed slowly. Then he looked down at the griffon. It would be fine to leave the sleeping monster here to rest. Anyone two tried to capture it would be in for *quite* the surprise. He shrugged and walked off into the city.

Nearby, Anna Strauss sat inside of a corner apothecary. It was a small, dark store, the windows covered with drying herbs. The walls inside were lit by eerie bright green flames. An old woman was hunched on a stool behind the counter. A massive pair of glasses rested on her shriveled nose. Behind her, a white tiger lounged on the floor. The young fairfolk girl flitted around the store, reaching the high shelves with the help of her wings. She scanned the shelves, searching for rare or interesting ingredients. She picked up a small glass bottle containing what appeared to be octopus tentacles. Oh, the things you could find on apothecary shelves.

A few moments later, she was out on the street, her bag now a little heavier. As expected, Pietro was nowhere to be seen. She frowned and walked over to the griffon on the ground. She sighed and patted it on the head. Her, Pietro, and Arya had been travelling together for a week or so, and she could say without a doubt that Pietro was an awful person. She walked across the street to where her own horse rested, tethered to a pole outside of a tavern. She patted it on the nose and ran a hand through its mane. Augustus neighed contently. Anna opened a saddle bag on the horse and put the new ingredients in. The bags were charmed so that only she could open them. Anyone else who opened them would be shot in the face with rainbow-colored goo that burned like fire. Anna looked all around.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Arya since she entered the apothecary shop. She looked up at the tavern. It was a quaint wooden place called the Unicorn’s Respite. The name made Anna smirk. Everyone knew unicorns were a myth. She figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go inside. She needed to gather information on this wight horde for Cosmas, and a drink wouldn’t be too bad an idea either. She quite liked the sweet wines of southern Talbor. The fact that it looked like the sky could burst at any moment was also weighing on her mind. She patted Augustus on the nose another time and then walked inside. She was sure she’d catch up with the others eventually.



Pietro found himself on a side street with a surprising amount of wights. He saw that the source of the backup was a group of guards blocking the road. They were different from the others, with shinier armor and a more professional disposition. At the lead of them was a blond-haired man. The people looked towards him with admiration. Intrigued, Pietro approached one of the people on the side of the street.

“Say, babe,” he said to one girl. “Who are those guards out there? They look much less dead-eyed than the rest of the guards in this city.

“Why, that’s Kane’s guard,” the girl exclaimed! “They’re local heroes, warriors who stand up for corruption and protect the people! Oh, isn’t Sir Kane so heroic and handsome?” Pietro rolled his eyes and frowned. He could feel his shoulders grow heavy.

“Eh, he’s okay-looking,” Pietro said. “But I’m much handsomer. What do you say we go for a drink?” The woman looked at him with a raised eyebrow and then ignored him. Pietro felt his face flush red hot. He slunk away, muttering dark thoughts under his breath.



In the center of the city, King Draco grew restless. He stood at his balcony, two knights at each side of him. The horde of wights had grown exponentially over the last week. Instead of a few hundred wights in the city center, there were now tens of thousands of them. The number of wights nearly outweighed the number of citizens in the city. Down below, half the city guard and many of the Knights of the Ram hacked away at the horde, attempting to kill them. It was to no avail, however. As soon as their bodies collapsed, the wights would reform and continue to stand.

“The situation is growing dire,” Draco muttered to one of the knights near him. “Our city cannot take many more of these beasts. I haven’t slept in days! Someone needs to stop this madness!” Sir Allen rolled his eyes inside of his helmet. He knew that the king had slept with two virgins of the town just the last night. The king made him stand at attention at his chamber door to protect him from the wights. Sir Fallon approached from the room behind them. He bowed upon nearing proximity to the king.

“Milord,” Sir Fallon said. “My spies across the kingdom tell me that the wight hordes on the roads are beginning to diminish. The number of creatures joining the current horde is diminishing. Once they have stopped, we can begin discussing how we will remove the current horde. An agent from Nepharie also tells me that a similar horde is beginning to develop in Capital City.”

“At least if these beasts take me, they will take the pompous Alanus as well,” King Draco seethed. “Any other news, my dear friend?” He spoke without turning around to face Fallon, as if he feared that if he turned around, his soul would be taken.

“I hear that Lord Sir Frederick, Thane of Ferdinand, is currently riding towards Maceron from Ferdinand Shire. He brings with him several other armed travellers. Perhaps they are reinforcements from his shire guard.

“At this point, I will take whatever soldiers I can get. This castle must be protected at all costs. I will not have my kingdom taken from me my these savages!” He slammed his fist on the marble railing surrounding the balcony. Then he screamed:

“No one will take my divine right from me!”

---

---

---

Karkadin walked by the side of his mount and companion, Bruk. Along the rocky walkway formed over the chasm of Rhamdahak, leading up to the shining light of the sun past the grand entrance, marked by pillars carved too from the rock. All was in place - supplies strapped to the beetle's shell, spear on the dorak's back, and of course, the motivation. He'd wanted this, he asked for it, and he was finally getting it. No one was going to stop him.

"Karkadin."

He turned his head. Behind him and approaching was a figure clad in white, with the hood of her robe draped around her neck. Much shorter than him, at just over six feet tall. Short for a dorak at all, really. A stark white hide, four eyes of red, and tendrils reaching down to her abdomen. His vala sister, Phirrah. Come to say something. But what, he wasn't sure. She was always the quiet one of the family.

"[I wasn't expecting you to come and stop me.]" Karkadin replied, in the doraki tongue. He was expecting one final word of reconsideration, to stay and prepare for the role of Grand Patriarch - organizing hunts to keep the problematic creatures from taking over, tending to the breeding of the Ankro Berti, keeping in touch with the people riding atop the Varaka Bertis, meeting with families to answer their requests of service of extermination to secure their homes and avenge their slain... but, no. That's not what he got from her at all. Phirrah approached him and took his right arm, holding the palm upright and staring at it. Karkadin simply stood there, somewhat confused.

"[Many a Grand Patriarch has done something truly heroic.]" She said, "[Many adorned their weapon arms with their greatest tale of their greatest fight. But all were only heroes of the dorak. The rest of Tithe have minds clear of their stories. And... I think I understand now, that you want to change that.]"

Karkadin remained silent as she continued.

"[You've always kept this arm clear. Always waiting for the story that will define you. And I believe we both know, that this will be that story. That's why you really want to leave. To surpass every Grand Patriarch past.]" Phirrah raised her eyes up at him and said, "[Remember everything you see. Everything you do. I want to write it all on this arm when you return.]" She dropped his arm and simply waited for his response. Karkadin paused for a moment before simply nodding in reply and saying, "[I will.]"

Phirrah took the response as it was, and nodded herself. She watched as Karkadin turned and climbed up Bruk's carapace, taking his seat atop his shell, marching forward into the desert.

...


The rocks and greenery of Talbor were nothing up close as they looked so far away. The air was cooler and damper than Dorakis by an almost uncomfortable margin. The sun wasn’t shining down on Karkadin’s hide anymore, and there were all these… trees in the way. Bruk had no trouble getting over the boulders and outcroppings with his six strong, armored legs, but on more than one occasion he had to work around a patch of trees reaching up from the ground. Yes, he could have probably barged through them but, it seemed a rather rude gesture. Plus, trees were so very rare in Dorakis that dorak were always taught to respect the ones that they had no charge with. Not that these trees were anything like the ones back home - these were lush, plentiful, and… pointy.

Karkadin kept on his way, following behind a small group of wights. They were unsightly creatures, yes, but paled in comparison to just about everything in Dorakis. Small, frail, terribly slow… but they did have an unappealing stench to them, which Karkadin’s nose responded rather negatively to. He remained somewhat cautious around them, as two were armed, and weapons always meant ill intent, especially when held by… these things. But he wasn’t so cautious as to not entertain his curiosity. Karkadin drew his spear and lowered the sharp-shelled end towards the closest wight’s head, lightly tapping it once, twice, and then a third time… which resulted in the tip running straight into the creature’s skull. Karkadin let out a breath of slight surprise, and instinctively pulled his spear away - with the wight’s skull still on it. The rest of the skeleton fell to the ground in a heap of old bones and rags.

Karkadin held up the spear, staring straight into the empty eye sockets of the skull. It seemed so… lifeless, but slovenly. Slight moaning escaped its rotted teeth, along with the whispered words, _{“Go… to… Maceron…”}

Well, he already was, so the instruction was pointless really. Karkadin’s nose shriveled as he took a whiff of the skull, and respondedly flung it away, over a nearby pile of rocks. He looked for it, but it was out of view now. Oh, well. He turned back to the road ahead, and in a miraculous sense of timing, the city of Maceron came into his sight. So much industry amidst the raw nature, it seemed so… intrusive, to Karkadin. But he wouldn’t pass his judgement until he saw it for its composition, though plagued it may be by the undead. And plagued it was, oh yes. Many more wights, all around, congregating towards the center of the city. He could hear the commotion coming from the ongoing attempted extermination of the abominations. If Karkadin were a less sensible dorak, he might think this all commonplace. But, no, he wouldn’t be here if he were like that.

No sense following the directions of those in front of him anymore. “Bruk!” Karkadin called down to his mount, “Venka!” And in response, the massive beetle picked up his pace, raising his body slightly more upward and dipping his gigantic horn downward to act as a rampart. He charged forth, trampling over the wights with ease, making way for Maceron’s gates. If this were a problem at large, the assistance of an Ankro Bertis wouldn’t go unwanted. At least, that’s what Karkadin hoped. He simply stayed his course, riding into the thick of things, assuming the posted guards wouldn’t take him for a threat. He neared the gates, which were open for some odd reason in the wake of things, and continued forth. Bruk left a trail of crushed bones and tattered rags in his wake, some clinging to the spikes of his legs. But it was a vain effort, as shortly after they met the beetle’s simple wrath, they reformed behind him.

This was going to be a problem. But Karkadin would assist in any way he could. That’s what he came here for, in the end.

---

Written with @JunkMail

---

“Y’know what this reminds me of?”

”Aye?”

“That day we spent clearing out that farmland full of shadowfowl.” Theresa said, as she brought her boot down on the frail neck of a wight, severing the skull from the rest of the skeleton. “Kickin’ the damn things, throwin’ their eggs back at ‘em, watchin’ ‘em explode. Good fun, that.” She then proceeded to toss the skull over a nearby wall of boulders. The wight would have to take a while to reassemble itself as a result. With no bodies of water nearby, the duo had to make due with temporary solutions. They were on the rock-ridden road to Maceron, as no doubt many intrepid danger-seekers were. When undead show up all over Tithe and head to one location, it gets people's’ attention. And Theresa and Benedict, in their inscrutable desire to plunge headlong into such adversity, decided to head the same way. Perhaps the venerable King Draco would offer up a reward for anyone willing to help clear his precious territory of the unsightly abominations. But really, they doubted it. The both of them were originally from Talbor, after all. They understood why it was such a bad place to be.

”I wasn’t with ye for most of that.” The hulking lizard-man at the redheaded swordswoman’s side responded, ”Ye and I cleared out their nest in that cave the next night, remember? Pieces of shit left a stain on me pants.”

“Right.” Theresa said, approaching another stray wight with her sword drawn. “Whole damn thing went up in flames, thanks to you.” As the wight shambled on, Theresa readied her sword and made a single, well-leveled swing at its neck. Not so much owing to her own raw strength or the sword’s sharpness, but the frail bones came so easily undone that the skeleton toppled over while the skull went slightly upwards. Theresa scrambled to catch it before it landed, and continued to speak. “Then we took their eggs and used them for target practice!” She had a bit of a smile on her face as she recalled the event. She tossed the skull to Benedict, who already had his massive foot pressed down on a wight trying to crawl away. He caught it, and saw Theresa draw her little crossbow, and he immediately got the message. He lifted his massive arm and waited for the call.

“Pull!” Theresa said aloud, prompting Benedict to hurl the skull into the air. As the head climbed, Theresa aimed upwards and closed one of her eyes in an attempt to focus. She pulled the trigger, and the bolt flew through the air, piercing the skull and pushing it off-course. It fell onto the surface of another flat-topped boulder and bounced off, falling out of view.

”Ten points!” Ben commented. His face suddenly contorted into a look of surprise and discomfort. He reached across his body and ripped a wight off of his back. He snarled and then manhandled the poor corpse. He crumpled its undead body into a misshapen ball and punted it through a treetop, likely turning the being’s bones and organs to mush. Theresa had a good chuckle at the sight.

”Disgustin’…” Ben snarled, and then spat on the ground in front of him. Theresa put away her crossbow and approached the reptilian behemoth. “I know. Things reek. We’ll be doin’ Maceron a service cleanin’ it of ‘em.” She paused for a moment before continuing with, “Well… I will, at least. Not a good idea for people locked up in their homes to look out an’ see somethin’ like you makin’ a mess. Guards’ll turn on you pretty quick.”

”Just have ‘em help the side that’s winnin’.” Ben replied, shaking his head. He knew she was right. In these times people were driven by fear, and he scared people. Theresa said to him, “Never that simple, Ben. Best to just stay outside the walls, out of view. But, hey, if things get out of hand, then by all means, come chargin’ in.”

”Aye. Town’s bein’ overrun with zombies. What’s yer definition of ‘out of hand’?” Ben asked.

And at that very moment, they passed over the dirty trail onto a simple, convenient overlook - and there ahead was Maceron, wrapped in the panic and retaliation all the thousands of wights had bred call for. The duo turned their heads to their right, seeing something… just as odd. A giant beetle, with a pale figure riding atop it. A dorak, no doubt. Rare in Talbor indeed. And at the sight, Theresa hesitantly said, “That’s out of hand.”

”So yer sayin’ that it’s playtime?”

Theresa didn’t respond. She was visibly distraught some, at the sight of so many wights. More of any monster they’d even encountered before, even the shadowfowl. Ben reached across, and placed one of his massive hands on the better part of her shoulder. He turned her to face him.

”Oi. Just like the shadowfowl, remember?”

Theresa paused momentarily, but nodded and said in reply, “Yeah… just… well, good thing they don’t explode any.” She raised her sword and glared at it for a brief moment before saying, “I’m ready if you are.”

”Always am. ‘Was made ready.” Ben said, patting Theresa on the shoulder as gently as he could. With that, seemed all was in place for the two to charge, once again, headlong into adversity. They made their way down to the city gates, and even though their immediate efforts to exterminate the wights seemed useless, they kept severing their skulls and tossing them as far as they could.

It was such good fun, after all.

Kathleen Wallis

---

It wasn't her first time visiting Maceron, but it was undoubtedly her most interesting visit to date. Kathleen had only arrive the day before the wights had shown up, back then she only planned to stay for a few days to resupply and maybe sleep in a proper bed, needless to say those plans had fallen though in a real bad way. Instead she was just another random face in a crowd of onlookers, many of whom seemed to actually want to watch the undead. Personally she wasn't too interested anymore, after a few days her own curiosity burned out as there wasn't much to say about the wights honestly. If anything it was somewhat terrifying actually, there were just so many out there that she was surprised the city hadn't been totally overrun already.

Kathleen was sitting on the side of a street with her back resting against a nearby building simply taking it easy since well... there wasn't much else she could do. The secret Valkyrie tugged her cloak a little closer to her body, partly to protect against the cold, but also to somewhat adjust her wings. Speaking of which the two limbs were feeling very sore by that point after spending a good week still under it's wrappings, normally she would've let them out days ago for some good stretching, but given the current situation with the wights she just hadn't found a good opportunity.

