"Bride of the Moon, Glorious Reon, we beseech thee for aid. Unclear lies the path ahead; the road is choked with abominations and defilers. Shine bright the Sun to light our foes for the task ahead, line our blades with holy fire. Let us be a sunlight blade to cut this tainted soul. In Moon and Sun, paladins are the goddesses' wrath. Bride of the Moon..."

The litany the paladin recited was an old one, and uncommon at that: the paladins of Mayon were much more defensively inclined than their Reonite counterparts. To be confronted with undead with any regularity without being sworn to hunt them down and destroy meant either a personal interest or attached to a group that would take such missions. Tyaethe answered to both and the familiar words kept her focused despite the Necromancer's taunts.

Her anger was betrayed instead by the pulsating green, which reached a new intensity when he revealed the jars. Even the horror of a normal undead could be afforded a proper burial and the fresher corpses even identified but those... those [i]wrecks[/i] of a human body could only die through such means that there wouldn't be enough left [i]to[/i] bury. Not that it mattered; the remains would be impossible to gather up anyway.

And so, he couldn't be allowed to release them from the jars. It would only make things more difficult.

Tyaethe sprang forwards, getting close--too close to use her sword--and thrust one hand forwards. Wards or not, she was certain that he was weaker than she was and the paladin had every intention of ripping the container from his hand before he could smash the thing.