With a blow of their horn, the scouts signaled that the hill was clear to take, Seneschal Romilda gave forceful taps to her horse Waylan. Her fellow knights did the same to their steeds, bringing them to a gallop to quickly secure the hill and ensure that the scouts announcing their presence would not be taken advantage of. The infantry followed after, climbing to the high ground in a vaguely half-circle formation, artillery, missile infantry and supply wagons in the center surrounded by melee infantry to protect them. At the very front of this formation was the General on his armor clad warhorse, a horse of great size thanks to being swelled with as much divine power as its master riding it. Romilda and many of the knights she led were similarly strengthened just like he is, though lacking his achievements, their divine strength was lesser in magnitude. While waiting for the rest to arrive, Romilda could not help but watch this formation approach. She watched the artillery closely, feeling relief at seeing the telltale yellow feather of the artillery sergeant Walter, letting her know her boyfriend was safe from a distance. She resisted the urge to wave to him, maintaining her professionalism and knowing that he could see her just as well due to the yellow Seneschal plume on top of her own helmet.
A few minutes later the rest of the soldiers had reached the hill, solidifying their hold over it. Having taken an advantageous position, the soldiers now had some relief. They were in a demon realm of the undead and everything they saw around them made that fact clear. Even though it should have been the darkest time of night the land was bathed in the light of an ominous red moon and all the vegetation released an unearthly blue to purple glow around them. The trees appeared dead and skeletal from a distance but whenever the wind blew, their unnatural leaves could be heard rustling, blending seamlessly with the bark. Wisp lights danced in the sky above and if one focused on one of the lights, the light might briefly appear to take on a human shape, either that of a disembodied head or a full body before returning to its true shapeless form and leaving the observer doubting their eyes. Even the very air they breathed was different from the air of their homes, it felt heavier than normal and had a slightly sweet taste.
However, the greatest threat to the soldiers’ nerves was not the land they marched on but knowing that an enemy army was near. Scouts had sighted an undead force marching to face them and now, these soldiers could see that same force in the distance. All of them knew they would be brought to battle soon but that was the only thing they truly knew. They didn’t know when that would happen, even the best scouting can only produce vague assumptions on what exactly or how much of those exact foes they would face. Finally, there were many copses as well as larger forests to provide their foes with cover so even with an advantageous position, the undead still had many more options to gain a tactical advantage.
The undead on the horizon were now forced to react before their foe solidified their position, their infantry, cavalry and catapults marching to drive them off the hill, followed by a cloud of mundane bats, enchanted to serve this army. The general, watching this movement through his spyglass, pulled the blue signal flag out of his signal bag and waved it to the cavalry.
Romilda and the rest of the cavalry acted with haste, the light cavalry going first, urging their horses at a slower pace so that the barded horses of the knights could keep up. The light cavalry were going to harass the foe, the knights following after to keep them safe from anything that could catch up to them. They kept their distance from the nearby forests, wary of possible ambushers hidden within.
This caution proved useful, as they neared one of the forests, lit up with dozens of pairs of witchfire lit eyes. A large pack of undead hounds burst from the forest, dashing towards the light cavalry. Thanks to keeping their distance, the cavalry had time to react, the light cavalry redirecting their horses to retreat away from the hounds, firing a volley from their pistols while doing so. Romilda and her knights leveled their lances and charged the hounds. Those same hounds, not having time to change direction and retreat, redirected their charge towards the knights. The units collided, the far weaker hounds easily crushed by the knights. The beasts that weren’t impaled on the knight’s lances were trampled under the horses hooves, their attacks back scratching against the barding of the horses. As Romilda thrust her lance into another hound’s spine, her eye caught a glimpse of something in the sky.
With a unit of knights distracted with cutting down the expendable hounds, the Undead had aimed their catapults to fire on the knights, the projectiles they flung glowing with eldritch light. At this distance, some of the projectiles missed but others didn’t, the magical bombs imploding with every impact, draining the life out of everyone nearby. Those directly struck swiftly collapsed, their bodies no longer having the energy to sustain their functions while those nearby felt themselves weakening. The hounds had done their purpose, drawing in and pinning down a more valuable foe so the catapults could strike it. The charge of both the knights and friendly fire of the catapults stressed the magic sustaining the hounds far beyond what it could handle and they fell apart shortly after, the ones that hadn’t already been broken dropping dead like puppets with their strings cut. The knights did not have time to pick up their wounded and had to press on, following after the light cavalry.