She had thought about using her unique gift of flight to escape the city, although that would also just lead to new problems down the road, rumors of a Valkyrie flying around Maceron wasn't something she particularly wanted to deal with. Besides after spending over a decade in Talbor she felt a little loyalty to the people so to up and abandon them didn't seem right. That said she didn't want to join in the defense either, she wasn't a soldier nor was she an adventurer. Throwing herself into battle wasn't that desirable despite the fact she was technically capable, although not to mention she wouldn't be too sure how effective a crossbow would be anyway. For the time being she just had to wait it out, if things were to take serious turn for the worse than she still had the backup plan of flying away.

_{featuring (G-2), Kane's Guard}

---

“Chains!”

“Good, John, we have them! Now let’s round them up – Sten, you get one end and I’ll get the other, Oscar and Alexander, cut around the sides, push in any stragglers.”

“Aye, Cap’n! Wrap that nice and tight!”

The orc and red-haired guard pushed in some of the stubborn wights outside their range, straight into a great mass of wights that was being held up by the guardsmen. All the while, Kane and Sten took the chain and tightly wrapped a long iron chain around the mob twice over. When the two men came to meet, Kane grabbed the other end of the chain and pulled it as tight as he could, and Sten hastily clasped a set of cuffs through some of the loops and secured it in place. Kane stepped back and took a deep breath. That made two mobs of wights secured. There were still dozens more, and at this rate, it felt as though Maceron would be totally overrun! Damn it, where was Captain Orthur Dorkin when you needed him to get off of his ass?

“Captain,” began Sten Vellen as he approached Kane, “John told me there’s another mob like this one forming around the city square again, and the guard is struggling to keep them contained.”

“Let’s hurry then.” Kane said, then looking to young John. “We need to have quarantined areas, places where there aren’t already wights and chain them off so that the people can have safe places to be in case these wights turn aggressive.”

“Yes sir!” John agreed, and then he ran off to the barrack to retrieve more chains, and to begin the mission given to him. The other men hurried the other way toward the town square, sweat dripping from their brows.

The square was something else – apparently the time between the report and actually getting there was enough to let their numbers multiply to absurdity. Overlooked by the king’s tower, all around the statue of his Majesty, the famed G-2 guardsmen of Maceron made awed glances at one another. The sheer amount of wights swallowing this place was unbelievable. The wights walking through the gates still coming, but now at lower pace, and the March looked as though it would soon be coming to a close. Kane dreaded to see what would happen when it finally did. Kane signaled his men, pointing toward the others guardsmen, and they nodded understandingly. It was he and Alexander now, the latter carrying a particularly long and girthy chain wrapped around his shoulder.

“Let’s get to work then!” The half-orc declared.

It was the same practice, stretching out the chain as far as it would go, with one man at one end of the mob and the other at the other end. The two started pulling the chain around it, but there was one problem...

This was a lot of wights. The sheer weight of all the bones, and the resistance they made, still insisting on walking as they wrapped them made it a struggle to contain the mob. With the other two ex-knights finally returning with a squad of other guardsmen the began helping by grabbing onto the chains and heaving as they fought to contain the stubborn horde of undead. With each tug, they yelled.

“HEAVE!”

“HO!”

“HEAVE!”

“HO!”

Drawing quite a crowd from the by standing citizens who didn’t feel so threatened by The March with all the guardsmen around them. All the men around the mob, as many as they were, still struggled to tighten them close together. As the chain started wrapping around the other side, one thing became apparent:

“Someone find another chain!”

This one was too short, and could not even clasp around with one round around the wights. One good citizen made a run for the forge, bringing in tow the forge’s own smith as he helped the other man carry an even longer chain. With one hook end secured in some chain links, they managed to get one wrap around the wight mob. But with one as big as this, they’re going to need to revolve around a few more times. The struggle ensued, and this time, the good citizen and the smithy joined in pulling the chain around the wights... this act of good will and solidarity was enough to inspire some of the other citizens to aid. Men and women once watching joined in helping G-2 and their neighbors in restraining the massive mob of wights. Eventually running short on chains again, some more people went out to fetch more.

The mob was growing restless, and fought against their confinements. Restraining the wights became even more difficult, links escaping from some of the citizen’s grasp. Kane made note of this – it was not a good sign. When the third round of chains was delivered, it felt as though they were at a last stand. The wights were pushing against the people, and the people were fighting with the guardsmen to keep them in check. It was a stalemate. The statue of King Victor of Draco flashed purple for just a moment, capturing the rapt attention of the people around them. Kane’s eyes were suddenly trained on it – had his eyes deceived him? Was this too much stress? Surely not, Kane had gone through harder than this before!

But it was no such illusion or tricks of the mind. Dust fell off of the statue as it rumbled, and its limbs began moving. Though its feet secured firmly to a pedestal on the ground, the statue could bend its knees and hunker over, grabbing the chains that the people were pulling on – causing the people standing there to flee from fear – but did nothing to hurt any of the people, only tightly pulling the chains, causing some of the men and women to slide across the ground, then let go of the chain before their fingers were caught between them. The statue kept a tight, firm grip, and a dense mob of skeletal wights was confined into a smaller circle. The knights hurried to lock the chains there. The giant statue took its hands back, and sat there, squatting, and looking down on the mob and on the people. There, it seemed to stay.

Amidst the whispering of the wights, all was silent. Everyone was wondering what had happened until a strained wheezing and deep panting broke out from one end of the square. Kane turned to see an old gnome trying to catch his breath in the comfort of his own carriage seat. Gnomish enchantment – he should have known! The silence broke and turned into thunderous cheering, the people slapping each other on the backs on a job well done. Even the guardsmen breaking smiles and grabbing each other’s shoulders. Kane was no exception to this, but he knew that the job wasn’t over yet.

“Great job, everyone!” Kane announced proudly. “This is why everybody knows that you don’t mess with Maceron! If its soldiers and guard don’t get you, its people will!”

Another thunderous round of celebration.

“But our job is not over yet,” Kane continued, “and it won’t be done until we round up every single one of these blasted things and build a pyre so big that even the Icemen will feel its heat!”

The spirits and motivation of the people around the square were bolstered, and most of everyone around went back to work, inspired to do more to contain the wight situation. Kane took the opportunity to shake the hands with all those who had helped and hadn’t immediately gone off to do more work. A couple moments and words of praise went to the first man to step up and the nearby forge’s smith. Giving them his thanks, he walked toward the carriage that was cradled in the corner. The elderly gnome, seeing Kane coming, hit his wooden bench a with the bottom of his fist a couple times and met Kane with a great grin.

“That was very impressive what you did,” Kane complimented, then bowing his head with his fist pressed to his chest, “I am grateful for your help.”

“Oh, that was nothing!” The gnome insisted. The gnome took another deep breath. “That was just... probably one of the biggest enchantments I’ve ever... had to make... phew! That king fellow sure likes his statues big!”

Kane gave him a light-hearted chuckle, “There is more where that came from. I am Captain Kane Bounevialle, of the G-2 guard. What’s your name, my friend? You’ve picked quite a time to travel abroad.”

“Wizzlebee de LaShtüp, good sir!” The gnome introduced.

“Of the noble gnome house?” Kane inquired. “I thought that house had died off with no heirs to its name.”

A kicking sounded came from inside the carriage, but Wizzlebee pretended he didn’t notice it. “Oh yes, yes,” he said, “I’m the last. Also, estranged and extricated, but technicalities! They didn’t like me going on my own, I was never, ah, interested in that noble poppycock!”

“I understand,” Kane agreed, “more interested in wizardry, yes?”

“Oh, I’m only two-bit,” Wizzlebee claimed humbly, “in truth, I am an alchemist.”

“That was still quite some enchantment you’ve pulled from your hat.”

“I am wearing no hat!” Wizzlebee declared in defense.

“It’s, ah... a human figure of speech.” Kane reassured.

“Harumph! I would hope so!” The gnome responded. His tone then took a lighter turn. “But yes, yes, yes! Dire times of need brings people together, do they not? Guess I was... inspired. Yes, yes! Inspired to do the right thing! Hmph!”

“I’m glad to have you here.” Kane said with a smile, then parted ways with the gnome. The gnome waved back jovially and waited a couple moments for him to walk far away enough. He watched Kane discuss whatever matters he had on his mind with his men, then Wizzlebee turned back around and peered his head over the back of his seat.

“Sorry about that, paps, now what were you saying?”

Skeletal fingertips pulled over wool coverings, revealing a skull peering back up curiously at the old gnome.

“I asked how you were expecting to get wight marrow from those bones if wights naturally reassemble themselves. You’d get a whole beasty right on your lap!”

“I did say I would figure it out, paps! Aether has proven itself plenty useful plenty times in the past, I’m sure it can manage one other thing...”

“You and that damn ancient magic,” Bartleby sighed, “it’ll be the death of you, you know!”

“I’m close enough on its edge already, paps.” The gnome admitted. “Who’s to say that aether will be the final nail in the coffin?”

“Just remember that there’s no one around to raise you like you did me. I’m gonna get all bored, walk around, and then get dismembered by evangelical zealots praising whatever dumb god they worship.”

“But death is not the end.” Wizzlebee finished, slumping down with just a bliss smile on his face. He thought he knew that better than anyone.

---

---

Vyri was accustomed to impressive architecture, servant she might be, but she had been a servant in the Academy of Sorcery. What had provoked the look of wide-eyed amazement was the fact that she had never been anywhere outside of Port Orarius, let alone Nepharie. Her face had assumed roughly the same expression of slack-jawed awe when she travelled past Capital City. Few of the lower classes travelled, though the wight exodus seemed to be promoting panic in some of the further out areas of the country.

She’d first seen Maceron from afar several hours ago, a faint dot on the horizon that had slowly resolved itself into a mighty city. It had been a long journey, weeks, nearly a month, by foot, and she hadn’t had much to begin with. Mostly she had slept under the stars, wrapping herself in the heavy cloak and huddling before a weakly flickering fire.

Eleuril had complained bitterly all the way. Already she was growing tired of his company, the first few weeks he had bemoaned the capricious hand of fate for depositing him in the body of a mere servant. She’d received a long lecture on his proper place in the world and how it was not bound to the body of one of his inferiors. She had received a slightly adjusted version of the same lecture every day for two weeks. Eventually she’d snapped at him and asked why, if he was so superior, the ring was bound to her then? He’d shut up for a while after that, unable, or unwilling to answer the question.

She’d handed over control of her body once they’d left Port Orarius, though not for long. The Sage, delighting in the freedom of once more having a body, had worn her like a glove. It had been a deeply disquieting experience, and when she had finally regained control she had refused to allow him power since. That had caused a few arguments, which must have been an entertaining enough sight for the wights. She’d avoided inns and stayhouses as best she could, wealthy people were the only ones who could afford rooms these days, and wealthy people included sorcerors. Eleuril had told her they should take little notice of her or the ring. She had still stayed well away. She didn’t want to find out what they might do if they found out what was concealed beneath the cheap leather gloves.

She entered through the massive gates, just one more peasant among the hundreds of other common folk entering and leaving the city. The guards on the gate barely glanced at her, not that they seemed to have much to do right now, they couldn’t stop the wights, no matter how hard they glowered. They mostly seemed resigned to it by now. She had been astonished to find that people were no treating the undead creatures as though they were simply a tourist attraction. There must be thousands of the creatures, you couldn’t walk ten feet without having to avoid one of the murmuring, shambling beings.

I suggest an inn, you do have them in this age don’t you?

The Sage’s sardonic voice had interrupted her train of thought, and she scowled, earning one back from the stall-keeper she had been blankly staring at. She turned awkwardly and walked in the opposite direction, muttering to herself.

“As if we could afford an inn.”

You know I could correct that wrong if you would but-

“No! I’m not letting you, you talked me into coming here, maybe I should just see if there’s any sorcerers here who can get you out of my head.”

And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company.

If Vyri could have glared at herself, she would have done, instead she settled for glaring at the glove that concealed the ring beneath it. Eleuril was quite literally the devil on her shoulder, though he might very well have objected to said epithet.

She wanted to look around Maceron, the city was quite unlike anything she had ever seen before, and though she may have been forced into this adventure she intended to enjoy it as much as she could. She wandered down the street, looking every inch fading unconsciously into the foreground until she was simply another face, just one more of the common folk weaving their way through the undead.

---

---

It looked as if the knights were beginning to take control of the situation. Some held the chains tight, restricting the wights' movement. Others walked forward with large metal shields locked. Slowly, they pushed the chained wights back away from the city center. Sir Fallon trotted around the square on horseback, shouting out commands to the other knights. He walked over to where Kane and the statue of King Draco held off a large group of wights.

"Great Jessup's ghost," Fallon shouted! "That is miraculous! Even the statue of our dearest sovereign ruler is assisting us in this altercation! Praise Ma'el! No ethereal apparition can overwhelm your glorious military!" Fallon's words excited the crowds at the fringe of the city square. Citizens of the town cheered as the knights pushed back the hordes. "Now keep shoving back," Fallon shouted! "We'll push this decrepit lot all the way back to the necropolis from which they originated! For Talbor!" The crowds cried out "For Talbor!" The banging of shields could be heard from some of the knights.

As the knights reached the streets at the edge of the city square, however, the tables quickly turned. The rows of knights stopped in their tracks. The wights began to push back, hundreds of feet all moving at once. The knights began to skid and slide backwards towards the square. City guards flew from nearby to aid them, shoving behind the knights to increase the pushing power. The wights were undaunting in their resilience and unmatched in their strength. The rows of knights began to slip and slide backwards. A few fell to their backs and were walked over by the skeletal beasts. The wights returned to exactly where they originated from and then stopped. Fallon's wide smile dropped immediately. He looked nervously at the crowds. They looked on from the sides of the square, their mouths agape. Most were quiet. A few groups of adolescents cheered the wights on.

"All is well, folks," Fallon said. "We, the Knights of the Ram of Talbor, will remedy this situation! I ask that all onlookers return to their homes now, in the case that our efforts to protect the city resort to violent means." He nodded to a few knights. They sheathed their weapons and began to walk towards the civilians.

"The knights will escort all of out out of the square and back to your homes," Fallon said. "Everyone have a safe and harmonious evening!" The crowds of onlookers began to clear. Fallon dropped down from his horse. He spat at the ground and cursed quietly.

"Gods! Ma'el," he muttered. "What do we do about this?" He looked up and cried out. A wight stood not six inches from Fallon's face, staring him in the eyes. He realized that the creatures' jaws were now mouthing a different word. They no longer said "go to Maceron." They now said:

"Quorum."

---

It was pointless.

The wights were reforming and standing back up just as fast as Bruk was stomping them into the ground. They still trudged along, mindless. Karkadin soon realized he was doing no good just letting his mount endlessly destroy these creatures. He’d never fought an enemy like this before, and it proved rather disconcerting. He gave up, and ordered Bruk to stand down. “Nasi, Bruk.” He said, and the giant beetle listened, ceasing its destruction and leaving the wights be. He turned his head and noticed a few townsfolk observing him, probably having never beheld a dorak or a bertis before now. He stood up, jumped off of Bruk’s shell, and landed on the street beneath him.

“What’s that?” A child said aloud, unclear as to who he was asking. A man beside him, presumably his father, said to him in a bit of a quieter tone, “Dorak. Mole-folk from the desert.” And the child responded, “I know what he is! But what’s he riding?”

“Ankro Bertis.” Karkadin said, approaching the boy. “Giant beetle, in your tongue.”

“Beetles around here are only as big as a coin!” The boy replied, “Is that as big as they get?”

“Not even close.” Karkadin replied, turning his head towards the center of town. Seemed everything was gravitating towards that general area. Karkadin turned to his mount and said, “Bruk! Oata!” At the command, he settled down, buckled his legs, and rested still. Karkadin turned again and made way for the point of focus in those whole matter, while the young boy and a few of his friends cautiously approached the massive insect, curious.

