"Well don't just stand there with your dicks in your hands! Dig in!" Her new master said with wide and open arms, standing before the long table with more food in one place than she had seen in her entire life. Having lived a somewhat impoverished lifestyle, even under master Krell, Fredericka had to martial herself greatly to restrain herself from drooling at the sight of so much succor.

And how could she not! What lay within the great hall of what was once the now deceased Lord Chilfroy's great hall was an assortment of cooked chicken, beef, pork from slaughter pigs, cheeses that gave a strong and pungent scent, with an assortment of different wines littered throughout the table.

What drew her attention the most was that there were several bowls of what her master had called 'spaghetti', a dish that she had heard was quite common in the border princes, but had never seen nor tried herself. It was Lyle's pride and joy he claimed, seeing as to how he had a personal hand in the concoction of the noodles, meatballs, and sauce that went into, patiently yet strictly going over with the castle cooks on the process of creating it. Something that they were more than willing to do to the letter, most likely feeling as though their lives depended on it with their new employer.

Knowing her master, Fredericka knew that was far from the case, especially since he seemed to enjoy himself cooking the meal, for whatever reason she couldn't fathom. Though she had to wonder what joy was there in cooking when you could have servants or even your undead thralls acquire the sustenance they needed? Just another mystery and annoyance to add to her master's litany actions.

Regardless of this banquet-no...this feast laid out before them, Fredericka wouldn't be able to lie to herself in saying that she would love nothing more than gorge herself, even if it meant losing a bit of face. But no. With a large number of other peasants in the room who were awkwardly standing near the entrance of the great hall, she felt she needed to keep herself as dignified as one could with the situation that her oh so frustrating master had laid out before her and fellow necromancers, who were also standing near their new leader. They looked as uncomfortable and wary of the situation as she was Lyle continued to beckon the ramrod and petrified looking peasants, who had longed been stripped of their weapons once the fighting had died down. If it were her choice she would have them languishing in cages, dungeons, or gibbets to keep them corralled and send a message, but alas. She had chosen to put him in charge and now she must lie with the decision.

"Come oooonn! Are you seriously gonna keep me waiting here? It ain't right to start a meal unless everyone's seated where I come from y'know!" The leader of the Barrow Legion smiled at the unnerved peasants. "Listen, you guys must be starvin'! And I know for a fact that me and boys n' girls ain't gonna eat all of this? So why just stand there and let it go to waste?"

Fredericka could see it in their eyes. Ravenous hunger with eyes far bigger than their stomachs being tempted further due to Lyle's honeyed words, made more effective by the intoxicating aroma of the spread before them. She couldn't blame them really. She just had more restraint, with some of the younger-looking peasants openly drooling on the floor. Yes, they'd definitely never seen this much readily available food.

Sadly whether they took it was another matter, as a stern-faced, withered, and older peasant levy stepped forward from the throng of peasants, showing himself to be a grey beard in every sense of the word. "Don't be fooled, lads. Don't take the word of this heretic so easily! This is but another test that the lady has given us to resist!"

That certainly seemed to embolden the peasants' fear and resistance with some openly nodding at the words, but Fredericka could see many others staring longingly at the feast before them. Still, no one made any moves to taste the lovely meal before them. It was enough to make Fredericka curl her lip in disgust. The sheer arrogance and stupidity to not take what was before them. It only reinforced why she left these 'people' long ago.

But, her master was unfettered, just shrugging openly and pulling out a seat for himself at the head of the long table. "Aight. That's fine." He smiled as he tucked a napkin into his robe and underneath his chin, getting himself a plate of pork and cheese, with a bowl of his well-crafted 'spaghetti'. "More for me. Or I guess more for us." He said cheekily as he shoved a fork full of pork into his mouth, chewing on it loudly, before blinking and looking behind him. "Ey! Freddy! What are you guy's standin' around for, don't tell me you guys are just gonna let me eat all of this grub myself?"

