The lich's cackle reached even the ears of the normal men fighting above, but it only served to dishearten them as the Undead tide began to turn the fortunes of the battle. Knights and Men-at-arms grouped together in small islands of resistance among the slaughter of the less disciplined and lesser equipped troops. Ghouls, skeletons, zombies, and aberrations made of sewn corpses wielding crude cleavers waded among the once bolstered peasantry, carving every man and woman up they could find. 

Renard's blessed longsword still stemmed the tide of the onslaught, and any man who could make it to his side did so. But it seemed now that it only delayed the inevitable, with these newly risen monstrosities and their Enchantress now suddenly missing; dead for all they knew. And now an insane laughter, the one that had haunted the hills of the Aquitaine for months on end was now so close they could hear it reverberating off of their shields. 

"Reste ferme!" Renard called, his sword igniting in light as he summoned what power he could. His chainmail hauberk and knightly helm gleamed silver, the man the envy of any Knightly pretender in the Empire. Brettonia was the land of gallantry and the grail, and he was valor in living form. Unfortunately for the Undead, Renard was not the only empowered being that had been set loose upon them. Ulric would not be denied, and the desperate men saw glimpses of a wolf-like shape amid the Lich's horde. A shadow of a presence among them. 

One of the columns of Knights fought against a sweeping tide of zombies and ghouls, men being torn down by talons as their fellows hacked the monsters to pieces. "Pour Moi~" The lead Knight called, only to be overwhelmed by nearly a dozen ghouls mere moments later. He kicked and stabbed, but the ghouls bloodied his torso, their long claws piercing the mail in less padded areas. 

A hard hacking and an undeniably powerful force suddenly brought respite to the Knight, and when he gazed through his crucifix helm he beheld a strange...thing. A sculpted man, somehow part wolf and yet unmistakably as noble as Renard the Grail Knight. "Qui êtes vous!" the Knight asked, aghast. 

Broken and decrepit ghoul parts were strewn across the grass, all torn apart by the newcomer who sensed something no one else did. Moments later, his twitching ears proved true when a great mound of earth suddenly erupted from just beyond the line of men. A grotesque skull of what looked to be some draconic beast, smaller than a true dragon but still massive in size. 

It's bones were like a cage that encased writhing earth. To the men's horror, one of the peasants found themselves caught in the earth, the monster having risen just below where the man had been standing. He was caught up to his hips, and the wild look in his eyes showed there was something within that frightened him beyond reason. He let out a cry of help as some unseen force pulled him deeper into the monster's wet earthy ribcage, only for his calls to be suddenly silenced as his head was lost within the mass of soil and worms. 

Cyrdic had only a limited knowledge of Brettonian, but he recalled how they said 'retreat' and the word was shouted a multitude of times as they gave ground to the draconic nightmare. Cyrdic did not give ground, and his Ulrican sword suddenly materialized in his hands, as if it had heeded its master's call. 
[@Penny]