“Back!” Connor shouted. “Back to the outpost!”

The three friends were clustered around the body of the recently deceased Ranger Marshal of Mourn as the undead shambled out of the eerie darkness of the unnatural fog.

It seemed that the Sleeper King had added a lot of minions to his numbers on the march along the Southern Road, and of a much richer, better equipped variety than the long-dead Skeleton Warriors.

Connor saw that many in the front line were men and women in the dark cloaks of the Downshaven Watch, while still others had ring or even chain mail shirts, helmets, and spears.

“It’s an army. A real army!” Connor gasped, realizing that up until now, he had been expecting a horde, not an actual army . . .

Not that the forces lurching toward them moved like an army. Instead, they scattered as they moved forward, free from each other and their fellows, each creature more terrible and disgusting than the last. Connor saw soldiers and watchmen, as well as villagers, herders, and others, all of them now reanimated by the baleful will of the Sleeper King himself.

“We can’t hold ’em! They’ll overrun us in minutes!” Dargan shouted. Connor gasped as he limped backward on his wounded leg, and Olanna threw one arm over his shoulder.

“Come on! Pick up your feet, damn it!” she hissed as the next of the undead lurched toward them.

Name: Undead Soldier

Level: 4

Size: Medium

Health: 40 / 40

Vitality: 48 / 48

Agility: 11

Charisma: 5

Intelligence: 6

Stamina: 12

Strength: 13

Wisdom: 0

“Watch out!” Connor hissed, as the longsword of the Undead skittered forward and the soldier tried to do to him what the other had done to Fenwalker. Olanna pulled him to one side, but only just in time.

Undead Soldier attacks Connor with Longsword. Attack dodged; no damage done.

In return, Connor lashed out with his hand ax, catching the Skeleton a glancing blow along its arm.

Connor attacks Undead Soldier with Hand Ax for 8 Health points damage.

Olanna stepped forward, swinging her shortsword in a low strike.

With a practiced sweep that spoke of mastery of blades when they had been alive, their undead opponent smoothly flashed its blade in an arc that caught Olanna’s wrist a glancing blow.

“Ack!”

Connor felt his friend shudder and fall backward, her hand clutching onto his shoulder as now she sought his support too.

The half-elf bared his teeth, feinting forward with his hand ax before striking down, aiming for the Undead Soldier’s wrist in response.

Connor attacks Undead Soldier with Hand Ax for 9 Health points damage.

It was enough to smash the creature’s hand, but it merely let go of its sword and fought one-handed instead.

“Hey!” Next to him, Olanna shouted, darting forwards with her bare hand raised in a fist.

Olanna, no! the thought flashed through Connor’s mind, until he suddenly understood what his friend was doing. The Undead Soldier, not the brightest since its brain was starting to rot, reacted as if she were holding a weapon. It turned and raised its blade as if to parry.

But Olanna had no intention of ever striking him. She darted back, leaving Connor with a clear strike at the Skeleton, straight under its guard. The half-elf roared, twisting his ax in his hand as he slammed it into the undead creature with a powerful blow fueled by anger, grief, and desperation.

Connor attacks Undead Soldier with Hand Ax for 8 Health points damage. Hand Ax scores critical hit increasing damage by 200%. Total damage: 24 Health points. Undead Soldier has been killed.

Your group has been awarded 600 Experience Points for slaying Undead Horseman.

Experience points will be divided among all participants.

“Yes!” Connor gasped raggedly, part turning and part hopping as Olanna clutched at his shoulder and dragged him back toward the outpost walls.

The closing outpost gate, Connor saw.

They hobbled as fast as they could, as Dargan covered their retreat, faring far better than they were with his war hammer. Connor saw that the small dwarf—the teenager, he had to remind himself—was heaving and sweeping his war hammer to the right and left as if he were made for it. Almost every blow looked as though it could be a critical, and undead creatures fell back from his powerful strikes.

“All those Strength bonuses must be good for something!” Connor heard the dwarf growl, and suddenly they were clear, and the outpost gates were right in front of them.

Only they were now closed.

“What the hell are they doing!?” Connor gasped as he struggled as fast as he could limp, with Olanna’s help. Dargan was only a few paces behind them, his war hammer at the ready, keeping an eye on the lurching, rambling forces of the Undead. Already, the main body of the horde was reaching the downed wagon, and Connor saw them pausing for just a moment, snarling and skulking around it, as if searching for any remaining living meat.

“Open up! For heaven’s sake, open up!” Olanna yelled beside him. They reached the long double gate that had been dragged across the main entry avenue, made of multiple stout but thin wooden trunks and banded in iron.

“It’s her!” Connor heard a shout and craned his neck up to see that there were heads and shoulders at the top of the gate—guards and soldiers who must be standing atop wagons and carts behind. He saw the shouter. It was the Downshaven watch captain, already waving a sword down at them. It seemed that at least half of the numbers up there were made up of the dark-cloaked watchmen and women. The red-cloaked guards of SkyBridge had apparently enlisted any that could hold blades or bows.

