There were few with the power or stamina to endure the seemingly never ending siege of the undead. Loath as he was to admit it, Dorian himself did not have it in him. Not with the chokehold this world placed on his magic, anyway. Even using a fraction of the once raging inferno inside him exhausted the greater reserve of his mite and left the mage feeling woozy. It was sheer stubbornness that kept him going. That, and a white knuckled grip on his staff that served as a better walking stick than an actual focus.
Coming upon someone in clear need of assistance, Dorian let out a resigned sigh and waved his stave in an elegant arch. A circular glyph seemingly writ in flame crackled to life before him and bared three blazing orbs which proceeded to pelt the geists overwhelming their victim. Clearly death had robbed them of any sense of a fair fight. When the fireballs hit them, they immediately sputtered into nonexistence and cleared a path for Dorian to stride over to the unfortunate wretch. “ Are you alright? ” The velvety timber of his voice was laced with concern as he offered them his hand, momentarily still glowing like the embers in a guttered hearth before it, too, faded.