Opening her mouth in response, she suddenly looked at her fellow necromancers who looked as surprised as she was. Actually, at this point, she was becoming less surprised by the antics of her master at this junction. She could plainly see what her master was aiming at this point. She felt it was a futile gesture, perhaps, but at the same time, she couldn't deny the desire to gorge herself on the food that was before her. Even the food she had when training and traveling with Master Kemmler paled in comparison to the glorious food before her.

Ultimately, she decided to humor her master, breaking the stalemate so to speak, by taking the seat on the right of her master, indecisive as to where she could begin before being surprised at Lyle seemingly already preparing a plate for her, with the plate being quite similar to his.

"Enjoy yourself, Freddy. And what about the rest o' you guys!?" He asked suddenly to the rest of the nine necromancers that were present and weren't needed to maintain the undead outside and oversee the walls who were quick to move at the new master's urging. Their gaunt and often thin frames show how little they ate, even in positions of power within the barrow legion. "God knows you guys need the food. When I can see your bones with that little amount of flesh, that just goes to show you guys need to go on an Italian diet if ya know what I mean...actually you probably don't seein' as you probably don't even what Italians are, do ya?" Her master rambled to himself with his mouth full, feasted upon the food before him.

"I...I believe that there is a similar Tilean saying master, but the exact saying escapes me." Fredericka admitted before she put in a fork full of spaghetti, only to have to will herself from making noises that would have been unbecoming for a practitioner of Negash's magic.

What was this flavor!? Where did it come from? Never before had she tasted noodles that had such a kick in taste to them! Not before she left home, nor after! What in Nagash's name did Lyle put into them? Did he have some sort of ingredient that he snuck in? Was it some magic that he had discovered without her knowing? Was such a thing even possible!? The closest she had come to this level of flavor was when she was a barmaid back in Stirland, but even that wasn't saying much considering the...questionable dietary choices that Stirlanders had.

Regardless of the answer, the necromancer looked around her and saw the same looks of euphoric disbelief on her compatriot's face, with some split between looking in surprise at the level of savory yet sweet flavor coming from the sauce and the meatballs, with the other half digging in heartily, eyes as wide as dinner plates showing their appreciation for the surprising skill in their master's cooking.

Her master looked more than pleased at their reactions. "Glad to see someone approves!"

The greybeard from earlier, was not willing to stay silent in the face of all of this, as even his most stubborn peasants started looking longingly at the spaghetti. "Stay strong at his temptations men! For all, we know he...he most likely poisoned the plates that they are not eating! Who knows! They could even enjoy and sustain themselves off the poison!"

"Ey….old timer." Lyle groused, after slurping now some noodles and wiping tomato sauce off his lips. "If I wanted ya, dead, don't ya think I would have done so earlier? Why bother killin' you all now?"

"You're a necromancer!" The greybeard ranted as he glared nastily. "You lot enjoy toying with the living before you turn them into tools for your dead legions!"

"Master Lyle." The necromancer to his left said his bald head and sunken eyes. Schmitz, one of the more fanatical of Kemmler's past supporters as Fredericka recalled. "Let us give that old filthy codger the gaze of Nagash. His warbling tongue could use some silencing."

Ignoring Schmitz, Lyle shrugged mildly as he addressed the paranoid grey beard. "Listen, old-timer. I got better things to do than to think of convoluted ways to kill ya. I mean that. Cooking up this incredible banquet for you guys so that we could break the ice is just a good example of that. Plus if I really wanted you dead, why do you think I got my bone boys here as insurance?"

The 'bone boys' as master put it were around twenty skeleton warriors on the farthest parts of the room, with ten on each side, standing by at attention, waiting for the slightest bit of trouble that these filthy peasants could even think of starting. Fredericka nearly begged her master to put more in the room, but as always he brushed her off when it came to matters such as these, building her frustrations and even resentment toward him further which was only tempered by the exquisite food he had helped cook. He should at the very least bring his staff with him, instead of just leaning it against the table!

