As one, the undead lurched forwards, arrows falling upon them like rain. Nothing could slow its advance, though, and as the defenders watched, their comrades rose from the ground to strike at those who were once their friends. Each man who fell rose again, swinging twisted blades and shattered limbs. Arrav stood among the walking dead as a warrior of the gods. Nothing could come close to him without being cut down. Those that he struck with his blade did not rise again, and soon the bodies were piled high around him.