Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Trumpets rang out into a deafening howl, their wave of sound slamming into southern forces, playing sounds of dread, from somewhere beyond, the lyrics sung by fervent monks and priests, agitating chimes, all of it coming from a place the soldiers could not see, facing the ranks of the dead, the first shines of morning had already come, the battle had already begun a few hours ago, but neither of the two small armies had yet to move, livings archers anxiously tapped wood and pinched their bowstrings, not only because of what they were facing, but also because it was their king in person that was commanding them.

The instant he said to shoot, they better be ready to do so immediately, from their vantage point, they could land hits on the undeads above their line of great shields, eyes darting from side to side, trying to catch any sight of suspicious movements, unseen troops moving in, but what first caught attention was the undeads stomping down, once, twice and thrice before beginning to move forward.

Marking the true beginning of the battle.

"Fire!" Alisart Cleavster shouted, and although nowhere near as impressive as those from the west, a volley of arrow befell the undead rank and file, arrow tips bouncing and breaking as they struck the armours of the dead, the lively flames held within the iron bursting out and sticking to them like oil, Ourlst said something in death tongue, prompting a sorcerer to reveal themselves from behind the small platform the left hand was standing upon, chanting something in a low tone.

Arrows aimed at them, swiftly diverted by Ourlst, a swing of his still sheathed sword causing a burst of wind, this particular mage was one that had chosen to learn sorceries of Loimosfire, the ultimate upgrade of this flame in the chalice had made it into an element of its own, and allowed a discipline of sorcery to be created from it, this particular spell engulfing the troops in its serpentine embrace, cleansing them from the pyromancer king's creation.

Arrows rained continuously, the mage retreating back into hiding, arrows falling upon the vanguard nearly continuously, only ceasing when it was time for the frontline fighters to move in, garbed in much less protective gear as their enemies, the southern soldiers shouted to give themselves courage, the ones at the forefront especially, watching as the wall of shields approached, they ran forth, watching the pikes lunging for them, soldiers to the sides were impaled, the luckiest were only grazed, some died on the spot, and others were pierced but not mortally wounded, grabbing onto the weapons, using their bodies to prevent new attacks to be launched.

The job of those at the forefront was simple, stop the undeads in their track, slamming against the shields, pitting their exhaustible muscles against the everlasting might of their enemies, for a limited amount of time, the advance of the shields was halted, making themselves as flat as possible to avoid the thrusts of the pikes, it was then that the knights moved in, attacking from the flanks accompanied by soldiers.

The element of surprise was not really present, and just as they reached the flanks, the southern knights were not able to raging discord amidst the rank and file, swiftly engaged by Loimoisian knights.@@novelbin@@

Blades clashed, sparks flew about as armour was stricken head-on, running their weapons against their vambraces, setting them alight with Loimosfire, as both knight factions fought, the soldiers of both sides also met, and whilst it seemed like the closest followers of Alisart Cleavster could hold their own against Loimos's commanding force, the same was not the case for the rank and file, the south's foot soldiers were forced to give it their all not be overpowered, both individually and as teams, the living soldiers had to assume evasive tactics to not be slayed, if they all fell, the knights would have to face them as well.

One of the black knights, wielding some sort of small talhoffer duelling shield strapped to his right arm alongside a simple broadsword held in the left hand, was giving an especially bad time to one of the white-cloaked knights, this version of the cumbersome shield was rather insidious, coupled with the expertise of its user and the side arm, finding any openings at all was a tall order, not to mention that fighting a left-handed warrior when the greater majority were right-handed was never a pleasure.

Yet, every knights of Loimos present were left-handed, forcing the southerners to make adjustments when fighting them, but it was the one with an odd choice of weaponry that made for the most dire opponent, the shield could bludgeon thrust and pull all in one, paired with the monstrous strength the undeads could pull of on every hit without drawback, a knight's sturdy defences were not as reliable as they should be.

Not far, the southern knight saw one of his fellows being pushed back by an undead wielding a halberd.

As their king had said, this was not a war that could be won by choosing the safest option at every turn, moving in, striking the duelling shield away, but allowed the blade to strike him right across his helm, the dastard knight somehow managing to turn a slash into a bash using the pommel, hitting the living hard, but not hard enough to worry him, without care for the blow, he used the occasion, both arms of his enemy not in position for an immediate follow-up.

Kicking the undead away, he yelled : "Switch!"

Weaving past one anothers, the living knights exchanged positions, the one that had been facing the duelling shield used the confusion to step on the halberd, thrusting his spear right in between the slits, pungent blood spilling out, eating away at the steel tip and wooden handle.

'Fucking disgust-' trying to pull it back, finding that the undead had already free one hand to hold it in place, seemingly not that bothered by the lively flame held within the iron, from the sound, it was clearly sizzling something, but not nearly enough.

Rather than trying to free its weapon, the undead's helm started to vibrate, the living let go of his spear, a cascade of black blood spewing out from beyond the bar-like visor, not stopping for several seconds, allowing the undead, with their now freed halberd, so coat its blade with this corrosive substance.

Leaving holes into the ground, the living made sure to take his distances, which was not ideal at all, this Loimoisian knight wielded a polearm, but could also puke out an acidic filth at will, making getting close not ideal either. Discover exclusive tales on My Virtual Library Empire

Unsheathing his sword, the spear left without its tip, handle crushed by a stomp, he was also left with less reach than before.

Steeling his posture, the knights and all other of his companions still had much energy to spare.

Their spirits only invigorated as their leader joined the battlefield.