Standing atop the west-facing bastion of the sanctified fortress of Rotguard, Commander Crushmaul, clad in heavy plate armor, watched the dunes spread across the darkening horizon. A dire threat approached as the season of defilement soaked the skies in blasphemy, forging clouds in a desert that so rarely saw them.

"How many will arrive this cycle, scoutmaster?"

Behind her stood a hooded scalefolk man in blackened leather, ready to give his report.

"I fear we will find ourselves outmatched. They number four times the mass they can muster most cycles, with more coming. The men are ready, but our supplies are lacking, and reinforcements won't arrive for several days. By their position, the undead seek to attack within two days, so even if the reinforcements arrive within..."

Crushmaul had been requesting additional forces for some time, but few had responded and even fewer could spare the forces to aid in the defense of Rotguard. A Guild of the east had sent word of fighters joining the fray, but the trip would exhaust them and they needed rest once they arrived. By then, rest would become a precious commodity.

The seasoned soldiers of Rotguard were familiar with the undead and their brutish strategies, but the sheer numbers, tirelessness, and absolute lack of fear sought to undermine any advantage Rotguard might have. A moat of lifeblessed water and battlements consecrated by Terragaraem himself promised to be a formidable obstacle for the dead. They, too, would fall under the scouted siege.

"Fall to Oblivion, you hellcursed Guild leaders... They knew this siege was coming, so why in the hells do I need to beg for fighters?! Every gods damned cycle! Do we have any reports on the reinforcement positions? How far out are they?"

"We do not know. My scouts haven't seen any heading our way. A few have been spotted, and their presence has been requested, but they need to finish their missions first."

"What good is felling beasts if the land becomes overrun by death?!"

Crushmaul's fury burned bright and threatened to overwhelm her, but it was a sensation to which she was accustomed. As were her men, knowing not to goad her when the fury rose.

With her sight upon the horizon and the looming doom beyond the dunes, she did not hear the approach of her servant, but the distraction was welcome. The gentle voice of her friend often helped calm the fury, but it would keep smoldering, ready to ignite should a battle present itself.

"Ma'am, your supper is ready, please follow me."

"Thank you, Mary."

Deep breathing and Mary's distraction so often helped the commander maintain control, but she would soon need to release her restraints. Her blessings were many, but the call to battle built fast, and if not unleashed through intent, it would do so on its own accord. And she already had a target for her rage in mind.

Every cycle, the undead would be led by a commander of their own. A lich of tremendous power capable of calling upon the twisted magics of death and souls to bind those who opposed it. To destroy that thing would offer salvation to thousands of souls bound in ages past. A terrifying undertaking that she could not do alone, but Crushmaul never stood alone.

"Scoutmaster, tell the men to prepare the warscales. We will stampede the grounds come sunrise."

With a word of confirmation, the scoutmaster bowed and faded into the shadows. His orders were clear, and he would perform his duties without question. The warscales were beasts blessed by Mairleark to serve in the defense of Rotguard, thrice over the size of battle-trained horses and skilled in desert combat.

The warscales, siege beasts in their own right, were known for their ferocity as well as their bond with their riders. Under the command of a rider, they were docile and gentle, but when the call to battle sounded, their true nature would be unleashed. Their brutal and feral nature would lay waste to all who threatened their territory, and the Guild would often arrange warbands thirty strong or more to take on such an animal.

Crushmaul pondered the chance of success in the wake of what news she had heard from the Guild branches. There had been inland raids by the dead, and the Guild would focus its efforts on maintaining control. She understood the reasoning, but the risk presented here revealed a greater plan by The Dead King. His machinations appeared to be coming to fruition as the forces of the living were divided. What awaited them was the next step: Conquering.

There was naught to do but rest. Mary and Crushmaul descended the ramparts, their destination being the Commander's Quarters. Around them stood the imposing walls, carved of sandstone and blessed by the servants of several Gods. Throughout the stonework were sigils of protection and retribution, promising a swift end to the defiled who would dare approach. Curiosity sparked in Crushmaul's mind as she pondered whether these sigils would last during the coming assault.

Their power was palpable, but not infinite. They smote the dead, but with each smiting, cracks appeared and maintenance would be required. Maintenance they could not afford during a siege without reinforcements.

