A shriek erupted to his left as a zombie crushed the knight beside Captain Falric, tearing the knight of his rope. They fell to the cobblestones below, rotten teeth finding the man’s jugular and tearing into his neck like one might devour a fresh peach. Arterial blood squirted across armor, dulling the polished steel of the man at arms. Falric didn’t stop.

He was halfway up the rope, if not for his armor weighing him down then he would have already mantled the ship. With his focus on strategy he was not their best fighter, that honor belonged to Titus if he was on foot, or to Dorian if they were mounted. Still, Falric knew he was a better warrior than any mage, especially one focused on flying the frigate. With a diversion like that he would be more than a match for them.

Reaching up, he grasped the rope in his right hand. Pinching the rope between his calves he pushed, the combined strength of his arms and legs propelling him up another foot. Repeating the motion until the man ahead of him reached the ship’s railing.

With a shout of alarm, the man in front of him staggered, rocking backwards and teetering on the edge of the ship. Precariously dangling off the edge with only one hand on the railing.

“For Fallbrook!” Shouted the man, diving forward.

Bones crunched and screams of agony could be heard, spurring Falric forward. There were men to his left and right, ascending alongside him. He should have kept his eyes forward. As he climbed the rope became thick with ichor, causing his hand to slip and sending him sliding down the rope. A yelp of surprise escaped his lips, and for a moment he wondered if he was going to fall to the cobblestones. If he were lucky the street would break his neck, offering him a merciful death, and prohibiting his reanimation.

He was lucky. The dire thought made him clench his fingers and calves, grip tightening enough to bring him to a stop on the rope. A knight below him punched him in the flanks, annoyed by the rope blocker.

“Climb fool! Climb!” He roared.

Two of the boarders fell from the ship above him, pierced by a dozen black shafted arrows. Terror filled Falric’s heart. Breastplates were designed to withstand hundreds if not thousands of arrows. To see two men who had been penetrated multiple times meant that the archers had some talent or skill. A prowess that could be applied to him.

Every human dies. If my life buys my vengeance then today is a fine day. Thought Falric.

Pinching the rope between his calves, Falric found the will to continue. Beneath him a flurry of activity erupted. Men at arms fought the undead with a renewed vigor. Smaces crushed armor as breastplates turned aside blades. Falric did not spare another thought for them. His concern was banished by his hand encountering wood.

He had reached the top of the rope. The stage on which he would fight for victory was in front of him. Clamoring over the side of the ship, he rolled. Drawing his sword and rising in a practiced attack designed to prevent an ambush. His blade thunked into an undead warrior, burying itself in the monster’s side. A lethal blow to a living creature, but one that did little besides gain the undead’s attention.

Stolen story; please report.

A three fingered hand reached for Falric, clawing at his gorget, tearing at the metal above his throat as it sought the warm flesh beneath. He punched the undead, knocking it’s head askew only to be rewarded by a rusty blade clattering against his breastplate. His heart pounded. Adrenaline surged through his veins, granting him the strength and fury to pull off a novel attack.

Falric stepped forward to the creature’s left, bending at the waist to bring his golden helmet crashing into the undead’s face. Dead or not, some vestige of human intellect lingered within the creature. Causing it to recoil from him, hand slipping off his gorget.

With all his might, Falric pulled back on his sword. Aiming a kick at the undead’s breastplate to help yank his sword free. The kick served a dual purpose, one inspired by Falric’s passive strategist talents. As his sword slurped free of the monster his kick staggered it. Propelling the undead over the ship’s railing.

Falric danced forward, cracking a naked skeleton across the skull so hard that it’s head separated. Sailing across the deck to clatter against one of his men at arms. They hardly noticed, too entranced by their own duel.

All around the ship his men at arms were triumphing over the undead. Four of his silver armored men lay against the ship’s deck. The early boarders who had sold their lives to buy an opportunity for their allies. Falric stooped, snatching a warhammer from a fallen soldier and dropping his blade. His sword was well made, the finest steel he could afford. But, it was still a sword.

Against the undead he needed raw power, the ability to pulverize metal and bone. Seeing one of his men at arms lock blades with an undead he surged forward, swinging his new weapon in an overhead attack. The warhammer sailed past the man, collapsing the undead’s helmet along with it’s putrid brain. Destroying the monster’s animus.

“Thanks!” Shouted the man at arms, already engaging another undead.

Three unarmored zombies assailed the man, tackling him to the ground in front of Falric. The captain dodged backwards, using his momentum to bring the warhammer into action. A second later it came thundering down, plowing through a old man’s rotten neck.

The man at arms rolled, breaking free of the grapple and slicing through a zombie woman’s slender waist. Falric caught her by the hair, attempting to rip her off of his soldier. Half of her scalp and most of her hair came off instead. A disgusting mass that Falric was glad to throw overboard.

With his three opponents reduced to one and a half the man at arms lifted his opponent above his head. The zombie flailed, scratching at his gleaming armor to no avail.

“Hang on to this!” Growled the man at arms, throwing the zombie head first into the ship’s mast.

It’s neck snapped with a dozen moist cracks and the man dropped the corpse.

Thunk

Thunk

Two metal arrow points sprouted from the man’s back, driven through his front and rear armor by unusually thick black shafts. He coughed, gurgling a warcry as he staggered forward into the ranks of the undead.

“Fogh- Fallbrook.”

Falric ducked behind the mast, seeking the source of the arrows.

A dozen or so figures remained ahead of him. Two skeleton archers, an unusually well dressed skeleton at the helm and a gaunt figure with glowing red eyes. Red eyes stood behind the helmsman, wearing fine clothes of white silk and polished gold.

“We’ve been boarded? Finally something worth my time! This harvest has been such a bore. Let’s see what we have here.” Said the man. His red eyes scanned the knights, face twisting as he moved from Falric to the others.

“Nothing but unevolved humans, how vile. Killing you would be a waste of my MP. Fodder should know their place.” He sneered. Wrinkling his nose as if the humans smelled worse than the undead around him.

The cargo hatch swung open, vomiting dozens of warriors onto the deck. Unlike the zombies, these warriors wore armor as black as the ship around them, with weapons free of rust. Their faces were desiccated masks, little more than skin stretched across their skulls.

The sight of them made Falric wish he had never been born. These were not zombies, or skeletons, their glowing red eyes twinkled with intelligence. They were wights, undead warriors who retained the talents and skills from their life before death.

“Their captain is in sight! Are you going to let these polished turds deny you?” Hollered Falric.

“No!” Answered his knights, charging the new arrivals with renewed zeal.