The knights were rounding up the creatures with an abundance of chains. Karkadin watched the heaps of them being pushed towards the edge of town, only moments later to decide against the action. They pushed back, and the armor-clad knights seemed helpless against their surprising level of strength. The dorak observed as the wights returned to their original positions and took an ominous foothold. One night, their leading figure perhaps, announced to the watching townsfolk that all was well, and that his men would escort them all to his homes while the situation was resolved.

As the knights approached and the crowd began to clear, Karkadin remained where he stood. One knight approached him with a finger raised and said, “You. Dorak.” He stepped further and continued, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help.” Karkadin replied, calmly.

“Your ‘help’ is not required.” The knight replied, “All is under control.”

“Doesn’t seem it.” Karkadin said back to him, resolute. Probably coming across as stubborn to the knight, but oh well. He didn’t have any intention to leave. And if he couldn't assist, he was at least going to watch. He passed one more glance over the knight’s shoulder and said, “I would prefer to stay in case something happens.”

“Fine.” The knight responded, a little aggravated, “But remember, you have no hold nor charge here, dorak.” And as he walked away, the knight gave one last command.

“Let the Knights of the Ram handle this.”

The day was not at all going as expected. Shux was walking through the streets of Maceron, his head down, in his thoughts cursing the wights for causing him this much trouble. Today was supposed to be a good day, one that would have made him even richer than he already was. The reason he had arrived in Maceron a week ago was simple: his newest concerto was supposed to premiere in the city. Shux had composed 12 brand-new songs and melodies that were sure to make the ladies’ hearts melt and the coins come rolling in. However, the city had been put into a state of alarm, and as a measure to prevent any incidents, major gatherings had been cancelled…which meant his concerto was not going to premiere today. Or at all for that matter.

The Satyr could not remember the last time he had been this upset. Life was usually fun for the laid-back, little-caring Bard, but having his concerto cancelled was too much. What was he supposed to do now? He had little interest in staying in Maceron, on the other hand, he had no plans to speak of. Shux was supposed to be performing for the next month in this city, a plan that did not look like it would pan out. I need a drink; he thought to himself, being this angry caused his throat to dry up. A nice cup of wine might lighten his mood, although he would need a lot of it to improve his view on the current state of affairs. Shux recalled the location of a tavern nearby. Nothing fancy, as far as he could remember, but it would get the job done.

A few streets later he finally arrived at the Unicorn’s Respite. It didn’t appear to have changed much, but as long as they had some wine, Shux was not going to complain. The Satyr entered the little building, and was greeted by the usual noise and smell that one encountered in places like this. He hoped to go unrecognized, as his current mood was not the best to deal with annoying fans. All he wanted was some alcohol and time alone. He decided to sit down at the counter, and proceeded to order a whole bottle and a cup. Their selection was limited, and they did not carry his favorite vintage, but oh well. As he poured his first cup, the Bard took a look around, observing the patrons that had gathered.

Most of them were simple peasants and travelers, although there were numerous people that looked like warriors. Probably came to Maceron to fight the wights, hoping to make a name for themselves and looking to be rewarded for their heroic deeds. How pathetic. Shux chuckled to himself at the irony of life. While others risked their life for gold and country, he got to sit in a comfortable chair, write about all these deeds without being ever in danger himself, and the money he made from his songs was more than any treasure one of these “heroes” could ever hope to find or earn. Oh well, not everyone got to be as lucky as him.

When Shux emptied his 4th cup, his mood started to get slightly better. His concerto would have to wait, but why not enjoy himself in the meantime? In times like these, people tended to try and forget their troubles with drinks and songs, a solution that didn’t even sound half that bad. His train of thought was interrupted as an agitated human entered the tavern.

"Everyone, the statue of the king has come to life! And the knights are fighting the wights! You have to come and see, help...run, quick!"

The annoucement brought a lot of commotion with it. The travelling knights packed their stuff and ran off, some townfolk joined them as well. Shux glanced at the bottle, it was about one third full. He sighed, unsure if he wanted to follow the pack and spectate or stay here and enjoy the quiet.

_{featuring Kane's Guard}

---

Kane and his troop were discussing matters and plans of action following the round-up of the wights, beside the statue of King Victor of House Draco, which was bent over, out of its original position. He, and the G-2 guardsmen Sten Vellen, Alexander Xerxes, and Oscar Gene – Kane’s once squire, John March, was already off establishing safe zones throughout the city prior to their arrival here in the square. The situation looked bleak, despite the hope Kane sought to instill in the city’s people.

“First and foremost,” Oscar offered, “we have to make sure that the citizens here are out of immediate danger. Victor has got plenty of his own personal guardsmen to keep his precious castle safe, we needn’t waste our time with that.”

“I agree,” said Sten, “I think we should just keep doing what we’ve been doing. We can’t kill them or force them out of the city, chaining them together in place seems like it’s the best precautionary measure.”

Kane heard his men, but he still looked solemn, pinching the skin at the bottom of his chin in thought. “It seems so,” he said, “but I still worry. The king and the knights are so full of pride that they cannot see this situation has fallen out of our hands. The people need a full-scale evacuation. It should have happened before things ever got this bad.”

“If we hurry, we might still have a chance.” Alexander proposed.

“Perhaps, Alex,” Kane muttered as he looked back up, “perhaps... but it never should have been left up to chance.”

That familiar chiming tone, that wretched, stomach-churning bawling of the head knight himself – Sir Fallon came riding up, making a fool of the knights with all of his honeyed words of his love for the Child King, his cries for victory was a presumptive, childish assay at pleasing the crowds. As practiced as he may be, he was but a hollow man. It was a wonder that Kane was unable to see through him until only three months ago.

Fallon had ordered his men, the Knights of the Ram, to put their shields up and renew the charge to push the wights out of Maceron’s gates. Kane’s eyes lit up, and shot his hand forward – “Wait, don’t!”

But alas, it was too late for him to object to Sir Fallon’s commands. The Ram listened not to a disgraced knight, only to their great leader, for clearly, Sir Fallon was an infallible tactician. For look how gracefully he would ignore assessment and order the very actions that had failed prior times before! So full of pride was he, he would attempt the most hopeful remedy where so many had failed before him... right from where he sat before, upon his horse, wishing not to get his hands dirty.

Like the many times before, the knights with their shields up, with all their attempts at pushing out some of the loose wights outside of the city, they were soon being overpowered by the skeletal abominations. Some men were trampled beneath their feet, others scrambled for safety. Kane watched as that naïve hope from Sir Fallon’s eyes flicker away as his precious plan had crumbled before him. But his pride was as such, that he wouldn’t let his own visage of nobility be tarnished, nay, he wouldn’t deliver the truth to the deserving citizens. He would have it so that they lived ignorantly beneath incapable rule at the face of inescapable odds. If there was ever a parallel to Maceron’s corruption, there was none closer than the metaphor taking place now. Kane felt his temper flare as Fallon ordered his knights to round up the citizens and escort them to their homes – as if that was the safest place they could be. He turned to his own men, who noticed his angered expression immediately.

“Men, be on standby for now, help the people if you can. I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Sir Fallon.”

They nodded and watched Kane march towards the Ram’s headmaster as he dropped from his horse.

“Sir Headmaster Fallon!” Kane called, a fist pressed to his chest in salute, and a bow of his head – disgraceful that he should have to honor a man such as he – he continued forward, lifting his head back up and dug his eyes into Fallon’s.

“With all due respect,” Kane said with a sharp tone, “their homes are not the safest place to be. We should be issuing a full-scale evacuation! We cannot contain this many wights!”

Meanwhile, Kane’s men were either watching what was developing or keeping an eye on the surrounding area, or taking care of the people – assuaging their fears, advice, whatever they could do. After Oscar, the curly red-haired knight decked in particularly heavy armor, looked to be in his mid thirties, took to bringing an old woman’s belongings to her home, bore witness to an exchange before a foreign Dorak and one of the Ram’s knights. The knight, while not laying a hand on them, did not handle the situation Oscar felt was accordingly. The Ram knights were a proud lot – Oscar was no exception to that rule, neither was the rest of Kane’s Guard, they worked very hard to get to their positions – but they didn’t let it blind them like many of the Ram did. Oscar stepped forward, addressing the knight that had bickered with the Dorak.

“Good knight,” he called, prepared to handle this as tactfully possible, “as capable as we may all be, this is not a problem that the Knights can handle alone. Talbor is strongest when we all work together!”

Oscar finished his plea upon the knight on the happiest of notes, throwing his arms out and a great grin on his face. The knight, howe’er, turned about and looked upon Oscar’s face with an insulted look, measuring the red haired man up and down.

“I need not the counsel of a traitor,” the Knight declared, “haven’t you kittens to be saving from trees? The real knights will take it from here.”

Oscar’s smile dimmed, but in Oscar’s classic style, he did not let the knight ruin his optimism. There was an unspoken acknowledgement among the troop that Oscar’s only expressions were varying degrees of smiles, but each with their own smile. A faint smile in the face of injury would be akin to something along the lines of an ill wish upon their well-being, but nothing so severe. Rather, “I hope you drink sour milk.” He turned to face one of the newcomers in town, the Dorak that had gotten into that mishap with the knight just before. He met him with a wider smile, and nodded his head with his fist pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry for the lack of warm welcome, newcomer. As you can... clearly tell, we’re in something of a crisis.” Oscar said, shrugging. “Sir Gavin is also kind of a dick, but what can you do? I’m Sir Oscar... Ah, guh! Just Oscar now, I’m sorry! Old habits die hard, eh?”

Written with @Spoopy Scary

---

At least one knight was set on being a little more welcoming. But thruthfully, Karkadin wasn't electing to blame any of them for their attitudes just yet. There was, after all, an undead problem. Karkadin met his four eyes with Oscar's two and greeted him in return. "Well..." He said, "Thank you. I don't blame him, though. This does seem like a serious issue."

"This is true," Oscar agreed. However, following that, he crossed his arms and sighed. "A knight's responsibility is to defend the kingdom - primarily - but each knight also takes an oath of honor and chivalry." The red-haired guardsman sagely said. "True knights mustn't sacrifice their values even if it is to uphold our duties, lest we become glorified soldiers and guards. Keeping that equilibrium is the true undertaking of knighthood, less so than it is the missions we are assigned."

"Uh..." Karkadin replied, a little lost for words at the knight's resplendent use of his own, "I... agree." He took a look over Oscar's shoulder at the active crowd of wights, and the knights surrounding them. Something seemed a little... off, now. "Is everything good over there?" Karkadin questioned.

"Eh, yeah... for the most part..." Oscar droned. "Kind of. Not really. See that fancy knight, the one my blonde friend is talking to? He's the headmaster of the Knights of the Ram. Now, I'm not allowed to say much, but we uh... haven't gotten along with him for about three months. Let's call it conflicting ideas."

"I see." Karkadin responded, redirecting his attention back to Oscar. "Is there..." He continued, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Well, as long as Sir Fallon..." Oscar pointed again at the headmaster, "...insists on keeping command, then I'm afraid his knights wouldn't even allow you. My captain has found that the only successful idea so far is taking those chains and rounding them up like you see by the statue."

Indeed, there was a writhing mass of bones held together by long, thick chains.

"Keeping them together like that seems like the best bet to control them once they decide they're hungry. The wights are too strong to push out, and they reassemble when you break them apart."

"But..." Karkadin replied, "What are they all doing here?"

"Trust me," Oscar began dryly, "if any us knew, we would have either evacuated immediately or I'd be in the tavern drinking with one of 'em."

"Seems a lot of people are already relaxing, watching..." Karkadin replied, scanning to his sides, seeing the nearby establishments still opened up, people sitting outside, spectating.

Oscar sighed and propped his hands on his hips. "Yeah, a product of Sir Fallon. He insists that nothing is wrong. If Captain Bounevialle had it his way, he'd lead an evacuation himself. Says, 'we shouldn't leave room for any chances.' It's starting to sound like a really good idea. They creep me out."

"Your Captain seems like a smart leader." Karkadin replied, "Although I don't think-" His sentence was cut out by the rising sound of clicking behind him. Karkadin turned his head as his mount lumbered towards him, mandibles shaking, shell vibrating some. "Ansa, Bruk!" Karkadin said aloud, approaching the beetle and placing his hands on the creature's horn. "Ansa, ansa. Oata." Bruk seemed to calm down some, and once again buckled his legs. Karkadin turned back to Oscar and said, "I'm sorry. Something has him worried."

"I wish I could say your beetle is the strangest thing I've seen today." Oscar mused. His spirits then died down a bit as then he motioned his hand toward all the wights occupying the square. "But... the thing... with the March, it kind of takes the medal for about everything ever."

"Strangest I've seen as well..." Karkadin replied, looking once again towards the wights, wondering what was bound to happen with them.

---

---

Fallon glared down at Kane from the top of his horse. He sheathed his sword and frowned. Then he broke out into a wry smile.

"Oh, why Kane," Fallon said. "The more I hear you speak, the more I wonder how you were ever let into the Knights of the Ram in the first place. Of course we cannot evacuate the city. Evacuation would cause panic, and panic would then cause the people of this nation to begin to mistrust their government. And, of course, when people mistrust the government, stains like you and your crew of thugs appear on our glorious surcoats. We could have more revolutions, more instability. More knights could be tempted down your path of mutiny and we cannot have that, now can we?" Fallon paused and relished in his victory. "Now get back to work lest I tell the king that you're rousing up citizens again." Fallon clopped away on his horse, a cordial grin on his face.



A congregation of darkness was beginning to grow in front of the gates to Maceron castle. The temperature there dropped by several degrees, and the shadows nearby began to grow longer. All of a sudden, the whole city grew silent. Not one word was spoken for a total of thirty seconds. Many opened their mouths to speak, but no sound came out. The cloud cover over the city grew much darker. The smokestacks of the iron district began to pump out blacker and blacker smoke. Every flame in the city was extinguished as if by a gust of wind, and the streets quickly grew so dark that it was nigh impossible to see one's hand in front of one's face. Animals fell silent. Women screamed. Dark howls could be heard from not too far away. The wights still stood at attention, their bones vibrating, waiting for action.

In front of the gates, where the darkness first began to form, a point of light appeared. It swirled around itself cosmically, as if trapped in a gravitational field. Then it began to collapse. The light collapsed until a black disc appeared in the center. The black disc grew in diameter, sucking in all of the light around it, until it became the size of a small person. Then it collapsed in on itself and exploded. The darkness rose from the streets and the light returned. Standing in front of the gates of Maceron Castle was a small cloaked figure about four and a half feet tall. It was hunched over, leaning with its hands just above the ground. Large golden claws covered its hands and black chains hung from its wrists. Its face was obscured under the darkness of its hood. Two long golden horns escaped the hood and arced up into the air. One who looked closely at the creature could see that it had hooves. It stood in silence for a moment, standing completely motionless and staring at the gate. Then it reared up and looked up at the balcony where King Draco watched the chaos unfold.

"King Victor of Draco," the hooded figure said. "I am Lutin, servant of Lord Daraden, Master of Tithe. I have come here at the will of my master to deliver to you a message of utmost importance!" The creature's voice was high-pitched and harmless-sounding, but it carried an echoing resonance that chilled the hearts of those who heard it speak.

"And what might that message be?" Draco called out. His voice boomed over the crowd, but he was quite terrified.

"The land on which your castle sits is now property of Lord Daraden, Master of Tithe!" Lutin shouted. "Put down your arms and leave this land or else fall at His omnipotent strike!" Draco spat down from the balcony.

"Aye, you bastard!" Draco shouted back. "Your master is a fool for him to think that the rightful rulers of Tithe would ever back down to a craven's ultimatum!" Draco waved to Fallon. Fallon nodded and gestured to some of the knights. They drew their weapons and surrounded the demonic creature, their shields brandished. Fallon circled the shield line on his horse.

