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((Posting this here since posting in one thread is easier as Fenix pointed out.))

In the Desert City of Strata Reinhart sat mindful of the message he'd just recieved. Atop one of it's many splendid buildings which faced the ocean an army of flowers surrounded him and the companion that sat opposite of him. White luxurious chairs flanked the white table with complex curves and intricate designs. A crystal glass rested in front of both of them, in the middle was a bottle filled with the finest of wines one culd find in Strata.

The night was clear, the moon shone brightly, and the stars covered the sky above. If it was under different circumstances Reinhart may've stopped to enjoy the scenery, but his mind was somewhere else. His companion sat still, her drink untouched, her hands folded on her lap, her eyes on him. Reinhart rested his elbow on the table cupping his chin, his other hand was comfortably on the arm rest, while his eyes stared blankly into the reflection of the moon in his drink. Moments earlier he was downstairs grabbing what he thought he needed if he went to Barton, he was dressed to kill in a sense.

It was silent, neither of them spoke, the only thing heard was the low howl of the sea breeze and the crasing of waves on the shore. Reinhart raised his eyes from the glass focusing them on his companion.

"Are we going then?"

She said the moment he laid eyes on her, his eyes returned to his drink.

"No WE are not..."

The rest of the sentence was cut off as she added the rest of it herself.

"You are."

Instantly his eyes focused on her again and just as he was about to speak once more she stood from her seat. Reinhart stopped himself from talking further as he knew what she was getting at. Not once did the expression on her face change, not once did she show surprise, she simply stood, pushed her chair in, and gave Reinhart her back. Looking to the sky the images of Barton raced through his head once more, he grabbed his drink.

A half smile appeared on his face before he faced forward again and drank his drink down in one big gulp. She stood almost the way she sat, hands lowered abd folded, facing him now. Next to her was the same sort of drawing she'd made in Guldor not long ago. Setting his glass down he stood from his seat then began making his way to her. Upon taking his first step she'd begun her whispers closing her eyes in the process.

Each sylable she whispered seemed to power the dark violet light that ran over every lines she'd drawn. Reinhart stepped enough to be just in front of her at her side and put his hand up almost as if he was going to lay it on her shoulder.

"...I'm sorry."

He said softly just a bit over her whispers before her hand came up slapping into his creating a soft clap as her eyes opened and the drawing lit up completely.

"I'll wait here."

Looking at each other Reinhart simply nodded before retreating his hand and stepping into the small pillar of dark violet light and the drawing. A moment later he was gone from Strata, she walked to the table and began picking up.

In Barton not far from the person who'd sent the summons Reinhart appeared. His first reaction was looking things over before he turned his head and spotted none other than Maximos in the distance. With no real threat in sight he began making his way to his old friend stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Yo."

He said when he was close enough for Maximos and everyone around him to hear in a neutral tone. They were both here now, the dark, and the nightmare.

The Knight, despite his lack of lips, whistled. It was a sharp little ditty that sort of sounded like a shrill gust of wind. He'd then descend from his post atop the fountain, and move out with Descant, cloak billowing somewhat as he reaffirmed his grip on shield and spear. The eight Spartans encircling the fountain remained on guard for a moment, and then moved into a formation surrounding the new group. If they reached the Arena unabated, then another forty undead warriors would greet them, joining the ranks from all sides. Coming out of the woodwork after a job well done and all that.

And what was that job? Well, simple enough: clean house.

By now it could be assumed the remaining two hundred and forty Spartans had spread all across the city in their squads of twenty. Some of them sated their appetite on wandering locals (taking care to spare enough for turning and research of course), while others dealt with any meager resistance posed by said citizens, with a few careful thrusts of the spear.

After a thorough sweeping of the main areas, squads of sixty would relocate to each gate; first defense against any new intruders. It was no longer their task to weed out the inner resistance of competent humans and metas, and as such they'd do a careful job of avoiding such hotspots as the giant pig, Deity Offices, and that strange gathering of ragtag fellows now forming. However, as far as resistance went, those three groups mentioned would be close to all that was left. The assault had been going quite well, and zombies were everywhere, so no new movements on the defenders' behalves would be easily made.

Of course!

His leg could have been broken while he was bleeding out through a gaping whole in his chest and Maximos still would have said that. And it still would have put a smile from ear to ear on his face. That was just the kind of man he was.

Well thats rather odd. Either way, its good to see you.

Lady Sierra had gone missing? As did Kain? Thats the oddest thing he new reports had all mentioned Sierra being with one of the more famous fighters in the tournament. That man, that Walter had told him about...Maximos was atrocious with names. He was good with jokes though! And Rains morale boosting jest did not go unnoticed, Maximos gave in to a small laugh. The laugh was broken by the sight of someone warping in a bit down the street. Cris.