"In short, old-timer." Lyle continued. "The only thing you gotta worry about is actin' like an ass at the dinner table. You do that and I'll snap my fingers…and if I snap my fingers?" Lyle gestured as he held up his middle finger and thumb together with every skeleton in the room, swiveling their bony heads toward him in unison. "Then their bony fingers are gonna snap you...damn, I always wanted to say that." He said that last part to quietly to himself.

"Then we will have no part in your heretical feast...heretic!" The old man spat. "If you have nothing else to offer us, then we will be on our way-

"Ah, ah, aahhh!" Lyle tutted, wagging his finger with two skeletons near the door sliding in place, blocking off the exit. "Where I come from, it's pretty damn rude to leave the dinner table before the meal is over. So you can either stand there and pout or you can act like adults and join in on the meal that I and your fellow peasants worked so hard on!"

"You're giving us no choice in the matter!"

"Sure I am!" Lyle laughed, seemingly entertained by the grey beard's defiance. "You can either act like kids and stand there with your dicks in your hands as I pointed out earlier, or you can have some quality grub! Plus, since when did you speak for your fellow oppressed peasants my man? Are you another one of those assholes of noble blood and in shining armor who gets off at keeping the little man down and just happened to forget to take a bath and go to a barber or somethin'? Or did your wife mix up your clothes with the...whatever your wearin' now."

That garnered a few chuckles out the necromancers, with Fredericka herself being one of those who suppressed the chortle of amusement that bubbled in her throat. Many of the peasants looked less than pleased, with the greybeard predictably moreso. What surprised almost everyone there, Fredericka included, was that a young-looking peasant with bloody bandages on his face stepped forward, looking more than a little tired, but also irritated. Silence reigned is this young sandy-haired peasant with these hastily assembled bandages looked back at his fellow peasants and more pointedly at the old greybeard with the old man returning the gesture with a warning look. Ultimately the young and wounded levy walked away from his fellows and down the table, pointedly sitting right next to another necromancer who looked more than a little off-put but also surprised at his presence. Pulling hit chair and sitting down the young man looked questionably at the food before looking at a smiling Lyle.

"Go on kid! Help yourself! No offense, but from the looks of your face, I'd say you've earned it...and eh...sorry if it was one of my bone boys who did that-

"It was not." The wounded levy ground out before his eyes shifted. Suddenly he gave a short bow with his head. "Thank you for the food, my lord."

"Don't mention it! Now come on! Help yourself kid!"

And help himself he did. This bandaged peasant boy predictably lacked any table manners and sophistication that Fredericka and her ilk had learned from their time among the legion, but even then she couldn't remember them eating together like this in...for as long as she could remember. Not like this at least. No. Instead, he ate with his hands, quite literally digging into his spaghetti and eating fistfuls of the noodles and sloppily slurping on the food, chewing audibly much to the disgust of even necromancers who work with reanimated corpses for a living.

Even Lyle couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Ehhh...you do have a fork and spoon over there right my man?"

Looking at him in surprise, the peasant boy swallows his food before looking at Lyle with uncertain eyes. "F-forgive me my lord...never used em' before."

"Never?"

"Never."

"You've...you've seen them before at least right?"

"Only from a distance away m'lord...when the other lords would eat at their own camps or within their tents or rooms."

"Huh...so they can't even bother to give you the tools to eat with then?" Lyle asked with a wince of sympathy. "Do you at least wash your hands?"

"...why would I wash my hands m'lord?"

That gave Lyle pause as he for the first time noticed the filthy hands that seemed to cake the young peasents hands while holding a fistfull of spaghetti. It was then that Fredericka noticed just how pale her master was getting. Even she had to raise an eyebrow. Was such a thing truly disturbing to him? Fredericka had never seen the point in cleaning her hands as a peasent, much less as a necromancer when she was sorting through rotted corpses...now that she thought about it, he always seemed to wash his hands especially hard when he was cooking their meal, and even when they were traveling...it was odd to her.