"Now then," Fallon said. "Let's make this quick. Ha!" Fallon rose his fist into the air. The knights converged on Lutin, charging in shield-first to take him down. Black chains exploded from the darkness behind the knights. They grabbed at their legs and arms, pulling them back away from the cloaked figure. The knights struggled forwards, thrusting lances and swords at Lutin, but none could even scratch him. People still in the streets fled into the nearest structures, hoping to protect themselves.

Fallon backed away on his horse. His eyes were wide with fear. His horse reared up and whinnied as chains grabbed its legs and constricted. It began to struggle against the chains, kicking and screaming. A loud "SNAP!" came from the creature's back leg as it broke. The horse collapsed into the street, crushing Fallon's right leg under it. Two knights ran to Fallon's aid and pulled him out from under the horse. They propped him up on their shoulders.

"This is no victory for you, you bastard!" Fallon said. "Our armies outnumber the power of your magic! We will-"

"That's quite enough out of you," Lutin interrupted. He turned to Fallon and rose one of his hands. A blast of black smoke exploded from his hand. It enveloped Fallon's face and began to swirl around his head in a sinister black cloud. The black cloud returned to Lutin and flew into the darkness under his hood. Fallon collapsed to the cobblestone pavement, his body limp as a marionette with the strings cut. More spectral chains burst from the ground and grabbed the knights who were supporting him. The knights already on the ground began to become cocooned by the dark chains. Try as they might, they could not escape the chains' grasp.

"Are you quite done yet?" Lutin shouted.

"Someone kill him!" Draco cried out. A flurry of arrows flew from the guardsmen inside the castle. When the arrows got within ten feet of Lutin, chains shot up and grabbed the arrows out of the air. He picked up an arrow in his gauntleted hands and snapped it between his fingers.

"You really should try harder!" Lutin shouted. "How about we call this one a draw and you surrender before I really have to start using my magic?" Draco shivered with fear. A cold sweat had broken out on his face. His hair was disheveled. He gripped the rim of the balcony as tightly as he could. Lutin looked backwards onto the street and smiled. There was one single wight walking down the street. It beared no differences from the others, with rags hanging from its bony body. A rudimentary wooden club was held limply in its right hand. As it walked alone, Lutin turned back around and began to giggle.

"You dare laugh at your impending death, you fool?" Draco shouted. "My men will overwhelm you and-"

"Do you know what a quorum is, Victor?" Lutin shouted.

"How dare you interrupt the king Tal-"

"A quorum is defined as the minimum number of members of a society or species required for that society to take action," Lutin said. The last wight wasn't far behind him now. "It is believed by some medical scientists that the germs that cause disease in the body require a certain amount of themselves to be present in order to cause disease. The germs grow and grow, reproducing and gathering nutrients, until eventually they hit a certain number of inhabitants. Then what do you think happens?" The last wight reached the farthest out horde. It placed its left hand on a skeletal shoulder. All of the wights stomped so loudly that it could be heard all across the city.

"How about you tell me?!" Lutin shouted. The wights' heads all jerked simultaneously ahead. Then they locked onto the first living thing they saw. A cloud of smoke exploded around Lutin, and he disappeared. The wights were silent for one more moment, and then they attacked.

---

---

All at once, the wights screamed. They charged at the nearest living thing, brandishing their weapons or grasping their targets with their skeletal hands. Their grips were strong enough to break bones in those they grasped. Once they latched on, they leapt at their targets and chomped down with their skeletal jaws. They dragged victims to the ground and began to beat them mercilessly, stabbing or ripping at their flesh. They tore off flesh with their powerful bites, spitting it into the streets. As they fought they continued to scream, and soon the scream of a wight and a human running from a wight were indistinguishable. The wights who were chained up tore at the chains surrounding them. So many wights resisting together broke through the chains with ease, destroying them as if they were made of glass. Then they swarmed the nearest living things.

Pietro drew his sword as the wights charged and fought back. Their erratic movements were no match for his skilled swordplay, but it didn't matter. He slashed off their heads, tossed their bodies into walls, split them in two. The skeletal beasts simply got up and went back to rampaging. He watched people fall around him, the wights pulling them to the ground and tearing into them. A swarm of six wights converged on a guardsman in the middle of the street. They pulled him to the ground, tossed his sword away, and then began to stab at his chest. When his chain mail prevented their blades from piercing him, they bent over and bit holes in the chain mail.

"Mother of Ma'el!" Pietro shouted. "These things are absolutely ridiculous!" He swatted off the head of a wight with a flick of his sword and slashed another one's arms off. They fell down, put themselves back together, and kept up their rampage. Pietro backed up into an alley, striking at the wights' heads to keep them back. Several citizens, realizing his combat skills, cowered behind him. Though his speed and skill were able to keep the skeletons back, he couldn't stop them. One of the citizens behind him screamed. Three wights ran down the other end of the alley, two brandishing rusted machetes. Pietro leapt across the alley gracefully. Quickly he disarmed two of the wights and beheaded the third with a flick of his rapier. He dug his rondel into another's skull. The horde he had previously struck down reformed. He jumped again and fended them off. He repeated this ritual for several waves, taking out one side, striking down the other, and then repeating. His breaths came in huffs and puffs.

From the south end of the alley, an explosion went off. The wights screamed louder as they were engulfed in flames. They fled the scene, their bodies ablaze. Some ran for water sources. Others ran uncontrolled through the streets, their bodies ablaze. They all feared the presence of fire. Anna floated to the ground on her wings, a bomb in one hand and a wand in the other. A barrel of water blew open, sending a wave across the alley, taking out the other group of skeletons. The water formed itself into a water spout, a tornado of water that spun an incredible speeds.

"They can't reform in running water and they hate fire," Anna said. "Keep those in mind. We have to get out of here!" Pietro ran to a door in the middle of the alley. He pulled on the door handle, failed, and then sliced the lock in two with a strike of his sword. He threw the door open and ran inside, the civilians and Anna on his tail. Inside was a storage room filled with casks of wine.

"I can use these to defend our position," Anna said. "But we can't stay here for long. Eventually the wights will corner us and I only have so much stamina."

"Where the hell is Arya?" Pietro shouted.

_{featuring Kane's Guard}
Written with @SepticGentleman

---

Kane felt himself grow furious following Sir Fallon's words. Would he truly sacrifice so many in the name of his own hubris? In case he was unable to tell, the people were already panicked - there were hordes of monsters invading their homes, standing at the ready for whatever catalyst that might trigger the wights' wrath. With his fists clenched, Kane marched forward after Sir Fallon - he was ready to finally speak his mind to that pompous ass, tell Fallon what he really thought, then tell him to lay away in some stable with that horse he loved to ride on so much. However, as he raised his finger, no words came out of his mouth. Nothing but dry silence. In fact, it was not just him, but the entire town had gone utterly mute. A looming darkness crawled from behind Kane, and the captain turned to look behind him, from where that darkness emanated. A sliver of light had penetrated from behind the veil, swirling around until the darkness that shrouded the city had fallen upon itself and sound had returned to Maceron. It formed the silhouette of a human figure.

Kane's hand instinctively went to the pommel of his sword. His spontoon was not currently with him.

When Lutis had appeared, in that ghastly form of robes and chains and the golden armaments of demons, his very presence made a chill crawl up Kane's spine. He spoke of his master Daraden and of his decree - and the unconditional surrender of Talbor. Kane and his own guard looked at one another uncomfortably. Never would they accept such a term. To think that any person would come in and expect such was unthinkable - and yet here they were, making that very demand. Kane would have joined the others in their flagrant mockery of Lutin...

...were it not for the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of wights surrounding them at this very moment. It was doubtless they were without connection, as was confirmed later in his negotiation with King Victor.

When Sir Fallon's knights moved to fall upon Lutin, they were restrained by magical chains that had appeared from nowhere! It seemed only moments later that the defiance of a wounded Sir Fallon was cut short by Lutin's power. An unceremonious end to a corrupt villain's story, as it were. Kane's eyes were like a deer's as all that he had known became irrelevant in the face of Talbor's newest enemy. As Lutin declared a final threat against King Draco, he vanished in a puff of smoke, and the dead began moving amidst a chorus of screams.

---

All fell to chaos in seemingly moments. The darkness enveloping the city and suddenly retreating, the ominous hooded figure making his address, the wights growing indomitably restless and breaking through their chains, all setting their attention on the nearest living thing and engaging them. As expected, Bruk was one of the largest targets around, so he had a veritable crowd acting upon him. Karkadin reared back and drew his spear as the wights came close, swinging the thick of the shell at two of them before clambering up the beetle's shell and taking seat atop the creature.

Oscar, still nearby, was nearly overwhelmed by the sudden first wave. However, he was stronger than he looked and was able to support the weight and the force of the clamoring dead from beneath a metal plated tower shield. With a great heave with his whole body, the guardsman threw a good half-dozen skeletal monsters off of him and drew a leaf-bladed gladius from his sheath with his back to Karkadin's beetle. Caught flat-footed, Oscar was wild-eyed as he quickly looked around the battlefield assessing the danger - a wight flung itself on top of Oscar, where he then threw it several feet away, and was continuously harassed by a stream of undead that Oscar had previously dealt with. With moves and footwork surprisingly nimble with the kind of armor Oscar donned, he decapitated the first, shield bashed the second, and with the bash, twirled his feet so that he spun and he could place an armored foot behind the feet of the third that came towards him, and met it with a backhand to the side of its skull. The third fell over, and Oscar took his other boot and crushed the wight's sternum.

These damages were nothing that could keep them down, but buy him enough time while they reassembled. Oscar's eyes fell upon his comrades - Kane, Sten, and Alexander forming a triangle with their backs to each other, moving with each other as naturally as flowing water. Even in defending themselves from overwhelming numbers and great strength, their skill was so that they overshadowed the rudimentary prowess of the city's standard guard. Oscar turned a second to watch Karkadin climb his beetle and defend himself with his spear and the beetle's own strength.

"My Doraki friend!" Oscar yelled over the chaos. "All of the wights we tried to contain have broken loose, there are too many! I suggest we rally with my team!"

Karkadin nodded in reply and yelled back to Oscar, "Get on!"

As strange as it was for the guardsman, Oscar knew there was no time for hesitation. A quick sheathing of his sword and shield, Oscar gripped the chitinous shell of the beetle. As he did so, a wight grabbed onto his leg - a quick kick to its head had rid him of the monster and he finally pulled himself onto Bruk's back. Beside Karkadin, Oscar brandished his javelin.

"Venka!" Karkadin called out, pointing his spear in the direction of Kane and his men. Bruk reeled back and kicked his legs out, pushing back the wights at his side, and then charged forth as he did before. Dozens of the abominations were trampled underneath him as he headed in the direction his master indicated, though they reformed shortly after. Some attempted to grapple onto his side, but Karkadin and Oscar were both doing a fair job of keeping them off. Bruk bashed his way forth, his horn causing wights' bodies to practically explode as they came into contact. Within moments, Bruk was near the trio, and put down half of the surrounding forces to buy them a bit of breathing room. "Nasi!" Karkadin called out, and Bruk took a stand where he was.

"What in blazes?" Sten swore as sweat dripped down from his nose. He looked down at the sound of a wight reassembling itself at his feet, before crushing the hissing skull once more with an aggravated stomp of his boot.

"Aha!" Alexander cheered at the sight of his comrade riding atop Karkadin's mount next to a mole man. "Oscar, is that you?! Atop an ankro bertis, no less! I fought me one o' these things before!"

The half-orc, even amidst the chaos of the battle, managed to spare a moment for blissful reminiscence. Then there was Kane, his bastard sword in hand, looking up to see a sightly scene - one he could not be more glad to see at such a time like this. True to form, however, Kane cut straight to business.

"Oscar! If you and your friend can stay with Sten and try to keep a clear around the gates for the people to flee through, Alexander can go around and cut paths and evacuate some of the citizens. I need to find John and help those along the way!"

There was a slight of hesitation in Oscar, but he knew that Kane was the sort that thought everything through, wrack his brain with everything he's got. Perhaps they had finally found a hopeless situation.

"Yes sir."

"Oscar," Kane continued, "there's an old gnome in a carriage in the corner of the square. I believe he can help you."

"An... old gnome?"

"Have faith!" Kane called as he turned and began his run through an alleyway. He disappeared in its crevices, followed by the sounds of shrieking wights, which were soon cut short. Sten looked to Oscar, throwing his hand up for help getting on top of the beetle, inviting himself on. Karkadin proceeded to turn his head and point his spear towards the gates Kane made mention of, and once again called out, "Venka!" Bruk's mandibles clicked loudly as he picked up speed and battered down more and more wights along the path. Once they reached the gates, Karkadin shouted back to Oscar and Sten, "Get off!" And he did so himself, before they could follow his action.

"Gnome, gnome..." Oscar muttered to himself as he slid down Bruk's shell. He found the carriage off in the corner, but whoever was there must have fled some time ago - because it was empty. With no other lead, Oscar gave up that order and situated himself beside Karkadin. Though short next to the Dorak's towering height, he no less stalwart with the heavy armor and great shield at his disposal. He poised himself in a defensive stance, with the edge of his sword gliding against a curved-in corner of his shield.

Sten, however, remained where he was on top of Bruk. His sword was sheathed, but in its place was a heavy looking crossbow and a bolt being notched on its string. Several other bolts were being latched onto a revolving conveyor - a contraption inspired by long time enemy Ignia and their weaponry. With each shot, a gear turned shortly after and moved the conveyor so that a bolt would be set in the crossbow's rail. A lever action crank was at the crossbow's side that helped to pull the string most of the way back.

"Just keep an eye on Alex in case he forgets he's not supposed to die out there." Sten commented as he took aim into the horde of wights. In the distance, one was chasing a man. In the man's panic, he tripped on the road's brickwork. Before the wight had a chance to fall upon him, it's skull exploded as a bolt shot out from the powerful crossbow. Sten cranked the lever and pulled the string the rest of the way himself. Oscar looked into the distance, and was barely able to make out the face of the man Sten had just saved.

Karkadin, however, failed to notice Sten's remaining on top of the beetle before he turned and called out, "Divae!" It was only then he saw Sten taking aim, but it was too late. Bruk immediately began to act on his own accord, making short charges at the surrounding wights, spinning and sweeping his horn to toss them aside. This, of course, made for very poor footing for the man riding atop of him. Bruk was no horse, not like Sten was used to. Straddling the smooth chitinous surface was something of a chore, but Sten was nothing if not an accomplished marksman and equestrian.

When he slid forward, he found himself at the base of the head with his back against the shell, snuggled between Bruk's two elytra panels. The movements were erratic and wild - maybe something like a wild horse, but more skittish, uncontrollable, and alien - but the beetle could move all he wanted. All Sten needed was to keep himself braced and compensate for his aim.

Oscar stood his ground beside Karkadin, stealing glances at his new ally when he could spare the time between cutting down savage wights. The Dorak was capable, keeping wights at a distance, some of them even turning themselves into kebabs, but weighing down his spear. Which Karkadin would promptly slide them off with his foot and get straight back into action. Karkadin's skill warranted further questions of where he came from - but Oscar was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth in his time of need! All that mattered was allowing survivors to escape Maceron. As Alexander cut swathes through the horde, going from house to house, more and more survivors began to making a run for the gates. Sten covered their escape from atop Bruk, shooting down any chasers.

"How are you holding up, my friend!" Oscar yelled out, keeping several wights at bay with his shield - his own weight was too much for them to push back while he kept himself rooted. From behind his shield, it was easy pickings to sink his blade into their heads. As long as their attention was on them, that was one less wight chasing the survivors - but as they attracted more wights, the objective of defending the gates grew harder. Karkadin was somewhat preoccupied, and his delayed answer of "Fine!" came after he kicked back a wight running at him with a club.

---

_@Maxx

---

Kane had to find John.

