Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Giving the order to attack, Ourlst instantly brought his blade into a guard, feeling vibrations travelling through his decayed flesh, having not been expecting the warking to immediately discard the security of his close guard and own right hand, but then again, perhaps Ourlst did not truly understand the machinations going on inside the living's head, even when surrounded, cornered in more than just one way.

His greatest defence had been carved through with ease, Ourlst and his troops had demonstrated that they could have forced through at any time, that the wall was barely even an inconvenience, that they possessed the means to turn this region upside down, and yet, the undead could clearly hear it, as Cleavster shouted, he wore a big smile beneath his helm.

"May death be charitable to you" the left hand stayed on the defensive, although collected, Ourlst had to admit that he was not given very much room to counterattack, if at all, Alisart was swinging his oversized broadsword like it weighted nothing, but that thing was much too heavy to be wielding by anyone without monstrous strength and arms capable of not being ripped off from its sheer mass.

Pushing against the undead, the warking halfsworded, striking his opponent in the face with the pommel, quickly lifting it above his head for a deceptively rapid downward slash, despite stopping his blade before it touched the ground, a slash appeared upon its surface alongside a dent caused by the wind pressure. Stay connected through My Virtual Library Empire

The undead had stepped back, his troops moving away without even looking, perfect cohesion without any need to shout orders, or perhaps they communicated with their minds? Alisart could not tell, the dead rarely emoted.

"What's the matter, undead?

Is your strength not enough to exchange blows with me?" he taunted, having been told much from the maws of Solast, undeads never tired and had basically access to the dream of all warriors, which was to always fight to their utter maximum, a living swinging with all of their strength would rupture their own muscles, all that lived held potential for bursts of great strength, but it always came at a cost.

The dead however, could just do it on the regular, in fact, it was natural for them, they probably needed to learn how to gauge their strength down instead, but it also made it clear that the lieutenant was not so strong, at least when crossing blades with the southern warking, the knight king of Belliste.

Which was a tall order, only Gartran and Maulerd possessed greater brute force than him, but even then, he had the technical edge as well.

"Unfortunately good sir, I am not nearly the strongest of the vanguard, and even less so of the empire, I am pretty well-learned however, so would you challenge me to a debate instead-?" sparks flew as the living slashed, Ourlst moving out of the way as he also deflected, avoiding having to deal with the full force following the strike.

"As the left hand, the sinistral hand, I am the most tactical of the two, between me and my fellow right hand, I mean…" it seemed like Alisart was not a big fan of idle chat, so obviously, Ourlst ran his mouth.

"...The sinistral hand is the one in which General Loimos holds the scythe of harvest, which commands famine and pestilence, they are definitely potent enough to slaughter en masse, but as their names suggests, they represent things that strike during one's daily life, so they tend to be rather difficult to unleash in the heat of the moment-" seemingly grabbing onto thin air, like pulling away a curtain, Ourlst called forth dark miasma, masking himself to evade the next strike.

All of the miasma was blown away, the undead thrusting his sword, aiming at living's fingers, he only struck cold iron as his blow was deflected.

"-I think you would enjoy a fight more with my good friend Horhir, the dextral hand, war and conquest are supposed to be used in battle after all, he is a much greater fighter than I, but well, the two of us holds positions of command over the rank and file and other Loimoisian knights mostly, like them, we are rather plain combatants" setting his broadsword alight with Loimosfire, left hand upon the hilt, the other flat against the blade, blocking a strike with difficulty, but the living pulled away as the flames tried to crawl upon him.

"All of our abilities look like parlour tricks next to the mastery of those that specialised, and let me tell you, whatever you see an undead do, remember that our general can do it better…"

Palm striking nothing, the left hand once again sent miasma, but in a pillar forward, this time, the miasma was not dark, even livings could see through it, putting the flames upon his blade within that particular fog caused it to detonate like linked fireworks.

With a groan, Cleavster powered right through, his blade chipping a bit of Ourlst's helm, the undead avoiding any further damage by leaning his backward, another advantage of being dead, was that such movements were awfully easy to pull off, especially when equipped with such a magnificently crafted suit of armour.

"...Perhaps you could ask him for guidance on swordsmanship when you die? He will want to keep you as the ruler of this region even in death, so you could probably even choose what sort of undead you will be-"

"Silence! This is not a friendly spar, you are running the risk of being destroyed!" although speaking loudly, Alisart was clearly not infuriated, it should have been a given, but he was not easily provoked, even by Ourlst incessant babbling.

The left hand however, had no air to save, and could keep on going no matter how bad the situation was for him.

"I am, however we are eternal, even if you split me in two and damage me enough to force my death to disperse, I will be reformed by the king's divine beast, I can come back and continue to explain things you find meaningless as many times as I want!" raising his tone, Ourlst stomped down, using a battle battle art, going in for a strong hit directed at the waist.

The warking was not impressed, poising himself to endure the strike, bringing his blade down on top of the lieutenant's head, confident that he would be able of splitting this helm of dark iron in one blow.

His confidence was warranted, but the hit never connected, neither the living's or the undead's did, for Alisart Cleavster was thrown away.

The warking had committed to the strike and was thus unable to react to another undead joining in with a dropkick, of all things, dropping after this manoeuvre, Frenand flexed.

Another reason he had been able to move unnoticed, was because despite clearly being a higher level than the rank and file, he dressed exactly like them and moved around the battlefield like a honey badger with an agenda of vengeance, moving from one living to the other without significant logic or reasoning.

"I noticed that you were having difficulties, lieutenant!" exchanging in death tongue, he quickly jumped back to his feet, bouncing up and down as if readying for a boxing match.

"I know that you're just here because he's the strongest around, I assume that the other two are taking care of Aramap and the royal knights?"

"Indeed! Indeed! The southerners are especially ferocious here, I expected us to mow through, am I glad to be wrong! They'll make great sparring partners once their hearts stop beating"

"So it's two on one?" Cleavster did not seem damaged at all.

"Well, it is a battle, not a duel" Ourlst defended himself, spinning his sword, making its tip point downward as he kept a rather sloppy hold of it, speaking more words in death tongue to Frenand, keeping things spoken in between undeads, between undeads only.

"Have fun, I'll be hitting him with famine in a bit"