Choice 2. Try to fight through the undead?

With one way as good as any other to get himself killed, Gregor let out a dry snort of amusement, before his cold gaze rested on the hosts of undead that blocked off the streets, and replied, "we'd stand a better chance against them."

Although if this was going to work they would need to follow Gregor's commands, a thought that Guiram must have understood as the lean eyed elf nodded his agreement. "Very well, you lead, human."

Gregor with no more time to waste, ignoring the stares from the warriors around him as he studied the ebb and flow of the undead. His voice cold and hard as he barked, "wedge formation," heard them get into position behind him, when the ground began to shake. However this was no time for mistakes.

Eyes set on the main street which would be by far the shortest route, Gregor thought there were at least two hundred or more of them, but that wasn't counting the ones that were still climbing out of windows and doorways. With the two side alleys almost equally as dangerous, and potentially longer, one wound its way around the inns, and the other passed behind the guilds.

(Take the main street.)

Speed would be the key to this battle. Speed and the ability to maneuver, which would all but be impossible in the narrow alleyways clogged with undead. And without a shield, Gregor would be the most vulnerable among them, if they ever got bogged down.

With those two thoughts uppermost in mind, he nodded his head for Guiram to be ready. The sturdy elven warrior who had seen more than his fair share of battles, waving for Selese to take the centre of the formation, the minotaurs to the flanks and rear, while Morakon and Haddwel settled in on either side of Gregor. Their locked shields compressed tight as the big lumbering horn heads readied their cumbersome greatswords with a single hand. A trick Gregor himself had never tried to learn since it put a great deal more pressure on the wrist. But the trio of minotaurs seemed comfortable with the greatswords in one hand and kite shields in the other with even two of the fools grinning at him.

Armoured in overlapping steel plates, they at least would have some protection, whereas Gregor would have to rely upon the skill of his blade. It almost made him regret not taking up Khorasan's offer of legionary armour as he advanced forward towards the seething mass. Selese and Guiram quick to take up positions right behind him as he wondered how he was going to survive this mess?

(Target the heads.)

Clouds darkening the sky as rain began to fall, Gregor quickly focused his attention on the nearest orc in drab grey clothing with the face of an anvil, and leapt forward to strike it’s skull. Its groping arms hacked apart as his steel blade skewered it's eye socket causing an otherworldly scream.

Arms lashing out furiously as it attacked everything around it, he watched it break apart the mass of bodies, and smiled as it fell squirming about on the ground.

Head cocked to the side to see Guiram shaking his golden hair in disbelief, Gregor called back, "aim for their skulls."

The whisper of steel as warriors tightened straps, turned into grim nods as Gregor leapt back into the swarm of groping fingers. His eyes only seeing what he needed them to as he hammered a path forward with arrows flying over his shoulders, and longsword sweeping out to cleave heads as he danced the dance of battle.

Slicing through pale faced orcs drained of all colour that snagged at his clothing, Gregor was like a serpent slithering in the river as he cut the tethered strings that held them upright. Each time he lopped off a skull, causing utter mayhem as the headless corpses struck out at everything around them, which in turn alleviated the heavy crush of bodies that tried to take chunks out of him.

Added to Morakon's quick hands and Haddwel's steady strokes, it created plenty of room for Gregor to continue driving forward, his mind telling him to never stop moving as faces flashed past. Little orkins that barely stood up to his chest, matronly orcas that had no concept of war, and the weathered faces of orcs that had spent their entire lives tilling the soil, flashed past him. All of that no longer mattered, so long as he kept moving forward, but even after all this time, memories began to surface.

...Longsword a constant blur of steel, he could see the village of Lethos in his mind, a small hamlet nestled between a wide ravine. The single well that occupied the small village square, surrounded by people in desert garb, their colourful robes, clashing with the red rock of the wasteland.

Captain Treomor, a sturdy shouldered warrior with corded muscular arms, stood a little ways ahead of Gregor armoured in a hauberk that had seen better days with a pot helm held under his arm. A man of few words, he had been Gregor's Captain in the Battleguard for many seasons, and after all the battles he had fought at his side, Gregor knew before he spoke that something was different.