A young man like him with only his own hands to defend himself wasn’t going to last long alone. His training was far from done and was only up to par to the guardsmen of the city, and well... they were dropping like flies. Every time he had to step over one of their helmets, Kane’s heart sunk. The wights may be higher populated in the square, but even back in the alleys, the density was nearly unbearable. With each wight charging themselves at him, Kane felt more and more run down – and they would keep getting back up, only to follow a short while later. Along with this, each step of the way, he’d barge into whatever home or building and evacuate whoever resided in there – or slew, whichever of the two came first. He had to get as many people out of this town as he could.

He came back to the one side street where they had rounded up one selection of wights before. None of them remained; they had dispersed since then, hunting down whatever living being they could find... the nightmarish fiends. But more immediately pressing was the massive scorch mark on the ground, as if an explosion or a fire had taken place here. Now that he thought about, a number of loud noises rang up around the city but was too busy trying to fight off the swarm of wights to do or think anything about it. Blackened bones were littered about.

Blackened bones... were littered about.

Kane’s plan was to burn up what he rounded together, simply out of hope – but was it really the secret for keeping these guys down? He eyes traveled up and down this alley curiously, before a glint of light flickered from the ground. There it laid, his spontoon, on the ground and against the wall. With these things wearing him down, keeping distance was becoming more and more important. As he approached it, a wight jumped out from another alley from the side. With a side swipe of its rusted hatchet, Kane’s sword was ripped from his hand by the wight’s superior strength, and the wight moved in for the kill. Kane moved to grab the creature’s wrists, fighting it in a grapple as its skull moved inches closer. He felt its unnatural strength pressing upon him, slowly and barely moving Kane back toward the wall. He was being overpowered.

Kane roared as he swung around, holding the wight by the wrists, and using the creature’s own strength against it, slamming it against the stone wall that was once behind him. The wight’s bones were rattled, and it was immediately thrown onto the ground – Kane used their inertia to go down with him, using his armored forearm to crush the wight’s neck, and his knee shattered various ribs. The wight’s head began rolling off, before the invisible threads connecting them started to slowly reassemble itself. Kane, with great haste, grabbed his sword and sheathed it, then lunging for his spontoon. The half-pike, now in his possession, felt like the most natural form of the entire Knights’ arsenal.

Kane hurried back to the storage house in front of the great scorch mark to check for survivors. Inside, he found a South Nepharian man with a rapier, and a young fairfolk woman behind him – and a number of recognizable citizens behind those two. A few hopeful, though silent whispers chattered through them.

“It’s Kane...!”

“Sir Bounevialle?”

“You must hurry!” Kane urgently said to them, taking deep breaths between words. His eyes looked as though he were still in the middle of a battle and stray locks of hair fell into his face. “My men have taken point at the main gates; there you can evacuate the city! I had fell the wights on the way, but they won’t be down for long! Come, go!”

The wight that he had taken down earlier and risen faster than expected, and leaped onto Kane’s back; Kane was quick to react though, and slammed his back into the corner of the doorway, causing the wight’s bones to shatter in several places. It let go, and Kane took the shaft end of his spontoon to violently bludgeon it to the ground, and its bones scattered across the alleyway. This time it won’t be back up for a while. As quickly as Kane had come, he had left, pressing his charge down the way in search of John.

---

---

Arya had always been defined as a 'bookie', or a recluse, or even a nerd. It had come as a surprise to her that after so many years of study, she was suddenly a knight. Despite the aforementioned descriptions, if there was anything that described Arya- it would be immature. She was in her forties, but was around half that age mentally all things considered. Fairfolk tended to mature slower than most other races.

She had always done basic research over the applied sort. She specialized in information that the academy just wanted to know. She wasn't as much of a field worker in training as her job description had required. THAT had come as a somewhat unwelcome change to her lifestyle. So here she was, traveling around the lands and maintaining order by culling evil-doers and removing the rule breaking filth. Or at least, that's what she told herself. She had been told of the many moral dilemma's she was likely to face at one point or another.

Speaking of change, she hated the number system people used to rate things. One-to-ten was so... boring.

So, on a scale of seven-to-eighteen, the situation she was in was currently a solid sixteen. Which probably translated to a nine out of ten or something. Arya had been traveling with a swordsman and a fellow fairfolk (who's attitude wasn't quite up to par
on her knowledge- at least not where she acted like it was). They were good company- and made the chores easier and the night's safer. It was a comfort knowing that people were watching your back, after all. They had traveled to Maceron following a herd of wights, and she had split off to restock for more traveling, only to find that the wights had become very hostile very fast.

Now, the undead were of no real issue to Arya. She marched through the streets, unharmed and unattested. Both of her arms were outreached, her blue skinned hands being the only skin visibly exposed. She was waving wildly with one arm, creating rings of rock that forced wights into tight clumps or six or seven at a time. With the other hand she was snapping angrily, causing small explosions to erupt seemingly out of thin air.

"It was such a good day,"

An explosion the size of a car bomb- sending flaming undead body parts in all directions.

"And I was enjoying myself shopping,"

Another explosion, like an incendiary grenade went off. Smaller but more intense than the first.

"And I was thinking to myself- today is such a nice day,"

Another eruption- almost entirely flames, incinerated a few nearby wights.

"I was going to talk to talk to an old lady, maybe do some painting,"

Another explosion.

"But nooooooooooo!"

Arya stepped forward to a lone wight, which she had separated and pinned with rock. She pulled the wight down to it's knees in stone and pressed on the wight's forehead.

"You had to mess it all up today!"

She made a gun shape with her hand and pressed her thumb down, as if she had pulled the trigger and the hammer had come down- and a jet of flame spewed from her fingertips. The inferno burnt through the wight's face, and when she was satisfied Arya relinquished her hold on the corpse. She whipped a few droplets of sweat from her forehead that resulted from the heat.

What was she doing again? Oh, right, Pietro and Anna.

"Alright, here's to hoping you two haven't died yet." Arya muttered, continuing her destructive mid-day stroll down the road in search of her traveling companions.

---

Written with @SepticGentleman

---

"This is actually kinda' fun!"

"Ben, shut up and help."

Ben and Theresa had been fighting their way through the streets. Wights were nigh unkillable, but they did get incapacitated easily enough. Their undead bodies were frail, and Theresa's sword cut through them as if a hot knife would through butter. Benedict's strength and size granted him equal invulnerability to any weapons the wights used. Theresa however, was not as durable as her companion. Her skill and agility could not trump numbers with the same efficiancy Benedict could. She was a warrior however, and she knew her abilities and how to use them.

"Ben!" Theresa called, cutting the head off of a wight, and pivoting away on her heel to face her friend.

"Aye?", the scaled Behemoth called back turning his attention away from the small horde that had concentrated around him.

"Headin' your way! I need a lift!" Theresa finished, pushing off of her pivoted foot towards the great lizard. The aggressing wights were obvious obstacles, and Theresa worked around them by dodging and weaving around their grasping hands. She aimed to maim rather than kill, settling with cutting off arms and hands that reached a little too close to her over taking the time to go for the head. They had dealt with the undead before. Running water, and fire were the only things that could permanently extinguish the undead life of a wight.

"Hand!" Theresa shouted, sliding under the wild arm of a wight that attempted to strike her as she approached Ben. The behemoth in question had began coughing jets of fire around him- as if burning a spotty ring that stated 'do not cross'. The wights directly in front of the broken jets were knocked back like rag dolls with caved in chests. One the path was clear, he stuck one hand out for the woman to use to jump onto. Once he felt the familiar weight of Theresa on his appendage, he pulled his arm upward in an effort to throw the woman onto his shoulders. It was a manuever they had practiced and executed hundreds of times. Benedict had a huge barrel chest, even for his size, and despite his sometimes erratic movements she often had no trouble maintaining solid footing.

"Get me to a buildin'!"

"What?"

"Buildin', you brute! Get me to a buildin'!"

"You dont have ta be so mean about it!"

As instructed, Benedict worked his way to the edge of a street. Theresa placed her hand on the side of his head, and gently pushed it in the direction she wanted him to strafe. She was aiming for a pub, and for good reason. She had a plan.

"I'm hoppin' off into the pub's second story! Keep the horde off me while I'm in there!"

"Makin' me job, woman!"

Ignoring Ben's comment, Theresa took hold of the wooden bars on the balcony of the pub's second story. With Benedict defending the main entrance, she would have a much easier time executing what she planned. There was a trick she had picked up. It was fairly well known- a petrol bomb was one of the easiest weapons to create a use after all. But the pub was the best place to find the kind of alcohol that burned.

She traveled down the stairs and into the pub's main room, sword in hand. The wights inside were few- and were focused for the most part of the bodies around them that they had felled. Theresa pressed her back to a wall, and began feeling around her, eventually settling on a half empty sack of potatoes. With bag in hand, she approached the wights- who were busy beating the fresh corpses or were now standing again now that they sensed her. With an indignant cry, the redheaded monster hunter beheaded the wights and stuffed their bodies into the potato sack. She rushed away from the bodies and threw the sack down into the pub's cellar in an effort to distract the monsters while she worked.

Vodka and rubbing alcohol were her main quarries, and were easy enough to find. She sheathed her sword and grabbed her choices and as many bottles of alcoholic beverage that were over 100 proof. Dry rags were simple enough to find- she simply tore apart one of her spare tunics. Nothing she couldn't replace. She found and emptied another sack of potatoes, and placed the bottles inside of them. She shouldered the sack and began treking back up the stairs to the balcony- grabbing a candle stick as she walked.

Almost as soon as she got up the stairs, she was jolted out of her objective induced stated of drive, and nearly dropped the sack, by a manhole cover very abrupting slapping into the wall less that two feet from her face. She turned to the direction the cover had come from to see a very pissed off looking Ben facing an incoming horde of wights. The behemoth was hunched over and was roaring- looking more genuinely pissed off than she had seen him in a while.

"Watch 'here your throwin' that thing!" Theresa called from the balcony angrily, depositing the sack of petrol bombs on the balcony floor next to her. Benedict's state of anger dissipated momentarily, and he turned fromt he looming wight horde to look at his friend. He narrowed his eyes and blew smoke from his nose. Theresa produced a single bottle from the bag and lit the cloth with the candle stick and prepared to throw- only to realize that there was a manhole not far from her.

A manhole.

The manhole meant that there was a sewer, which meant that there was running water right below them.

"Ben, the sewers!" Theresa called tossing the molotov in her hands and preparing to throw.

"What 'bout em?"

" 'Means there's running water right below us!"

Benedict's expression went from confused to understanding- and he quickly moved over to the opening. He hammerd his fists down, and began tearing hunks of the street away from the weakend opening- exposing more of the sewers below. Theresa was chucking molotovs into the street, doing her best to land them in a funnel like formation around the opening Ben had made. As wights pressed onwards- their instinctual fear of of fire funneled them directly to Ben- who made short work of their bodies- depositing their shredded corpses into the running sewage behind him. The process continued for several minutes, with Ben eventually adding wood and other constructs to the fire to keep it burning. Theresa however was running low on bombs, and settled on cutting the wight horde off by creating a line of fire only a few meters away from the balcony.

A makeshift safe zone for the two of them. The fire would die if they didn't fuel it- but it bought them time to think and to rest. Something that had saved them many times before.

_{featuring Bartleby de LaShtüp}

---

Amidst the fighting, the running, the screaming and the rescuing - in fact, underneath it all, hiding from it and watching through a crack from under his own coffers in his carriage was Wizzlebee. Indeed, he had hardly moved from his spot and was totally hidden from the hungry armies of undead. He knew the weaknesses of wights like no other, and it pained him to see so many fall to the wights as a result of his own inaction - but Wizzlebee was old! Yes, that was his excuse, far too old to defend himself against so many of these things. If one knew of what he's capable of, then they might ask, "Why not just take control of them?" Well...

He tried. From the safety of his hidey-hole, of course, but he tried. However, whoever was able to control so many undead (probably that Daraden guy) had great power. So much power, in fact, that their influence over one wight with his attention split between what was likely thousands gave way to a couple of conclusions: one being, Wizzlebee's necromancy was actually useless beyond simply turning the undead away - which is what he has been doing when a eight got too close for comfort, but didn’t often have to do, for he smelled so much like the dead that barely any of them noticed the gnome hiding - and two, that such ease of control over such large numbers must have meant that Daraden was a lich. Only one of the dead could have such precise understanding and control.

The epiphany, needless to say, had terrifying implications.

On a pettier note, the old Scrooge made it difficult to use this as an opportunity to really study the undead, with what's left of their minds being controlled and their bloodthirsty rampage being quite the distraction, forcing you to focus on your own well-being. If he could glean anything from them, it's that the presence of aether in them was immense and concentrated. It supported that Daraden was a force to be reckoned with. It'd take nothing less than Ma'el's own fury; it seemed, to eliminate such an adversary.

With Wizzlebee was his own skeleton, risen it himself, he did! But this one was special, see. His father's soul, the great Bartleby, head of the long lost and noble LaShtüp family, bound to the rattling, bony body. Weaving aether and gnomish enchantment together, giving his long lost "pappy" another opportunity - if a bit of a short-sighted attempt, having risen him in a skeletal form. With Wizzlebee, Bartleby hid with him. Not because the wights threatened him, no, but they were quite scary.

...Also, the guard with the crossbow atop the beetle and the half Orc were quite eager to shoot or dice up anything that wasn't alive. Such was the way of things.

"The great alchemist and necromancer, mighty be his name, hiding away in his coach's dress box." Bartleby snipped flamboyantly.

"I'm not as young as I used to be!" Wizzlebee complained in his defense. "One, three fire balls and it'll be the end of me before you know it! Swarmed!"

"Now you're just selling yourself short!" Bartleby groaned. "Get creative, you dumb wizard!"

"Dumb?! Oh, I'll show you..." Wizzlebee grumbled. Creative. Yeah, okay, a couple of things came to mind.

The old gnome pushed open the lid to the box he hid in, only for his head to have risen above the edge of the box by an embarrassing few inches, a few miles short of impressive. With a couple of huffs, Wizzlebee climbed over the edge and onto his seat, viewing the field on which the knights, guards, and wights took battle. So many dead, but so few wights in comparison were slain. He made an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes, letting the magical energy that flowed through him concentrate in his hands. He lacked the firepower that any specialized wizard had over their respective elements. But what he does have...

Sparks crackled between his fingers before they erupted into flames, and a ring of fire began swirling around him. One hand poised as if he were holding something, fingers flared outward.

...What he did have was skill.

With his other hand, Wizzlebee merely pointed his finger. A highly pressurized gust of hydrogen, taken from the air, went through the ring of fire and instantly ignites as the bolt flew across the square and penetrated the skull of a wight. Wizzlebee’s pointing finger turned into a fist and widened it into an open palm. The fire ball rapidly expanded, causing a miniature explosion to occur from the pressure inside the wight skull. Its bones flew off in every direction, and they remained still where they had landed.

“Dumb wizard, my hind!” Wizzlebee declared indignantly. He did this to two more wights before he started catching their attention. Some of the wights peeled off from the assaulting force occupying Oscar and Karkadin. This was what Wizzlebee was worried about! The ring of fire from around the gnome dissipating, and making a motion like tugging a rope, water came from thin air – taken from the fog enveloping Maceron, and a small stream ran swiftly around Wizzlebee – another ring. Without the firepower a water mage might have, Wizzlebee resorted to manually accelerating the flow of the water around him, as though he were constantly dragging it. With each move of his hands, the water spun faster. When the first wight came into range, the current simply broke the bonds holding the bones together, and got swept up in his ring. In the water’s flow were bones of all sorts, unable to reassemble.

Two other wights stayed where they were, unable to cross the swiftly running water. Wizzlebee capitalized on their inaction by shooting the bone meshed water at them in a jet – the pressure was enough to break them apart and keep them from reassembling a few moments longer. The gnome raised his hands, and shards of earth, from the brick-layed streets slowly contained the broken wights in a prison too small for them to reassemble in and will remain until destroyed. Here, Wizzlebee began to pant.