"Mary, I've arranged for an escort to take you to Esfjord, departing at noon tomorrow. It will be a long journey, but the branch leader informed us that they have already dealt with any undead present. You'll be traveling with a guard and several other commonfolk."

A sorrowful expression filled the servant's face. She knew what this meant for Crushmaul's assessment of their chances. Resisting the order was tempting, knowing her commander would struggle with common chores in her absence, but the intent was clear. The commander did not wish for Mary or any of the other common folk to fall in the battle to come and risk becoming bound by the dead.

As they traveled to her abode, those occupying the streets felt her anger at the situation and stood clear to make way for the two before returning to their duties. Those who followed Crushmaul were familiar with her proclivities, and many had challenged her to battle, most regretted doing so, but none came away without a lesson. Most got a lesson in pain, some in wisdom and expertise.

With her home in sight, the pressure of the day was felt by the commander. There would be no reprieve in the coming days as she would have to head out alongside the warscales. Before she had a chance to rest, she would need to disarm, and Mary was already working to unstrap the commander's armor.

Wide-flared gauntlets slipped away, revealing calloused hands and scars of battle. The twin morning stars she wielded were placed in a weapon rack one at a time, as Mary struggled to carry them. The servant could not tell what weighed more, the responsibility of command or the equipment Victoria Crushmaul wore.

With pieces of armor taken away, the scarred body of the commander underneath was revealed, muscles rippled, rivaling the brutal physique common to giants, and scars from thousands of battles showed a tapestry of her deeds. Though she towered above most, she was not of the giants. Instead, she had inherited the blessing of the elven folk and Terragaraem's humanity, offering adaptability and longevity, allowing her to train and grow beyond either species.

"I cannot understand how you manage to wear all this and still fight, Vicky. I can barely carry two pieces!"

A smile graced her lips for the first time that day as her servant took a moment to recover. With the weight lifted, Victoria took her seat by the dining table, awaiting the promised supper as Mary fetched it. Though unbecoming of her standing and often resulting in nobles mocking her, Victoria enjoyed the company of her servant, and they would dine together.

"Keep the joints and mobility points free, and you can add more protection. Don't let my equipment fool you, though. A common soldier's armor is far lighter. Mine is reinforced with irathic steel to guard against magical attacks. It's denser than a noble's pampered son. Same as my stars."

The fearsome morning stars wielded by Commander Victoria Crushmaul were indeed made of the fabled metal Irathic Steel, forged by ancient hands and capable of breaking most magic with a few strikes; a perfect set of weapons for breaking the undead threat.

And they called to her. Called for her to use them and break the ranks of her enemies. The steel itself craved battle and destruction, leading the weak-willed to their own doom as the weapons overpowered them.

Accustomed to their felt presence, Mary ignored the weapons and served their supper. A soup of starchy tubers, spices, and cream. A simple meal, but one Victoria quite enjoyed, as Mary had long since made changes to her recipe to fit the commander.

The two sat in silence, enjoying the meal and each other's company, but silence, like many things, doesn't last.

"I don't want to go, Vicky. I want to stay here and help you as well as I can."

"I know, but if they breach the walls, you and the others will be slain and raised into damnation. This time, you do not get a choice."

"I know what it means that you're sending me away, Vicky! I know you don't think we can win this, but I can help. I can carry arrows to the archers or help with supplies. You need us to do our duty!"

There was truth in Mary's words, but those duties would be covered by a limited group from the militia. The more lives they could save to warn others, the better the chance for the Guild to mobilize a counterforce against the encroaching dead.

"Your duty is to warn the Guild and make those idiots listen. I trust that you can perform that duty admirably, Mary."

Crushmaul's gaze made it clear that there would be no further discussion on the matter. The two disagreed on the matter, but a firm order could not be ignored. Rather than continue to argue, Mary finished her meal in silence and got up to pack her belongings. The journey would be tedious, but with the skilled soldiers of Rotguard, it was doubtful that the caravan would encounter any problems.

The two were given reprieve from the tense disagreement by a knocking at the commander's door. The familiar rhythm of her scoutmaster, but the rapping had an urgency he rarely expressed.

"Commander! You have to see this! There's a dragon from the north!"

