These events take place before Rise of the Obsidian Legion.
I dash behind the zombies, slashing at the exposed neck of one between helm and armor with Novak’s shortsword. With the dagger I quickly follow through, sticking it into the undead’s armpit. Kicking out with my left boot I cause the next in line to stumble into the zombie in front of it, anything to ease up on Randle taking the brunt of the onslaught.
As the priest falls back Amon is there with shield at the ready, bashing the nearest foe as he pushes Dundragon behind him. Balasar closes the gap, forming a stout line of defense for our injured ally and Lithia. I can see the glow reflecting off the armors as the healing power of Pelor mends wounds. With a streak of flames an arcane bolt slams into the zombie falling back from Prince Frost’s attack.
Though we made a solid counter attack the undead’s intelligence begins to show. They tighten their ranks, cutting me off from the others in an attempt to bring one of us down as three turn to face me. Going into a defensive position I take my attacks when I can to allow Randle to heal himself.
That mighty roar of defiance from the copperborn gives our enemies pause, allowing him to quickly chop down one of the zombies and breaks their ranks. I quickly dash and dodge the weapons of the dead, trying to reach the paladin’s side. Beside him Amon hacks away at their undead ranks as Lithia goes into casting, launching another fiery bolt of arcane energy into the crowd.
A radiant light, brighter than the sun itself, flares to life. In a booming voice Randle calls to the zombies, claiming though he had failed them in life that he will not fail them in sending them to Elysium. With the power of his deity washed over him he wades into the melee, crushing skulls with swings of his flail.
Within seconds he and the prince have cut those down between them, Balasar and myself. Together we form rank, hacking and bashing the undead soldiers. As much as they tried, any defense they could muster against our might proved useless. In moments they lay dead before us, a promise kept by Randle as he offers a small prayer hoping their souls meet the Sun Father.
His prayer is drowned out by the sounds of hoofs coming from around the corner. More of the undead soldiers form ranks, shields held before them with sword posed to strike. From behind the wall of rot a heavily armored captain rides a skeletal horse with decayed flesh hanging from its bones. At the sight of him the priest utters a name as if it is a curse.
Like his men, he, too, has joined the ranks of the undead roaming Icewall. He sits at attention on his mount, saluting Dundragon with a mocking tone, stating he is surprised the former soldier has not led those around him to their graves. Before Brask can continue the area around him erupts in a sphere of flame, engulfing the zombies and the buildings around them.
We turn to face Lithia, who is quite pleased with herself with a smile on her face. As I nod my approval the look turns to a scowl.
Turning to face the raging flames in front of us, Brask and his men emerge from them unscathed.