[h3][color=bedded][b][center]Thomas Richard Harrison[/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] Forest North of Salarn Now with Undead.
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] The Noises [/indent][/center]

Enough noise to wake the dead. No that was a rather poor choice of words, or was it most appropriate? What incantations and rites would you need to summon forth that which was dead? What befouling magics divine or arcane or otherworldly could restore the semblance of life back into a body, and twist it so? But was it necromancy? True necromancy? Or did the source fail to entrap the soul? The bind that which fueled the spirit, to create a thinking creature, capable and competent beyond the shambling mass of bones and flesh so many mindless minions had? For changing the state of death was merely the beginning. Any fool or cultist could open a book and perform a dark rite, bargain with forces beyond their control to bring back the dead. Yet a true master could rip through the veil and shroud, breaching the other side to grab forth a strand of consciousness, of being of life. Else it was merely string and bones, puppets who were strung and animated by a puppet master. So do tell, what noise did wake the dead?

Thomas... Wake up. Wake up, Thomas. Wake up... Wake up. Wake up, wake up wake up.
Wake up and hear the screams of the girl you...

[color=bedded]"Uh...?"[/color] Rubbing his eyes, Thomas awoke, to the sounds of a horse, an manly battlecry, and a girl. Not particularly in that order. Although he's been around horses long enough to know the cry of such an animal, and had seen enough stereotypical meatheads decide to announce their intent to attack with some sort of rallying screaming. What he didn't expect see however was the blur of green that was Ntaj, running towards something guns ablazing. Well not guns per say but weapons ready. Sana and Kyra getting to the fray as well, as the boy blinked a few times and shook his head as he swore he saw much more of Ntaj than usual. And this had to be a dream if it were not for Satilla who was screaming her voice into a mate for Epona (hoarse). Also the shambling group of bones which seemed to be approaching them suggested this was either a deluded fantasy fantasy of Thomas' weirdness, 

Or worse, they are being attacked. By the undead. Too close to the orcs. In the middle of the night. How many spells did He have? 2? 3? No more than five maybe, but it was not the time to even begin spellcasting. First Thomas had to get himself oriented and steady, and it was not quite sunrise yet. Thomas really ought to learn how to perform the alarm rituals to prevent things like this from happening.

[color=bedded]"Ugh, I'm up, I'm up..."[/color] Or at least trying as his legs unfolded themselves, but the fog of sleep was still low across his eyes. His senses still dulled as he shook his head and massaged his temples. Time to do some spellcasting... In a little while at least...