"I uh...yeah…" Lyle started trying to find his words. "If my ma were here, she would probably smack ya upside the head for the laundry list of bad table manners you got goin' on but I'll let you off the hook THIS time since I'm such a nice guy." Lyle said, with a questioning look towards Fredericka herself. "Christ, you didn't wash your hands either Freddy?"

This time it was she that was at a loss. "...is it truly such a grave matter master?"

"Ehhh fuggedaboutit." Her master conceded. "Let's just enjoy the grub. I'll deal with THAT mess later." The new necromancer conceded as he stabbed away some pork before shoving some more of the succulent meat in his mouth. With a small shrug, the wounded peasant resumed shoving handfuls of spaghetti into his mouth as well, doing nothing to improve Fredericka's opinion of her former countrymen all the while.

Fredericka herself was about to resume eating the 'grub' that her master loved when she noticed more peasants heading towards the table. The amount of attention they drew was impossible to ignore when suddenly a torrent of them was moving towards the many available seats that were free for them to occupy, with some moving quickly to join their wounded compatriot, grabbing handfuls of pork, beef, cheese, and spaghetti and stuffing their faces as swiftly as they were able.

Now Fredericka couldn't help but show her open disgust at the way these men conducted themselves, in her eyes, acting no better than herded animals that were truly at the mercy of the nobles that constantly lorded over them. Animals that she once upon a time ago shared more in common with than she cared to remember once upon a time ago. Once again she found herself wondering why her master was so adamant in sharing a meal with this ignorant and dirty filth, but sadly she knew the answer. Even if they were nothing more than a supply for corpses and cheap labor, her master saw otherwise. It was a very...non-necromantic way of looking at things. A perspective that would prove troublesome down the line.

He wanted to get on their good side he mentioned before. To put them at ease. She had to question why on earth her master would feel such a need to do so when he had an entire legion of undead at his beck and call to keep his new subjects in line. Why bother wasting so much food on this lot when he could just scare them into submission? Master Kemmler displayed this perfectly on those unfortunate to live near their stronghold.

A waste of time, a waste of food, and a waste of Fredericka and her fellow necromancers' patience.

Oddly enough, however, it seemed that even the sour and ungrateful grey-beard along with his most stubborn compatriots were headed towards the table they didn't seem to be reaching towards any food, but they were seated, all the same, leaving a very satisfied-looking Lyle who couldn't help but let a very self-assured smile grow on his face, clearly looking very pleased with himself.

After a short while of the feast continuing, with her fellow necromancers, Schmitz especially looking scornfully at the filthy peasants and said peasants for the most part busying themselves with the food, the calm that had settled over the great hall was suddenly broken. And if she were honest to herself, Fredericka knew that such peace would not last with a person as wayward as her new master. To her chagrin, she was once again proven right when after a good portion of the food had taken a sizeable dent in terms of size, her master suddenly stood up from his seat, holding up an empty glass and tapping on it lightly with a fork, getting the attention of necromancer and peasant alike, with some on both sides looking displeased at their meal being interrupted.

"Now far be it from me to keep a man from gettin' some much-needed supper, but I think I speak for everyone when it comes to addressing the fact that this feast r' banquet or whatever it is you wanna call it...it ain't just about food, sad to say." Lyle addressed stepping away from his seat and walking around the corner of his side of the table. "Thing is...I feel like there's some...false advertisin' you guys have been given, you've been fed some BS that quite frankly...just ain't true." Lyle declared wagging a finger knowingly like a teacher correcting an errant student. "Now the late lord Chilfroy told you some things that were quite frankly not true. Quite frankly offensive. So offensive in fact, that if my ma was there to hear it, she woulda smacked the late lord upside the head for the mess he was talkin'. All that crap, you heard about the things I did in Gisoreux? Fake news. Bullshit. All of it. The lady de Gisoreux and her daughter are doin' just fine back at their manor and I don't want anyone sayin' otherwise capiche?" He asked pointedly, his eyes sweeping across the table at the many dirty faces before him with most bowing their heads or outright finding their food more interesting to invest their time in. When he didn't receive a reply. Lyle raised an eyebrow. "Ey. I said capiche...do you understand what I'm sayin'.

