A/N: Chapter two. A bit longer than the last chapter with more going on. After writing this chapter I was a bit disappointed with how it came out, but overall still happy with it. I still have a lot to learn when it comes to showing instead of telling. Either way I hope you enjoy.

The first sign of trouble should have been the dead bodies around them. Everyone in Oriath knew of Wraeclast and its undead population. Of course, the brain, with all of its sensitive parts, tends to require a generous amount of time to reach full functionality after taking a beating.

Cold, clammy hands gripped Morien's shoulders as a set of blackened, decayed teeth sunk deep into his neck.

Morien flung his torso to the side as his hands leaped to the undead's skull, trying his best to wrench the deathly jaws off of his neck.

He had been branded once before, back in Oriath while in prison, but the fire pouring down his neck terrified him in a way he had never felt before. He feared the pain of the branding sure, but he knew he would live through it. He had been terrified when he flung himself into the unforgiving waters, but even then he believed he would survive. But now however, the visceral sensation of his blood pouring down his neck left him no doubts as to his fate.

Death.

Death is all that waited for him now.

Damase lunged at the undead, swinging his ramshackle mace at its decaying face. His blow landed true and the aberration's head exploded in a fury storm of gore. The rest of the body collapsed onto the sand, limbs still pantomiming their last, deathly moments as the undead faded into its final rest.

"Morien!" Damase dropped the mace, hands racing to stem the flowing crimson river that gushed from Morien's neck. "I...I..." He stumbled over his words. Even as a Templar in Oriath he was never good at comforting those close to death. He knew he shouldn't have been so careless. He knew that this continent was filled with danger. He knew all of this and yet...he cursed himself for slipping.

Morien's eyes looked upward and on into the sky. He knew that he was weak. He knew that Wraeclast was dangerous in ways that no man could prepare himself for. He knew that his chances of survival were minuscule the moment his feet touched the wet wood of the ship. He knew all of this and yet...he believed that he could have made it. Here he was though, his first and only ally in life with the grim expression of a man witnessing death happen right before his eyes.

A heavy breath escaped Damase's throat and his eyes locked onto Morien's own.

"I'm sorry."

His thoughts went to the past, to his old allies and his old friends. He had held more than one dying comrade in his life but that made it no easier to handle.

-Darkly ironic how death, of all things, can turn acquaintances into friends so fast...-

Life had never been...no...it had been plenty fair, he just made wrong decisions, the wrong choices. Life gave him every opportunity to step in the right direction but he never took it. The drugs. The alcohol. The deaths. He let out a dark chuckle in his mind.

-At least I stayed true to my course, never wavering in my decadence...-

Morien felt the cold creeping throughout his body. If he would die here on this beach of the damned, he wanted to make sure that he stayed dead. Cold fingers reached out to the rotten wood, grasped, and shakily brought it to its owner.

The Damase's gray eyes closed as his fingers wrapped around the mace handle. He had done things like this before. Back during the Cleansing. He rose to his feet, took a strong, deep breath, and looked his dying companion in the eyes.

The mace whistled, bone crunched under rusted steel, and blood splattered across the sands.

"May God help you find rest." His words came out tired and low.

-The cliffs huh...well that was the plan originally. No reason to make a new one. Though before I leave...-

He straightened his shoulders, looked in a circle around him for more corpses, and began to bury the corpse in the sand of the beach.

-No gravestone, no casket, but at least he has a Templar of God to say him his goodbyes-

His bitter thoughts made his face morbid. Gathering himself together he recited the passages he had been taught as a Templar in training.

"I sincerely hope its not every single corpse that can reanimate." He rubbed his shoulders and began his trek to the cliffs.


****Hours earlier on the beach****

"Shit...Not a lot of us made it huh." A drenched figure looked around him at the group gathered on the beach.

-So we have a giant man, a silent man, a sleeping man, a man that looks like he shouldn't have made it here, a spoiled sow, a dyke, and a fucking child...great-

"Look lets just try and get our bearings first before we go out and do anything stupid." Eyes turned to the short haired blonde. The giant snorted in derision.

"This is Wraeclast, the continent of the damned. Do you really need anymore bearings woman?"

