"MEN OF THE PATRICK ARMY!" He spoke, blooding his sword once more on the man in front of him, lopping a head from its shoulders. Each movement was effortless enough that he found he could so easily speak, so passionately, at the same time as fighting with all his supposed might. Nothing required anything more than the slightest of efforts. The dragon had trained him in that, for before the currents had been set to changing, it would have killed him for anything more. Even now, anything more would serve to limit the natural phenomena that had the barest feelings of allegiance in it.
Those resurrected men, far more than just the strength officers, with reason to listen to their Lord, had numbered over a hundred. So separated from their allies, and some of them already so near death, had found in themselves the strength to rise once more, for one last stab, before the blood ran free of their wounds, and they entered the next world, as defeated men.