After some low mutterings in affirmation, Lyle still looked unsatisfied, approaching two of the closest peasants near him, Lyle caused both of them to nearly jump out of their skin when he roughly clapped their shoulders with his hands. "Pretty rude for you guys not to answer whe-

"WE UNDERSTAND!" came the more collective reply from most of the peasants at the table. Some went so far as to bow their heads with their faces nearly touching their food. Fredericka nearly laughed at the irony of it all.

"Good to hear!" Lyle smiled. "But hey now. Don't you all go actin' scared now, I ain't gonna thump ya on the head for havin' bad manners at the table! That's my ma's job and she ain't here. Nah. Believe it or not I'm here to help you guys out! Give ya a helpin' hand so to speak."

Suddenly a man near the grey beard, with a heavily scarred face stood up from his seat, his face stern, eyes hard. "So you call bringing an army of the dead and slaughtering your way through our countrymen helping us?"

To his credit, Lyle had the temerity to wince. "Not like I wanted that to happen. I mean I woulda asked to be let in, all gentlemen like, but after a two-faced schmuck named Gerome decided to try and kill me during a parlay, I figured these plated thugs weren't honorable enough to have talks with my life intact."

"They...tried to harm you during parlay?" A young man sitting next to the scarred levy asked, his eyes wide at the declaration.

Lyle of course nodded in affirmation. "Damn near succeeded. Instead, they clipped my boy Wendel and nearly killed him in the process! For guys' that talk about honor they sure like to change up how they perceive it-

"And your saying we should trust your heretical tongue?" The scarred soldier interjected, glaring at the boy next to him before leveling his gaze right back at Lyle. "I'm not so willing to take the word of a necromancer over that of a lord of Brettonia."

"Oh yeah? Then where is he?"

The scarred man blinked at the question, giving Lyle room to ask another. "This Gerome guy. I heard from a few of you boys that he was here, was he not? I didn't see him among the shiny plated bastards that were on the battlefield. I know, cause I had my bone boys check...so with that bein' said...where is he?"

"...perhaps he…fled to get help from the king?" The young levy asked before being helped firmly in his shoulder by the scarred man. A tad bit too late, however.

"Oh?" Lyle smiled realizing he had them. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but your precious knights and lords like to make a big deal about honor and whatnot am I right? Right. So with that bein' said, is running away from battle, not once, but twice a very honorable thing to do when it comes to this...chivalric code they like to blather on about? Never mind the fact that this guy didn't just leave the battle twice, but he left his family! His wife and his kid daughter are back at Gisroeux! Granted I didn't anything with them, but still! You think that's honorable?"

Eyes began to shift around the table as peasants began to look and mutter with one another, the scarred levies face faltering at the question while Lyle pressed onwards. "I didn't think so. I don't know how you guys measure honor round' here whether it be with a ruler, a book, or some metaphorical crap, but that's not the kind of guy I'd put my trust into. And well...if the late lord Chilfroy put him in charge to watch over Gisoreux which I took pretty damn easily, does that sound like someone you can trust?...someone you can trust to protect your family? Not that I wanna speak ill o' the dead or anythin'!" Lyle declared raising his hands up in faux surrender.

Soon low mutterings began to be heard throughout the great hall, with many peasants trying and failing to discreetly talk to their fellow Brettonians. People like the wounded boy from earlier seemed to be focused entirely on Lyle's every word, his curiosity piqued and attention now devoted to listening to what the new necromancer would say next while people such as the grey beard continued to glare fiercely.

