The first paragraphs of a prologue.

It was the relative quiet that would scare him the most. When his father or Grandfather 
had told him stories of the great wars of the past kings they used phrases like 
'thunderous shouts' and 'cheers'.  'The ground rumbled with the marching of vast armies.' 
But the hordes moved so quietly. The soft-footed shambling made it seem as if whole 
estates of people were suddenly struck mute.  After a wave of screams.
Colin froze for a moment when his ears picked up the soft plodding of a pack heading 
towards him. A look at his gauntleted hand brought him back. “I'm no little boy now. 
Time to work.'
His war sword rasped against its sheath as he drew it out, and stood from behind the 
crumbling stone wall he had used for cover. The walking dead merely continued advancing 
towards him as before. Colin spoke his but the prayer allowed & felt the holy power,
fill his limbs & reverberate in his sword. He flew forward like a crossbow's bolt and 
cleaved the three forwardmost of the horde in half, their severed torsos burning to ash 
before they hit the ground. With two more sweeping strokes from the left & then the 
right, he felled four more. Another three burned as he strafed to his right, & none even 
managed to scrape his shield. The horde of about a hundred would be felled in a few 
minutes.

As he strafed the outer edge. the moldering faces and hollow eyes followed him. Their 
mouths silently gaping, rotten, with swollen putrid tongues. The miasmic fumes billowed 
toward him, almost making him wretch as the stench penetrated his nostrils. Thankfully, 
a prayer of purity filtered the foul air just before he vomited.

Colin continued his pattern, cutting as he went. He blocked their clutching withered hands
with his shield, until one of them reached out far enough to try to grab its edge, forcing 
him to back away or lose his shield. A reminder from his instructor called him to be patient, 
take your time & keep your shield." If they grabbed his shield he could drop it & escape.
If they grabbed him, they could surround and consume him.

The horde followed as he retreated to higher ground, leaping to the roof of the old building 
on the left of the street. The roof creaked and bowed under the weight of his armored body, 
but it held. He looked down at the shambling mass that impotently reached toward him.
“The poor wretches can't even scream.”  He thought as he looked at them. They seemed to 
be wailing for mercy. Range and pity mingled together in his heart, and strengthened his 
sword arm. He leaped down to resume the extermination.
The horde dealt with, taking only a little longer than he had hoped, Colin hurried 
through the town a little recklessly to meet with the rest of the unit. They would 
rendezvous with the Holy Army before marching on to the dread fortress.

“Colin, you’re moving like a wild boar. Mind your surroundings, boy! We need to make sure 
that there are no lingering undead at our flank before meeting with the army.”

“Yes Sir.”