Frustration built as Crushmaul considered the addition of a dragon to their battle. They stood little chance of defeating the dead, but that chance dwindled if a dragon stood against them as well. Their sanctified equipment dealt devastating damage to the dead, but did little more than ordinary weapons against a living beast.

Pushing her worries to the side, Victoria got up and called for Mary. The servant was quick to rouse and begin assisting the commander in donning her armor. They were a practiced pair and soon, the commander stood ready for battle with weapons at her side.

Departing her home, she followed the scout into the dark of the night, but bright white light lit up the horizon beyond the wall. The undead were fond of dark magics, but rarely cast light or fire spells, as both had purifying natures.

With heavy steps, she rushed to the guardhouse leading up onto the wall and saw what was happening. She struggled to spot the dragon as it blended in with the overcast night sky, but when another strafing attack was performed, the light cast a vast, terrifying shadow upon the clouds above. Had she not been told it was a dragon, she might have thought it a demon sent to curse them once more. But this beast struck hard and fast at the undead below and cackled as if it had been struck by madness. Its booming voice could be heard mocking the dead as they fell to its incendiary attacks and she knew what had to happen now.

"Tell the men to prepare now! Wake them all! We're joining the fray! Do not attack the dragon unless it turns on us!"

With a prayer to her god, Terragaraem, she felt power surge as rage built. War was his domain, and tonight, she would be his instrument. With divinity and magic strengthening her body, she leapt from the battlements and landed on the bridge below to the sound of strained wood.

Faster than most while weighed down by Irathic Steel, she ran toward the defiled horde with a furious smile. The thrill of battle would soon be upon her. Sooner than she thought, as the dragon changed direction and flew toward her. Unable to tell whether it was friend or foe, she stood ready, but rather than greet her with a bellow of flame, it swooped down to grab her before returning to the undead. The speed of their flight meant Victoria would be upon the undead far sooner than she thought.

As the two reached the front line of the undead, they were met with a barrage of arrows, but the beast showed no signs of it mattering, instead dropping Crushmaul, who quickly brought her weapons to bear. As she swung, crushing bones and skulls with every strike, the beast continued its incendiary siege against the enemy forces.

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The night lit up with bright dragonflame as the dragon and the commander continued their assault. A horn bellowed from Rotguard, signaling the charge of the warscales. They would soon deal a devastating blow to the enemy frontline.

The positions on the battlefield favored the dead as the distance to Rotguard was larger than Crushmaul would like. Archers and mages could not rely on the walls to protect them and were forced onto the battlefield to offer support to the front line. Crushmaul had already prepared for the eventuality of needing to extend their forces beyond the fortress, but, like their ranged line, she was reluctant to call for this strategy unless absolutely necessary.

On this night, she had given no such command, but her soldiers were capable of acting on their own and did so of their own accord. As Crushmaul brought down righteous fury upon the defiled, her soldiers charged to join, led by the warscales.

The clash of forces sounded throughout the region as warscales trampled through the dead forces. Salamanders in protective armor charged at breakneck speed, yet were not satisfied merely crushing the dead. Teeth, talons, and tails were wielded against the dead as well. Bones and broken armor flew through the air as the beasts unleashed their fury and in their wake lay a path of destruction.

The casualties would not begin until the dead reached the frontlines, but Crushmaul trusted that they would stay safe and rely on the warscales to weaken the foot soldiers of the enemy.

Squires flowed from the gate of Rotguard to supply the archers as they struck with brutal efficiency at the approaching undead, but they were not the only ones to do so. Mages called upon devastating magic to move air through the sand as their first and second cycle apprentices channeled magic into their masters. By their combined efforts, the advancing dead were greatly slowed, swallowed by the desert itself, and barraged by projectiles.

Defensive casters erected walls of sand to protect against enemy mages, and the sound of fire and stone impacting the desert walls could be heard throughout the battlefield. The unfamiliar would consider this a battle the living could win, but in a battle of attrition, the necromancers stand with an immeasurable advantage.

The enemy's familiarity with Rotguard's tactics soon showed itself as they sent dead beasts against the guard. Fleshless bones of animals found throughout the lands soon descended upon the frontline as shields and maces clashed against tooth and fang. Their lighter bodies prevented the sands from swallowing them, and they ran across the surface of the kill zone.

