Necromancer (Revised)

A dark time. A time where man fights against man for titles, lands and glory. On the battle field stands such a man. General Haffenon Castillanos. A brutish, and often merciless warrior who staves off the Persian enemy with his trusty sword. Long after Xerxes's death it has been one war after the next to acquire the southern islands of Greece. Yet, according to the general's superiors there is talk among the men that their enemy holds a trump card in order to win the war. A man. One person with enough power to destroy the entire campaign in one fell swoop. But, as with all baseless rumors it just gets swept away as such. Until the order was given. Amidst the fighting and carnage, Haffenon hacks his enemies to pieces through cruel enjoyment but often stops to pay his respect to those who have fallen and move on. It is then, that under his uncompromising nature and near distracted confusion does he see him. One person steps onto the blood soaked field wearing a hood and a cloak. A few hairs flutter from the edge of the hood's opening. White as snow. No one seems to mind or pay attention to who he is until the very last minute when he whispers a few unrecognizable phrases. As Haffenon bleeds from open cuts the ground starts to shake and rumble violently. Both sides of the field stop fighting to watch when the ground suddenly splits open and webs across the floor startling the warriors. But soon, a new horror emerges. Skeletal hands reach up out of the cracks, and emerge carrying weapons of their own. Flesh hang off of limbs, exposed rib cages, and the dead army stares with dead eye sockets. It is then that Haffenon knows, he is no match against dark magic. He resigns himself on only one target. The hooded mage and to kill him without mercy. When he sprints to his objective in a full run, he can see his opponent's eyes as the mage looks up at him. A piercing stare, no emotions to speak of, but the enemy crooks a grin when he opens his mouth to say one word... 'Die.'