He's here.

Maximos said, pointing past Rain at the approaching Reinhart, one who's "Yo", was met with a stout nod. His attention, and his eyes were very soon after drawn down the alley behind them, and to the sight of the girl seemingly waiting for notice, and yet beaming with a bit more life than her body seemed used to.

Correction...they are here.

His lifted his right arm, using the sword to sort of wave the girl forward out of the alley.

Its alright, come on out. Whats your name?

"They're just coming out of the woodworks."

He leaned himself on the truck right next to the motorcycle, left arm crossed under his right. Letting the elbow sit lazily on his hip, he bounced what was left of his bandage roll in the free hand.

"And you both look like you're alive, so I guess we're probably set." He didn't really have a clue what was going on. But Maximos was apparantly alright by Owle and Rain, so he would trust the guy, and the business man of course. The new guy who'd shown up he knew nothing about, but hey, that was one more step along, he could deal with that. And the girl who'd just shown up?

Well. He didn't know her, and their jovial new companion didn't seem to know her. He didn't have any reason to trust her, but none not to. Then again, the same could have been said...

Ultimately, it was the fact that she was a woman that won out, and tipped the scales. Maybe he wouldn't want the woman watching his back right off, but he let go of any actual suspicion. He flipped the bandage roll up into the air, and caught it high. It went back into the pouch on his waist and he stood up on his own, stretching his back with a hand on his wound, rubbing sorely while he rolled his shoulders about.

"You know where the exit is." It was only meant for the woman, but he wasn't really directing it at her. He didn't bother jerking a thumb at the gate back behind them. "But as far as everyone who's here to join the fun..."

He brought his gloved hand away clean, though through the rip in his jacket, pinkened bandages shown. He rolled dark eyes over the group lazily.

"Daylight's a'waistin'. Can we keep the introductions brief?"

stomp stomp stomp

"Well look who decided t'show up." Dvalinn cranked the levers down and started working an entire new set. The pig stopped and started turning in place. Now it would be heading west and away from the square.

"I think you should get inside. This place seems a tad unfriendly."

The siege pig would be stomping through buildings and crowds alike if there was anything in the way. Meanwhile the underside of the pig opened and a small ladder fell free from the carriage. Anything with brains could reach up into the air and grab the rungs to climb in.

Several hours ago, first strike of the undead horde.
Location: Barton Arena

So it would seem that all the soldiers garrisoned at the arena were busy fighting the undead horde which steadily grew around the front entrance, leaving Tade to do as he pleased and walk right into the building. Maybe the soldiers thought he was a civilan seeking shelter from the monsters. It was a real possibility; it was safe at the arena wasn't it? Where the holy crusaders of whatever they were could put up a good defense against the invaders and whatnot.

However, the only problem was that they were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

While the soldiers were all busy, firing up the engines of their flying machines, taking off into the sky, lining up their army to repel the attack on the arena, Tade made his way through the building, looking for a nice place to watch from. He managed to take a seat in the stands, front row, as the soldiers charged out to meet the oncoming horde of undead.

And when they were all busy with that, the boy reached into his pocket, pulled out a little silver bell, and gave it a little jingle. A light noise which was drowned out with all the explosions going on in the distance of the city, with the buildings collapsing, and the screaming of people everywhere.

But such a tool was clearly magical, for the sound was not for those within proximity to hear, but those which were someplace else. Not very far away though.

But first, a history lesson.

Barton Arena, once a place filled with action and combat, an old fashioned arena like that of ancient Rome. However, as of late, it was no longer a place of bloodshed, but a place of intellectual competition through the arts rather than combat. The arena was no longer used for such things like battle, its halls lined with artwork, fashion, and miniature model homes.

Old fashioned arenas like that of ancient Rome were build very specifically. They had a place which housed all the beasts, stored all the equipment, served as a ground for the gladiators to organize themselves. Such a place was what was known as the Bloodworks, named so for the blood which occassionally seemed through the arena ground and into the underground chamber of the arena.

The bloodworks was the only place in underground barton which served as a large enough exit point for those who came next, by the call of the little silver bell. The manholes for the sewers would fit men, sure. However, such points were small, allowing one person to exit at a time in scattered locations. And that was stupid. It would be easier to make one large exit.

And that is what happened.

While the soldiers of the Purge was busy defending their frontlines, the pit of the arena burst open, wood, sand, and stone flying in all directions as the bloodworks was exposed. And out they came, like a swarm of spiders from a hole in the wall of a rotting house; drow.

Why? Because undead were easy to deal with given the right tools. Drow however, were not.

