Breathe Lad...

Rust and rot emerged from the tree line on both sides of Tellerick's party.

The undead, of armies lost to time and myth, dragged themselves out of the sickly earth. Many of the skeletons were partial, some fresher than others. Their water logged skin hanging from their bones, and ancient leather straps barely held their armour to their spindled and cracked bodies.

The Knight that had seen them first, held its chipped sword high and screeched before charging forwards.

"The protection spell can't handle this many!" Cried Barnabas.

"Breathe lad. I'm going to give you a bit of a boost."