Still Third person POV

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As the banners flap in the swirling air two forces stand on opposite sides opposing each other. The eternal twilight casts strange shadows across the barren gray land as dust swirls between. One side is arrayed on the plains before a fortress prepared to scale walls, the other stands on said walls ready to repel any attempts. An eerily melody flows over the land from the castle, an ill sound that digs on the nerves of the living. However there is a subtle change in the air on the plain. Robed figures push forward a cart upon which a massive icon to their deity is emplaced. The figures in robes and many in mantled armour stand before the icon hands clasped as a robed figure in resplendent robes solemnly walks forward hands grasped around an object. As he raises the object to the icon in supplication both start to glow and a connection is made. The figure turns around and resplendent in holy light points forward at the undead gathered in the fortress.

Suddenly a massive wave of roiling light sweeps forward from the icon and by extension the figure. It flows forward sweeping away the wisps of darkness constantly flowing in the air and soon clashes into the walls of the fortress. The once freely flowing shroud of dark fog is dispersed heavily and ashes flow into the wind as the undead on and just behind the walls struck are burnt to naught but ash. The sound that was once all encompassing is gone, even the light itself seems to grow brighter in the aftermath.

Battle cries and chants to the God of Holy Light are raised and the levy charge to place their siege weapons on the wall or to hit the gate. Banners are resplendent in the air on one side but fallen on the other. Undead that have survived the wave rush forward immediately to fill the empty walls but many of those with ranged weapons were there on the walls that were hit. Javelins, arrows, and rocks start impacting the levy but there are much fewer then there would have been before. Some levy die but the ladders reach the walls and the gates are starting to be hammered. Solid wood reinforced by strips of iron pound into rusty gates. The undead work to unseat ladders from position but they are held in place by grappling ropes and spikes quickly tied down. Arrows impact into those around the battering ram but shields hold as the bearers strike the gates.

One ladder falls from axe blades swung by fleshless arms and people scream as they fall to the ground more than 2 stories in armour. Gory flowers of red and iron bloom and soldiers wince. But the rest of the troops have already started ascending, their hearts shaken but determined to see this to the end. The vanguard adventurers and mercenaries quickly clear space on the walls, their abilities smashing nearby undead. Immediately afterwards holy knights finish climbing and the walls are hastily being held against the swarms of undead swarming. Some forces arrange for a holding action while the rest rush downwards. The levy forces march forward with several mages and priests and prepare to enter the central zone to take the fort itself, here is where things change.

If you listen carefully you can hear the sound of stone and earth thudding inward as hidden entry ways open up to reveal ramps, and at the bottom disciplined columns of undead marching forward in unison. Soon ranks of undead are aligned on the plains, rows upon rows of undead with bone scalemail march forward with a variety of weapons. Some march forward with shields and swords, others hold two handed weapons. If you were to look down a column of these warriors armed with the same weapons you would see only one. Undead horses with scale barding and riders in plate mail advance forward composite bows at the ready. They ride to attack and before those left outside the walls attempt to react. The harmonious clacking of bones is heard stronger than ever. Packs of dire wolves and bone claws rush the lines intending to hold the enemy while the personal troops of the Hierarch arrange themselves in formation to deal with those troops left on the ground.

The inside of the fort is not silent either as on the keep itself skeletal crossbowmen reveal themselves and fire upon those trapped between the outer wall and the keep. From other entrances to the side, gates open and more undead advance. These are different from those outside however. Covered in bridgaines and mirror armour from head to toe these too carry a variety of weapons in their grip as they march forward to face the enemy. Unlike their more common brethren these ones have flitting sparks of darkness that appear and fade from existence. Meanwhile on the corners of the walls not taken more undead appear carrying bows to fire upon those on the other side.

