Still no more contributions! Well, forgive my further indulgence...

CHAPTER 46
After the wizards had left the room, Ernst, seemingly possessed by the Daemon Prince Geilir, had gained the upper hand on Krieger by rolling over and pinning the Grandmaster. The Grandmaster was quite surprised by the young man’s strength despite the fact that the laughing madman was clearly possessed. His laughter filled the chamber, making a further mockery of the butchered and desecrated corpses that filled it.
With a gurgle, Ernst’s laughter ceased, his eyes stared blankly as a steady stream of blood seeped from his mouth. Sensing his slack, Grandmaster Krieger pushed the possessed madman away from him, and the body of Ernst slapped hard on the ground. Francine, daughter of Mayor Schatz, stood trembling while holding the daemonic blade of Geilir. Ernst must of have dropped it when Krieger pinned him, and she in turn retrieved it. She had a bewildered look about her, as if she was surprised she had done it; the look of one who had killed for the first time but as if she had discovered a new power that she never knew she had the potential of utilizing. Krieger knew full well that this daemon weapon was far too corrupting for it to remain in her grasp for long.
“Good work lass, “ spoke Krieger as he slowly rose up, “but I think I should have that now,” Krieger was wincing as he spoke as the many wounds along his body each screamed for medical attention.
Francine did not speak, but she stopped trembling. She seemed to be relishing her achievement, almost as if drawing power from the experience of the kill.
“No!” Krieger knew what was happening, and knew he had to get the blade away from her. “Francine, you must discard that weapon! It is more than a blade! It is far more dangerous!”
Yet, he could tell his pleas where not getting through, she grinned a sinister grin that belied a truth that Krieger, with all his heart, did not want to accept.
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Rakthor and the Vampire lord were locked in combat. Their duel had been going on for a few minutes. His retinue was slaughtered, as were the allies of Jaffir Rosenkrantz who had ran to assist him. It was difficult to determine who would win this match up, but fate was to intervene preventing the natural conclusion of this duel.
Scores and scores of brilliant flaming arrows rained down upon the plain. Brighter and hotter than the sun, they ignited the pelts of the beastmen on contact, and utterly immolated the undead. The vampire lord howled as the lights of the approaching arrows seared his flesh. One arrow hit him directly and he exploded in flame. Rakthor, dove away, narrowly avoiding the cleansing flame himself. He retrieved his bearings, and turned to take in the whole battlefield. The arrows had done a great job in devastating the armies of the undead and beastmen. The daemons caught in the onslaught were destroyed immediately. Now, a hard line of scythe wielding knights was methodically advancing forward, striking down all that oppose them.
Rakthor wasn’t too savage to know when he was on the losing side, and if he hoped to have any followers after this night, they would need to fall back. He was pleased with what they had achieved here, even if it wasn’t a total victory, it was enough to hamper the men in this region for the foreseeable future.
He sounded his horn with loud blasts. Most of the beasts pulled back, fleeing and broken they began scattering back into the woods. Those that didn’t pull back were still too caught up in their frenzy to disengage, and remained locked in combat. It seemed the knights were more interested in crushing the undead, but he knew this window to pull out was closing fast.
Rakthor sounded the horn again, trying to disengage more of his warriors from the burning battlefield before he himself would turn from this battle. As he sounded his last call with the horn, Rakthor’s world suddenly went black.
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“You got him! Right in the head!” Shouted Friedrech.
“That was a tricky shot indeed,” understated Sgt. Griff Hausbergen, as he exchanged handguns with the powder boy, “he was further out than I thought we could hit at this range…”
Sergeant Hausbergen had the best seat in the house for watching the way this battle unfolded. At one point, he was certain that they were done for. But now, with the aid of the Knights of the Sacred Scythe, his men stood vigilant at their post on the castle wall, blasting volley after volley of leaded death into the foe. They continued to do so even as the beastmen were breaking and running, trying to pick off the stragglers while the knights worked through the undead elements on the burning battle field.
Suddenly there was a bright light, far more brilliant than the rain of sun-soaked arrows from moments before. Griff turned to see what this was, as sunrise wasn't expected for at least another hour. He was surprised to find that the light was coming from the north tower. The actual stone was glowing, as if it’s physical structure was transforming into light.
“Gentlemen,” Griff shouted, “I think we ought to go…!”