The dark shape appeared, high overhead, merely a dark spot in the sky. But even from that great height, it spotted you easily. As it dove, it became clear that it was a dragon. Then, it was clear that it was a large dragon. Then it became clear that it was truly immense. In a low rumble of a voice, it roared:

‘The city of Tsar is mine!’

And you knew that you were going to die.

The giant was the first to turn and run, his long legs carrying him into the distance, with Marina trying to keep pace. But Hargrev Ghontasavos stood his ground. As the dragon dove, its mighty jaws crunched through his armor easily.

Realizing that his companions had left him, Hargrev called upon the holy power of Aroden to speed him. As he turned to escape, moving at a speed no mortal man could match, a massive claw reached out, crushing flesh and bone, and smashing him to the ground.

In Draconic, the low voice spoke:

Non es dignus adversarium

And the massive weight lifted from Hargrev’s body. He didn’t look back.

OOC: Ok, we’re behind schedule. So, I’m going to railroad you a bit to stay on schedule.

Having done what was possible to learn about Bishop Fiosa, you have decided to stop waiting. She clearly isn’t coming to attack the camp, and you’re making no progress toward your goals just sitting here.

The city of Tsar lies ahead, and within it, perhaps Fiosa and certainly the anvil that Justicar Gerrant needs to finally leave this world. You buy your provisions, and travel north, slowly slogging through the steam and mud of the Boiling Lands, your trip only made bearable by the stone shelters that Pendrais has created one day’s march from each other.

While there are are still some dangers in the Boiling Lands, none of them are your equal, and you spend almost two weeks moving northward, until the ground rises and you grow near to the Chaos Rift. You’ve been scried upon a few times as you travel, but still no sign of the Bishop. Perhaps the slow curse of lichdom has finally taught her patience, you can’t say for certain.

The gargoyles are few as you skirt the Chaos Rift, and they have learned to give you a wide berth indeed. The road seems same aside from the occasional wandering undead. While little more than slavering madmen, the poisonbearer ghouls charge anything they detect, the pain of their eternal hunger forcing them onward. Tactically, they’re predictable, and with two Arodenites, you have little to fear from their contagious filth.

As you get further north, you carefully adjust your course to avoid both the halfling dig site and the roaming menace of the Battlehulk. As Grumell guides you up hill after hill, you eventually top a rise that shows something of interest in the distance.

There, atop the next ridge, is the remains of a small fort. And though it’s defenders are long dead, they guard the battlements still. Some await silently atop the walls, while other giant undead, following the commands given them many decades ago, attempt to load stones into catapaults that have long since decayed. Once released, the stones crash through the framework, and roll to the bottom of the slope, only to be retrieved once more.

For these defenders, the war still rages….

With a shimmer, the black horse with flaming hooves appeared in the tower once more. After rearing up on two legs, the burden it was carrying fell to the ground. It stomped on the ground twice, and waited. After a while, a man appeared, an older gentleman with a well-groomed beard.

’Your rider seems to have failed. Pity" he spoke. "But you have done well in returning her to the Tower. For this service, we will remember your true name, and call you again when it is time to ride forth and wreck havoc. I will see that you have a reward that suits you better than mere coin.

“Take your prize” continued the gentleman, heaving a heavy saddlebag over the creatures back. It snorted fire in appreciation, and faded away as suddenly as it had arrived.

“I suppose we’ll have a visitor soon. Ill have to see that Fiosa’s remains are waiting for her arrival. We’ll let her get comfortable, then we’ll discuss her failure.

Focusing her will into the fresh corpses, negative energy pulses into their bodies. They slowly change, absorbing the energy. Energy enough to live on. Energy enough to rise anew.

The dry rasping voice croaks “Follow, you are needed”

Art by Richard Pace

A dry, rasping voice begins to muse “Can it be? So long ago, it is hard to remember, before. But how many spellcasting imps can there be in the world. I remember that bitch, and her skanky clothing and her whispering. Always whispering, trying to get them to be more selfish, more greedy, less caring. Then, they all vanished, never to return. Gone, when they were needed most. Gone, when troops needed a general.”

The small figure idly picks through the ashes that were once Titus Oberigo. While most of his possessions have been utterly consumed by the fire, her skeletal fingers grasp a heavy book bearing a pentagram on the cover that is completely unhurt by the fire. “Interesting. The White Walker will want to examine this.”

“Now, which way? Probably best to guard the vampires, they will be vulnerable until tomorrow’s night comes. And when they are renewed, they will be able to watch as Lord Asmodeus answers our questions”

Turning toward the pit, Bishop Fiosa raises both of her hands. Bolstered by the negative energies surrounding her; she incants the words that cause the dead to rise, as she has so many times before. But this time, this time was special.

The massive beast had died in the war, and it no longer mattered what side it had initially served. As she watched the bones form into the shape of a massive draconic creature, it was clear that it now served Asmodeus, as she herself did.

As she floated down atop the creature, it began to stride off into the distance after the vampires.

“And our first question will be: Has Viggo Blackbriar finally returned?”

As the halflings watched from within their palisade, they saw this…

Death was coming…

Here’s what real battlefields look like 100 years later, for reference.

Link :)

A Battlehulk is a huge-sized construct, apparently used to mow down formations of enemy soldiers. Initially slow-moving, it is capable of accelerating to great speeds.

Armed with stone rollers on the bottom and massive stone arms on the sides, a battlehulk’s principal weapon appears to be the heavily spiked front end. Massive chains trail behind, and are capable of crushing the life from even a skilled adventurer after a few swings.

Thus far, there is no known method to defeat a functioning battlehulk. Recommendation: flee