“Oh... oh boy!” He whined. “Can’t... can’t keep up with all the young folk anymore.”

“Nonsense!” Called the voice from below. “You’re doing fine!”

“Can you even see?!”

“You know I’m afraid of skeletons!”

Wizzlebee looked behind him incredulously. “What?! You...!”

The elderly gnome shook his head and set his focus back on the playing field. Well, he was getting tired, but there were so many wights left! What to do... golems wouldn’t permanently destroy them, if only enchantments could create golems that were made of anything that wasn’t a solid and... ah, wait... aether was a binding force. What did the book say?

‘Aether is the force that binds all of the world together. To understand aether, you must understand the world it lives in – you must understand its container. Master the elemental magics.’

Well, the last bit was poppycock. He wondered if he was the first to circumvent the prerequisites for learning aether. Perhaps nobody thought to look at alchemy as an example or template for aether. Still, aether was a binding force. Able to tether supposedly intangible forces such as souls to itself to create spirits, and to tangible objects to create ensouled.

Wizzlebee took a long, deep breathe. More hordes of wights were approaching. Damn this day to the world’s end! A fireball erupted in both of Wizzlebee’s hands. They were slung in the direction of the wights charging towards him, and they predictably flared out in a very tame explosion, but the intended effect was to produce as much fire as he could. This was accomplished. In front of the fire that was burning the wights’ bones, Wizzlebee closed his eyes and began his familiar breathing exercises. With a substance such as fire, he’ll need as much help as he could get. He let the aether flow through his body and opened his eyes with a mystical pink mist just barely visible around them. From here, he could see and sense all the aether flowing around him. The wights were particularly blinding, with so much aether stuffed into every one of them. He could easily sap what he needed.

The old gnome moved his hands very cautiously and meticulously, not wanting to mess this up. Weaving and blending fire and aether together, letting the invisible energy wrap itself around the flames, giving it form. The symmetry that both hands conducted created two human shaped funnels of fire. With a final flick of his wrists, a spark, an attempt at gnomish enchantment to give artificial “life” or independent action to the given forms.

Wizzlebee’s hands fell to his sides in exhaustion. Between wheezes, he said, “That... that is too—too much!”

Trying to balance so many actions at once was a strain on his stamina, especially when the ingredients involved were so physically complex. With the slightest glimmer of hope, he looked up to see if he had truly fumbled at his attempt, not expecting anything to come of it... but there stood two fiery funnels of man-shaped golems, ever-burning, apparently inextinguishable. They stood idely. Wizzlebee’s face turned into a tired, gleeful, and innocent smile as he pointed toward all the wights terrorizing Maceron and commanded their permanent deaths; and as ordered, the golems obediently shot fire from their own bodies in concentrated bolts, incinerating the oblivious undead – unable to detect the non-physical golems as semi-conscious beings – into ash.

Bartleby joined in his son’s relieved laughter. An unnerving cacophony of glee in the face of horror.

---

Now that they had a bit of breathing room, Theresa made her way down through the building and ran out through the entrance, rejoining Benedict in the street. “Alright!” She called out, clapping her hands together, “Off to a good start.”

“Ye sure tossin’ ‘em down there’s good enough?” Asked the behemoth, “Water only works when it’s fast-movin’.”

“They might still reform down there, but at least we’re keepin’ ‘em off the streets. Not like they can grip ‘emselves back up, anyway. Slippery down there.” Theresa replied, taking a look at the fires behind them. “Right then, we gotta keep it up. Work our way around the walls, shove more of ‘em down there. Make things a little easier for the guards. We should start with the town gates so people can get out easier.”

“Ye sure we’ll ‘ave enough fire fer all that work?” Ben asked, scratching his throat. Theresa merely shrugged and replied, “We’ll make due. Always ‘ave, always will. Right?”

”Right.” Ben said in return, along with a wry smile.

They both turned back towards the wall of burning junk, its flames beginning to die down, and the wights beyond it beginning to make their advance. Theresa turned her head and pointed to an alley, saying, “I’ll cut through there, you meet me ‘round. Help the knights thin the crowd a bit.”

”Aye, but… if they turn on me?”

“Think they’re a little too busy for that. Just keep goin’ if they do. Good?”

To which Ben nodded and replied, ”Good.” And with that, they both made their ways off in different directions, Ben approaching the horde of wights and ready to brute force his way through them, and Theresa cutting through the alley relatively free of forces - some strays, but nothing a few swipes at the necks would solve. She’d have to keep an eye out for more taverns - they were going to need the alcohol.

---

_{Featuring Kane's Guard}

Written with @Spoopy Scary

---

Things were beginning to clear up. Bruk’s thrashing about, Sten’s marksmanship, and Oscar and Karkadin’s waving their weapons around to clear up the rest of the encroaching horde, all combined into bringing about one safe exit for the people of Maceron to flee through. They came in crowded groups, dashing past the action, taking up base at the open grounds surrounding the city. They could be seen standing far enough away to watch their home be fought over, many silently hoping everything would turn out alright, and others cheering wildly for their defenders’ victory.

Soon enough, all that was left near the gate the group was guarding were mere stragglers, as the surprise manifestation of two flaming apparitions did very well to thin the horde. Karkadin didn’t even notice them until half of the opposing force was already vaporised - Sten had taken a moment to stop firing to take in the curious light show taking place before him, and so did Oscar. Hopefully, being turned to ash would be enough to stay them for good, but the dorak kept his guard up nonetheless. A wight approached Karkadin, and he confidently thrusted his spear into the monster’s open chest cavity, in between its ragged ribs, and flung it with relative ease up and over in the flaming golems’ direction. And, thankfully, one caught the airborne wight with a well-timed blast. With that, the majority of them were gone, the main force being further inward of the city, and still very much active with other parties of knights.

"Alright... boys...!" Oscar said in a cheerful attempt to lead between deep, heavy breathes. "Let's... spread out around the square... secure the area!"

Karkadin took a moment to rest his arms, putting away his spear. He looked over at the two flaming shapes of men, more curious than cautious. This... was magic, wasn't it? Nothing like it he'd ever seen in Dorakis, not even by Phirrah's doing. He approached cautiously, the duo seemingly paying him no mind - though he couldn't tell, with their lack of expressions. "Hello?" He called out, stopping a bit away from them, hands at the ready in case anything went wrong.

"Oh! Oh!" A distant, old, gnomish voice called out from a corner of the square. "Oh! Worry not, worry not! Those are my doing! Harmless, really! I... think."

Oscar looked up in curiosity to see an old gnome like Kane had described suddenly back on the carriage he once thought was abandoned. Huh. He guessed the captain was totally pulling his leg after all... because that was a thing he'd totally do, right?

"Well I'll be damned." Oscar muttered, his mouth dropped a bit in awe at the full realization of what kind of mayhem this gnome had ravaged with his minions alone. Ashes were scattered across the square.

"Impressive work..." Karkadin called out, somewhat hesitantly, watching the golems before turning his vision towards the gnome. "Who are you?"

"Wizzlebee de LaShtüp!" The gnome declared. Wizzlebee straightened out the toga on his side. "Wizard and alchemist! The, uh... fire golems, they're probably unstable. First time it's ever been done, as far as I'm aware! Don't know their temperment, you know, can't trust the elasticity of aether too much."

"Well..." Karkadin replied, "Thank you, for your help." Turning away from the gnome, amd still somewhat mindful of the golems, the dorak faced Oscar and said to him, "We should go to the next gate then? Help more people escape?"

---

_{Featuring Kane’s Guard and Bartleby de LaShtüp}

Written with @Spoopy Scary and @Septicgentleman

---

Pietro heard a loud bang from outside of the storeroom door. His right hand flew to his rapier. His left arm stretched out wide, keeping the people back away from the door. Anna took her wand out of her bag and pointed it at a barrel of wine. The barrel floated up into the air magically and stopped above the door. The door shook. Pietro heard a shout and then the crunching of bone on the cobblestone. The door flew open.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Kane Bounevialle, the legendary Talborian guard. Relieved to see that the undead were not encroaching, Anna lowered the barrel to the ground and sighed. He was handsome, just as handsome as the stories said. Spontoon in hand, he walked into the room. For a moment, it appeared to Anna as if a stream of sunlight were stretching down from the heavens and dancing across his golden hair. Pietro’s hand dropped off of his sword’s pommel. It was that guard from earlier in the day, the one that every woman in the city seemed to swoon over. He tipped his hat, mainly to hide his eyes, as the citizens rejoiced in seeing him.

“It’s Kane...!” A plump woman cried.

“Sir Bounevialle?” said a young boy.

“You must hurry!” Kane urgently said to them, “My men have taken point at the main gates; there you can evacuate the city! I had fell the wights on the way, but they won’t be down for long! Come, go!” The citizens heeded his warning and ran for the door. Pietro and Anna followed them out into the alley. They could hear the screams of the wights and the clash of steel against bone from blocks away. Just at the end of the alley, a wight dove onto a guard and pulled him to the ground. The guard struggled under the wight’s strength, managed to roll it onto his back, pinned it to the ground with his shield, and then beat it mercilessly with a hatchet.

“Which way do we go?” the young boy cried.

“Main gates.” Kane repeated, then pointed down the alley Kane had come through, as indicated by a trail of skeletal bodies slowly trying to reassemble themselves. “Follow this path and it’ll get you on the main road toward the southern gate of Maceron, you’ll see some of my men and a large doraki beetle mount. Make haste, before they rise again!”

Kane then turned and looked at the southern Nepharian man with the rapier. He looked capable, perhaps even familiar - but this was no time to be trying to recognize faces. He just looked capable, and knights had a way of measuring up a man’s or woman’s worth.

“Keep them safe!” He said to him, before running in the opposite direction. Pietro looked at him, surprised, as he ran away. He shrugged and drew his sword.

“Do not worry, my dear knight!” Pietro shouted with a smile on his face. “We will not lose a single man, woman, or child!”

The people began to flood towards the end of the alley. One of the children screamed “A dorak! I thought they were myths!” Soon they reached the end of the alley and poured out onto the South Road, one of the four large roads that connected the main gates of the city to the inner square. The road was in chaos. Merchant carts and bodies littered the street. Wights ran amok, hunting down those who had yet to find shelter. Mothers in the crowd following Kane hid their children’s eyes as two wights dragged down a poor woman who was running across the street. Anna drew her wand and blasted the wights off of her with a jet of water. She appeared to draw quite a bit of attention from the wights nearby, who began to circle the group, their jaws hanging open.

Pietro’s eyes grew wide. He shouted “run!” at the people and began to herd them towards the south gate. He ran with his sword in his hand, slashing every wight in their way to pieces before they could react. Anna hovered above the crowd, blasting jets of water at any wight that approached the group. Now every wight on the south boulevard was chasing them towards the gate, their screams absolutely intolerable. Anna flew to catch up with Pietro at the front of the crowd.

“Tell me you have something in that bag of yours for this!” Pietro shouted.

“I have a couple ideas!” Anna hovered back up into the air. She took two different terra cotta grenades out of the pouch on her belt. The largest congregation of wights was in a side street in front of the group, forming a large mob to catch them as they approached. Anna tossed the bomb in her right hand towards the horde. They looked down at the object with curiosity. It hit the ground and shattered, sending a blast of greenish-brown smoke into the air. It smelled so awful that the group, still about five blocks away, could smell it instantly. Anna flourished her wand in the air. A stream of powerful wind surrounded the wights, locking the stench cloud in. It did not affect them at all. Anna noticed another group congregating at the other side of the road. She cursed and pulled on the mini-twister. It stretched across the alley, creating a surging flow of wind that obviously did not obey the laws of physics in the slightest. This was quite a strain on Anna, as wind magic was new to her. She attempted to distribute the stench cloud between the two mobs, but it was becoming too dispersed. She frowned and took her second stench bomb out of her pouch. She had the ingredients to make two more, but making it properly would take hours. She threw the second bomb at the other half of the horde on the other side of the street. The wall of wind converged on the two groups, holding the stench in.

The people were now less than two blocks away, and the wights attacking from behind were catching up. Pietro was at the back of the group, swatting at the wights as he ran. Anna took the third bomb out of her pouch.

“Oh Ma’el, I hope this works,” she muttered. She threw the fire bomb at the stench cloud. Unfazed by the smell, the wights watched the terra cotta ball fly through the air and shatter on the ground. As it hit, the dragon oil ignited the oxygen in the air and threw both itself and the magnesium powder up in a lovely, super-hot explosion. The heat ignited the gas from the stink bombs. The entire block exploded, sending a bellowing “WOOSH!” across the city. The light was blinding. Shards of burning bones flew through the air like shrapnel. When the dust settled, a pile of broken bones laid scattered across the road. Several buildings had been leveled in the blast. Anna hoped no one was inside. She was growing very tired now, and she was beginning to sink towards the ground. Pietro shouted to her as she sank:

“That was brilliant! Smelled like ass, though!” He swatted at another wight that was chasing them. It was exceptionally difficult to hit a target with a sword while running backwards. Pietro stepped on a femur thrown from the blast and fell backwards onto his back. The wights dove on him, dog-piling him to the ground. He screamed.

“Gallor’s balls!” Anna yelled. She pointed her wand at an iron vent where the open sewers seeped into the pipes below the streets. The vent exploded, throwing the iron vent across the street and sending out a torrent of sewer water. The water blasted the wights off of Pietro and knocked the pursuing horde into pieces. Pietro got up from the ground, sputtering, and ran towards the group of civilians. Several city guards were now leading the front of the group, swatting at the wights with their spears and bashing them with wooden shields. Anna was breathing very heavily now. Her wings were exhausted and the hand with her wand in it quivered. She fell to the ground, heaving for breath. Pietro cradled her in his arms and began to run for the gate, which was now not far away.

Suddenly, out of two other side streets, two hordes of wights appeared. They ran towards the citizens, their jaws open wide and their bones rattling. The guards moved to fend them off but were swiftly overcome by the sheer number. Pietro, running with Anna in his arms, became aware of a very large group of skeletons running behind him. They were no more than two paces behind, their arms outstretched and their jaws open in an unending ethereal scream. They approached the gates. As Kane had said, a large beetle stood at the south gate, with several guards on its back. Kane’s guards ran towards the wights attacking the citizens. With their help, the rest of the city guards rallied and pushed the creatures back. Pietro felt a skeletal hand hovering above his shoulder. Anna moaned weakly. As he approached where the guards had set up, he ducked his head and dove, cradling Anna in his arms to protect her from the impact. Just as he hit the ground and skidded to the beetle, a wave of flame erupted across the hordes. Some of the wights burned, while others ran in fear, still screaming.

Pietro sighed in relief and fell onto his back, panting. Anna rolled off of him and got to her knees. She dug through her bag, her hands still shaking, and pulled out a vial of a milky-colored serum.

“Stand still,” she said. “You’re hurt.” Indeed, his jack of plates had several bite marks in it now, and a very large bloody gash was on the base of his neck, put there by the clawing finger bone of a wight.

“Can’t you...usually just zap cuts and bruises away?” he asked through heaves.

“I can’t...do aether magic right now…” she panted. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Alright, just don’t...don’t fuck up.” Anna rolled her eyes. She applied the milky serum to the gash on his neck with a silver spoon. It sunk into the wound and stopped the bleeding. Then she pulled out an herbal bandage. She pulled down the sleeve of his shirt and vest, exposing the top of his chest.

“Not in front of the dead guys, sweetie,” he goaded. He suddenly felt a pressure around his pancreas. “Yeesh, it was a joke. You have no sense of-”

“Shut the hell up and stand still,” Anna said. “I need to apply this very...carefully.” The cool herbal spread on the inside of the bandage was cool to the touch. Slowly, she wrapped the bandage around his body, keeping pressure on the neck wound. Once she had used up the bandage, she took a metal pin out of her bag and used it to hold the bandage in place. Pietro pulled his shirt back up. Then he rocked up to a seated position.

