The fact that the creature could speak drow startled Drizaghar at first, but conversing in his native tongue soon eased his mind. Still, as he led the way down the narrow passage, his hackles remained raised and ready for any sign of trouble. Whether from the creature following him or the horde of undead waiting yards away, he did not yet know.

Fascath floated nearby, the maniac behind the two drow not concerning him the slightest. Whispering to his familiar so that the beast could not hear, he asked “What are their numbers?” Instead of responding, the ethereal being simply motioned ahead.

Drizaghar peered around the corner of the tunnel and saw masses of zombies milling about in the open cavern. Motioning behind him for the creature to remain silent, he stalked just through the opening to widen his view. Decrepit corpses reanimated to fight for a dark necromancer; the legions of undead soldiers gave the air in the cave a putrid stench. The drow nearly gagged before he buried his nose in the folds on his piwafwi.

Gazing about at the sheer size of the force, the dark elf estimated roughly four hundred zombies waiting for orders. It appeared as though they were leaderless, for their ranks were loose and unorganized. But how would you organize an army of the undead? Drizaghar reasoned to himself. He couldn’t imagine that they were cooperative…

Some of the better armed zombies turned at a sound and shouted to the rest of the horde, “Shin’dril returns!” Shambling to their predetermined locations, the zombie rank and file quickly shaped up into something almost resembling a true army. The dark elf strained his neck to see who he assumed was the necromancer in charge of the horde.

Shin’dril appeared to be human, he carried himself proudly and with an air of disdain for the zombie underlings who served him. His dark staff clicked on the stone floor as he strolled up a rock jutting out over the sea of undead faces. “We march out now to meet Xem'zûnd in Eluriand!” When the cheers died down, the necromancer continued. “Legion Clades,” he called to a specific section of the army, “lead the way. Slay any who stand in our path. Raiaera will fall!” The undead gave a huge warcry and legions began marching out of the great cavern, heading away from where Drizaghar and the strange beast lay in wait.

“Udos zhal'la flohlu, (We should follow)” he said to his momentary ally. They needn’t worry about masking their movements, the din of shifting corpses and clanking armor drowned out any sound that they would make. “Xal flohlu mina ulu Eluriand, (Perhaps follow them to Eluriand)” he commented. Whatever decision they made, it needed to be made soon; for an army of undead, Shin’dril’s Horde moved quickly.