The Zombie looked up. He saw a craft of interesting size and power descend to the floor just to the left. In his hand was a small metal disk that was carved with so many runes that it looked like a spider had crawled across it with ink on its feet. The Zombie's steel smile did nothing to distract from the fact that the Zombie himself was in deep thought. The Captain of the Scream did not bow down to those with fewer crew than him. And inside the City of the Dead, he had just about an army. Let them come, he thought, raising a hand over the ground and drawing a pentagram on it surrounded with magical runes. The ground turned a deep blue and buckled under the immensity of the amount of Ghouls emerging from the floor like some hideous marionettes, their malformed and decayed faces pointed stupidly upwards towards the vessel that was now docking near the Sky Harbour.
The Zombie stood up, rushing onwards at a blistering pace, drawing a sabre from his belt and whipping it around his head like a halo of steel. Only this time, he would kill the one responsible for his death. The Boy on that ship, the Drakoulis brat. He'd inherited that ship from his grandfather and it was the selfsame beast that maimed him to the point of death. Their screams of terror and that little brat's dying breath was all The Zombie needed to pass on to the afterlife. And his Sabre would help to finish the business that was never completed. The Zombie was going to kill the last of the Drakoulis clan and end their pathetic clan once and for all!
Drakoulis was getting off the ship when he saw the cloud. It crackled and shone like a thunder storm but moved far faster and without rain. There was only one thing that those clouds could be: The Ghosts. But all they could to was wail and scream their fury at the living while they made off with the treasures of their once-great city. Drakoulis thought that it was nothing and continued down the gang plank towards the thieving Sky Pirates who dared to intrude on his time with the clouds. He'd been minding his own business until these hooligans came over the side and attacked them from a ship just bellow. It was a messy affair to deal with these despicable men but it had to be done. One hand was to be taken off for their punishment and Vaal had to do it. He'd chopped hands before but it never got any easier despite what Dr. Nazel said. Speaking of him, he was waiting by the prisoners, hefting a heavy axe with a nasty grin at the chained men. It was an Air Marshals duty to keep these hooligans on the right side of the law. But that duty suddenly felt increasingly heavy upon Vaal's shoulders. He took the axe from Dr. Nazel and held it aloft on his shoulder.
"For the crime of thievery, the convicted shall forfeit one hand. To be severed from the wrist, said hand will then be placed in a fire and burned to prevent healing by potions. Justice is done today." Dr. Nazel intoned, a greedy look in his eye that spoke of his eagerness to get on with it. Dr.Nazel was renowned for being overly-violent. The only reason Vaal kept him was because of his kindness and health expertise.
Then, just as Vaal was about to swing, the cloud disappeared and was replaced by an army of the damned.