The undead catapults continued to fire on the approaching cavalry but since they were on the move, the shots were easily dodged with some mild evasiveness. It didn’t take long for them to figure this out and cease to preserve ammunition. The speedy cavalry quickly reached the undead and harassed their foe, blasting pistols and repeater guns as they went and doing the best they could to avoid the heavier volume of fire that would come from the foes’ bows and crossbows. Throughout this skirmishing, Romilda sighted the undead’s rivals to heavy cavalry like her. There were Dullahans among this force, the most elite heavy cavalry that the undead have available. Such targets were a premium for the light cavalry but could not truly be reached as they kept near the undead missile infantry, relying on their arrows and bolts to fend off the bullets from the light cavalry they could never catch.
As the skirmishing continued, the undead were forced to advance on the hill, the artillery of the two forces getting in range to fire on their opponents, the humans firing their cannons and mortars while the undead fired their catapults. The cavalry of both sides fanned out, aiming to bring each other down and then slam into the unengaged flanks of the infantry. As both sides occupied themselves fighting each other, a nearby forest grew wild with activity as Werebats and Gargoyles took flight from their hiding spot, bearing down on the distracted humans. One of these Werebats grasped a staff in her feet and with the swarm providing cover, she was able to get close enough to the artillery. The end of her staff glowed purple for a moment before releasing tendrils of necromantic energy. Some of the artillery crew dodged the tendrils but it became clear this spell wasn’t meant to directly harm them as the soldiers who were touched by the tendril found themselves unharmed beyond some minor discomfort.
The magic from the Werebat necromancer flowed into the ground and soon after, pincers, claws and clubs of bone burst from the ground. The Undead had allowed the humans to take the hill, having already seeded it with several flesh golems that had entombed themselves beneath the earth. These undead were not the typical ones who looked human except for odd skin tones, these were the creations of old, more primitive necromancy, mashing together the bones and sinew of multiple beasts to create simple and mindless but effective brutes. Each Bone Horror stood twice the height of a man, and is humanoid in shape. The limbs were reminiscent of a human skeleton with two sections forming most of the shape but the ends were far simpler. The arms of the horrors did not end in hands but either skulls for bludgeoning or bones that had been snapped and/or sharpened to form deadly claws and pincers. The legs lacked feet entirely, the ends having multiple bones lashed around them to widen the area in contact with the ground. The torsos lacked any similarity, with any bone available used to create a shape that could hold the structure together. Most Bone Horrors lacked heads since they had no need for those pieces, but others did have such attached to them, sometimes it was the skull of one or more some beasts, in other cases, multiple bones unrelated to the head were merged together to form a macabre imitation of a skull. Sinew bound the bones together, either wrapping around multiple bones that formed the same piece or at the ends of each piece to form the joints required for it to move. The artillery crew were forced to cease their fire to deal with this threat. Coming to their aid were the rearguard infantry, originally keeping their distance so that the artillery had room to work/keeping the artillery from ever getting reached by flankers.
Romilda had witnessed the Bone Horrors be summoned amongst the artillery and readied her knights to stop their rampage, partly from knowing the tactical benefit of stopping them from occupying the artillery, and partly for the emotional reason of knowing her boyfriend was in danger. As her knights moved to charge, they saw the Dullahans get between them and the artillery, opting to use the situation to force her to charge them directly. Romilda had no choice but to accept and redirect her knights at them, a grimace of both frustration and worry hidden behind her helmet.
One of the Dullahans wore more ornate armor than the rest, its helmet adorned with the blasphemous image of the self-proclaimed death goddess Hel, the goddess of necromancy and sworn enemy of the true death god who kept the proper cycle of the world maintained instead of perverting it. This Dullahan shifted the formation, angling it so that she was going straight towards Romilda. For a moment, she dropped the protection of her shield to point at Romilda, a clear challenge and one that Romilda, in her experience, saw and by her honor answered, shifting her own formation and redirecting Waylan so that the two leaders would come to blows.
The two bands of knights struck each other with the force of a meteor, several lances from both of them striking true, felling several of each one’s number. Romilda had aimed sharper than her own opponent, dodging her enemies lance and nearly driving it into her opponents heart if they hadn’t managed to parry it at the cost of their shield at the last moment. With the charge complete, their lances were now impractical and both bands threw them away to draw their swords and maces. Romilda matched her sword against her opponent’s mace, able to exploit the advantage of an unbroken shield to gain the upper hand against her opponent, winning the duel by decapitating her opponent. Muscle memory took over and she raised her sword and shouted a cry of victory to push her knights to press the advantage, something the undeterred Dullahan took advantage of, grabbing and pulling off her helmet with its shield hand and clubbing her on the head with its mace. The blow unhorsed Romilda, the woman fighting a losing battle to stay conscious. Before darkness claimed her, the last thing she saw was a storm of necromantic energy engulfing the human army, dozens of soldiers dropping dead, with the wisp lights of their souls exiting their bodies to enter the bodies of their fellows who themselves fell unconscious at the experience. The humans’ defeat was inevitable after this spell.
