By Frost and Flame
Sixth Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)
Over the din of battle, over the sounds of the damned and the dying leashed only for the moment one cannot hear Esha's words. Still somehow you
feel them, a hiss of power like onto the door of a long abandoned crypt opening: Sleep be with you, death's own kin. And so falls Unkethe Red if in truth be be the king of old, a mountain of metal and flesh, of will unbending brought to heel, he sinks first to his knees, then inexorably falls face first onto the body of his fallen vanquished foe. A shroud falls him 'white as death' the Anwa would calls it, for it was woven from the hand of Inge, Servant of Ikomi.
All about the field before the gates of Noromo the silence of the grave as the living face now the hollow eyes of the dead.
What will they do you wonder,
without the hand of their master?
Die, you hear Durendal clear as if it had been whispering in your ear, but before you can raise your sword, before you can speak another word from amidst the carrion host an inhuman
screech rises high and dreadful. Terror is in it and a foul purpose that warriors who before had held their shields high to ward against the dead or who had sought to recover the body of their lord now flinch and flail. You watch in horror as seeming victory turns to slaughter upon the jagged edge of ancient blades.
"Hang on," you say even as Silver surges forward, you do not have the time to set Inge down now, but you have to reach the Redman to slay him before he finds his feet. Some part of you flinches from the thought... it is not the part that lifts the sword and holds the shield high.
The weight of the corpse is all, skin and gristle and bone under the bronze, but also still moving still turning to cut into you even as Durendal severed his spine. Then again,
another as Inge called out a prayer, fire that cut and ice that pierced like arrows. Finally on the second pass as the warriors of Lirman start to close again almost too late you come upon the foe. The shroud is breaking, tearing beneath the terrible grip of black Iron, but just as he manages to get himself wholly free you sweep the blade under his arm, trying to cut the whole limb loose.
Alas that he is girdled in more than bronze. A knot, perhaps a flower on the back of the shoulder guard that you had taken for some fancy of the smith
unfolds into an eye of molten flame. At the sight of it your writs turns and with it the blade strikes metal, glances off.
"Ah... a proper challenge I see," the man says as he turns, sounding for all the world as if you had met him on a sparing field and not on bloody ground surrounded by hosts. "A pity I shall not have a chance to face you." He turns to one of the dead, in men and manner no different from any of the others, but in bearing now you see distinct, the thing is not shambling in step with its fellows, it does not seem to even may that much attention to the man with the heavy war-club charging towards it...
"Kill him!" commands Unke.
Words of ruin and violation spew forth from a lipless mouth mouth you feel them boiling in your blood and crawling over your flesh, you feel them shaking your bones form the inside as though the hand of some unseen giant had fallen on you and was shaking and shaking.
The runes upon you shield burst into light brighter and and more fierce than you had ever seen them. They should have been blinding, some distant part of you insists, but they are not. You can see the face of Unke clear enough to count the scars on it, the shock and something else, respect perhaps.
"So, he has spoken then, let there is a challenge and sport for the eye of the Lord of War." As Unke speaks you watch his beard grow black as the iron of his gauntlet whipping about him almost as a thing alive of its own power. All about him is now blackness deeper than night as though the new risen sun had chosen to flee over the horizon rather than meet his eye.
Yet for all the boldness of his tongue and the dread power he seems to breathe and embody you still spy the place where his armor had been dented by the touch of Ikomi through Inge speaking. Magic can still harm him... and it can harm you.
Looking about you cannot tell which of the dead had cast that spell and you begins to suspect that is with a purpose, that it is not some corpse that near smote you, but a dark spirit or wizard hiding among them.
What do you do?
[] Offer a fair deal, Inge shall not aid you with battle spell or healing and neither shall Unke be so aided (Diplomacy DC ???)
-[] Write in plan
[] You cannot trust a man who deals with daemons, make an end to him as swiftly as you may (You get the First strike)
-[] Write in plan
[] Write in
OOC: Sorry this took so long guys, it was a combination of being busy and there being a lot of things to juggle in the fight.