“Thanks,” he said. “For that, and for, you know, drowning me in sewer water.” He flicked a speck of what he seriously hoped was mud off of his vest.

“Anytime,” she said. “And thanks for, you know, not leaving me to be eaten by zombies.” Pietro smiled again.

“Anytime.”

"We should go to the next gate then? Help more people escape?" Karkadin, the Dorak, said to Oscar.

Oscar sighed at the dorak’s suggestion as he fended off another wight. “Maybe,” he said, “my only concern is that – Ha! – the other gates are in much closer quarters that we may not be able to effectively defend. The wights’ main advantage is their numbers, strength, and primitive ambush tactics.”

Sten was still atop Bruk, counting down his leftover bolts. There weren’t many left. He sighed, and looked down at the two. “It’s our duty to help them – but there’s a depressing reality knights got to face: we can’t always save everybody. I would be surprised if anyone was still alive on the outskirts of Maceron after being sieged for this long. If there are any left, they would have to make a break for one of the closest gates.”

Oscar’s spirits appeared to have immediately dimmed. Sten continued, “The fact remains, we cannot hold out against so many wights for so long without reinforcements. We can only save as many as we can before we retreat ourselves.”

Bones flew out from one of the streets into the square, following a primal roar. Charging out was the half-orc guardsman, Alexander Xerxes, now a sweaty big from his wake of devastation. Even though now practically rubble, Alexander continued forward and hooked a cracked up skull’s eye socket with the back, the pick-end, of his war axe, he slung it into the air and swung with his other axe – spraying bone shards through the air over the head of the king’s statue. Two firballs fired from the now mini golems incinerated them in mid-air. The amount of charges they could fire, limited by the amount of mass they had left, then ran out and the fire golems dissipated into thin air. A thin layer of ash seemed to coat the city square.

Alexander stood there panting and invigorated, and a great big smiled stretched from one side to the other.

“YEAH!” Alex bellowed into the air. “Any more?! Any more challengers?! Huh?! Come on! Come and get it!”

Wizzlebee, still in his coach, only kept a wary eye on the half-orc. Bartleby, from down below, piped up real quick to ask an (unanswered) question. “What in Death’s name is that racket? Are there barbarians attacking us now?”

“Here he goes again...” Sten sighed.

“Well hey, what did you expect?” Oscar said, smiling at Sten. “I’m just glad he’s on our side.”

“Who is…” Karkadin softly questioned, somewhat not wishing to really receive an answer.

“I am the wall against which weaklings break!”

“I guess so.” Sten answered Oscar. “We got another large group come through. Some looked hurt, but they’re alive. How much longer do you think we can hold this position?”

“I don’t know.” Oscar answered truthfully. “Not much longer, I think, but I refuse to move from here until we get word from Kane.”

Sten nodded in silence and kept his eyes peeled. There was so much happening it was difficult to focus, even for a Knight of the Ram... or, at least, having once been a Knight of the Ram. But when Kane’s bright hair and shiny armor came into the very edge of the clearing, there was no mistaking it. Their captain had returned with a group of survivors with him.

“I see him!” Sten called to Oscar. But he frowned – something was wrong. Why was one of the citizens carrying his pike? What was it that Kane was carrying that kept him from... from...

“Oh no...” Sten muttered. Oscar looked confused between him and Kane’s approaching band. Then the glistening, unmistakable shade of red caught his eye. A shade of red coating a familiar armor, and a familiar head of hair of a young boy he knew. Oscar’s jaw was dropped and his sword was lowered. Alexander, further ahead, caught a close look at the massive, gouging wound in the neck of the lifeless young man Kane was carrying... even after Alex’s frenzy, his breathing slowed and he, too, lowered his axes. Kane solemnly looked ahead, keeping the family’s rear.

Oscar, after a brief moment, broke from his daze of disbelief. “Don’t tell me...”

---

Meanwhile, Kane had his own dilemma on hands. He was running through the alleys, trying to find one of his men – the young John March – and cutting his way through wights all the while, and along the way, attempting to evacuate citizens as he searched. The further he put himself into Maceron, the thicker the hordes of wights seemed to be. Between every wight he destroyed and every house he checked, only for the wight to reassemble and the house he searched to be void of survivors and holding only more of the undead, the army he had following him seemed to swell. The people he did evacuate, Kane wasn’t sure if they were able to make it out. The distance between here and there was far, leaving plenty of opportunity for a wight to catch them out.

Damn Daraden, and damn Lutis! Damn their souls, damn them to Death!

And damn Sir Headmaster Fallon! His pride had costed the lives of so many innocents! His pride! The very thought made him entertain the idea of kicking around the lifeless body of that evil man. Not now though, not now! Now he just had to focus on his mission. Save as many as he could. Save John. After so many years as raising him from a mere page, John almost felt like a son. Too old to be Kane’s son, of course, but... who else has Kane had to teach? From the academics, to the code, and life’s own lessons... Kane had to find John.

This kind of search continued along for several minutes longer. Exhaustion was creeping in, sweat running down the sides of Kane’s face, his calves screaming for a rest – the armor he wore felt like a thousand pounds on his back. Doubts were beginning to form in Kane’s head, that he’d ever find him - suddenly, a massive explosion knocked him off of his feet as it shook the ground and the side of his chin scraped against the ground. What the blazes could have caused that! It sounded like twenty cannons going off!

Kane rubbed his chin and looked at his hand - blood was smeared on the leather grips of his gauntlet. He shook it off and looked to see what he hit to cause such damage to himself - a metallic object. He looked more carefully, finding broken links and chains scattered about. Kane’s crew didn’t set this up. This must’ve been John’s work! Looking up, Kane found it was situated in front of a house with its door open, and he could hear a struggle coming from the inside. Kane, with newfound strength and vigor, hurried inside. There he saw a young family, and a young man in armor wrestling with a wight.

“John!” Kane yelled.

“C-captain!” He called back between heavy breaths, and quickly being overwhelmed by the wight’s strength. Kane thrusted his spontoon into the back of the wight’s hissing skull and through the front. With a twist, it snapped clean from the neck it was attached to before, and he slung it out the door.

“Oh, Captain...” John wheezed as he sat on the floor. “Thank Ma’el you came in time! I’m sorry! This sir and lady, they’ve a baby...”

“Say no more, I understand.” Kane assured. “You’ve done so well! I’m glad you’re safe. I’ll take it from here, then we can fall back to the gates. The others are holding it down.”

The family John was just guarding from the attacking wight was grateful as well, issuing the guardsmen their thanks.

“Are they?!” John said ecstatically, clutching his chest as his lungs swelled with each breath. “I... I knew those wights... couldn’t possibly beat you guys!”

“Catch your breath as quick as you can,” Kane urged as John stood up in front of him, “we need to get this family to safety as soon as—“

There was no time to react. Their guard was dropped, and the appearance so sudden and unexpected – a wight crashed through the window from behind, opposite side of the home from the door. Glass shattered and the undead was screeching, the innocent family screaming – it leaped straight onto John’s back. Its bony fingers gripping the edges of his armor, and its teeth sunk straight into the side of young squire’s neck. Instant screaming, blood oozing and bubbling between the skeleton’s teeth.

“John!” Kane shouted. There was no room. No room to move. No room to think. He immediately closed the distance, trying to fight the death grip the wight had on him... but flesh was softer than bone. The wight did not give, but John did. A chunk of meat was ripped from the side of John’s neck and throat, and he immediately fell to the ground. Kane fell on top of the wight, holding it down with one hand, and mustering every ounce of strength he had left powered by his adrenaline – to slam his armored fist into the wight’s head. Bone splintered everywhere. Kane instantly returned to John’s side, following this. He kneeled down, and set John onto his lap. His eyes were already glossing.

“C-Cap... Capt... Kane...” John stuttered weakly as tears welled up in his red eyes. His voice was choking as blood ran down the corner of his mouth and spurted from his neck. His raised his hand toward Kane and began to say, “I...”

His hand fell down to his side.

Kane’s own eyes were red, beginning to well – his bottom lip quivered for a moment as he looked into his squire’s lifeless eyes. He took a deep, sharp breath. He quickly conducted himself in front of the silently crying family as he pulled down the young boy’s eyelids.

“...We must evacuate.” Kane said softly, betraying any attempt at a disciplined composure that most people came to identify him with. As he said this, the screaming and groaning and spits of the horde of wights that had been following him this whole time came into earshot.

“Young John, he—“ The man tried to say, but Kane cut him off.

“We don’t have any time. Sir, please carry my pike and lead the way out the window. The alleyway has been blocked off. I’ll cover our rear... I’ll buy you any time if we need it.”

The man nodded and picked up the spontoon Kane had dropped, then beckoned to his wife, carrying the baby in her arms. Sticking his head out first and holding the spontoon carefully, he was the first out the broken window. The area was clear, and his wife followed. Kane listened to the oncoming tide of undead come closer. He solemnly cradled John’s lifeless body in his arms and climbed through last. He nodded to the family and nudged his head in a direction as a cue to follow his lead. They were able to avoid the massive undead tide coming their way, but it was doubtless that they’d eventually follow some trace of them back to the gates. He only hoped that they could hold off a couple dozen more wights – and at the disadvantage of the devastating news Kane had to deliver. John’s death was not one that was fitting for the morale of their defense. John’s death… it wasn’t fitting of Kane’s own morale. Kane was the one who had sent him alone on his mission.

The route they had taken was unoccupied. Whatever had gone on around here must have taken the wights’ attention from this area. At least the survivors were safe. When the group had finally turned one last corner onto a main road, the main gates came into view, and the force defending against the wight onslaught including the dorak and his beetle, the gnome and his own constructs, and Kane’s own men. A large group of survivors were keeping their distance outside the gates. Slowly, Kane closed his eyes, and regret seeped into his heart.

---

_{Featuring Kane’s Guard}
Written with @Maxx

---

Anna looked over her shoulder. She ran from Pietro’s side towards Kane, wand in hand.

“Please, good knight,” she said. “I’m a healer. Let me see him! I might be able to do something!”

Kane looked down below to see a young-looking fairfolk girl run up to his side. As she offered her services, he just looked down at the poor lady with a look of sorrow and pity. He shook his head solemnly and took a moment to gather himself before he tried to say something.

“This young squire, John March, has given his life so that this family may live.” Kane answered, gesturing to the young family Kane was escorting. He looked back at Anna. “He’s gone now…” Anna stood in silence. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She concentrated on feeling the air around her, sensing the presence of those in her vicinity. It was a soul weaver’s trick, one that Cosmas had taught her for sensing the life force in another living thing. In her mind’s eye, she could see the people around her as energy waves, pulsating like the ripples in a pond. She could feel their hearts beat and their aether course through their nerves. No such energy resonated in John. He was truly dead. Her wings visibly drooped. Her mouth hung open for what must’ve been thirty seconds. Her face turned a shade paler.

“I-I’m so sorry, Sir Kane,” Anna said. “There’s... truly nothing I can do.”

Kane could only bring himself to nod to Anna, most likely a thanks for her consideration, but truthfully Kane found it hard to keep his mind straight and was mostly passing around acknowledgement where it was required. He made his approach toward the rest of the defense, and his own men were bowing their heads.

“He will be cremated.” Kane called out to his allies. “ As Daraden has proven himself a powerful enemy that none of Creation can afford to overlook, we might have to leave old traditions and ceremonies behind… such as burial... and look ahead towards the future and embrace new practices.” Kane sighed. “We will no longer be taking the kind of risks our predecessors have taken.”

Kane handed the corpse to Oscar, who gently handled John’s body as he made an even pace outside the gates. Kane quietly watched his dear friend from behind as he carried Kane’s squire outside of Maceron. Anna watched in silence. She had no idea what to say. She looked down at the silver vial in her hand, and then up at Kane. She noticed that he was bleeding.

“Oh, you’re bleeding sir! Here, let me heal your wounds.” She said. Curiously, Kane brushed his chin and along his jawline. Indeed, it had stung painfully - he had forgotten about the fall he had just before he found John in that small house.

“Thank you,” Kane began humbly, but gently set her hands down with his own, “but my wounds are minor. I would be grateful if you would see to the survivors outside Maceron’s gates, though. Many of them were wounded when they tried to escape.” Anna looked out at the survivors who were sitting just outside. Many of them were leaning against houses, bleeding and broken. Some of the villagers who lived in the homes outside the walls had taken people in. Nurses and a wizard or two who had escaped were tending to some wounds. Anna looked at the silver vial. It contained Essence of Mercy, a mixture of unicorn blood, bat saliva, and a few other substances. It was exceptionally rare, but excelled at stopping bleeding and repairing damaged tissue. She looked back at the city. There were still people who needed to be evacuated. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. Then she ren of towards

“Wait.” Kane said before Anna wandered off. “What is your name?” Anna turned her head as she ran.

“My name is Anna,” she said.

“Thank you, miss Anna.” Despite the mortal peril, Anna couldn’t help but smile. She felt her cheeks blush.

Anna jogged over to a house where a wizard was busying himself over a patient with severe wounds. She tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, a frown on his face. His hands were covered with blood. Anna held the vial out to him.

“I am a healer from Lake Castus,” Anna said. “I have other obligations to take care of in the city, but I figured this would be useful to you. It is a vial of Essence of Mercy.” The doctor looked at her funny and, realizing she was serious, took it.

“Thank you, young Fairy,” he said, rather shocked. “This will be exceedingly helpful.” Then she turned back and flew off into the city. Pietro was on his feet now, his sword drawn.

“I’m going to go find Arya,” Pietro said. Anna nodded.

“I’m going back in, as well,” Anna said. “We need to find as many survivors as we can. What of you, Sir Kane?”

“I…” Kane hesitated. This girl was still calling him Sir long after he was stripped of his knighthood. He supposed his name must have carried far. No matter, that wasn’t important now. He felt compromised for the time being after John’s death, but… Kane felt compelled to do what he could just to get his mind in order. He had to distract himself - and he owed it to John to get as many people out of this city as he could.

“I cannot advise you to go back into Maceron without escort.” Kane told her. “My men will remain here to hold the line… I’ll personally see to your safe return.” Anna turned her head and tried very hard not to blush. Pietro caught sight of her cheeks reddening and rolled his eyes. ‘Girls and their damn dreams of dashing knights,’ he thought to himsef. ‘She should be swooning over a real man.’

“W-why, thank you, sir Kane,” Anna said. “I certainly feel safer now.”

“It’s just Captain, now.” Kane corrected.

“Uh, oh, Oh! My apologies,” she said. “I assumed…” she looked down at the ground. Pietro walked over to where they stood.

“Alright, let’s rain down Ma’el’s vengeance on these undead sons of bitches!” Pietro said. “Mad necromancer or no, we have to do what we can! When the dust clears, they will proclaim us heroes of the city! Ah ha ha!”

---

Theresa had managed to find herself in another tavern, with plenty more bottles of assorted liquor scattered about to use for molotovs. There were a few bodies lying around, fresh, with chunks of skin and meat ripped right off of them. Whatever wights had done such to them had already moved on to more active prey. Theresa never liked looting innocents but, she needed cloth for the bombs. She stripped off scraps of their clothes and assembled a sack full of molotovs, darting her head around to watch for any wights barging into the tavern. Thankfully, however, it seemed she was clear of them.

Once the sack was just about full, Theresa picked it up and made for the stairs leading up to the tavern’s second floor. She was looking for any way she could to get up on the rooftops of Maceron, both to stay relatively clear of the horde, and to be able to pelt them with bombs more effectively. She reached the second floor, cut through a bedroom, and approached the window. There was another building just across the way. It was within jumping distance but, the roof was just a little high. Theresa didn’t hesitate, though. She took the bag and threw it out of the window, onto the slightly slanted roof. It slid down a bit but, thankfully, the shingles caught it before it went off the edge. There were, however, some sounds of shattering from within. So, she lost a few bombs. Oh well, the rest would have to make double their worth.