Romilda awoke from a nightmare about the defeat of the army she was part of, quickly realizing that this wasn’t mere dream. She was lying in a military camp, her armor hadn’t been stripped off but the shackles on her arms and legs and the loss of her blade and shield kept her helpless. She sat up as best she could despite the shackles on her limbs, getting her bearings on where she is. She lay among her fellow knights, a head count confirming that nearly all of them lay captured. With multiple armed Zombie guards surrounding them, escape on their own didn’t seem possible right now so she waited.
The knights woke up one by one, the ones that have regained consciousness being identified by how they would sit up instead of continuing to lie. Once every knight was awake, one of the Zombies departed their guard detail; they came back soon after with a trio of Dullahan knights. Romilda recognized the one in the center of the group as the leader she dueled earlier, identified by its telltale helmet. It no longer had its shield or lance but now carried a double-bladed poleaxe. The Zombie set up some tools in front of the leader, a chopping block and a table. The Dullahan leader removed its helmet and set it on the table. It turned out that she’s a woman just like Romilda, the removal of the helmet let her long white hair billow free. The Dullahan then removed her own head with the same casual movements with which she removed her helmet, sliding some kind of cap in its place and holding her head under the shoulder and above the forearm of her left arm. Romilda suspected that removing her head was a way of taunting her, mocking her lapse in judgment that lost her the duel.
The two Dullahan flanking their leader left her side to approach the prisoners. They went to Romilda first, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her to her feet. They walked her over to the chopping block and forced her to her knees at it, pushing her head in place. Romilda did not resist them, knowing that it is futile and wishing to die with as much dignity as one could, despite the fact that her corpse would be reshaped to serve her enemies after her death. She looked towards her fellow knights whose time would surely come after her, whispering prayers to the gods for salvation after death and an apology at failing her knights as their leader; maybe this wouldn’t have happened if she had defeated the Dullahan in their duel.
Fitting her head back into place, the Dullahan grasped her poleaxe firmly in her hands. She lined the poleaxe up with Romilda’s neck and rose it in the air, making a show of doing so slowly. Once the poleaxe reached the apex of its height, she swung the poleaxe moving at an untrackable speed. Having one’s neck cut in two wasn’t as painful as Romilda expected as she felt her head tumble off the block, lying in a position where she could stare at the body she was once attached to. The two Dullahan that were holding her in place unbound the shackles holding its limbs and stepped away.
Her body lay in place on the block, yet as Romilda stared, stared, and stared some more, death did not claim her consciousness as she expected. As she watched her still body, an ethereal flame erupted at the stump where her head was once attached, the flame releasing a clear smoke. Then Romilda realized that she could feel the rest of her body. Experimentally, she wiggled her fingers, seeing those same fingers move on her body, she started moving her body more, her arms pushing her body off the block. She turned her body side to side, feeling the surreal sensation of her body twisting to shift its vision yet her own vision not changing at all. Her body slipped on the block, falling to the side of it. Romilda tried again at getting to her feet, watching from a distance, she pressed her hands on the ground and pushed her torso up. She paused for a moment, getting her bearings on her new perspective and then got moved to her feet. She bent one knee until her body was now on one foot and then pushed herself up so she finally stood on two feet again. She walked her body over to her head, watching it move and picked her head up.
She raised her head until it was on the level of her shoulders, staring at the stump where her head once was and the ethereal flame at the neck stub. Then she realized that she was feeling something she never felt before. The best description for this feeling was a combination of affection, hunger and lust. The only thing on her mind right now was Walter, where was he? Some new sense was telling her that he wasn’t in the camp, telling her his general direction. She placed her head back onto her neck, feeling a tingling sensation on the two ends of her neck as the pieces were reconnected and walked to the nearby stable. While walking past the Dullahan that had cut her head off, the Dullahan smiled at her.
