“Our Goal will be killing one thousand Undead.” Leucius’ words seem to echo as the small group moves through the mist into a black granite stairway. At the fore, leading the group into the darkness steps a tall, powerfully built Paladin. Pavise shield held firmly in his hand and jaalmin longcoat hiding the promise of the heaviest of armor underneath, Samsaren strides forward, eyes alert for resistance from the undead. Moving gracefully at his side is a beautiful blue-black haired Elven woman, her violet eyes eyes catching every movement in the shadows.
Traveling behind the Paladin is a second elf, her auburn hair carefully tucked into a helmet, and the hint of a giggle stirring behind mirth filled eyes. Bringing up, and protecting the group's rear is another Paladin. Slightly smaller in stature and height, the other human moves carefully, constantly checking behind the group, expression as serious as the grip on his spetum.
As the group moves down a second stairwell inside the Temple the light from the hidden door above beings to rapidly fade. Gently, the lead Paladin calls behind him “Eckan”, prompting the second Paladin to trace a complicated glyph in the air. After a brief moment and nothing happening, Eckan looks dejected. With a glance carrying only the barest hint of reproach the older Paladin traces the same pattern murmuring quietly “daily prayers lad” as a series of orbs of light spring into existence and settle into a revolving pattern around him.
The light spills into the catacombs, revealing a large group of Misenseor resuscitants closing from all sides. With a sharp cry of “Move!” Samsaren smashes into a knot of the rotting, rapidly moving undead, effortlessly smashing one apart with a crushing blow of his shield. He then steps forward, landing a devastating kick to the chest of another, crushing the remaining bones and tissue, utterly confident in the prowess of the Elf at his back.
Not hesitating an instant, the raven haired beauty slips into the wake of the Paladin’s passage with elegant ferocity. Deftly sidestepping the frenzied lunges and swings of the resuscitants, she casually dispatches each with a carefully timed thrust of her glaes blade at the base of the skull. Unrestrained by armor, Sendithu’s graceful movements embody heavily refined skill with just the barest hint of boredom.
As the last resuscitant in easy reach falls, a reinforced casket slips from the tattered remains of its gear. With a deft motion the Elf scoops up the casket and begins to carefully tinker with the lock sealing it, evading the few swings that reach her without dignifying her attackers with attention. As a larger resuscitant leaps from the shadows driving a heavy blow towards her unprotected head, Sendithu shifts the casket slightly in her grip triggering the trap. A sizable volume of acid erupts into the undead’s swinging arm and face, melting both. Stumbling, trying to rebalance, the resuscitant attempts a second swing before crashing the remains of its face into the oncoming shield of Samsaren.
As the first pair advances into the thickest of the foes, Eckan, galvanized by Samsaren’s warcry, hurls himself between the undead and the other Elf, blocking all but one strike which reaches Synamon’s arm. The hit, though heavy, merely causes a small scratch as the skin beneath the armor takes on an adamantine sheen. With a giggle and a saucy wave of her hand, the wound rapidly heals as the auburn haired Elf gathers her magical energies to strike back at the undead.
Shaking the remains off with a grumbled muttering about re-enameling his shield, Samsaren casts a watchful eye over the other pair before chanting a prayer under his breath. Rapidly, a brilliant disc of light coalesces, spinning faster and faster until the Paladin spreads his arms shattering the disk and hurling rays of light blasting away from him. The nearest resuscitants are shredded instantly and the furthest undead are blasted back, giving the small group of warriors a respite. In the lull Eckan remarks, “At least the goal’s only a thousand.”
As Eckan takes a sip from a canteen, Synamon exclaims “Did you see? I got one!” With a grin, Eckan splashes some water on a rag and offers it to the Elf, nodding to the besmeared cupcake shield. With a chuckle of his own Samsaren nods towards Synamon, “A good start, sister. Brace my friends, here they come again.” Giving the battlefield an assessing glance, Samsaren launches himself into the thickest part of the undead line, leading his companions into battle once again.
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