Fredericka herself couldn't help but be a bit impressed at how her new master seemed to connect with the peasantry on such issues, much like at the ill-fated parlay at Gisoreux. If nothing else, even though he made questionable decisions at times, there was no denying the charisma he had with the lower rungs of Brettonian society.

Lyle continued to talk in the midst of all of this walking further down the table. "But, hey. If ya don't believe me, or still feel like you can rely on these chumps to lead you to prosperity, let me find out personally just how good of a job they do." Lyle asked before coming to a stop near the center of the table. "Show of hands! Who here has to give up the ludicrous amount of nine-tenths of their harvest to the lord that...well...lords over them?"

It was slow at first, but after a few hands were raised, more hands followed. Even those that showed open distaste towards the necromancer raised their hands, as if proud of their answer.

Nodding in satisfaction Lyle pressed onwards, but with a more notably grim look on his face. "Sounds bout' right...show of hands again...who here has had a family member that starved to death?"

A few hands went down, but noticeably, not many of them did. Most notable of those with their hands still raised were the bandaged levy and even the old grey beard, though he seemed to be on the verge of pulling his hand down.

"...right...and how many people asked the oh so late n' great lord Chilfroy for help?"

This time it was Lyle's turn to be baffled as everyone's hands unanimously came down. It seemed he was wholly unprepared for that to be the answer. Fredericka just shook her head. He truly was ignorant of customs here. "Not one of you? Not even if you're family was starving?" Lyle asked with no small amount of heat in his voice.

The bandaged boy spoke up once more. "No point in it...Chilfroy always sided with the nobility in everything, why draw the wrong kind of attention-

"Watch your tongue boy!" The greybeard suddenly snarled on his feet.

"A bit rude to interrupt don't you think old man?" Lyle sniped, gesturing for the bandaged boy to continue.

Staring stonily at the fuming grey beard, the bandaged boy turned his gaze back to Lyle. "...there's nothing to add m'lord...anyone who asked for the lowering of harvest rates, had to argue against the local lord of the land...Chilfroy never went against the nobility...never."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Far too many experiences."

Lyle couldn't help but look sympathetic towards the young and battered youth. "...what's your name kid?"

"Rudy m'lord."

"The names Lyle. Lyle Spoletta. Nice to meet ya Rudy." The necromancer smirked, offering a hand to Rudy. The youth seemed momentarily taken aback by the gesture before warily yet steadily returning it, clasping his right hand firmly with Lyle who gave him a single hardy handshake. "I take you got some beef with the late lord?"

"...beef m'lord?"

"Another way we say 'grudge' back home."

"...he did this to my face."

"What for?"

"...fleeing in battle."

A harsh laugh came from the grey beard. "A well-deserved marking then!"

"Yeah, cause you did a great job of goin' down with the ship, didn't you old-timer?" Lyle sniped, with a leveled gaze. "You just wanted to live Rudy. Can't fault ya for that. God knows I woulda probably run sooner if I were in your shoes."

"...I appreciate your outlook. But, I didn't just flee for my life. I...I...I didn't want to die for a man who helped my family starve when my father repeatedly asked for help, only to get turned away at every turn." Rudy said lowly, clenching his hands so hard that he nearly drew blood, with said hands going pale at the tension. "I couldn't die for a man like that. I refused."

"And the lady will smite you for such cowardice and selfishness!" A man next to the greybeard shouted.

"She sure is takin' her time." Lyle quipped. "For me especially, given what I've done."

The old man looked like he wanted to spit venom. "The lady is patient as she is just. Her followers have risen over worse than you."

"First time for everything old-timer." Lyle snarked strutting over to the man with confidence that Fredericka felt was greatly bordering on arrogance. "Honestly, there's no reason for that kinda talk from you. I'm here to help you believe it or not."

The greybeard scoffed. "By tempting us with the heretical powers you play with monster?"