Magical shields and empowerment spells were cast at will as the two forces collided. Elemental spells flew overhead as sanctified arrows pierced the dead defensive line. Should one see the battle as it was fought in the early bells, one could not be blamed for believing Rotguard to be victorious, but the undead are not so easily defeated.

The initial wave consisted of the weak, sent to make Rotguard expend their resources as they were forced to fight. With the wilting forces of the initial wave dying down, the presence of a lich could be felt, drawing Crushmaul's attention. She had felt this presence many times before and turned her attention east.

The dead surrounding her spread out and made way for the lich who sat atop the skeleton of an elzdir. A mighty animal that would have inspired any who saw it in life. The tainted remains of the proud beast were bound in servitude as a mockery of what it once was. Though its strength could still be felt in the wide antlers crowning its head.

"My dear, is it not time for you to lay down your weapons and welcome the inevitable? You cannot win against the endless armies of the Dead King."

The chilling voice of the lich drove Crushmaul's hair to stand on end as she turned to face it.

"Fight me, bone-faced fuckskull!"

"Such unnecessary hostility, but I shall do as you wish."

The lich descended the beast, crimson robes flowing in the desert wind as he summoned its staff. A grim monstrosity created from the spine of her predecessor and adorned with the bones of many past commanders who had fallen in battle.

"I won't be added to your collection, monster."

"Oh, but you will. Though I admire your efforts this cycle. I had not expected a dragon to decimate my forces. Do tell, how did you manage to wrangle such a beast? She will make an excellent mount."

Wanting the opening strike, Crushmaul rushed the lich, weapons ready, and struck. The impact could be felt throughout her body, but the damnable thing had caught her morning star.

"An impressive weapon to be sure, but old. And old things often have glaring weaknesses. Such as this rune. It has faded with time, becoming shallow and unstable."

With a single bony finger, the lich infused the weapon with a spark of magic, shattering the metal as if it had been ice caught under a falling boulder. Shards of metal sprang from the explosion and pelted her armor, embedding themselves into the outer layers. Had her armor not been as thick as it was, this would surely have been the end of her.

Disengaging from the battle, Crushmaul readied her remaining weapon. The attack felt more and more like a mistake as the lich appeared unbothered by the commander's antics.

Patience growing thin, the lich formed a spell of darkness threatening to consume all it touched. It coalesced into a sphere as it flew toward her. A sphere of Corruption itself, tainting all it touched and leaving a trail of death as it passed over the desert. A jump to the side was all it took to dodge, evidence of how little the lich thought of her.

She had to close the distance. She did not have any spells to counter with, so this had become a battle with the lich having the advantage.

She felt it before she heard it. The stomping of a warscale approached. She recognized the beast by sound, but could not turn away from the lich to see the rider. She could not give the lich that opening and take away her own ability to dodge the spells this monstrosity might cast.

"My dear, it seems you are at a loss for how to handle our bout. Might I suggest we limit our combat to hand-to-hand?"

"I know your tricks. With a single touch, you can bind a soul to your will, but you prefer playing first, don't you, you morbid bastard?"

Survivors through the ages have kept record of their encounters with noteworthy foes, and this was most certainly one of them. And this particular lich did indeed have a fondness for dragging out the destruction of its foes' souls. An affront to the very world itself and one of the few things the Gods could agree on.

"I wish you wouldn't deny me my amusement, child. But have it your way."

Following words, he cast a spell of binding darkness. Tendrils of wickedness rose from the ground itself to lash out against Crushmaul. Only by merit of her skill did she manage to break each and every one with her morning star.

"This has to be fun for you, though. You can watch your army burn while you fail to kill me."

"I do wonder how you managed to coerce a dragon to aid you. If you share those secrets, I may be kind and leave most of your soul intact."

A discomforting sensation overcame Crushmaul as she felt darkness creeping into her mind.

"You do not know? This beast aids you, yet you have not struck a deal or bargained for the sacrifice?"

The lich had read her mind, but had become rattled by what he found. With a wave of its hand, far too many shadowy vines sprang from the sand to envelop Crushmaul. The lich turned its attention toward the dragon so gleefully destroying the forces of the undead. The now familiar darkness crept into her mind once more, but was much less intense as the lich cast its gaze toward the dragon. The beast kept itself away from spells as it unleashed plumes of flame to consume any in its way.

