Little by little these night elves imitate me, under the moonlight the runes shine softly, they mark themselves on skull and spine, those who still have skin remain tattooed and dry, those who are only bones mark a chain on the withered whiteness of their bones, this is graveyard number twenty, only humans, most of them died during the first raid, Most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid, most of them died during the first raid
The magic of the runes is not difficult, but it does require magical power, it is to trace your will, line by line, no matter what language, it must only be understood to fulfill its purpose, I write in human, the elves in a vulgar variant of their own language, trace over this contingent while I do the same in their leader, a small human, by all accounts quite intelligent, that is important.
After two exhausting hours we are ready, at my command all the elves begin to charge the runes, they are basically instructions to his body, information of who must obey, their souls trapped after the reanimation of these bodies begin to enter, they look at each other in horror, some feel what in other times were cheeks, arms, eyes, it is time, I spoke first with the soul of their leader, he agrees, so I proceed to activate my own runes, his body rises with ease, although he lacks an arm that we can not find "! Few remember how they died, it was too much of a surprise, but if they remember the shouts of command, they all assume a vaguely firm position and he strolls between the ranks, picking up weapons and placing them in his decrepit hands as he shouts:
"Men, we have fallen, the war now being fought is not as stupid as that for money or prestige, it is for honor that we fight! "The few human refugees from the plains and even some who escaped the massacre where we perished are nearby, this terrible looking lady has granted them a place in this forest to farm and survive, but they cannot do it alone, the hordes of agents of the King of the Dead are coming to kill them, the runes they see on their skin and bones is what keeps us from rising up under their orders, from killing and eating our own, let's take this opportunity! Let's give those stupid dead a taste of why we are the best of the tundra wolves...what do you say?"
I don't stay for the cries of loyalty, it's disheartening, their troops actually wanted to flee, but the runes we carved into them are more of an affinity for their fellow man, something those vicious tundra wolves never had alive, when we found them they were ransacking a bloody Coin Warrior supply wagon.
When all the reanimates are armed and on patrol, the dullness hits me, in this week I have raised dozens of them, now that the elves can imitate me they will take care of the rest, a defensive circle of humans defending their own, this maneuver did not please our lord, but he admits it is the best, saving as many villages as we can, We bring them here, we give them territories and skeleton warriors to protect them, in exchange they cultivate, and when the human soldiers come to overthrow us, they think twice when they see that there are no slaves or anything like that here, it is a delaying measure, since the real evil is still out of my reach.
The Alcazar still looks imposing, even though the siege weapons have hit it once or twice, I knew little of this, the leader of the dark elves was in charge of the defenses during the terrible week I spent healing the Darklord.
I arrived half dead, the phoenix did not look better, I spent days and nights healing them, healing physical and magical wounds, the potion prepared by the darklord restored my magic but not my concentration, so I had to stop several times to reread data on medicine, magic, control, I even wrote some that now serve as a basis to fight the corruption spreading throughout the continent.
At the entrance a phoenix feather awaits me, even when he asks me to give him a name I do not dare, he is a free being and I should choose a name for him, but he assures me that he will serve me faithfully, even to death if necessary, which he almost achieved by saving my master, the message is funny, he is a relaxed being when he does not have a mission, still the message is not encouraging, my master continues reading.
When he was able to integrate, he began to read everything he had not reviewed before, then he went down to the underground libraries where he first found these miserable elves imprisoned by their cruel masters of the same species, now he visits what he calls the "reality of the dream", it always worries me, I wish that before reaching the library a very strong aura is noticed there, his magical field is so intense and at the same time so delilcado that he is able to use it so delicately that I do not feel it, Even with my field surrounding me I have to be very perceptive to feel that someone is here, when I enter I see him floating, he is still asleep but still reading and learning, these are books that cannot be opened under normal conditions, to do so would only find blank pages, they were among the things the dwarf king left in his tomb, so they had not been plundered, but in these realms with the right strength and knowledge it is possible to access a whole world of knowledge from eons ago.
I let him be, since the lost battle against the lich and the queen of chaos he has thrown himself into a feverish search for a way to confront the dead king and eliminate the threat of the rift between realities, he barely sleeps a few hours, the rest of the time he reads or rehabilitates himself to regain a strength that I did not believe was possible in humans, let alone those with the injuries he suffered.
Something wakes me, it's an intrusion, a big one, it's so strong that it makes my field wobble, I barely keep control of the shield that keeps the undead and some of the weaker humans away, after five seconds the presence calms and stabilizes, it's the shield of someone I wouldn't stand a chance against, it's anger, hate, So concentrated that I have to clench my teeth to keep from screaming, I run to its source, it is in my lord's chamber, when I enter I can't believe my eyes, on the floor an elf, an elf of the ancients, equipped as an assassin, armed with hundreds of protections and a sword, dead, a hole in his chest where his heart used to be, standing next to the body, the darklord with a wound that has torn out his eyes!