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[i]These were men once.[/i] 

Aeron's face soured as he brought his horse to a stop. Before him was a tangle of desecrated bodies, transfixed on wicked pikes interspersed among a field of bones and battlefield debris. The sight was made worse by the unintelligible wails that the undying made, and the convulsions of their ruined bodies. The Optheranian had stared death in the face before, and now, death literally stared back.


A crash caught Aeron's attention, and he saw one of the pikes fall. The wailing creature it was embedded in went down with it, crashing to the mud with the grace of a bird hitting a window. More joined it on the ground as the druids worked their magic with impunity. Felling the pikes was the most practical way through, although watching the undying topple to the earth made Aeron's teeth clench. There was no redemption for these men at the end of the tunnel, only a faceful of mud.


Finally, Aeron could bear it no longer and dismounted with a crunch as boots ground into old bones. He sensed several of his brother-knights join him - Nethelin’s faithful knew what they had to do. The black-robed knights approached the tangle of pikes with their arms outstretched, each holding aloft a sacred icon of their god. They pushed through the cluster of druids, putting themselves between them and the undying.


Aeron began the litany. The language used by Nethelinic priests and crusaders was an ancient dialect, unfamiliar to most. Some words could be inferred from their similarity to modern Optheranian counterparts, but without context, Aeron’s chanting was little more than babble to the rest of those assembled. 


The rest of the knights joined in, [url=https://youtu.be/uv_2x6JmuaE]their voices a sonorous drone[/url], unperturbed by the shrieks of the undead. A faint light emanated from their icons now, and in moments, it enveloped the writhing bodies as well. The Nethelinics broke their line, each striding down a different path through the rows of pikes, carrying on their hymn of deliverance. One by one, each knight brandished their icon at an undying, undaunted by their gnashing limbs or snapping jaws. One by one, the once-human bodies burst into light, then vanished. The fresh undying lingered longer than the older, feebler bodies, but the remains of each danced away in the wind as ash. 


Many long minutes passed before the knights brought their grim work to a close, Aeron leading them back to the column. He lingered when he approached the druids, tossing the woman in the mask a look that betrayed a mixture of admonition and mourning.
 
“You may proceed now,” was all he said before remounting his destrier.