Grizzled hard face darkened by the suns, Treomor turned to face them, his steel grey eyes sharp with intensity, and said, "none must survive..."

The vivid memory so real, Gregor had barely enough time to duck an arm swing from a plump orca, before arrows flashed past his head.

Forcing himself to shake his head at the sideways glance from a sweaty faced Haddwell, Gregor knew he had to stay focused, when he heard a loud cry go up, followed by the crash of thunder overhead.

Flesh pebbled with cold and cuts he had not known he had gotten, he saw the undead melt away suddenly, until he was face to face with a company of legionaries. Hard eyes peeking out from beneath winged helms, they charged with a deafening roar that drove the undead back into the alleyways.

Gregor who had never been so relieved in his life to see the useless fools, half swayed on his feet and collapsed inside of the doorway, his eyes finally seeing the gateway up ahead as legionaries poured through, when he felt something give inside of him, and his eyes snapped shut... The voice at the back of his mind a soft murmur of approval as he fell into a deep slumber.

-7 HP.

Move onto the next Scenario.

(Target the legs.)

Clouds darkening the sky as rain began to fall, Gregor quickly focused his attention on the nearest orc in drab grey clothing with the face of an anvil, and leapt forward to strike it’s kneecaps. Its groping arms hacked apart as his steel blade chopped through flesh and bone causing an otherworldly scream as it fell to the ground.

He then hopped over its head to avoid its gnashing teeth, while trying to press forward. Only the more bodies he dropped, the harder it was to move with arms reaching out from the ground to drag at his heels.

Longsword hacking away furiously alongside that of Haddwel's and Morakan's, Gregor didn't notice the pair of hands that snaked their way around his feet, until it was too late and he was dragged under.

The blinding hot rage that enveloped him as he tried to tear himself free, turned to a furious growl as teeth found his flesh, and dead white eyes snarled and clawed at him, dragging him further and further away from the legionaries that fought to reach him.

Gregor who had never relied upon anyone in life, muttering a curse, before the pain became too much, and he faded away into the darkness.

Death

(Head left behind the guilds.)

However it was the fact there were less undead behind the guilds that made Gregor turn left, and rush towards the side streets that opened up between the round shaped houses.

Longsword splitting skulls as he barrelled forward, he tried to batter a path forward. But as much as he pushed in deeper the harder it got with mounds of corpses he had created getting in his way and slowing him down. Every inch a nightmare of clawing arms and teeth that snarled and slashed at his body, while his longsword hung useless at his side.

Face sheeted with blood from headbutting orcs and trying to wriggle his way forward, Gregor kept trying to beat a path clear, when Guiram called out for him to fall back. The elven warrior, rasping out a curse as he tried to use his dagger on a huge orc that looked to be all muscle.

But with nothing but red all around him, Gregor could see no way out, and knew there was only one way this would end.

Body wracked by pain he could never have imagined, he stared back into those pale unblinking eyes, and let the rage come. If he was going to die, he would die well.

Death

(Head right behind the inns.)

However it was the fact there were less undead behind the inns that made Gregor turn right, and rush towards the side streets that opened up between the round shaped houses.

Longsword splitting skulls as he barrelled forward, he tried to batter a path forward. But as much as he pushed in deeper the harder it got with mounds of corpses he had created getting in his way and slowing him down. Every inch a nightmare of clawing arms and teeth that snarled and slashed at his body, while his longsword hung useless at his side.

Face sheeted with blood from headbutting orcs and trying to wriggle his way forward, Gregor kept trying to beat a path clear, when Guiram called out for him to fall back. The elven warrior, rasping out a curse as he tried to use his dagger on a huge orc that looked to be all muscle.

But with nothing but red all around him, Gregor could see no way out, and knew there was only one way this would end.

Body wracked by pain he could never have imagined, he stared back into those pale unblinking eyes, and let the rage come. If he was going to die, he would die well.

Death