The Catacombs

It had been a week since the ambassador Yerazin had reported of the possibility of a shard surfacing in their trade partners, The Land Tillers state, lands. Overlord Ralakor had spent many days deliberating on this news but now he had reached his decision. Although he was loath to do it, the grand army had to be raised once more. There must be no chance of the shard gaining any more power then it already had. Even such a small piece could wreak untold carnage on the living. That was something he would not allow to happen.

The great cavern was huge. Large fiery green torches blazed from the walls, basking the entire cavern in a sickly glow. Looking down at the cavern floor from the overlooking balcony Ralakor observed the Guardians Tomb. Reaching into the distance tens of thousands of still bodies stood in perfect formation, unmoving and caked in layers of dust where they had stood for thousands of years. Separated in blocks of three hundred the grand army was a terrifying sight. Luckily, not all had to be awoken, a mere detachment should be enough to deal with the crisis. Overlord Ralakor did not think he would need them so soon, but fate decided otherwise.

Raising his right hand he allowed the Arch to use him as a conduit. Such was a bargain he had struck with the beast. He was the gateway to the Arch and through him his peoples souls flowed through him. Shooting through his bare boned fingers terrifying wisps of ethereal white beings began to fill the room. The souls of the gaurdians returning to their undying bodies.

"Guardians of our land, once more I call to you," Ralakor intoned, his psychic might projecting his voice to the vast cavern, as the first two blocks began to move again. "You must defend our lands, from that which had created us. Your sleep has been long and the world has changed. It is up to the dead to protect the living now."

Lowering his hand once more as the last wisp reclaimed its body Ralakor watched on as six hundred guardians marched silently, in perfect unison to the main exit below the balcony, one solid sound being heard as their dried feet stomped the cold black stone together as one.

They will march together against the creature of that had created them. Now the puppets will strangle their master with the very strings that bound them. The vault has been finished, the last great invention his people had made before their long sleep. Now the master will become the slave.