The portable stable of this camp didn’t only carry the undead’s own steeds, it contained the equipment and steeds of captured cavalry riders among which Romilda quickly sighted her own and retrieved, retaking her sword and shield. Next to the equipment was a tethered Waylan. Waylan had changed a lot since they were separated, much like Romilda. His flesh now had the desiccated appearance of a well preserved corpse. This flesh occasionally rippled with the necromantic energies keeping him alive, his eyes, teeth and the soles of his hooves glowing with witchfire. The same flame also blazed within his nose as the same smoke that comes from the witchfires elsewhere steadily rose from his nostrils. Waylan nuzzled his master affectionately when Romilda got close, just like Romilda’s outward changes still carried the same person, Waylan was the same steed she had ridden for years. Untethering Waylan from his post, she mounted him and rode off from the camp, wanting, needing to find her lover.
Walter peered from the bushes and trees out into the open field, watching carefully for any threat that might see him pass through this field. The army he was part of had been shattered, when what remained routed, the few who weren’t dead fled in every direction. Many were run down as they fled but some weren’t, him being one of the few fortunates to escape. Now, the only thing he wanted was to get back to untainted land as soon as possible, not that he knew how to do so. He could only hope that the direction he’s going will take him to safe territory.
After watching for some time to be reasonably certain of a clear path, he left his hiding place, half-walking and half-crouching the next point of cover. He heard the clatter of a galloping horse before ever seeing the owner of the hooves and went prone, hoping the rider would just pass him by. He rotated his body in the direction of the sound, seeing a lone knight riding in the field. The knight was going straight towards him and he was quick to realize this. He got back up and sprinted back to the trees, hoping to lose this pursuer in the woods.
While dashing through the trees, Walter looked for somewhere to hide as he ran about the trees. He found a decent spot, it was a wide tree on a slope with its roots forming steps. He hid among the root steps, listening carefully for his pursuer. A few minutes later he heard it, though instead of the horse galloping, he instead heard the rattle of the knight and horse’s armor. More importantly, it came from the other side of the tree so the knight and horse could not see him. As the horse walked, it started moving around the tree and Walter took advantage of its noise to maneuver himself so that the tree was always between him and this knight.
As he changed angle, he heard the clanking of metal get more distant. Figuring that the knight was probably looking away, he risked taking a better look at his pursuer, peering around the tree. From his hidden vantage point, it became very clear that this knight was of the undead by the fact that it carried its own severed head in its left arm. The knight also used to be part of the army he fought with as the style of the armor on both the knight and rider matched that same army.
Believing that the knight had passed him by, Walter started moving in the other direction, thinking he had gotten away a few minutes later, he suddenly heard the same clanking but heavier and flung himself into some nearby bushes. Walter didn’t dare to try to see his pursuer this time, fearing that the attempt would expose him. While lying here waiting for them to pass, his thoughts would wander back to his childhood when he and Romilda would play Hide & Seek. These thoughts confused him as why would hiding for his life bring up such memories. As he waited and listened, he heard the clinking metal armor go past him once again, once again waiting until it was distant enough for safety before getting up and moving in a different direction.
The cycle of him hiding, the knight passing him by and him then moving away from the knight continued. Walter was now sure of it, somehow, this knight was able to tell where he was even if it wasn’t perfect. Realizing that his only choice was to fight, he drew his sword, a mere side arm. He didn’t have a chance in a straight fight, so his only choice was an ambush. This cycle helped with an ambush though, using another tree as cover, Walter waited once again, this time for the knight to get close.
When the knight was close, he charged from behind the tree, aiming the tip of his sword low to try to drive it into the gut of the horse, trying to bring the horse down and then stab the knight while they were beneath their dead horse. It wasn’t meant to be, either through fast reactions or it having a stronger sense of where he is than he expected, the knight leaned to the side, blocking the attack with its shield. Up so close, he finally noticed something, the bright yellow plume on top of the head it grasped under its shoulder.
“Romilda?” he stuttered before the shield pushed him away. She tapped her horse for it to trot away from him, her severed head constantly turned to watch him. She redirected the horse in a loop to face him and then gave it a more forceful kick to charge him. Walter raised his blade to deflect the attack but he was nowhere near as capable with a blade as Romilda. The momentum of her charge and the blade easily broke through his defense and he felt the blade slash through him. A feeling of faintness took over his body as his energy was drained. He dropped his sword, no longer having the strength to carry it and fell backwards to the ground.
Romilda stopped her horse and then dismounted. She approached Walter’s prone body and sat next to him. She held her head out to him in one hand and grabbed the plume, pulling the helmet off his head. “Caught you, that was fun. Just like our childhoods, wasn’t it?” She pushed her severed head into his face kissing him, her tongue hungrily entwining with his. Her head then got pulled back, her face glowing with happiness.
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