"See anything you like?"

"I do not, no. Think yourself as coy as you please, but that entity is a threat to both of us. It straddles the barrier between life and death and holds fond memories of ending both. It, I cannot, what has been summoned to this world?!"

Bellowing at the top of her lungs, Crushmaul called for the dragon above.

"Dragon! I challenge you in the name of Terragaraem! Should I win, I may ask a favor of you. Should you win, my treasury is yours!"

The beast turned and flew toward the two as righteous fire burned the darkness binding Crushmaul, freeing her to stand. A challenge called in the name of Terragaraem was to be respected, but only the calls from those who held true belief and strength would be honored.

Crushmaul got to her feet and waited for the dragon to descend as the lich looked for the mount it rode in on. The dead beast was nowhere to be seen, so standing firm would be the next choice.

"You doubt my power? You doubt that I can defeat a mere dragon?"

A gleeful smile graced Crushmaul's lips as she saw the unsettled lich hesitate to act.

"No. You probably can, but you're afraid of this dragon. How does it feel to have to wait to avoid incurring the wrath of a God?"

"She might not agree. She might be offended by your trickery. She might turn against you for this deception. It is clear to all that you have no intention beyond exploiting the beast's strength!"

Eyes locked onto the lich, Crushmaul saw genuine fear. She had the strength to fight younger dragons, so a lich such as this should be capable of defeating the dragon here. Yet there was hesitation, as if the lich knew the dragon and what it was capable of. Perhaps old enemies.

It did not take long for the dragon to reach the pair and land in a spray of sand. The beast appeared much larger up close than Crushmaul had expected it to be as it flew above.

"I heard there was treasure. Can I have it?"

"Kira, this human seeks to abuse your power. Decline the bout and depart from this area. They are treacherous and wish to enslave you!"

"Who the hell are you?"

"It's me, Skelly. We've met once before in Plainshold, remember?"

Taken aback, Crushmaul readied her weapon as the dragon loomed overhead. The tension was palpable as the dragon launched itself at the lich. A ferocious bite took the lich's arm, and an indifferent swallow guaranteed it would not return.

"What are you doing?! We struck an alliance, remember?"

"Hralthar!"

A spray of spittle struck the lich as the dragon spoke a word of power reminiscent of a common dwarven name. The fluid struck the lich, forcing the monster to the ground in agony. Repeating the word of power, more fluid flew from the maw of the beast and coated the lich.

"Kira?! What are you doing?! It's me, Skelly!"

"I felt my mind being invaded, dumbass. Skelly feels different when they read my mind, and they have a distinct smell. I don't appreciate you trying to ruin the memory of a friend I haven't seen in quite a while."

With the spittle having thoroughly weakened the lich, the dragon appeared to grow bored of the exchange as it opened its maw wide and bit the lich in half. The writhing upper half of the lich struggled to get away, bony fingers proving difficult to use in the soft sand. Approaching the crawling remains, Crushmaul brandished her morning star, ready to deliver the final blow.

"Look at you. Top of the food chain for centuries and now you're dragon shit."

"That monster is not-"

Not wanting to listen to the ramblings of a dying lich, Crushmaul brought her morning star down upon its skull. Shards of bone spread across the desert around them, and the commanded undead army lost cohesion. Without a commander, they were no more than shambling monsters, ready to be picked off.

"For the record, I don't shit. I don't even have a butthole. This belly uses every part of the skeleton. On that topic, you gonna finish that?"

With a vague gesture, Crushmaul indicated toward the remains of the lich as the dragon brought its teeth to bear and ate the last of the enemy commander. An enemy for eons ended in mere bells.

A tug at her soul reminded Crushmaul of the challenge she had issued. To not fulfill her request would draw the ire of her God, so now she must fight the dragon who had just saved her.

"Dragon, I challenged you and you showed up. I cannot call off the challenge, so we must fight. My terms are clear, should you win, my treasury is yours. Should I win, I am owed a favor. Is this acceptable?"

"Could we not? I'd rather burn some more undead. Especially after eating this guy, he's spicy and I think I need to burn off some magic. What favor did you want? I might be able to do it without needing some goofy duel."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to back out and, as I said, I cannot call off the challenge. You may choose how we fight, but fight we will. The favor I intended was to ask for your assistance in defeating this lich, but now I would ask that you aid us in the battle against the undead threatening us today."

