Lornaal wrenched his spear from the chest of the dead logger and stalked across the snowy clearing towards the line of undead. His clear blue eyes evaluated his enemy as he pushed through the growing drifts.
A ragged line of men and women, they wore whatever clothing they had on when their lives ended in favour of this perversion of death. Some were clad in heavy furs, others merely in their bed clothes, and one boney man stood without any clothing at all, his sense of modesty gone with the last beat of his heart. The faces of the gathered mob were pale and wrinkled, their hair blowing wildly around their faces and their blackened hands hanging listlessly at their sides.
As the line began to advance, Lornaal noted that many of the shambling undead moved with a stiff and clumsy gait. Those that did so had eyes that were expressionless and jaws that tended to gape open. Only a half dozen or so moved with the creeping purpose described by Alma and Cora. In them a cunning maliciousness blazed in faces that were split with cruel grins.
Casting open his fur cloak, Lornaal allowed the biting wind to strike at his bare arms. The cold burn stung at the wound in his shoulder, building upon his fury. The great bear surged in his chest, drawing forth an animal like roar from the northman’s mighty lungs. As his enemy drew within range, Lornaal heaved his spear at the nearest opponent, drew his axe and waited to see if he could make these creeping corpses any more dead.
Attack: 11(d20) + 9 = 20
Damage: 7(d8) + 5 = 12
Hit Points: 48