On the treacherous ice you wisely choose keeping your feet over landing a blow - your devastating swing screeches as it grazes the officers scaled armor. The rotting teeth bare more and the glowing yellow eye flare. A smile?
The wind dies momentarily and the smell of the grave fills your nose, threatening to raise your gorge. The leering officer raises his blade in both hands and in a flash, surprising from the decrepit creature, the black blade swings down and catches you high on the shoulder and chest turned at the last moment from more lethal blow. Shattered links fly and a searing pain dims your sight momentarily as dark blood begins to flow.
Behind the officer three uniformed figures - one robed, two armored - appear at the mouth of the cave, "Sir, we couldn't find the - "
The speaker breaks off a wicked black metal sickle in its hands. He crouches readying to enter the fray. The other two are wreckages of mortal form, shreds and tatters of flesh and fabric cling to visible bones propelled by dark magics. At a gesture from the robed legionnaire, vacant eye-sockets swivel toward the fight and raise crossbows.
Without looking back, the black-armored officer throws up a stalling hand back at the figures behind him. The skeletal warrior's arms drop immediately, lifeless, but the other lowers his nasty-looking sickle more deliberately.
On the ground, Hul'kilay groans, bleeding his life into the icy and snow.
Please make a Fortitude save, DC 15, against Sickening (-2 to Attacks, Saving throws and Skill checks) and take 8 points of damage from the legionnaire's blade.
