The three warriors of Irlanx Xacobus were rather bizarre-looking undeads in the eyes of the livings. They had grown used to the shambling corpses, the putrid, bloated cadavers, and the dust-ridden skeletal remains–What they were looking at couldn't truly fit into any of the categories they had created in their minds. They were clearly made out of bones, but they clearly weren't the actual remnants of once-breathing creatures.
They were more akin to creations crafted from molten bone and shaped into what they currently looked like–It was only natural for them not to be anything like the average undead of the Empire. They were of another kind. They were stagnant souls who had formed physical vessels for themselves… And now, having accepted the grace of the Pale Lady, they had become stronger than ever. Their decaying souls would remain bound to this world no matter what.
Xator stepped forward, and Crusader Thomas did the same. The two stared at one another…
