Camilla’s blade chopped through the spinal column of another of the undead, dropping the bones and dessicated tendons to the cobblestones in a clatter. The howl in the distance chilled her blood, but there were more immediate terrors to be dealt with. The necromancer, or whatever he was, had chosen his stronghold well. The ancient graveyards that ringed the half ruined convent rippled as fresh corpses clawed their way free, shaking of the dark soil to begin clawing at her rag tag force. The river also prevented the knights from employing their horses, putting them at a considerable disadvantage, but perhaps the fiend had been a little two clever…

“vers l'avant! dans le couvent! She shouted in Brettonian. Renard and a band of peasants rushed forward, and she led them at a charge though half collapsed archway that seperated the convent building from the cloister. Matais followed in their wake, his sword cutting down any that tried to strike the band from behind.

“Hold the gate,” she told Renard and the peasants. The narrow stone archway provided a good defensive position, and the undead outside could only attack a few at a time. Given long enough they would eventually wear down the defenders, but hopefully there were no burials inside and they wouldn’t have to worry about attack from the rear. Camilla could only hope that would give her time enough to deal with whatever monster was at the center.

The interior of the convent was in somewhat better condition than the ruin outside, ancient stone had slumped, but the architecture was sound and the interior arches still supported each other. Mathis followed in her wake, and though she would have preferred he stay with Renard and his band, there was little chance he would listen to her, and no time to have the argument. 

“Vhere are ve going fraulein?” Matis demanded, his long legs allowing him to keep pace easily with the shorter Tilean. Camilla didn’t know, though the building sense of unease was as good a guide as any.

“There should be a crypt beneath the cloister,” she explained, though her only information on this came from the tacky romances which had been popular the last time she and Cydric had been in Altdorf. It was a fairly safe bet however, in the past half decade she had fought enough unwholesome things to know they usually preferred to avoid sunlight. The sword in her hands seemed to quiver and she let it guide her, following its subtle pull. They passed through another ruined courtyard and then came to a set of stairs leading down into the earth. A greenish glow pulsed in the opening, seeming to provide little actual illumination. 

“It is a burden being so right all the time,” she admitted to Mathis.

The interior of the crypt reeked of death. Row after row of stone coffins lined the walls, each surmounted by a leaden effigy. Camilla didn’t know enough about Brettonia to guess who the tombs were for, but she watched them warily as she passed. The crypt was a long hall with a nave at one end. The stonework there mounted up into a small diaz atop which a figure could be made out. It’s hands were raised and evil sounding words spilled from its lips. Camilla felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise with the familiar tingle of magic. She exchanged a look with Matis and then, in the same heartbeat, they both drew their pistols and fired. The figure reeled back and spun to face them, its robes revealing a gaunt and skeletal face, hardly more than a skull. Two holes smoked and smouldered in its black robes.

“Ah, we meet at last Contessa,” the litch thing, hissed its voice like a serpent. Matis, uninclined to listen to heretics of any kind drew his second pistol and fired. The flash of powder bright in the dank crypt. A third smoking hole appeared in the things chest, but it seemed not to be discomforted.

“I am afraid you are two late, we have recovered the masters bones already, he shall be born again in Mousslin despite your pathetic efforts.” Camilla stepped forward, gripping her elven blade in both hands but as she did so the creature made a contemptuous gesture. White translucent forms seemed to flow forth from the ancient tombs, their faces that of the decayed dead within.

“But I suppose you are in time to add a few more corpses to his army…”