"Condescension doesn't exactly get us anywhere and maybe if you had an equal balance of brain and brawn you would know Wraeclast is incredibly dangerous and working together nets us the highest chances of survival." The well dressed, when compared to those around her, woman narrowed her eyes at the brute.

Another one of the gathered let out a viscous laugh. His lips thinned into a sneer.

"Oh so the noble-blood thinks her opinion here matters. This isn't a mansion soirée you know. Most people die here and are never heard from again. The challenge is far beyond whatever political games you were taught to handle."

The noble girl glared at the duelist. "Oh, and I'm sure that you've lived through plenty of hardship haven't you? You look like one of those pompous duelists trained at the Korvich's Fencing Academy. I'm sure that your status outweighs your skill you lanky, garrulous..."

"SILENCE!" The group jumped at the roaring voice that broke the tireless arguing. "I grow tired of this talking. I head to the wooden walls eastward. If you want a plan, there you go. Follow me eastward to the walls...or don't, I think I would prefer that."

The short haired blonde sighed tiredly. "While I doubt he put any serious thought into this, I believe the brute has a point. Walls tend to signify some level of civilization. How dangerous shouldn't matter much as long as we keep our wits about for danger."

"Kerr."

"You alright there or do you need something for your throat?"

Kerr growled and narrowed his eyes. His nostrils flared in anger as he squared his shoulders and stood straighter up. "It's my birth-name woman. Learn to use it."

"Well Kerr, you can call me by mine then, Kacela." Kacela smirked and rapped one fist against Kerr's oak tree chest.

The noble birth nodded at Kacela and huffed at the others. "We all just throwing our names out then? Convenient I suppose. Mine is Odelia"

"God, I can't believe you shits think this will help any bit. Mine is Enzo."

"Morien..." A voice weakly coughed out.

Kacela raised an eyebrow at him. "You alright there?" She gave him a look over; heavy breaths, bowed head, and slumped shoulders. This man was more than tired, he was weak.

"I'm fine...just need...time to rest" His words came out ragged and broken.

Enzo sneered and scoffed at him. "We have no time to wait. If he can't keep up, abandon him."

"Aren't you the humanitarian. He just needs some time to rest. Besides the one beside him could wake up soon as well." Kacela glared at him and knelt beside the passed out man. He was the one observing the other exiles on the ship. Seemed a bit...determined. What for she had no clue but overly-determined is better that being under-determined was her rule of thumb.

"Hate to break it to you but Kerr over there started walking already." Odelia stared at the mountainous man's back, then she looked back at the others. "Look...I feel bad for saying this, but I'm heading to those walls as well."

"Well fuck, guess I was right. Time to leave." A disgusting smirk reached his face as he jogged towards the walls.

Kacela growled as she stared at Enzo's back. She had met men like that before; arrogant, probably talented enough to back up some of his words, but still an asshole.

"Just go on. I can wait for the sleeper to wake up."

"...You know I'm not going to try and argue against that right?"

"Isn't that a form of arguing?" He cracked a weak grin at her.

"Ha ha, yeah I guess huh. Good luck." Kacela eyed rotten wood sticking out from the sand. "Take this. Probably not much help but it's something." She extended the gnarled mace and gave him a weak smile. "Look on the bright side, if sleepy over there turns out to be an asshole, you can quiet him down pretty easily."

"He...He. Guess you're right." His eyes wandered to the final two members of the group. "You got any names? Didn't hear either of you speak up during our little icebreaker moment."

"Call me Ahimoth." The lanky man nodded and began walking off towards the others.

"..." The young girl stared into the distance and stalked towards the cliffs.

"Guess they're not really talkative huh."

"Yeah...alright well you head off. I'll be fine until the sleeper wakes back up. Good luck. Get a weapon if you can."

"Good luck to you too." Her eyes trailed towards the east. She spied a rotted bow near a corpse in the distance. If she wanted to survive, she needed to get something to protect herself.

