The initial wave.

As the shambling horde made their way down the ridge outside the settlement, the General ordered the archers to loose their load. Arrows squealed through the air, the strange combination of a high-pitched whistle and a low-toned woosh as they parted the sky. Then they arched and fell upon the shambling mass of rotted corpses.

Several figures stumbled and fell down the slope as the horde continued their advance. “Fire arrows,” the General called as the mass of rotting figures closed in. Quickly flaming arrows were notched, and they aimed into the sky, this time slightly ahead of the shambling figures. “Hold, hold.” As the first wave started to cross the line, Grodan called out, “Loose.”

The flaming arc of amber traced a path through the sky, many of the arrows missed their mark, but enough struck true. The trench had been filled with pitch, and a moment or two passed before the flame took. In the course of a couple of moments, the flames leapt up. The zombies didn’t even scream. They simply ignited in fire and stumbled a few steps before collapsing. The barrier of fire had split off some of the ****, and Grodan yelled, “Melee, gates.”

The gates opened to let the soldiers out as the archers continued to loose the arrows beyond the flames. The fire cast long shadows, and Himo looked towards Qiao with a smile. In a moment, she disappeared, appearing in the middle of the fray. The monk quickly started to lay about with open hands, breaking bones and sending the smaller undead flying back into the flames.

Qiao held out a hand, reaching into the essence of her deity, and a column of bright light descended upon one of the undead. Himo took the opportunity, provided by the shadows cast from Qiao’s holy light, and shadow stepped behind another undead. A sharp jab with her elbow caused the creature to stumble straight towards the approaching soldiers.

Nemeia stood on the battlements beside Qiao, letting go with her eldritch energies. Bolts of purple-green energy darted from her hand, blasting the unnatural creatures.

Marlak, with his usual casual air, fired crossbow bolts into the fray, aiming for areas of high concentration of the enemy, thinning the herd before they engaged with the foot soldiers of the defending ****.

As the foray continued, the outlook seemed optimistic. Then Qaio felt it, mystic energies surging. Someone, someone powerful, was casting a spell. “Grodan, they have a mage,” she called out.

He nodded his understanding, but it was too late. A wave of soil and dirt lifted up and crashed down on the flame barrier. “Seal the breach,” Grodan called as a 40-foot wide section of the barrier was buried in soil.

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