A gaunt, black robed figure stands beside a river, the lights of a walled town in the distance.
He raises a hand, on which gleams an ebon ring set with a great ruby, the symbol of ancient Bael Turath... Sorcerous energies crackle, and from ancient burial cairns, the long dead warriors of Fallen Nerath burst forth, rusted blades in their gaunt hands.
Dozens of them... hundreds...
Tal Lorvas watched as the ancient burial cairns split asunder and the warriors of Fallen Nerath arose once more. To the east the sky was reddening with the colours of a new dawn. Lorvas raised his right hand, the ruby ring of the Demon Empress shining brightly. His speech was well-prepared.
"Comrades! Those who here with El'dyr bled! Those who oft Cormarrin's led! You rise now to fight again!"
Three hundred pairs of dead eyes regarded the Necromancer. Three hundred bony hands gripped weapon-hilts. Lorvas called out once more to the assembled Vasthrong:
"We stand on sacred ground! Here on this soil, on this sacred night, you brave Three Hundred at last turned back the White Ruin! Here, you saved our people from Final Annihilation!
Here, they buried you once - to sleep, to dream, until Nerath had need of you again. Comrades, that Time is Now!"
Lorvas turned, gesturing dramatically toward the distant township.
"Our city, Bisgen, has fallen to Red Barbarism! Traitors and Red Savages infest the streets! Join with us now - join with Cormarrin's Sons - and Free Our Land!"
He paused. The Dead shuffled closer eagerly, moaning, sword-butts clanging on rusted shields. He had them. Lorvas smiled slightly.
"All of you here this night! By the Power of this Ring, forged in the Fires of Bael Turath, I Request and Require your Allegiance!"
He raised the ring higher. Three Hundred Dead Warriors bowed their heads, falling to their knees... One did not kneel.
Lorvas had half-expected this. He tried not to show fear as the lone figure strode towards him through the ranks of the dead. Tall, broad-shouldered and gaunt, clad in blackened armour of ancient design, blue Witchfire shone balefully from eyes more than two centuries dead. The Sword he held showed no sign of decay.
The Dead Warrior stopped, three paces from the Necromancer, regarding him coldly. Now it was Lorvas' turn to incline his head in humility.
"Commander Cormarrin. It is an honour."
"Why have you summoned me?"
"Commander - Nerath is Fallen, but her Sons still need you. Your Sons - the House of Cormarrin still endures. But twelve score years have passed since you defeated the Ruin Horde. Now the Red Savages swarm and multiply on the plains. Even Bisgen has a Red baron, now. The Times are changed, the Faithful are few..."
"It is not enough."
Sweat glistened on the young Necromancer's brow. This was the critical moment.
"There is more, Commander. Some among us have kept the Faith. For centuries we have laboured to restore Fallen Nerath. We have mastered the dread magics of Bael Turath. We have harnessed the power of the Black Sun. Bisgen is just the beginning, Commander. Their own dead will rise to join our armies. The Time is Now. Nerath Will Rise Again!"
For a long moment there was silence. Fear dug icy fingers into Tal Lorvas' heart.
But at last, slowly, Cormarrin inclined his head.
"Very well."
He turned then, regarding the far-off town.
"The children... You must spare the children."
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