The soldier's spear glances off your armor—if it were of any lesser craftsmanship, it would have left a scratch or maybe a dent. He's strong, you can tell, but this is no ordinary mortal steel and you are no ordinary mortal warrior. He wants so desperately for this nightmare to end, for his homeland to be safe.
You can help him with the first of those things, at least. Your daiklave flashes swift and true, glinting uncannily as it slices neatly through the reinforced padding at his neck and through flesh and muscle and bone. A quick death.
You've always hated to see people suffer.
A voice comes to your ears, carried as if on the wind—Leave something for me to work with, won't you? Of course. You've both got your orders.
You square your shoulders, and charge ahead, cutting a bloody path through the too-small defensive force assembled, and your forces fall upon the living soldiers after your example. The soldiers here are barely better than a border militia, undergeared and overmatched against the Walker's armies of ghosts and walking dead, who feel no pain nor mercy; the capital isn't taking this seriously. Yet. They will when you establish your forward base here, on a newly-minted shadowland.
As you stride forward into the city proper, your pace relentless, you look over your shoulder at your colleague, standing among the field of corpses, her ash-colored hair fluttering in the torrent of necrotic energies drawn up from the underworld and into the not-yet-cooled bodies.
Turning away, you sigh, and forge onward to continue the messy business of claiming this place for the Walker in Darkness.
memory 011
You can help him with the first of those things, at least. Your daiklave flashes swift and true, glinting uncannily as it slices neatly through the reinforced padding at his neck and through flesh and muscle and bone. A quick death.
You've always hated to see people suffer.
A voice comes to your ears, carried as if on the wind—Leave something for me to work with, won't you? Of course. You've both got your orders.
You square your shoulders, and charge ahead, cutting a bloody path through the too-small defensive force assembled, and your forces fall upon the living soldiers after your example. The soldiers here are barely better than a border militia, undergeared and overmatched against the Walker's armies of ghosts and walking dead, who feel no pain nor mercy; the capital isn't taking this seriously. Yet. They will when you establish your forward base here, on a newly-minted shadowland.
As you stride forward into the city proper, your pace relentless, you look over your shoulder at your colleague, standing among the field of corpses, her ash-colored hair fluttering in the torrent of necrotic energies drawn up from the underworld and into the not-yet-cooled bodies.
Turning away, you sigh, and forge onward to continue the messy business of claiming this place for the Walker in Darkness.
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