"How about cutting your 9/10th food tax to just half for a start?"

Now it was the grey beard's turn to be taken aback along with all of the other levies within the room, some looking at one another, wondering if they had just heard right.

Seeing that he had them Lyle continued. "Yeah, I see I got your curiosity. Now lemme get your attention. With these bone boys at my disposal, you guys are probably not gonna have to do much fighting from now on if at all. These guys can do it for ya! No more fighting' for metal-plated jerk-offs who make it their goal in life starve you and your families half to death. Instead, lemme just do the fightin' on your behalf."

"And you intend to" The grey beard seemed to be choking on the sheer lunacy of what was being uttered. "...to just walk over the law of the lady and strike out against the other lords of Brettonia?"

"Well shit I already did so in Gisoreux and here. Why not again? Doesn't seem like she has a problem with it."

"You assume too much necromancer!" A peasant next to the grey beard shouted.

"Hey, if miss bathwater queen has such a problem with it, she can take it up with me. Instead I'll ju-GYYYAAAAAAAAA-

The sound of Lyle suddenly screaming bloody murder jolted everyone in attendance at the sheer suddenness of the change in the situation before them. Where there was once a cocky and swagger filled necromancer, there was now a necromancer stumbling backward howling in pain, a steak knife sticking out of his side as two levies rushed at him, one grasping Lyle's left sleeve the other hurtling at him with another knife, rearing back and plunging it into his gut.

A flurry of activity quickly followed. Suddenly several other peasants were rushing at Lyle with steak knives and even forks in their grasp. One of them, strangely enough, was holding a spoon, but the vicious look on his face showed that it was pure ill intentions.

Fredericka and the rest of the necromancers were already on their feet, scrambling for their staffs nearby to quickly go through mental incantations to save their new leader before he became their late leader.

While this was happening Lyle was quite literally on the back foot. The leader of the Barrow Legion was scrambling backward, his brain running a mile a minute as his stomach began to bleed profusely, with multiple stab wounds still being added on as the frenzy-eyed peasant to his right continued to put on the hurt with the knife.

As Lyle scrambled back wide-eyed at how sudden his life was being put into danger, he felt himself crash back first into the bony rib cage of the skeleton which had been approaching from behind to assist its master. The problem was so that Lyle was so frenzied that he had no idea that anyone was behind him, much less one of his skeletons. So when he DID run back first into it, the skeleton was predictably knocked right off its feet, since it was only bones, a sword, and a shield, it couldn't hold up the weight of three people bearing down upon it.

When all three individuals fell right onto the skeleton it nearly exploded into pieces, with its head, legs, and even some of its ribs scattering away at the impact. Its sword-arm and shield lay to the sides of Lyle as he grunted in and yelled in desperation, struggling to shove the two snarling peasants on top of him.

Other skeletons were moving towards their master, but some of the peasants from the table were faster, sprinting over with steak knives, trays, and other kitchen wear that they could get their hands on, slamming their bodies into the bony constructs. The greybeard, in particular, was the most vocal of the bunch, directing traffic as some peasants started hurtling themselves towards the necromancers, actually managing to stab one in the arm while curses and yelling filled the hall along with the sounds of violent struggles.

Lyle was more focused on his well being at that moment however as he had managed to grab the hand of the peasant which had been stabbing him, but that had done little to stop the peasant along with his friend from choking him out, one pressing his hands on his face, the other wrapping his dirty fingers around his throat.

Lyle was panicking as his struggles grew more frantic. His legs kicked out futilely as more of his blood began to spill from his stomach and pool around him. He was suddenly cursing himself mightily, for not asking Fredericka to learn more offensive spells. He cursed himself for blowing her off on learning his lessons and instead of continuing to go about business as usual. But, he was especially cursing himself for not bringing more skeletons and being so careless around some fanatical and fatalistic peasants who were very determined to see him dead.

