[IP] Army of the Dead

...

Ronalde held position beside the Captain, eyes cast afield to the nightmares prowling along the far edge of the withering forest. From the crest of the hill, their view was wide, army marching along the road to their backs along with the carts and wagons of refugees.

The count was upwards of three thousand now, not including the army itself, and there was every type of folk among the crowd. Dwarven families from the hills and lesser mountains, townsfolk, farmers, mercenaries and adventurers: All moved together onward towards presumed safety, back by the quiet ripple of flags atop steady gaits.

There was one of those beside them as well, post driven in among the uprooted campsite, fluttering cracks of Queen's banners held constant as the wind carried on from West to East. Not quite howling, but not quite pleasant either. Ronalde was glad for his armor and cloth on a morning such as this. Still, it was not the chill of the air which brought him pause, but the smell.

The stench of undead it brought with it was unmistakable. A scent that came with emotions of both fear and hatred for the people marching on towards the Capital and further eastern lands.

"There's more corruption that ways." The mage of their gathering spoke with a deep voice, nodding to the captain with a stern expression. "More and more of it by the day. The few that scattered from the horde haunt the forest, alluding patrols. We've even received reports that a rare few of those corpses were attuned to the dark arts. Those are a more... selective breed."

"So it seems." The Captain muttered, grimace of displeasure evident. "Years of this. As if we didn't have enough problems, now there are liches in the mix."

"The Dark Lord cares little for his followers, Captain."

"I suppose he doesn't. From what I hear, we're all just a source of entertainment for him." The Captain fished out a ornate looking pipe, snapping his fingers to bring about a tiny flicker of flame. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this world." He muttered, puffing on the piece until the smoke trailed off behind them. "Eren, you checked with the nobles this morning: Did the Queen's orders manage to rescue any more forces from the stranded line of outposts?"

"Unfortunately they did not." The Mage replied, raising his hood as the wind picked up. "Sandra sent her own message along with the regular reports, it seems the Queen's forces were too late in their arrival."

"Of course." The statement came with a heavy sigh of smoke.

It was a harsh tone. Dismissive almost as much as it might be taken as offensive, at least in some circles. Still, Ronalde held his tongue, shifting his Royal armor ever so slightly. Hearing these things from the Captain was much more common place than many might expect.

"Any losses?"

"None, Captain."

"Well, at least we've got that going for us. Ah, and speak of the devil: there's a lich." The Captain drew a looking glass from his pocket, casually passing it along to Ronalde without so much as a glance. "See, that one in the front is casting something."

Taking the metal piece, Ronalde silently lifted the glass to his right eye, peering with careful adjustment as the image of the forest's line came into view. Sure enough, there at the front was a fabled horror of the west, hands smoking with the tendrils of dark magic. Eyeless sockets seemed to burn with pitched shadow, and rusted metal molded with what little flesh and rags remained of the armor on the creature's body as it shambled forward.

Far away as it was, Ronalde was absolutely certain it was staring back at him. "Your orders, Captain?" He asked, passing the tool back.

"We wait."

"Yes sir."

The wind slowed, and the Captain carefully set about repacking his pipe while Ronalde and the Mage stood in silence beside him.

Aloof and uncaring: it was just this sort of peculiar behavior that made the man somewhat endearing for an authoritative figure. Especially so for one of younger years, having obtained a privileged status many common-folk might argue held rank second only the the Queen herself. The Slayer of Dragons, the Crusher of Goblins, the Battlemage and hero of the Capital.

Still, it was not superior Rank or feats which made Ronalde follow the man.

It was much more than that.

"Eren, I think it's about that time." The Captain tapped his pipe out, wry smile finally cresting his lips as he sheathed the wooden piece back from where it came. "Care to place bets?"

"Not for gold." The Mage replied. "No, I've lost enough on such ventures already."

"Oh, don't be such a spoil-sport. A single coin: what's one coin between friends?"

"Enough that you'll have to order me first. Sandra will have my hide."

"Oh fine, be that way." The Captain turned about, "Ronalde then- how many shots, do you think? Sola buried the charges herself, closest set three hundred and fifty yards"

"Only two sir."

"Ha, such faith. I'm truly honored." The Captain chuckled quietly as he unslung the device upon his shoulder. Carefully he steadied his breath, eyes narrowing down along the metal and wood.

A calm seemed to take about the air, as Ronalde felt for the briefest of instants he could see the traces of wisping shapes flowing about the air.

"I'll have you both know, this was a lot easier when I had the real thing available to me."

"I'll believe that when you miss, Sir."

"Don't tempt him." The mage muttered, hand rubbing at a shaved scalp with unease.

"CRACK"

The distant forest line burst into flames, massive burst of fire and soil engulfing the crowd of stumbling corpses- throwing them every which direction in pieces and clumps. To the front of the pack, the lich had survived, aura of black smoke now circling its body like a hazy shield.

Suddenly, its jaws opened as a horrid screech began to sound, reaching their ears with little care for the distance "Graaaaaaaaa-"

"CRACK"

The screeching stopped, and Ronalde smiled.