Climbing up the side of one of the roots, Rhoth was able to pull himself out from the grave he had found himself in. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten their, nor could he remember anything other than his name. Whenever his sight fell upon the towers of Veldrick, an insationable anger welled up within his gut. Finding purchase for his hands, weak from time but getting stronger with every passing moment, Rhoth hauled his nearly naked body up the side of the root. Gasping for air, he rolled over the grass that covered the top of the ledge that had loomed over him just minutes before. Brushing off the dust that gathered on his body, the undead man found his feet. Standing up, awkward from a time not done, Rhoth peered out to which the light had shone from. In the middle of the great root that spanned the chasm, the man could see the limp form of a corpse. A sword was stuck into the wood that ran next to it, the light hung from the hilt.

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Finding sturdy purchase for his feet, Rhoth stepped out over the chasm. Its presence sending a trickle of fear into the undead’s still heart. While he got the feeling that he wouldn’t die, Rhoth would still not prefer to experience it. Moving slowly, he advanced on the limp corpse, its features becoming clearer with every step. The body, now rotten, had worn a strong set of armor. A green coat, covered in a metal breastplate and scaled chain, hung from its waist. Boots, made by a master blacksmith adorned its shrivelled feet. 

Something about the corpse struck Rhoth as odd. It was shrivelled, dried up, with no signs of true decomposition. His brows, furrowed in confusion, watched the body carefully. As Rhoth’s hand closed upon the hilt of the dead man’s sword, the lantern went out. Falling from the hilt, the glass lantern smashed against the root of the great tree. As if it was some signal, the corpse began to rise. In fearful hurry, Rhoth ripped the sword from its wooden sheath just as the long-dead knight reached out for its ancient weapon. 

Taking a few steps back, Rhoth watched as the undead grasped at the air, seemingly confused. Then, in a lunging motion, the knight jumped at Rhoth, trying to obtain its sword. Falling short onto the oak root, Rhoth lunged forward as well. Bringing the point of the knight’s blade down upon the back of the corpse’s neck, the point of the sword bit into the root underneath. With a wind that had not existed moments before, the old knight’s body fell apart into dust. A whirlwind, laced with the disintegrated body that once stood, fell upon Rhoth. Screams, laughter, and tears flowed into the man as he felt fragments of human souls enter him. 

Breathing heavily, Rhoth donned the rusted armor that had been left behind. Holding the hand-and-a-half sword tightly, the undead began the long treck towards Veldrick. A small, silver ring, one that would be worn be a woman, hung from his neck.