Leaning against the wall, was one Dawn Silverheart, paladin of the Order of the Burning Heart, recently deceased. Paladin then. Did she like the fact that the town of Whitewillow, her home and her charge, was now filled with the people of Whitewillow raised as undead again? Certainly not. But she didn't have a choice in the matter, and she also saw the tactical wisdom in having them as soldiers. She tried to justify it by saying to herself they were coming back to avenge the lives they lost, and save those not yet lost. But to the survivors who managed to flee Whitewillow's sacking, Dawn had not the heart to tell them that their loved ones were now undead soldiers in the army of a necromancer. And so she merely warned them to flee as far as they could, to go and find refuge in her northern homeland of Tolhelm if possible. War was a-brewing in the Kingdom. Caede, already ravaged by demons, would now be swept up in their rebellion, their stand against the corrupt High King. They would be safer far from the chaos here.<br/><br/>The Paladin shrugged when the Necromancer asked his question. She opened her mouth to answer, but that murderer...that Manhunter spoke first, and she kept her piece. Killing her kind was indeed his area of expertise. Which was precisely why she would like nothing more than to cut him down where he stood. But so long as he was a part of their little band of misfits, she would have to stay her hand. "Ironic. A dealer of death asking for love he does not deserve. Poison in your soul indeed. I guess that is the only explanation for the blood on your hands. Fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. Even if the necromancer were not to be here, the dead of this town would rise again to tear you apart." Dawn muttered as she Streban continued his speech and the Manhunter spoke his prayers. Among the many humans slain by Hazamir's hand, some hailed from Whitewillow. As their protector, she naturally had an intense dislike for the serial killer praying, yes, praying before her.<br/><br/>"Hardly an inspiring speech, necromancer. But I guess that is why you deal with armies of the dead; they need no speeches, merely direction. But you will have your victory. Whitewillow will not fall twice to the same enemy. Not while I draw breath. I owe it to the town." Deanora then spoke, and the hardened, fierce expression on Dawn's face, the burning glare in her emerald eyes, softened. Deanora had been very warm and friendly to Dawn when they had first met, conversation followed, chemistry sparked, and they could now be considered friends already in the few days they had known each other. She could not answer Deanora's question though, it was meant for Streban, and so all she offered was a brief smile in her friend's direction. Druid, and Druid was the man's name for now, asked if the necromancer had a plan. Did he have one? Probably. But even if he didn't, she could easily take care of that part. But she would wait to see if the necromancer had one before giving her own suggestions. Druid did raise what would be normally a valid concern about being outnumbered, but that mattered little with the undead and people like herself. And the numbers were not insurmountable. The artillery was a concern, but a battalion of Siegebreakers was manageable with their forces, as were the complement of rangers. She had cut down countless number of Siegebreakers on her way to her fateful duel with Vannor Stonehammer...and as she would cut them down again this time, Streban would probably raise them to fight against their former comrades, helping to nullify the problem about being outnumbered. And a powerful necromancer like Streban could most likely also re-raise the dead as they fell. Strategically, that was valuable. Some would question her approval of his methods, but she never approved of the necromancer's methods, and would gladly tell that to anyone who asked. However, she had to tolerate them, just as she had to tolerate Hazamir's presence.<br/>