The Unburied

The Lethal Cure

As Lucretia cut down the last of her foes, dark maroon staining her ivory blade, she looked to the south, gazing upon that which the Herald of Pestilence had wrought.  Even from the mountainous forests, ridden with corpses and shattered bones, the clamour of strife did yet echo in her ear.  Indeed, she did not doubt that Aleric would expend the utmost of his skill to quell the madness of the Herald.  Yet it was also well known to her, that Aleric had never sought to lead.  Always amongst the four, he had been a warrior of solitude.  One who would tend to resign to the shadows, rather than the battlements. Indeed, she did worry for his survival, less so for that of those he commanded, but yet to some degree.

Casting the horrid prospect from her mind, Lucretia turned to the forested battlefield, calling out unto the trees, “Sanger!”  

It was not a cry of worry, or terror.  No, twas but a beckon, for she knew that her lieutenant would not so easily be struck down.  No, indeed she had come to trust his skill in battle, as did she trust his strategy.  She could not help but suspect, that they may have fought together in the past.  Before any of this had befallen them.  In her youth, as but a young soldier, in the elder days when life was a simple matter.  Those days had long passed.  

She called out once again, continuing to trudge amidst the twice dead corpses and shattered fragments of bone, “Sanger!”  

Before long, a response was granted to her, “My liege!”  

Turning to the origin of the cry, Lucretia did gaze upon the hooded Master of the Marrow Knights, with his left arm severed, and his right clutching his bloodied blade.  

Lucretia strode to him, as he did unto her, proceeding to say unto him, “Your arm will need mending, in due time, Sanger.”  

Sanger responded, “Indeed.  Though I’d not have you halt the assault on my behalf.  I’ll have one of my knights mend my weave, when the night is through.”          

“Tenacious as always my friend.”  Lucretia responded, with a slight chuckle, “I bid thee gather our soldiers, that we may renew our assault.”  

“Indeed.  It shall be done, my lady,”  Sanger responded,  “With the utmost haste.”   At such declaration, the cloaked warrior did about and face, swiftly making his way into the trees, to fulfil his warrant. 

Lucretia turned back to the horizon, gazing once more upon the burning ruins.  The time would draw near, that the Herald of Pestilence be felled. 

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Letifer uttered a cry of war unrivalled, as he brought down hard the head of the blighted halberd unto the collar bone of his foe, nigh severing the Rott Kin’s head.  Harshly, he jerked the weapon downard, throwing his foe to the ground, and proceeding to pierce its neck with the spearhead of his weapon.

However, the victory was short lived, as he could only watch yet another soldier of the Earl’s host fall to the great pain of the Rott Kin’s bite. 

Indeed, the night was a grim one.  Lit by the warm glow of flame, spread by the first of the Rott kin to cross the bridge, the air reeked of singed and blighted flesh, though Letifer could not tell, the wretched stench did fill the nose of all others who fought beside him.  Much including Hallyenne, who did slay her latest foe with a slash to the neck.  Immediately after the second death of said foe, she proceeded her charge north, which she had begun after the echoing CRACK had sounded from the common.   It was clear to the both of them, the numbers of the Rott Kin did rise by the moment, while theirs steadily waned.  Thus, combined with the deafening crash, did indicate the fall of the central barricades.