She climbed up onto the windowsill and poised her legs as best she could, and then made a daring leap for the rooftop. Her upper body made it just fine, but she slid a little bit. Her legs scrambled, but managed to find footing on an exterior wooden beam. She quickly made her way up, got onto the roof with her torso pressed against the shingles, and crawled upward. She grabbed the bag of bombs, now leaking quite a bit of alcohol, and continued upward until she reached the flat top of the building.

She got up on her feet and took a look around Maceron. Everything was going down the drain fast. Screams could be heard everywhere, banging on walls, glass shattering. Some fires could be seen starting, too. It wasn’t pretty, none of it was. Theresa gave a second thought to using any more of the bombs, potentially lighting up her own share of homes. But people getting out alive was more important than what was destroyed in the process. She took out a single molotov, and from a satchel on her belt, a flint to get them started.

But at that moment, a booming force impeded her. Startled, Theresa turned around to see a fiery plume rise up just nearby, and the sound of several buildings crumbling in the aftermath. Her mouth hung agape some as she looked on.

She wondered if that was Ben’s work. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d somehow caused a massive explosion out of seemingly nowhere, but something in her gut told her it wasn’t his doing. This time, at least. And at that, she was somewhat disappointed. Oh well.

Theresa looked back down at the molotovs, which seemed so… meager in comparison, but she had to do her part in this crisis. She picked up the leaking bag and took a look over the edges of the building. The streets below her weren't as full of wights as further into town. She told Benedict to take the way around to meet her, but he wasn’t in sight. She steeled herself and turned for the rooftops leading towards the major square of town, undoubtedly where most of the action was taking place. Maybe Ben was there, contributing a great deal. Hopefully he wasn’t being treated as one of the enemy in all this. He’d never… done well with the mundane public, being as he was.

Maybe things would change after this whole thing ended, though. Change was something she’d honestly been hoping for lately, but it seemed the bad kind of change had to come before the good.

If there was ever going to be any good.

---

_{Featuring Bartleby de LaShtüp}

Written with @Spoopy Scary

---

Karkadin was set beside Bruk’s carapace, now beyond the city walls with the majority of everyone involved in this crisis. All of this was… so alarming. The people leaving behind their homes, their possessions, all in the wake of this new, terrifying threat. Dorak knew all too well such prospects - burrows being invaded and rendered uninhabitable by malicious hives of creeping insects. But for them, pretty much any old hole or cave could be home. When you don’t live as long as most other races, and live in a nigh barren desert, you learn to make due with all that’s around you. But these people, humans… they all seemed much more rooted in their material lives, so distressed to see them come undone. The whole sight was giving the dorak some pause for thought - was coming here worth it?

Truth be told, he didn’t have an answer yet.

Bruk shook some, and clicked his mandibles a bit. Karkadin placed his hand on the beetle’s shell and patted it to ease him. “Kumor ed hrusi, Bruk.” He said softly in his tongue. The creature settled, and they both went back to simply resting where they were. Karkadin looked around a bit, seeing some of the townsfolk - mainly, their children - looking right at him. More interested in the dorak foreigner and his giant beetle rather than all this chaos. And that, in a way, provided a bit of comfort for both parties.

A bit away from him, it sounded as though some party was gearing back up to reenter Maceron, find more survivors. That sounded like a good idea to Karkadin, better than just sitting and watching everything go on. Bruk would be of some use to get through the horde, perhaps. No wight had yet managed to claw their way through his shell with their bony fingers. “Vek.” Karkadin said, beginning to walk forward. Bruk followed beside him, and the two made for the gates. And along the way, they happened upon the gnome magician from earlier. He was mounted atop his coach - which, somehow, also made it outside the gates without a horse leading it. He was turned around, and appeared to be arguing with a disembodied voice inside the enclosed box.

“We came here to open a shop!” Wizzlebee cried. “Find out it's flooded with murderous wights, I will not have this trip be all for naught! We’re getting something out of this, paps, I tell you!”

“Is everything alright?” Karkadin asked, as he and Bruk passed by the coach.

The old gnome nearly yelped in surprised before sitting back in place at some ill-fated attempt to remain inconspicuous, leaning back comfortably on the bench, but was laying on his act very thick.

“Oh, of course we are! I mean, I am! Plenty so, we’re - I am just trying to figure out where to go from here, that is all!”

“Who is that?” Cried a shrill voice from inside the coach. Wizzlebee impatiently elbowed the passenger box out of clear-cut frustration.

Karkadin, admittedly a little confused, simply responded, “Well… I’m going back in there.” He pointed towards the main gate and said, “To help look for more survivors.”

“Why?!” The voice inside the coach yelled, muffled by the walls. Wizzlebee buried his face into his hands, pinching the wrinkles on his face with mint-green fingernails. His paps was always something of the cowardly sort, though Wizzlebee was not too far off from him - dragons and undead, those were the old man’s biggest fears! It was made comedically pathetic now that he too became a skeleton, yet his bones still rattle at the sight of wights. Bartleby now, however, was signing his own warrant by his lack of inconspicuous…ness.

“That, um…” The dorak continued, seemingly oblivious to whoever was inside the coach, much to Wizzlebee’s benefit, “That magic of yours… it was pretty useful. Could help a lot, if you joined in.”

“Oh, is that right?” Wizzlebee said, looking measurably more chipper than he did before. “I was about to go in myself! To scrounge up plenty of what ingredients and herbs I may muster! Wight marrow is a handy dandy alchemical substitute for, ah…”

The word ‘heart’ almost slipped from the gnome’s lips.

“...hair.”

Which, of course, was ridiculous. Hair was useless for practically everything outside of self-transmogrification. Pounding beat against the inside of the coach, and the muffled voice called out again. “Don’t you dare go in there! Wizzlebee!”

“Good, then.” Karkadin replied, “Suppose you can ride in with me, or… whoever’s in there.” He pointed at the coach. “Doesn’t sound like he wants to go, though.”

“I… I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Wizzlebee said followed by uncomfortable chuckles.

“It’ll be the death of us!” The voice yelled again. This time, harder barging could be heard, and the door was kicked open and suddenly, a skeleton’s head and shoulders sprung from the inside of the coach. “You know I’m afraid of those ghastly things!”

As soon as Bartleby emerged from the coach, Wizzlebee just as quickly flew into a panic and slammed shut the coach door and pushing Bartleby back inside with clenched fists and a swift tugging movement. He looked back at the dorak with wide, fearful eyes as drips of sweat rolled down the sides of his head.

The elderly gnome stuttered, “I-I-I can explain!” The dorak seemed to just… stand there, as if waiting for said explanation, brows raised. His head motioned a bit to the side, in a sort of ‘well?’ gesture.

“H-he’s… he’s my paps!” Wizzlebee said. “A sweet gnome, really! Even… though, he… did try to orchestrate a deposition… with assassins... but he’s plenty harmless, now! Really!”

Karkadin didn’t respond right away. He simply looked at Wizzlebee, in something of a questioning manner, building up an unseen well of tension… before simply saying, “Okay.”

Wizzlebee blinked at the dorak in confusion. “W-what?”

Bartleby’s voiced echoed from inside the coach, “My pardon?”

“I believe you.” Karkadin said. And at those words, he passed a glance over towards the gates, where the other party was beginning to make their returning move, and then back to Wizzlebee. “Now we should go.” He said, before climbing up atop Bruk’s carapace to ride in.

“Forgive me,” Wizzlebee pleaded, “but… why?”

To which Karkadin simply shrugged. He patted Bruk’s shell and said softly, “Vek, Bruk.” And the beetle began to move, in the direction of the gates.

Wizzlebee just watched the dorak advance from behind with his jaw slightly dropped. His daze was disrupted by the banging from the inside of the coach, his father’s voice snapping him back into reality. “Don’t you just stick your nose up at this sort of blessing! Go and get! I feel better going in now that we’ve protection.”

The old gnome just nodded and set his hand against the wooden bench he sat on. The coach’s wooden joint creaked as it slowly came to life. With a bit of gnomish enchantment, the thing began rolling along on its own, guided by Wizzlebee just softly tracing his finger against on the wood just beside him. Finally! They can go into the city and Wizzlebee can go and find plenty of what he’s looking for! Stock this coach so full of stuff, he could supply his Nepharie shop for months! The coach rolled past the gates, and the smell of blood and ash was flooding his nose once more.

---

---

Vyri didn’t know what had changed, Eleuril had grown restless, his ever present voice muttering at the back of her skull about fearsome magyks in their vicinity. Considering that he had been muttering something much along the same lines for most of her journey, and that the undead were roaming the streets, she had simply ignored him. Well, as best she could. She could hardly argue with him now could she, it had been easier on the road, but a skinny girl muttering to herself as she wandered along the road may very well have attracted more attention than the undead.

That had changed very rapidly however, It had seemed like a peaceful city, somehow oblivious to the hordes of wights that roamed the streets. Now it had devolved into chaos. Eleuril’s muttering had grown into shouting, and she’d stared around, almost afraid that someone else would be able to hear the ancient sage imprisoned inside her head, and then everything had changed. Some hidden leash was snapped and the wights, once so peaceful and sedate, had changed into awful monsters.

She’d seen a group of guardsmen torn apart, literally ripped into pieces as they were overwhelmed by a wave of the undead that had come pouring down the street. Weapons and armour seemed to be no use against the inexorable advance of the dead, she’d seen one broken into pieces by the sweep of a blacksmith’s hammer, bones tumbling to the ground like children’s toys. The creature had reformed in a matter of seconds and leapt onto the back of its erstwhile slayer.

Right now she was hiding, berated by the sage bound to her.

HIDING! Coward! You think these pathetic creatures could pose a threat to I?

“You’re a Ma’el damned ring. They can’t eat iron but they can eat me!”

Allow me control! I will show these foolish creatures how to fight!

Her voice quavered uncertainly, before resolve filled it once more. She’d allowed him control before, and instead of wearing the ring, it had felt like it had been wearing her. The power that had flowed through her was heady, addictive, and terrifying. He hadn’t even wielded particularly impressive magyks, and already she craved that sensation of control, that the earth, the rivers, the very wind itself would respond to her command. Except it didn’t. It was Eleuril’s command, a fae creature that had lived thousands of years ago. They bickered and fought, and sometimes she even liked the strange consciousness that dwelt at the back of her mind. And then she remembered that was what he was, strange, other. She’d known fae, and Eleuril wasn’t quite like any of them. He certainly wasn’t telling her things, though she likely wouldn’t understand any of it anyway.

There was a scratching at the door, a moaning, as of the wind blowing through the bare branches of a tree in winter, or through fleshless bones…

Her mouth went dry.

I WILL PROTECT YOU STUPID CHILD!

She clutched the stool leg, some effort and application to a wall had broken off the rest of the item of furniture, and she now had a weapon, poor though it may be. Eleuril raged inside her skull, and Vyri climbed out of the window.

The house had belonged to someone wealthy. The opulent furnishings had made that clear, and if they hadn’t, the size and fine construction of the building would have given it away. Either a nobleman, or a particularly successful merchant had lived here, and they had either been caught in the streets by the wights, or had the good sense to leave before the inevitable occurred. She was stood on a tiled, gently sloping roof, currently unoccupied by any save her.

Climbing carefully along the slope of the roof, she reached the edge, and looked down into a street that seemed empty. There was a corpse in it. The girl didn’t seem much older than Vyri, though she was dressed finely. Her dead eyes stared up at the servant. There was a man beside her, tall, and good looking in a well-fed and greying sort of way. Perhaps the former owner of the dwelling had not been so forward thinking.

She pressed her back to the wall. It was too high to drop, and the nearest building was at least ten feet away across the alleyway. She was stuck here, barricading the door had bought her some time, and hiding out here a little more. It seemed that there was no way to go from here though.

I can wait, eventually you will have to give me permission. Have you ever been eaten alive?

“Have you?”

There was an awkward silence. …Well… no…

“Shut up then.”

There was not an exasperated sigh. Eleuril didn’t have any lungs of her own, but she was pretty sure that the silence that followed contained the mental equivalent aimed firmly at her. He would be extremely smug after all this, but even stubbornness and the fear that she would never get her own body back could only hold her back for so long. She really did not want to be eaten alive.

“Fine, you…”

She trailed off as she glanced down the street, there was something coming, something that resolved itself into an enormous beetle, moving steadily along the concourse. Maybe it would help, but surely it couldn't be much worse than the wights? And it looked like someone was riding it. She cut her thoughts off and began waving wildly, running to the edge of the roof.

“Hey! Hey! Over here! Help!”

@Nosuchthing

---

Their trip back into Maceron had only just begun, and they already cut swathes through thick packs of skeletal abominations - usually, Anna or the gnome could keep a couple from approaching, but then it was down to the melee combatants that could beat them back and scatter their bones, so that their mages could have an easy target and incinerate their skulls with minimal effort. Their trip back into Maceron had only just begun, and Kane, despite his success in maintaining his professional demeanor, was hurting inside. Perhaps slivers of it could be seen in how his voice sounded soft on occasion, or destroy what wights he could with particular prejudice, but only those close to him would really be able to pick it out - people who knew him. He was not with those people now; now, he charged himself with the task of protecting the recovery party. They may have been volunteers, but they were not the guard. In his mind, they were still the people Kane felt obligated to serve and protect - even the hard-headed Pietro who sought to lead this expedition. As capable as they may be, their presence still weighed on his shoulders... and it would seem that there might be one more to stack upon that pile.

"Hey! Hey! Over here! Help!"

Kane's head turned immediately to see a woman on top of a building, one of the many wealthy-owned manors that dotted the city. The woman waving her arms didn't seem to be one of the rich folk that used to walk these streets, but a humbly dressed lady, the type Kane would see scrubbing King Victor's palace floors. He was concerned that the lady's racket in her bid to catch their attention would also catch the attention of wights.

"Halt, everyone!" Kane announced with a raise of his hand as he marched to the front of the building, looking up at the lass as he did so. He called out to her, "Are you hurt? Take your time and come down, we can keep you safe!"

Kane turned around and looked to Wizzlebee, sitting alone on his enchanted coach. As Kane issued his command, the coach mystically slowed down to a stop. He asked the gnome, "Can you hold her inside your carriage? She would be safest there."

Wizzlebee nervously shook his head no. He said, "O-oh, no, I'm afraid not! You see, it is full! With, uh, herbs and alchemical ingredients! With some nasties in there too, might I add!"

He was partially making subtle mention of his skeletal father, which Kane did not know about - something to help him feel better about lying, or successfully pass one, but indeed, there were some pretty nasty herbs and plants and whatnot in there as well! An incredibly itchy plant, causes welts all over! Some putrid animal parts, too, but his main concern was nobody finding out about Bartleby. Kane, in response, gave him a curious look - perhaps suspicious. Wizzlebee responded with an indignant look of his own.

"I had come to start up a second shop here in Maceron!" Wizzlebee claimed. "Don't give me those looks! I should be owed an apology for this skeletal brouhaha! She can sit up here right next to me, I say, it is as safe here as it is inside the coach! My word!"

Kane sighed, regretting challenging the elderly gnome's temper. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to get in an argument with an eighty year old wizard. It wouldn't serve their mission, nor would it serve his position as captain well. He conceded, "Very well. I'll be counting on you."

He turned back around and looked at the top of the manor where the woman was, expecting an answer or for her to hurry down the stairs and join their party - probably undoing whatever barricades she set up inside that place. Kane knew from experience that there was plenty of furnishings inside these sort of homes that there'd be more than enough to block a door with.