Out of Character:
Death. Death was all around him, and it was coming for the swordsman whether he was prepared or not. It didn't care that he was frightened out of his wits or that his blade was nearly slipping out of his grasp from sweaty palms. It didn't give a damn about anything like that. It wanted his soul, and by the gods it was coming for it.
Eric panted as he dodged the blade of another zombie, this one bigger than the rest he'd been facing so far. Some kind of super-undead, he guessed, as the thing's strength didn't seem to have a limit. Gritting his teeth he ducked once more as it moaned and sent the huge zweihander it was wielding in a horizontal strike just above his head. Then he saw it; an opening in the thing's defenses. Without another moment's hesitation he took it and swept his own sword upwards in an uppercut strike at it's main sword arm. There was a moment of small resistance, then the blade of his sword Amalia cut right through the dead flesh and bone, severing the zombie's right arm and making it drop the giant blade it had been wielding. For a moment the creature looked stunned at the loss of one of it's limbs, then once again began moaning and groaning before reaching for Eric with it's remaining arm. "Not this time!" He shouted, and taking his sword in both his hands cut the zombie in half, separating torso from legs.
There was sick thunk as it fell to the ground in two pieces and Eric leaned against a big sycamore tree, trying to catch his breath underneath the afternoon sun. All around him lay the scattered bodies and pieces of the undead that had attacked him. Most were your normal, average moaning and groaning zombie, but a couple had been both armed and armored, and seemed to have possessed expertise in the weapons they wielded. Wiping the sweat off his brow he sheathed Amalia back within it's leather scabbard and sat against the tree, looking at the scattered remains of the battle. There had been a lot, and as he had to run at first to keep from being overwhelmed there was a slight trail of bodies leading from where had come from. He smiled slightly at the sick thought; at least there was one way to find just where you were in these lands.
He looked in his bag and made sure his supplies and the papers he'd gotten in Radasanth were safe; they were. Those papers were the very reason he was here in Raiaera in the first place: They were his proof of recruitment. Time and time again he'd asked himself why in God's name he was joining another war, and time and time again he'd given himself the same answer; because it was the only thing he knew how to do. He was a soldier, it was in his blood. Maybe it wasn't the best or smartest thing to do, but he was good at it and he wanted to make a difference.
Still, he wasn't excited at the prospect of fighting horde upon horde of the undead, and even less so at the fact that they were armed and very dangerous. He'd heard rumors and stories in Dheathain, sure, but they seemed far more terrifying now that he'd experienced some of those horrors himself. Well, that's how it usually was.
Taking out his canteen he took a sip of water and surveyed the land before him. It seemed to be your usual farmlands and forest, and off in the distance he could make out the shape of a city, albeit even from here he could see it was in shambles. "Eluriand, huh?" He muttered to himself and shoved his papers back in the bag along with his canteen. He was a little surprised that he hadn't encountered any undead up to this point, and glad, because the way the draconian back at the tavern in Dheathain had told it he made it sound like the land was crawling with the unnatural beings.
And yet Eric could see signs of life all around him, strange for a place under onslaught by death. The sad stillness, the bone-chilling quiet, neither of those was here as he had expected. Yeah, the land bore scars of battles past and gone, but the swordsman could still hear the birds chirping, the rustle as a fox rushed by with it's newfound dinner in it's mouth. It was as if the land itself were rebelling against the creatures that now plagued it.
Smirking vaguely at the thought, Eric was just about to get up when he felt something latch onto his ankle. He let out a yell as he realized the upper half of the zombie warrior he'd "slain" had been slowly moving all this time until it had managed to grab onto him with it's remaining hand. Eyes wide, he didn't have enough space or time to grab his sword, and could only watch as it pulled itself closer to his face, maggoty jaws wide to tear off a piece of his flesh...
...that is, until there was a small woosh of sound and then it's head was pinned down to the ground by a quivering javelin, ornately made of some shimmering wood. Eric looked up in surprise at his rescuer and saw a tall, thin male elf with a scowl upon his face, crossing his arms in displeasure. He had dark, probably black hair, but that his skin was tan from working in the sun and his body hard and muscular, unlike other elves that Eric had encountered from his travels. "You alright?" He shouted down to the swordsman, who could merely nod as his adrenaline pounded through his veins with each heartbeat. With a small nod back the elf lept down from his perch in the tree and crouched before Eric, that same scowl upon his face. Now that he was closer the swordsman could see that the elf wore a suit of armor slightly covered by a green cloak, and that almost each armor piece was decorated by the symbol of a bird taking flight. At his side he wore an Akashiman sword, something called a "wakizashi", or Eric so believed. His voice was coarse, and also unlike other elves, there was a thin beard lining his chin and jawline. "You shouldn't be wandering 'bout here, stranger. Don't you know there's a war going on?"
"Ali'el, give it a rest." A throaty female voice interrupted him, and another elf emerged the shade of the trees. She was shorter and thinner than he, but she possessed the same hard stature and armor like that of her companion. Upon her back there was a round, golden shield and a short sword made it's place at her side. Golden eyed and haired, she stared at Eric in what he thought was a mixture of distaste and scorn. He didn't like it. "No human would simply be wandering around these times or he'd already be a dead man. Speak, human; what is your purpose in coming to Eluriand?"
He started to growl back a sarcastic response, but caught his tongue. If his instincts were correct, these two just might become his superiors, and getting on their bad side would not be a smart move. "I was recruited to fight." He said simply, and reached into his bag to give her the papers. Handing them to her, he noticed that her hand was decorated with scars.
She glanced at them off handedly before handing them back. "More recruits, eh?" She looked at Ali'el before nodding. "Come along then, we'll escort you to our fallen city." A small smirk graced her face. "You must be either brave or foolish joining this war, stranger, but we're glad to have you along."
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