His vision began to blur, His grip on the knife hand began to weaken, as it inched closer to his already cut-up and bleeding stomach. The peasants on top of him began to show strain heavily on their faces as they came closer to ending Lyle's life.

Suddenly the peasent holding the knife stiffened, the force he was putting on Lyle's neck slackening. The Jersey native suddenly breathed in a sharp intake of air, seeing as clear as day an arm wrap around the pain-stricken peasant's neck as a knife found its way into his temple. And then his neck. And then he was yanked off of the necromancer with blood coming from his afflicted areas, leaving Lyle a brief glimpse of the bandaged form of Rudy pulling the peasant off of him, continuing to stab his still struggling body when another peasent dived on top of him, causing another struggle to break out.

With only one peasant now on top of him, Lyle looked around his body for anything to use as his current would-be killer continued to try and get a grasp on his throat, forcing the necromancer to twist and turn his body to escape his dirty grasping fingers. It was then that he saw the twitching left arm of the skeleton he had fallen upon, still grasping tightly upon the sword it held. Thinking quickly, Lyle reached out and grabbed the skeletal arm, which unfortunately gave the peasent on top of him more leverage to resume choking him again.

With air and blood being found lacking in his body once more, with the last of his dwindling strength, the new leader of the Barrow Legion, lifted the arm which stopped spasming wildly and with a few awkward twists, suddenly turned the joints in its elbow and then stabbed the peasent in the side of his stomach with a surprisingly powerful thrust, causing him to gasp out in pain. This was driven further home as the bony appendage shoved the sword in deeper and twisted, causing the peasant to fall off on his side, taking the sword and bony arm with him.

A gurgle and groan erupted from his mouth, as he struggled for a beat, but ultimately began to slow with his ruby-red blood spilling onto the ground and intermingling with Lyle's who stared on to ensure the deed was done.

Just as he was about to relax, the grey beard who seemed to have some cuts on his face from doing battle with the skeletons noted Lyle's weakened state and with a steak knife of his own in hand, charged at the necromancer, bloody murder pouring from his mouth.

Lyle stared wide-eyed at this damned old-timer who had murder on the mind coming at him with a fanatic gleam in his eyes, and briefly considered using the Invocation of Nehek to heal his wounds and try to get himself out of this situation but immediately realized it was nothing but folly. It would take too long to bend the different winds of magic to his will to create True Dhar and use the spell before it was too late. Plus without his staff, it would take far more magic to use and in turn, take far longer!

Lyle's thoughts began to turn to his mom. Probably wondering where he was and at the idea that she may now never see him again, going mad with grief at his disappearance. His father pulling overtime to keep her and the family together. His brother and sisters-

-A sudden black bolt of energy slammed into the grey beard's body, reducing him to charred bones and flesh in a near-instant. The shockwave of which was so sudden and powerful that it set Lyle sliding backward hitting the top of his head against the wall nearby and causing his world to go black.

A/N: He was doing just fine until he started shit-talking The Lady. Alas we're all prone to mistakes. I'm just glad that I managed to get this chapter out faster than I thought I would, which gives me room to fit more into my next chapter. Also if you guys think I'm bashing Brettonia or have a vendetta against them I don't. I actually find Brettonia quite fascinating in its place within the Old World and how it's managed to survive with its feudal structures intact for years upon years. Lyle just shits on them a lot because:

A: he's pretty damned arrogant if you haven't noticed.

B: It's easy for a person from our generation to look at Brettonia and openly scoff at how archaic their society looks in comparison to ours, much less in comparison to The Empire. If the average American or even European doesn't care much for how the middle eastern states govern themselves their opinion of Brettonia wouldn't be very high either, even with all of the hard work that the knights and lords put in to protect the people from...well...literally anything and everything in Warhammer that's trying to murder, rape, eat, or corrupt you in the most horrifying of ways.

Also please leave a review and let me know what you guys think thus far, along with what you like and don't like. I appreciate everything, thank you.