-Closed to Kahlina(Rumplegrumblepuss), Lillian(Ataraxis), and Godhand-

Xem'Zund's contingent sat a mere quarter mile from the Obsidian Tower. While there were a mere hundred undead soldiers that came, there were three commanders to lead them, and three commanders to disagree about what to do about the warriors in the tower.

"Three heroes are nothing. We should pass by and continue towards the place our Lord expects us to be." An impatient woman's voice was the loudest of the three. She wasn't beautiful, but her presence commanded attention nonetheless. A squared face and jaw were well for the rest of her. Her shoulders were too wide, her chest too flat. Were it not for the long lashes and full lips, the delicate curve of her hips and the way she wore long, curled tresses in braids that were threaded through with jewels, she would have been nearly manly. She wore the dress of the Bladesinger's Guild and the right side of her face was scarred from the bottom of her chin to her spired ear, where the cartilage of the edge had been split. Red hues cast her pale skin with the setting sun falling across the red foliage above them. Her blue eyes were the color of glaciers, her aura just as cold. They kept moving towards the sunset, where the fiery orb would fall below the horizon within the hour. When she looked at the next speaker, it was clear that if looks could kill, he would be her first victim.

"The mahsster would want all to fall into hiss glory," the quiet voice said. There were hissing qualities about it, as if it were a serpent's tongue that spoke. He was a ragged thing, a jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces quite fit right. He hunched over, his legs strong and stubby like a dwarf's, his arms long and spindly. The elbows were on the same level as his knees, and the hunched form didn't help much. He never walked, but seemed to crawl along, his eyes wide. He had no way of seeing straight forward. Instead his right blue eye was frozen in an upward direction, the brown left one swirling madly to make up for it. "Idril MÃ*riel, I will tell him tha you ssay 'passss by, they are nothing to tha mahsster.' And he will punissshoo for dissobeying."

The tension was enough to be cut with a knife, and Idril moved forward as if she would slap the wretched thing. Her hand was stopped short by a strong, gloved fist. She looked over, cold fire in her eyes at the third, though the rage was soon replaced by revulsion. It was uncertain just when Braeden Devondre had died, but he'd been something other than just a mere corpse when Xem'Zund had laid his will upon him. He carried a form now, of a tall man - nearly eight feet - with hands and feet that seemed to be large even on his enormous frame. He was built like a behemoth, and the charcoal gray skin that was more like moving ash than any real pigmentation only made him seem more frightening. His eyes were blank, mere whites as if they'd rolled up into his head and decided to stay there. His teeth were sharp as broken glass, stained brown. His breath was like the opening of a crypt too long sealed, and his words were firm.

"We wait here and when the sun sets, we will march. All will fall into the path of Xem'Zund. Be they three or three hundred, they will see the dawn as one of the horde." Neither of his comrades argued against it.