A lone figure stood amongst the decaying bodies and shattered bones that lay scattered, as if hiding in the wilted yet blood smeared grass. The figure was displeased at the progressions. He turned around in a swift movement, turning away in disgust from the putrid smell of those not long dead. The dark figure walked out of the night, and into the dimly lit tent. Awaiting the mysterious silhouette was a hulking, brown haired man, whose grim features, and evil intentions shone out like a beacon to all the corrupt and spiteful things of the world. The younger man was in his early forties, yet showing no sign of age, and bore the characteristic long ears and face, and the grey skin of a Dark Elf. The other man was extremely strong, and his hair had begun to go prematurely grey. He sat on a large couch, obviously pleased with himself.
"How is the battle progressing, Shadowblade?" the evil man asked, with an air of confidence.
"Sir, your army is being slaughtered" replied the young assassin submissively.
"Order the remaining men to regroup together on the farthest knoll. I have a surprise"
"But Count von Carstein, we must retreat now if we wish to even survive with fifty men"
"Just do as I say, young whelp"
The young man melted into the darkness, as if it had swallowed him, leaving only a faint memory. He returned to the battle and gave the orders as his master, Garad von Carstein, had asked.
"I should be the one giving orders here" growled Shadowblade. "That bastard just sits back while his men are being killed". The assassin looked on as the few remaining men were regrouping in a last futile attempt. He saw many innocent bodies whose faces cringed with fear and agony, but this was not only on the already dead. He also saw many bodies of giant skinks and lizards, whose foul green blood, made many of the men nauseous. Garad had managed to round up a few knights to fight for him. Shadowblade watched on in horror as they threw themselves desperately in one final attempt to push back the forces of the mighty Quemi-Hotl, a powerful Lizardman Mage Priest Lord.
The knights charged forwards at a salamander and its skink runners. Two green skinks with a look of terror, were crushed under hoof, to no avail, as two more stepped in to replace their dead comrades. The newly appointed skinks took this opportunity to fight back at the retreating knights, and prodded the scaly beast into action. The giant salamander shuddered as if an earth quake were occurring, but no long after, spewed a deadly acidic substance, that tore away at the knights already beaten armour, burning into their flesh. The wind turned, and the stench of burnt flesh blew up to Shadowblade.
"Absolutely incredible. How can that man be so cruel to his own army?"
The remaining Knights took up their lances and their battle standard and charged once more. With a renewed hatred, the knights began to charge, their blue and red lion standard blowing in the breeze, temporarily brought to life, as the knights rallied for one last desperate attempt. The first rank of knights penetrated a line of skinks that had recently moved in to fortify the salamander. As the first rank attempted to hold the skinks and rapidly advancing sauruses, the second and third bore down upon the salamander. Lances ready, the mounted warriors aimed directly at the salamander. With a shriek, the salamander was on the ground, and, ironically, it's own acids began to eat away at its flesh. Quemi-Hotl also looked on, but with anger. Without even moving his body, the great magician summoned up massive magical forces that only came from the winds of magic that sweep from the northern mountains. As power filled the Mage Priest, so did the thoughts that were required to cast the fireballs that would finish of the meddlesome knights. The night sky was lit up with four blazing red balls, that seemed to temporarily rise, then targeted the knights with great precision. With a mocking look on his face, Quemi-Hotl resumed watching the battle with eager anticipation.

Garad Von Carstein emerged from the tent. His massive shoulders and arms gave the impression that not only was he strong, but a good warrior as well. He moved over to observe the battle like a god might observe the human race. Garad had felt the power summoned to cast the fireball spell moments earlier. "If that is all Quemi-Hotl has up his sleeve, then victory is certain for us" mocked Garad
"How are we going to do this then, My Lord? We have no knights left, just infantry, and a few archers!" replied Shadowblade, astounded.
Garad did not reply, as his face was deep in thought and pain. He, too, like Quemi-Hotl, was drawing in the power of the winds of magic. Unlike the Lizardman Mage priest, however, Garad had an ace up his sleeve. Garad reached into his pocket, with trembling hands, and brought out a drawstring velvet bag. Shadowblade felt uneasy, and could feel raw power radiating, from the neat red velvet bag. Garad's muscular hand reached in to the bag, probing for what seemed an eternity of waiting to Shadowblade. At last, a piece of rock, that radiated such power was withdrawn from the bag.

In a ritual like ceremony, Garad consumed the piece of Warpstone that he had kept in hiding for so long. His body seemed to fold in upon itself, then he roared up like a man possessed. Now Garad radiated feelings of pain and agony, which he shielded from Shadowblade and his own men. Of the Lizardmen, only Quemi-Hotl was unaffected by the psychic wave, as he had erected a mind barrier to protect himself from such incursions. The whole of the Lizardman army began to shriek and cry, and some of the lesser skinks were knocked unconscious. As abruptly as the wave began, it stopped, with a deafening roar of silence. Garad, still using the power he had gained began to incant in a voice that was not his own. The giant began moving his arms and hands in incantations that were required to cast the massive spell that he was already too far into. The wind that was blowing moments before, was trapped in still silence, the trees stopped dead, and every person on the battlefield, including Garad's own men, was shaking in fear. The only sound, Garad's evil voice raising louder and louder on the highest part of the hill on Morningmist Valley. On and on, the wizard enchanted, until, at the peak of the spell, the battlefield became restless. Dead men, both Lizardman and human were leaving their peace, and awaited the bidding of Garad von Carstein, an unknown Vampire Necromancer of the von Carstein family.

Quemi-Hotl was shocked at the ease and power of the opposing wizard's spells. Although weak warriors, the skeletons, zombies, and horsemen, were mindless foes, that would keep advancing at their controller's desire. Quemi-Hotl attempted to dispel the further spells of raise dead that Garad was creating, but to no avail. Now that all the bodies of the dead soldiers and Lizardmen alike were Garad's to control, he began raising those previously dead, and buried in the same area. He began to bind the souls of the dead allies and foes to his will. What was once a puny army of less than fifty men was now a formidable fighting force of more than one thousand devoted soldiers.

Shadowblade could not move. Eternity passed him as he was frozen in awe and horror. He shook himself out of the limbo he was trapped in. Now he understood Garad's plan. Garad used the men as Kamikaze fighters, to take out as many Lizardmen, then to be used again in unlife.
"I can't follow this man any more, lest my own life be taken for his necromancy," thought the dark elf. Garad was so preoccupied with his own glory and power, that he did not see Shadowblade saddle up his horse and escape, with astounding speed.

Quemi-Hotl began firing spells to try to take out the approaching army. Each of the spells fizzled in front of Quemi-Hotl's face, a mocking gesture was made from Garad. Still, however, aided by the raw power of Warpstone, Garad began to raise more powerful units. Wraiths and mummies were pulled from their afterlife, to serve the awesome power of the Vampire Count. As the Necromancer's power began to wain, he rested, commanding his legions to attack via mental links. Skink and saurus, salamander, and saurus temple guards were all crushed by the awesome undead hordes. Quemi-Hotl ordered a full retreat, those dumb or brave enough to keep fighting were killed by rusty blades and axes. Garad's undead armies were not fast enough to pursue, but he promised, that he would destroy Quemi-Hotl, once and for all. The necromancer ordered his slaves to pack up his things in preparation for the next move.

By Dawson