These events take place before Rise of the Obsidian Legion.
Lead by Brask, the undead soldiers fan out in an attempt to chase any of us who may run. Little does he know that the Heroes of Red Larch do not fear a battle. As the buildings burn in the wake of Lithia’s fireball the sound of steel on steel echoes through the slums.
I dash out to my right, drawing two of the soldiers in my direction to break up their ranks. They take up positions on my left and right, setting up flanks to gain an advantage. One stabs forward from behind its shield as the other goes for a low chop at my legs. Leaping over the swing at my boots I turn sideways in the air, taking a grazing slash across the ribs. Ignoring the pain, I impale Novak’s shortsword into the soldier’s shoulder while digging my dagger into his forearm in an attempt to make the weapon arm useless.
The zombie pushes me away with his shield, immune to pain in its undead state. I remind myself to strike those areas again, they may not feel but shredded muscle disables limbs from moving.
As I regain my footing the other comes in using the tactic of the first, jabbing with the sword while retaining his defensive posture. Stepping out of its reach the injured zombie matches my footing, coming in with a chop from the high left that is quickly followed by one from the high right.
Backpedaling from the attack I never see Brask charging up on his mount nor his heavy boot kicking out to connect with my jaw.
The captain rides on, steering the skeletal horse right into Randle’s awaiting shield.
I stumble backwards as the two undead move in. Both stab out with their longswords, one high and the other low. Barely keeping my wits about me I deflect the attack to my chest but accept the other in the thigh.
Through the sounds of battle I hear Brask continuing to taunt Dundragon about his former men and how he led them to their deaths. The priest shouts back in defiance, announcing his sins to his one time ally and proclaiming how Pelor has guided him past his mistakes.
Another fiery explosion erupts to my left. The force from Lithia’s fireball throws the soldiers and myself to the street. Getting to my feet, I see that over half of Brask’s zombies are motionless, burning husk. The buildings around us burn faster from the unleashed arcane energy.
Being quicker than the dead I get to my feet, rapidly stabbing one of them in the face before they can surround me. As the other gets up I kick it over and stomp it’s face once, twice and then a third before the skull caves in.
Gathering myself I look to the battle across the street. Balasar and Randle strike what remains of Brask’s men as Amon defends Lithia from the assault. The mage summons a bolt of fire, casting over the priest to strike the undead captain in the chest, nearly knocking him from his skeletal steed.
Realizing his defeat is at hand, the captain spurs his horse into a retreat only to suffer Randle’s flail into his ribs. The copperborn’s axe smashes into the mount’s flank bringing curses from Brask as he speeds away.
With the undead fallen before us the fires spread rapidly from the poorly built structures. Prince Frost looks around with sorrow on his face, realizing there is no saving this section of Icewall.
But in his eyes I see Amon realize that if we have to burn this city down just to save it’s people, he will rebuilt it to the benefit of not just those of privilege, but those of poverty as well.
All we be treated equally under his rule.