There is however no pause to take things in for themselves as bolts and arrows rain upon the stunned foe. Screams fill the air as armour is pierced from the power of the weapons used, heavy crossbows capable of punching through plate armour at range and composite long bows boasting of the same deed. The priests and mages inside the fort attempt to stop this but there are too many launched. Only so many can be blocked and some fly with such sheer force that they are only slowed enough to maim and not kill. A fate not at all appreciated as pincushioned adventurers and mercenaries scream if they are capable of such an act, for the unlucky groups without shields. Some strong ones manage to stop the arrows whether through skill full weapon use or the ability to clad themselves in a protective barrier or item. Those who can quickly attempt to find cover or gather for protection.

But is not only crossbows and bows that are used in this battle. Giant bolts tipped with bane fire launch themselves into the holy knights in particular. Only a few are fired but the effect is devastating. Any in the direct path of fire are skewered and burst into green flame, their life force combusting and spreading to others. While some of the holy knights can put this flame out quickly the levy near them die howling in fear. One such bolt heads for the paladin but he deflects it, golden sparks flying from his shield as the bolt strikes the wall behind him imbedding itself. Attempting to rally his forces the paladin bellows out words of inspiration laced with holy power. His efforts yield some effect even as others scrapple at their eyes in despair at the wave of staffs and skeletal hand.

But the counterattack has been launched to devastating effect as half of those that entered now lay upon the ground dead. Hundreds have fallen dead whether from projectiles or magic. Still hundred more living soldiers remain scurrying around like mice. Those leaders still alive attempt to rally their forces to attack. Barking out orders, they try to outmatch the screams heard from both within and without the fort.

Outside of the fort walls some spearmen, mercenaries, and adventurers are arrayed around the icon. Many of the priests and those mages not committed to the attack attempt to shield their forces. Those few seperated are struck down mercilessly whether from bow fire of the cataphracts or light cavalry that strike from different sides. Meanwhile spells launched from behind the ranks of undead moving forward spread their deadly effect. The icon itself takes a massive wych fireball and as the corrosive black flame spreads so falls the morale of those around it. The icon was a symbol of their strength and a guiding light in this blighted land. But as it burns and crumbles so too do their hearts as some succumb to the roiling miasma and lay down dead from still hearts. Others cry out in fear and terror maddened as the full force of the sweeping clouds of terror hits those already weakened from seeing their comrades dying in droves.

A few lucky soldiers look around as if in disbelief at still being alive. Or perhaps not as some snap and start charging the undead ranks advancing forward only to die on blades out thrust or swung down hammers. Those stronger of heart gather together with those few priests still alive outside under outstretched arms projecting holy aura. The one in the most resplendent robes waves his sceptre and holy light falls onto the nearest groups of rampaging boneclaws and dire wolves. They start soundlessly howling to the air as they disintegrate and plunge their fangs or claws into any enemy they can. The undead shock units soon lay dead now slain by the priests holy power, but their meat shields are heavily depleted and now the main force arrives. Dust rises in the air as units advance under clouds of nebulous dark fog, cavalry with lances raised charge also under such clouds obscuring them just as much as the dust.

Hooves beat into the ground and the points hold steady, pointed straight at those still alive. There is little to no glint of metal here for few have metal weapons or armour as a human army would have. Blood flows upon the ground in almost black rivers as even with the efforts of the priests there are too few to combat the flowing clouds. Even with the bishop desperately bringing forth his light more fall. This faux battle continues until the warriors march forward and the resistance ends. The sounds of the living cease and it is soon apparent that there are only those left in the fort itself. But there is no rest from them either as the dead know no such concept.

A figure in black and gold upon a warhorse in simple armour detaches from the calvary that has finished with running down those outside the gates. Raising an ivory hand it points at the keep and the undead redirect themselves. Blood splattered banners radiate forth his will and soon something else stirs. With the infernal scrape of bone and thudding steps, another being rises from its post under the earth. A soundless howl marks its acknowledgement as it begins its slow march. After weeks of growth and many dozens of infused soul fragments it now bears baleful intelligence, all for the purpose of following its creator’s orders. A horrifying smile on the robed figure’s skull spells the doom of those within.