"So you wanna fight a dragon to ask her to do the things she's already doing?... Geez, no offense, but that might be the dumbest thing I've heard in my life. Okay, I accept on the condition that I get to choose how we fight."

With hope flowing away, Crushmaul felt her muscles tense as the dragon loomed overhead, pondering the next move.

"I accept, dragon, but we must both be capable of whatever fight you want."

"Sure! Rock, paper, scissors!"

Confusion filled Crushmaul's mind as she thought of what that might mean. Both the scissors and the rock could be used as weapons of battle, but the paper left her clueless. Could it be the means of starting a war? The diplomacy of nobility striking deals? She felt the need to express her uncertainty.

"... I'm not familiar with this form of combat..."

"It's simple. Make a fist with your claw, or squishy hand, I guess, and go 'Rock, paper, scissors,' and then you make one of them with your hand. Scissors cut paper, paper covers rock, and rock crushes scissors, okay? So if I make a fist, that's rock, two fingers like this are scissors, and a flat claw is paper. Then we'll see who wins! Best out of three!"

The simplicity of the game caused doubt to swell within Crushmaul. Thoughts questioning the dragon's sanity sprang up, but to deny the duel was blasphemous, and she could not do that. The dragon dropped onto the sand and readied a clenched claw as Crushmaul took off a gauntlet and matched the gesture.

"Okay, like this."

A few shakes while chanting the name was all it took before the two revealed a gesture each. Scissors and paper. A clear winner of the first bout had been decided.

"Dang it! I'll get you this time!"

The dragon did not get Crushmaul that time. Two victories for the commander, and soon a favor would be asked.

"I forfeit. The victory is yours, dragon."

"What?! Screw that! I wanna beat you on my own. One more time, winner takes all!"

The two repeated the game for a third time as Crushmaul's mind was made up. This dragon was utterly insane.

The seasoned warrior watched the dragon's claw, looking for the tell she had thought she noticed the first round and confirmed the second. A twitch of two talons indicated the dragon intended to play scissors, so, with her mind made up, Crushmaul flattened her hand and played paper.

"Heck yeah! I knew I could win! That means you owe me a treasury!"

"You played well. I thank you for choosing a game of peace for my challenge."

"Oh, it was a little selfish. It wouldn't be nice to rough you up when I've been sent here to get you. You are the champion of that Terrorgoron guy, right? You feel championy."

Never before had Crushmaul been sought out by a dragon or any other creature of the sort. A tinge of curiosity grew in a forest of suspicion. It did not seem like this peculiar dragon wanted to harm her, but not knowing the purpose for retrieving her or for whom did not sit well with the commander.

"I don't mean to offend, but might we discuss this later? I have a battle to win at this time and would prefer to get back into the fight."

"Sure, just don't get killed. I'd rather not have to tell Faran that I let you go die. Although if anyone could undo it, I think it would be him. That's for later, though! I'm starting to see magic, and it is very uncomfortable, so I'm gonna go bathe this landscape in flame and have some fun while working off this treat you found."

Thoughts of this dragon's insanity became solidified in Crushmaul's mind with the treatment of an ancient evil being equivalent to that of a child with a honey drop. Before she had a chance to think it through, the dragon had left, leaving the commander in the midst of the remaining horde of death.

A thrill of the coming battle rushed through Crushmaul as she readied her weapon before engaging the foes. The cackling dragon above throwing both mockery and flame upon groups of undead was a sight to behold.

"Commander! Ready your arm!"

The scoutmaster rode across the sands atop his warscale, arm outstretched for Crushmaul to grab. As they crossed paths, the scoutmaster's shoulder dislocated as Crushmaul took his wrist and pulled herself up onto the beast.

"How'd you get a dragon to aid us? You should do that more often, it's doing a far better job than the Guild."

"I didn't. It's here for me, to bring me somewhere."

"You gonna go with it? The men are ready to fight if you refuse."

"For what it has done tonight, I should at least offer to hear it out. It knows the undead and how to fight them. Even if we are not allies, we both stand against the dead. And we cannot afford another enemy when we have been abandoned by those who should stand by us."

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