The kid seemed...off. Her instincts rarely lied to her and she knew the stories of...strange children. Children born with no tears. Children who were always the center of disaster. Children whispered to be touched by the Gods under the deep. Theopolis' official stance on the issue was that they didn't exist and that any rumors of these kinds of children were unfounded. After all Theopolis was supposed to be God's own city so how could any child be an unspoken. Kacela knew better though; those children did exist.

It seemed that she now knew where they ended up.


*Squilch*...*Squilch*...*Squilch*

A young girl walked along the wet sands, she eyed the corpses around her as some began to stir awake and stumble towards her. Most of them were decayed enough to the point where a speedy shuffle was the fastest they move.

She had been searching for a specific tool for a while now. She knew that there had to be one on this beach here somewhere.

"Out of the millions of exiles you would think there would be sorcerer or mage that died here." A grumble left her lips and she sighed. The groaning was getting annoying, the sand was coarse, and her clothes were cold and wet.

A wide grin came graced her lips as she spied a piece of nondescript oak being gripped in the hands of a waterlogged corpse. "Ahhh well speak of the devil and he shall appear..." She stalked to the corpse, taking care to look for any signs of movement.

"Ahhh...here we go." As her fingers wrapped around elder oak, she welled up her strength and let it flow from her core, to her arms, and finally into the wooden stick. She focused her mind and let the arcane power flow over and out of her pores, covering her flesh in a wispy, transparent glow.

"Aaughhhhhggh..." Another undead stumbled towards her from several paces away. She smirked and drew the wand up, breathing in and taking steady aim.

*Krack* The wand exploded in light for just a moment as an opaque bolt of energy escaped from the tip. The undead stumbled backwards and fell onto it's back as the bolt smashed its chest in; blood exploded out of the wound and bone splintered into tiny shards. The jaws snapped angrily though the body remained still.

"Hmmmm...must have shattered the spine. Ahhhh...not enough power to blow it apart I see." She flicked her wrist, let anger and wrath fill her heart, and focused on the fire in her soul.

*Fwoosh* The body went ablaze, lighting up the surrounding area.

"Auuuughhh..." More bodies began to stir at the commotion.

-Hmmm...the old tales speak of witches that had the power to control the undead. Possibly useful, but I was never one for mindless minions- She smirked as she let more power flow through her, preparing for the ensuing conflict.

In the distance she saw a man bashing bodies aside with a rotten mace as he drew nearer towards...her?

-Looks like he finally woke up, though the other man isn't there with him. Either he was murdered after the other man awoke or the undead ate him-

*Krack* *Fwoosh*

*Krack* *Fwoosh*

*Krack* *Fwoosh*

She mindlessly sent out bolts of energy, making sure to burn the bodies as they fell. She kept her focus on the man approaching her. Undead were about as dangerous as falling bookshelves, let one fall on you and you were probably going to get hurt, but otherwise slow and easy to see coming.

Humans, however, were always dangerous.


"Haaaa!" The man smashed another skull, stepped forwards while ducking under grabbing arms, and spun the mace into the snapping jaws of another undead.

*Snap* The head of the mace went flying off into the sand with a muffled thud.

Damase sighed as he looked for another weapon. Some of the dead were still clutching their weapons as they laid in the sands. He narrowed his eyes and tore another mace out the hands of a mangled corpse. As he looked onward towards the cliffs, he saw flashes of light and heard the whispers of explosions.

-...I'll sacrifice my right arm if that has nothing to do with the girl-

Raising his mace, he took off towards the flashes of light, crushing the dead who stood in his way.


He came across a grizzly scene; bodies blasted apart with their remains charred beyond recognition, a young girl stood in the midst of them with her arm raised and her chest , a thin stick pointed towards him in a threatening manner.

The witch raised an eyebrow, a bead of sweat trailed down her forehead, and leveled her wand at his chest. "Please, keep your distance." She gestured to the carnage surrounding her. A clear indication of what he would face should he get too close.

"Lower the wand. I was the passed out man on the beach earlier." His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at girl. A girl this young, exiled to Wraeclast by the Church of Theopolis, wielding a wand, with burned bodies around her...He'd bite one of those undead himself if this girl wasn't a witch. "I heard you went out on your own and I was curious if you would be interested in heading towards the walls as a group." He nodded at her grimly, looking at the mass of mangled bodies surrounding them.