“Let us in! The Ranger Marshal is down!” Olanna shouted up, her voice cracking in grief as she waved her hand back at the wagon, now surrounded by the lurching, stumbling Undead . . .

“So you can allow in your undead allies!? You probably summoned them!” the watch captain shouted angrily, earning a snarl of hatred and disgust from Olanna.

“Don’t be a fool!” Connor called. There was a commotion from above. Some of the red cloaks of SkyBridge appeared to be arguing with the Downshaven Watch.

“She probably led the Ranger Marshal to his death! She bewitched him!” the watch captain shouted, and Connor heard bigotry and panic in his voice. The man was panicking, and in his ignorance, was searching for someone easy to blame.

“Connor, Olanna!” Dargan’s voice was a warning, his tone rising behind them. They shot glances over their shoulder, seeing that the undead horde had resumed their march toward SkyBridge. They were moving more slowly now that the gates were closed, but were still marching solidly, slowly, and implacably.

“We’re out of time,” the dwarf shouted.

“Anyone who opens that gate will feel my blade!” the watch captain shouted in argument with the red cloaks.

“Connor!” Olanna whispered, her voice now devoid of anger as he heard the desperation and fear of their predicament settle in. This was it. They were going to die right there at the gates of the SkyBridge Outpost without ever getting to Union City, much less escaping the First Realm of Legends.

“Ahoy! Raise your eyes!”

There was a thin shout from above, accompanied by a sudden blaring horn as a shadow fell over them all.

What?!

Connor, Olanna, and Dargan all looked up as a shape eclipsed the gates, low and heavy and large enough to crush them all.

It was an airship, round-bellied and squat, wider along the middle than the hull was high, with round portholes along its side. The boat had side sails partly opened, and two full central sails that were catching the wind rising over the city. Connor and the others gasped, watching in astonishment as it swung low over the front gates, scattering the Downshaven watch and SkyBridge guards alike.

“What is it doing!?” Connor heard Dargan shout—as a form appeared at the side, flinging down a rope ladder.

“Don’t wait around! The Marshal said to see you safe, and by the stars above, I’m not going to break an oath!” said the doughty, squat, middle-aged woman above them.

It was Mrs. Pettigrew, the woman from the lodgings.

Connor looked at Olanna in disbelief, but the rope ladder with affixed wooden rungs was slapping down on the cold dust of the ground before them and dragging with the movement of the airship.

Connor blinked, then suddenly pushed Olanna forward, “Go!” he shouted, urging her toward the ladder and shouting to the dwarf too.

“Up! Dargan—move it!” he was shouting as the tide of the Undead before them convulsed. The enemy saw that their closest prey was about to make their escape. Quickly, they were running forward, stumbling on broken and misshapen feet, waving swords, spears, and scimitars and other makeshift weapons in thwarted fury.

Olanna was the first to jump up and catch the ladder, moving as easily as a cat as she scrambled up the rungs. Mrs. Pettigrew and one other seized her under the arms and hauled her over the side.

“Dargan, now!” Connor shouted, running, lurching to catch at one end of the ladder as it dragged across the dirt with the dwarf right beside him.

“Con! Us dwarves—we’re not great at . . .” the dwarf started to protest.

He’s only a kid. The words hammered home in Connor’s mind as he saw through the gruff, dwarvish exterior and saw the frightened, wide-eyed stare of the player behind it.

“You can do it, Dargan,” Connor said, feeling his own feet start to skid as the ladder was pulled aside. The wails and the shrieks of the Skeletons and other undead creatures were getting closer; they would be upon them any moment!

“Connor . . . !” Dargan muttered, grabbing one of the wooden slates.

“Trust me! I’ve got you—just climb. Don’t look down, just climb!” Connor shouted, grabbing the dwarf under the arm and heaving him upwards as mightily as he could.

Dargan started to climb, and Connor took one more glance at the undead horde.

The closest undead soldier was right there, already swinging its sword.

Connor spun around, letting go of both the ladder and the dwarf as he dodged out of the way of the slashing blade.

Undead Soldier attacks Connor with Longsword. Attack dodged; no damage done.

He saw the ladder, the dwarf holding on tightly, dragging away from him, across the ground.

Connor had bigger problems, though and just barely managed to flick his hand ax up, just in time to bat down the Undead Soldier’s second attack.

Undead Soldier attacks Connor with Longsword. Attack blocked; no damage done.

Over his shoulder, he could see the approaching shapes of the more undead creatures—both Soldiers and Skeletons. They almost had him surrounded, and with every heartbeat, the airship ladder was being dragged further and further away from him.

“Connor!” he heard Olanna shouting above them, while Dargan was only halfway up and clinging for dear dwarvish life with every ounce of his strength.

“Skrrr!” There was a croaky hiss from vocal cords that were tired, dry, and dead, and the Undead Warrior slashed at him again.

Undead Soldier attacks Connor with Longsword. Attack dodged; no damage done.

He was only saved by the fact that his calf was still lacerated, and when he tried to dodge to one side, pain and weakness lanced up his left leg, and he stumbled far more quickly and erratically than he had intended.

