I prepared to attack as the army of the dead just yards ahead of me charged as one to my position.
In the form of a human, stealing magic was a matter of difficulty and skill. It could be managed, but it took time and effort to manage just a fraction of what I could do in an instant in the body of an High-elf.
Considering my usual methods of matching up to stronger foes, that was quite a weakness when I currently had to spend most of my time in the body of Flint.
I had been working on these skulls ever since I took up the Mantel of Marcus Moonbrook. It was the culmination of my efforts so far.
Antheol had done most of the heavy lifting in the creation of the inscriptions themself, centered around a soul gathering ritual Tim had taught me to aid in the use of raising the undead.
They represented a mix of scourge inscription and arcane enchantment designed to hold a significant amount of power.
I had them made primarily to work as long lasting Golem cores, capable of keeping Golems active for decades, but they held other uses for me.
Unkeyed to the task of keeping a construct of mine functioning they could be used as power sources to increase the striking power of spells without me channeling the magic directly through my body as I had before I died.
They were a perfect answer to the restrictions of the human body. The skull in my hand glowed red as I drew upon the souls who had once been trapped on this land, bound by the curse afflicting it.
In an instant, sorcerous lightning surged from my hands, emanating the same red glow. It plowed through several dozen undead, before striking the form of the closest abomination lumbering towards me.
It exploded into gore, spraying rotten blood and guts around the location it once stood. My Harvest Golems met the horde at the same moment.
The mechanical constructs tore through the simple undead with sickening ease, sawing through the carcasses with whirling saws and scythe like claws.
They moved with speed belying their size, covering the distance of at least a dozen yards in the blink of an eye, charging ahead of my and removing all worry in my mind of losing this fight.
Each of the Golems were worth at least a hundred zombies, but the real test was against the smattering of abominations themselves. I had been able to count around five of them inside the wandering field of undead in the graveyard.
Within spitting distance of me an abomination took the buzzing saw of one of my golem's to the gut, grunting as it swung down its massive meat cleaver with a deafening clang.
The Golems head bent at a ninety degree angle, and it halted it's attack.
In the next moment the golems scythes closed around the Abominations stitched together head, crushing it in an instant. I hummed as the massive pile of flesh collapsed into the earth.
This was why I didn't want to focus on just necromancy. The undead were scary and easy to make, but their real strength would almost always lie in numbers.
I stood back and watched as my Golems did their gruesome work, occasionally blasting the undead that slipped through the ranks with arcane flame or shadowed lightning.
Of course, these creatures had no leadership, no master necromancer directing and empowering them into an actual threat. Something even a couple of humans could handle if it came in small portions.
The people of Duskwood may never really understand just how lucky they were there was no Scourge leadership in the area.
Once my servants began to push forward through the ranks, clearing through the few abominations in the area, I knew the battle was already over. I trailed behind them, drawing on my new battery to burn away the corpses of the damned.
It would be a shame to kill them all now only to have some Arch-lich wander in and destroy the surrounding countryside.
When the last of the undead where torn apart and reduced to charnel I rearranged the golems around me, before I turned us around and began making my way toward Darkshire.
Now that I was convinced in my ability to keep the promises I made, and had proof I could help these people I could arrange things in my favor.
Darkshire would spread word of a freed Westfall, and a saviour bringing monsters capable of beating back the darkness now encapsulating their homeland.
I would be proving Westfall had the power to do what Stormwind couldnt, paving a way to a new united people.
A kingdom in my image. A people whos will was but a reflection of my own.
Under the veneer of personally taking up my magic against the evils within Duskwood I would be able to disappear into the shadows, and make may way to the Swamp of Sorrows.
Within the murk of that corrupted swamp I would garner a glimpse at a bastion of Blood magic and darkest Voodoo, where the trolls Worshiped Hakkar The Soulflayer, the Loa of Blood.
I had no intentions of doing anything but observing the temple where they were attempting to resurrect their god, but I gathered even that presented much to learn about the art.
Surrounding that temple however was the real prize I was looking for.
The Green Dragonflight had sent agents to fight the resurrection of Hakkar, and though they had mostly been captured and enslaved to the very purpose they had been trying to combat, they had made a mistake that left me with a very rare opportunity.
Within the depths of the swamps I knew there were hundreds of Green Dragon whelps. With very little in the way of protection.