With Darshendros' horde attacking from the front, and the sudden appearance of the drow army inside the arena, the Purge soldiers would be caught in a pincer attack, fighting on both sides, cut off from their own equipment and put in a state of chaos and disorder.

In such a position, it was only a matter of time before they fell. Magic fighting magic, blades clashing, chaos all around. Screams of agony, battlecries of bloodlust. Tade simply sat in the stands and watched it all happen. Front row seats and all.


Now
Location: Barton Arena

Time had passed, and the battle came to a close. The Purge was gone. Whether they were completely annihilated, surrendered and put into captivity in a comatose state, or had retreated from Barton since they were not affiliating themselves with the city anyway and was just using it as a stagin point, or a combination of either, the fact remained that the invaders were now the ones which controlled the arena. Of course, Decruda would have liked to have a talk with their leader given the chance if they had surrendered.

And so, with this scene coming to a close, it was time for the second act. Once again, the boy picked up the little silver bell, and give it not one, but two jingles. Meanwhile, the one hundred and fifty remaining drow would be getting into battle order, forming groups and all that.

Out in the distance, outside of Barton, those scattered pairs in hiding would begin casting at the given signal at the same time. And so the cage would be made. Those who wanted to play hero, who were attracted to the thought of fame and glory who came to such a place with the hopes of making a difference had taken the bait, had entered the cage. And Decruda was always in search for the elusive heroes; he'll take their blood, he'll take their power, and it was so much easier to have them come to him than looking for them himself.

Those groups positioned outside of the city put together a ritual spell, braiding an extremely powerful dimensional lock spell which encircled the entire city, a large area which should not have been possible by a single mage alone, but in several groups, positioned in such a way to focus the same spell in the same area, it would be possible.


There would be no quick escapes out of the city. One would have to physically leave the city in order to perform any fancy sorts of escape.

There would suddenly be a very loud wail emanating from the arena, easly heard by the group of heroes which gathered by the east gate; almost like a blare of trumpets.

A signal to begin the hunt.

Barton Arena/Train Station, several hours ago...

The Knights and Guardians of the Purge that were defending the steps of the arena were being driven back by the Horde. With the undead pounding away at them, they couldn't afford a moment's notice to defend their flanks and rears from being attacked by the drow, and their attacks were meaningless with the greater shadesteel golem constantly healing the undead of most of the damage being inflicted upon them. The lich raised the slain bodies of their comrades to fight against them when he wasn't flinging spells that broke down the Guardians' defenses and affected them with a variety of ailments and pain. Eventually, a retreat would be called, and the soldiers would flee to their ships with the Horde at their heels. Their ships would barely get off the ground before a barrage of negative energy blasts rained down upon them from the air.

Vengeance had been awaiting in the skies for the enemy to use their ships. They already had the advantage, being in the air with their weapons trained upon them, so it wouldn't have taken more than the push of a button to send a rain of negative energy fire down upon the Purge's ships, destroying them if not severely crippling them. The concentration of negative energy in each shot was so much, that nothing living caught in the blasts would survive.

With the sudden appearance of an army of drow coming from within the arena, the Purge would be thoroughly defeated. The arena was lost.

At around the same time, the group at the train station had an easy time dispatching the pair that had attacked them... or maybe they had fled. As they went about "securing" the train station, the group's necromancer was sent a message that the high priest would be on ground soon, and they were to rendevouz with him as soon as their objectives were completed.

Barton Arena, present time...

With the hours that passed since the end of the battle at the arena, the lich strengthened his forces with that of the zombified bodies of several dead members of the Purge, and put them on guard around the arena's perimeter. Chaszmyr and the two drow lieutenants with him kept themselves seperate from the drow army, taking to the shadows within the arena. Their work was done. The lich stood within the confines of the arena, with the golem hovering closeby. He sent a message out to any remaining attack groups to rendevouz at the arena, a call that would only be answered by the group from the train station only, as all the others had been defeated.

Vengeance descended from the skies and hovered a couple thousand feet over Barton, casting its great shadow upon the doomed town; a testament to the city's fall, if there ever was one. All that was left was to raise the flag. Nobody thought of bringing one though.

The high priest arrived at the arena with the group he had rendevouzed with, and the lich conceded command to him.

"Well done, General," Alex complimented. The lich simply nodded.

Chaszmyr suddenly appeared beside them - not shadowstepping or teleporting or anything, just damned stealthy.

"My work here is done, and our contract is at an end," the drow stated.

"Once more, you have been a great service," Alex said.

"I serve only the Dragon's needs, not your own." Chaszmyr took the remaining five drow that came with him and they jumped down the hole in the arena's pit. They would know how to make their way back, at least to the outside of the dimension locked area, where they could then slip into the shadows.

The Horde's part was now over. It was time to begin Act II.