"...I don't work with partners. Also, it's not much of a group if it's only two people. What happened to other man. The one who got left behind with you?"

"It's not a permanent solution. Just until the walls then we go our separate ways. Group or partnership it does not matter. People survive longer when banding together. The man, he was attacked by one of the undead on the beach. We were...caught off guard."

"I think I'm doing well on my own and that's not exactly painting you in a positive light. You couldn't react fast enough to save him?" She lowered the wand and slumped over slightly with her hands on her knees. Her hair glistened with sweat and beads of it dripped off her chin and nose.

Damase sighed, this didn't seem to be going well. The witch was clearly used to being alone and those who chose solitude were rarely pulled from it with ease. "I won't defend what happened, it was a mistake that I never intend to make again."

"That's sounds wonderful but intent doesn't mean much when when a dying body is digging its teeth into my throat because you weren't 'prepared' for it."

He let out a groan, this was going nowhere and it seemed that more of the dead were stumbling towards them. "Alright then, just...Do you intend to head towards the wall in the near future?"

"..." She sighed. He didn't seem to be malicious...but the trail of death that followed him here showed that he was dangerous, but he just didn't seem...malicious. Tired, yes. Frustrated, absolutely. Malicious? It didn't seem to fit. Though...she thought back to the Father who had condemned her, he never seemed malicious outwardly; smiling even as he condemned her to exile. Just because a man didn't seem malicious didn't mean he wasn't. No, she thought to herself. She would keep him at arms length and beyond for now. "Yes, I do intend to...eventually."

"Very well then." His lips thinned into a grimace. The Church, with their history of witches, would probably tell him to flatten her skull and send his praises to God in some hypocritical manner.

"Whenever you decide head out, be wary, there are strange creatures lurking in the sands. I haven't encountered them just yet, but I've caught glimpses. I've heard of creatures that hunt in the sands along the coasts back in Oriath. Whether they are the same I do not know. But If they are, your arcane blows may not be enough to take them out. I've heard that their hides are as hard as stone."

He nodded at her and began walking towards the wall. He could not force her to come and forcing his presence on her when she expressed her displeasure towards it would do nothing but anger her. As young as she seemed, she could clearly take care of herself so he wasn't too worried about her.

He stopped one moment and turned his head slightly.

"And if we happen to meet again, my name is Damase."

She raised a single eyebrow as she stared at his back. She half expected him to pester her more but it seemed that he was being sincere. She put his advice to memory, after all, there was no reason to lie to her about being wary of danger. Shaking her head of these thoughts she sat in the sand, letting the cool air caress her. She was used to death surrounding her and despite her earlier bravado, she did need some rest.

-Ugh...a partnership huh...what an idiot-


Another skull exploded in gore as Damase trudged onwards towards the walls.

"The path becomes clearer with each bloody step. Well...clearer of bodies that is."

Damase sighed as he glanced at the wooden pikes, lazily side stepping another poor attempt at a grab and swung his mace into another skull. It seemed that as he got closer to the walls the amount of undead steadily...decreased. A comfort in some ways but unnerving as well.

-Either the walls contain a semblance of civilization and they clear the surrounding areas of the undead...or there's some ghastly freak that's slaughtered everything...-

The sands behind him shifted subtly, a grotesque head poking out from the darkness.

Damase stopped in his tracks and listened quietly, a soft slithering noise sounded from behind him. He tensed his legs as he prepared to dive out the way and then turned his head slightly to one side, listening for continued movement. He had become quite adept at sensing the slight noises that archers made as they hid in the trees; the slight ticks as they nocked their arrows, the groaning of the bow-string as they drew a bolt, and the twanging noise the bow made as it loosed a bolt. This was no different to him.

His eyes widened as he threw his body to the side, hearing a sharp whistling noise come through the air; a black, stone-like object flew through the location his head had just occupied. He took a sharp glanced and saw...

-What the hell kind of spitter is that...Oriath has spitters but...none with that many eyes.-

In front of him was a crustacean-like creature. It's shell smooth, glossy, and black. It's head had held an innumerable amount of red orbed eyes, none of them seemed to follow any path or pattern, instead staring off at different directions. It had a tail, though it was thick with a small opening at the end of it; back in Oriath people had called it the firing appendage.

