It was like facing a mountain.
A big mountain. A big and sturdy mountain made of rock. They would hack, slash, bludgeon, rained magic, and yet the mountain still stood.
That was how it felt facing Alteroan Ishtera.
He stood tall, a man who seemed to be as large as a building, as large as the path they needed to pass to chase their other, main objective. He even had the skill to pull most of them into a frenzy and forgot everything but him. And even those who didn't get affected got to face a troop who acted like a horde of zombies. No matter how beaten they were, no one let them pursue the remaining member of the clan and their objective.
And the worst zombie of them all was Roan Isthera himself. The Paladin. They wanted to curse the man so much, who continued to heal himself when they thought they would get him soon. Even as they rained poison at him, he heal himself, using a cure like a proper healer.