The Undead’s sword sliced through the air past his shoulder as Connor slashed out wildly with his hand ax and took another lurching step.

The rope ladder was suddenly before him, a lucky gust of wind throwing it in his direction.

“Connor!” he heard Olanna’s shriek once again and a loud thunk as an arrow hammered the Undead Soldier behind him. He didn’t turn or wait to see if the arrow had taken his adversary out—or even slowed it down. He desperately threw himself forward, one step and then another and then leaping, throwing out his arms in wild attempt to grasp the ladder that was once again being pulled away from him.

One of his arms punched through the gap in the rungs and clutched wooden steps to his chest as the other hand dropped his hand ax and grabbed at the rope. He caught it, but the rope burned his hands as they slipped, and his injured leg was ablaze in agony as it dragged across the ground.

“Lift! Lift the rudders!” he heard Mrs. Pettigrew shouting. He looked straight ahead through the rungs in the ladder to where he was about to crash straight into the front line of the undead horde. All of his effort was about to see him delivered to the enemy . . .

“Lift, you slubs!” He heard Mrs. Pettigrew’s impressive roar, and suddenly the airship above was climbing, soaring upward into the sky as it lifted its prow, and the dangling rope ladder followed suit.

Connor was lifted from the ground, his arms screaming with the effort, his legs dangling in the air as he was carried over the sweeping blades, grasping hands, and upturned heads of the undead. Suddenly, he was free, swinging high over the mass of deceased monsters as the airship turned, and the rope ladder that he and Dargan were clinging to was hauled up by strong arms.

“We’ve got you. Didn’t think we’d make it, but we did,” he heard Mrs. Pettigrew sighing and gasping, her strong forearms hauling first Dargan and then himself over the railings.

“We got you, son, thank the Ranger Marshal. We’ll see you safe,” he heard as he collapsed against wooden boards of the deck, thankful that he still had his skin.

Connor lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, immensely thankful to be high above the undead army of the Sleeper King. When he finally pushed himself to his feet, grasping the side of the airship for support, their rescuer stood there with an intense, but pleased look on her face.

“Welcome aboard the Pettigrew Express,” the doughty proprietor—and Captain—of the small tug announced as the ship wheeled around over the outpost. There was little time for introductions, however, and Olanna, Connor, and Dargan were herded out of the way of the other airship sailors who crouched at the edge of the railings, holding onto the wood and the guide ropes as the others worked.

The outpost of SkyBridge below them wheeled, and the three slammed against the railings, clinging on lest they fall overboard as they looked straight down at the horror of what lay behind them.

The Undead had reached the walls of the outpost, and Connor and the others saw that their bodies were a large, dark tide pushed against the wood. There were hundreds of writhing bodies, far more than should have been possible in such a short time. In fact, there could easily have been a thousand by Connor’s reckoning. Behind the walls, the Downshaven Watch and the SkyBridge guard were doing their best to fight them off with spears and swords, their bows useless against the enemy. The tide of Undead scattered like the ocean hitting a rock and spread out from the gate. All along the wall, undead creatures started to clamber up the walls, already cresting the top in places and falling over the far side to the rooftops and cobbled streets inside.

“Ugh!” Connor heard Dargan call in disgust as bodies of the Undead slammed against the hard ground, and Outpost guards ran toward them, their weapons drawn. But where the fall should have killed any mortal soldier, for the Undead and the Skeletons, they merely slammed into the ground, then started to push themselves up again on limbs that might be broken—but did not slow them down.

Already, a fire had broken out at the gate, although Connor didn’t see who had started it, whether the armies of the Sleeper King or the many various people trapped in the outpost itself.

They could see that the streets of the outpost below were still jam-packed with those attempting to flee. There were crowds of civilians as well as adventurers and merchants, all moving as a morass toward the piers—where airships of all shapes and sizes were trying to rise. The half-elf saw lines cast from the sides of the ships and other lines cut and gangplanks thrown overboard as people were already weighing down the different boats, ships, tugs, yachts, and schooners. Small forms of people leapt from the piers to the surfaces of the airships already rising. In horror, Connor saw that not everybody made it, but instead fell, flailing into the deep chasm of the Lack.

“Brace the main sail! Get the full of it and turn toward Union City!” Pettigrew shouted as the Express rocked and surged to one side before catching the wind with her sails and shooting forward into the clouds over the Lack. Her giant metal ring at the back of the ship flared a brilliant purple and blue, leaving a fading trail of eldritch light behind them as they moved, fleeing the devastation soon to be visited on SkyBridge.

“We made it. We made it . . .” Dargan was whispering, clutching at his cloak beside Connor, who gave him a weak grunt. He was looking at Olanna, huddled beside one of the tied down barrels next to him. Her eyes were narrow and fierce as she looked back at the vanishing, smoking SkyBridge Outpost. In his pocket, Connor could feel the chain and the emblem of the Ranger Marshal, and the half-elf suddenly felt ashamed at not being able to save him.

This game had gotten even more serious than ever before. In fact, it had gotten deadly.