Enter the Unholy

This is a report that I recently received from one of the few poor souls who escaped from the advance of the Undying:

Screams, pleas for mercy, and the gurgling death knells of the dying echoed throughout the burning village.

The blazing buildings with the living barred inside backlit the the throng assembled on the village green. Hundreds of vaguely humanoid shapes coalesced into a wall of shadow, watching with cold, empty eyes; the aftermath of the slaughter they'd enacted.

They stood before the village's shrine, mouthing silent profanities to their nameless dark benefactor. Upon the shrine's altar, an elderly bearded man lay bound and whimpering. Grisly runes carved into his chest wept, glinting occasionally from either the fires or fell sorcery...one could not tell.
A horn sounded. It's blast trumpeting thrice to herald the arrival of one of The Undying's dreaded generals, a Death Knight.

They were unwholesome men and women who were neither truly dead nor totally alive but, somewhere in betwixt. Unholy rituals and black pledges to unnamed evils allowed them to cheat the grave...and return stronger than ever.

The assembly parted to reveal three riders on skeletal steeds with eyes of blue-black flame. Their hooves singed the earth where the stood. Their caustic touch marking them unnatural beasts. Of the riders, two were immense beings clad in blackened plate, a greatsword slung across their saddles. One held a banner; a field of divided red & black. It's device a crowned skull.

Oddly, the third rider stood out. Smaller than the others. Thick of limb and clad in light armor. A strange mask made from basalt stone adorned his face. It too was shaped like a crowned skull and hid his pallid features.

He dismounted and then strode to the huddled man on the altar. The old man struggled against his restraints to no avail. Garbled pleas spewed from his mouth as the Death Knight's gauntleted hand reach toward him.

He shrieked, stiffened, eyes wide in terror.

"Thy lifeforce is mine, alderman." said the stout Death Knight nonchalantly.

At the alderman's drained husk rolled off the altar to the ground. Wispy tendrils of green hued smoke curled from the corpse's facial orifices. The Death Knight turned on a heel and walked back toward his steed.

"Plant the banner at the altar, let it mark the fates of any whom would dare oppose us," ordered the stout Death Knight to his companions, "They will know the name of Ekthor Ebonflame before the turning of the moons!"

Flicking the reins of the hellsteed, Ekthor, set off to the next village on the island...the Undying horde following not far behind.

I remember the name of Ekthor. He was one of those who followed Chaplain Hawthorne when he left the Wardens and founded the Witch Fynders. How did he come to lead the vanguard of the Undying?

OOC Game Notes

• This story is part of the background for our upcoming HFS day. I'm calling it the Holy War because it will feature the Wardens vs. the Undying.
• Robb Rodgers (aka Xhorja) penned the above story. He will be playing Ekthor so he took it upon himself to come up with a backstory. Nicely done!