These events take place before Rise of the Obsidian Legion.
Dundragon leads the march from the bunks straight across the hall to the second set of broken doors. He is determined and by his attitude Randal clearly is looking for a fight. As I step from the broke wood and twisted iron I cannot help but imagine what this beast is capable of doing.
Just ahead the hallway opens up. Straight ahead is another set of wooden doors but to our right is something much more intriguing. A large set of stone doors with the symbol of the Blackened Earth. With a snarl, the priest pushes them open.
The chapel is long and wide with two sets of pews, six rows deep, leading our gazes to the site at the head of the room. An object that reminds me of the odd currency that lead us to Mirabar rest on a pedestal. Its edges are made of bright gold and with a mount of sand inside. It is simple yet beautiful.
What waits behind it is something far uglier.
A massive man who looks to be made of dirt and grass sits upon a great throne. Resting against one of the throne’s arms is a well crafted greatsword. As he addresses us in a low tone puffs of dust come from his mouth. The thing claims we are intruders and defilers, that we must die.
The large being of earth rises from its throne, straining with a grunt when rising as if being held in place. Some of the dirt falls from him. Where his body had been seated is covered with freshly ripped and bloody skin. If I did not know any better this is not some stone man but a zombie that had been setting there for a very long time.
With one slow and heavy step it lurches forward, then another and with its long strides it has cleared half the distance to us. Balasar meets the thing head on with a mighty roar followed with an overhead chop of his greataxe. The blow is as solid as any the paladin has ever connected with but the massive undead is faster than expected. It’s sword blocks the attack, with one hand holding the weapon at that, and never budges an inch.
You can see an intelligence it is eyes as it smirks. This will not be an easy battle.
Balasar stands there dumbfounded, unable to believe the feat of strength. The beast takes advantage of the opportunity and raises its sword high above its head, bringing the weapon down hard across the copperborn’s armor. He should consider himself lucky, his breast plate took most of the damage. It could have been much worse.
Randal charges in to our friend’s aid as I move around the pews firing arrows to distract the monstrosity so Balasar can regain his wits. The priest’s flail busts its hide, my arrows pierce deep and still it seems unharmed. The zombie shows no signs of pain.
I hate zombies.
A blast of magical energy crashes into its head, leaving it scorched and smoldering. It issues a deep roar of anger and glares in Lithia Muun’s direction.
He definitely felt that.
The holy men continue their frontal assault, tearing away the monster’s armor-like hide. And again, its sword comes crashing down, each blow seeming more powerful than the last. As my arrows mark the thing’s backside, the mage’s spells burn the flesh.
Then that screaming, so clear now, sounding so full of relentless hate, echoes through the hallways.
That definitely is not the wind.