Dismissing his confusion he took a firm stance facing the malformed creature. He kept his ears open, after all, back in Oriath, Spitters hunted in groups of two to three, overwhelming the opposition with mass fire.

The spitter clicked its mandibles at him and reared its firing appendage once more let loose another stony bolt.

Damase dodged slightly to the side and sprinted towards the creature, weaving left and right to make it harder for the spitter to take aim. Quickly, it began to turn itself around and burrow into the sand once again but Damase slammed his mace into it's back, crushing it in a disgusting squelch.

He got up and paused once again, listening for further movements in the sand.

"Hmmm...no friends? That's odd. Fortunate, but odd..."


Hiding behind a boulder a moderate distance away, the witch stared as she watched Damase crush the insect into oblivion.

-That was...impressively skillful. His reactions are far faster than I originally thought and his speed is incredibly surprising. Makes it more and more doubtful that some undead got the drop on him randomly...-

She watched as he marched onwards to the walls once more. She had decided to tail him after he left; effectively she was using him to clear a path while reserving her strength. She had become accustomed to stalking around silently back in Oriath. Sure, she wasn't a master, but at this distance even a toddler could sneak around without having the man notice.

She smiled as she felt her reserves coming back to full power. However her smile disappeared as she felt the ground shake.

*THUD* …..

*THUD* …..

*THUD* …..

Her eyes widened as she watched a humanoid figure lurch outwards from the shore and back onto the beach. He made the giant she met earlier in the group look pitifully minuscule. His body was riddled with arrows and a massive double-edged broadsword was nested deep in his chest, tearing out through his back.

In the corner of her eyes she saw Damase take a step back as the mammoth bellowed out with a deep roar. She stared towards the distance and saw a set of large wooden gates. While the behemoth was preoccupied turning the man into a red stain in the sands, she could probably run to the gates and get inside...assuming it would open of course.

Maybe another person would have felt a pang in their chest at the thought of abandoning a man to a probably horrifying death but she knew what mankind was like; evil, hypocritical, and vile to the core. No one had shown her mercy back in Oriath, so what was the point of showing it here in Wraeclast.

She drew a deep breath as she saw the massive undead lunge towards Damase. As he leaped to the side, away from the crushing blow, she sprinted straight towards the gates.

As she drew closer and closer to the gates she glanced once towards Damase and for just a fraction of a second, his eyes met hers and he...he nodded at her. She had expected to see some level anger or even wrath but he had just nodded and turned back to the giant.

With a grim look on his face as he rolled out of the way of another crushing blow and swung his mace into the behemoths legs. The damage it seemed to do was...pitifully small.

"Ahh!" She felt something slam against her leg and she slid into the sand face first. Spitting sand out of her mouth, she looked back and saw a pair of spitters staring her down. Her energy shield took all of the damage but she wasn't certain of how many more shots it could take before it drained her. She raised her wand and took careful aim.

*Krack* *Krack* *Krack*

She launched out multiple bolts of power, each one shattering parts of the tough armor. As the spitters turned tail and ran, she lurched back up, intending to continue her dash to the gates. Her nape prickled and her skin felt clammy as she heard loud thudding noises behind her. She didn't dare turn her head now, instead opting to run faster across the sand.

"Shit. Shit shit shit..." Her heart hammered in her chest as the thudding got louder and closer. Slightly further in the distance she could hear Damase shouting something, what it was she couldn't tell and frankly she didn't care all that much at the moment. She dared to glance back for just one instant as the thudding stopped for an instant. She went flying into the floor as the undead slammed into her with a tackle that spun the world into spirals. She felt her shield shatter as she bounced across the sands.

Lying in pain, she stared as the undead stumbled back to its feet and lumbered over to her. She weakly raised her wand, throwing weak blasts of energy in a feeble attempt to ward him off.

She could vaguely make out Damase's sprinting form.

-It's only fair that he abandons me, after all I did the same hadn't I...-

She closed her eyes as the undead raised its gnarled arms, ready to bash her skull in.