[Quiet Man Cometh]

She had long since abandoned any kind of focused attack. The swarm proved too numerous, and as they closed in she sent another wave of psychic force blasting indiscriminately around her, sending desiccated bodies flying to collide with the next, and then the next, and then the next. Undead skin started to hiss, blister, and grow white hot, finally bursting into flame, spewing black and acrid smoke where unholy flesh burned to unholy bones. Broadswords dropped and knees buckled from muscles and bones no longer able to hold themselves together, but new, whole bodies kept coming, stomping or crawling over their wounded brethren, if brethren they may be called. Tarja hissed at them, gazing down another line of undead that suddenly erupted into flame. Mentally, she raised a clutch of flaming bodies and flung them about erratically like crude incendiaries, cursing the lack of any half-way decent projectiles besides the headstones that marked the graves the corpses crawled out from.

The swarm had moved in close again and she loosed another indiscriminate blast of psychic force, sending bodies and headstones flying in a wide arc as she cursed her growing headache. The air around her began to waver and buzz as half a dozen headstones were yanked from the ground, starting a slow orbit around the psychic and picking up speed. At terminal velocity they cracked into the approaching horde, breaking against undead bodies even as they crushed ribcages and skulls and shattered limbs. There was no shortage of headstones, but there was also no shortage of undead. White flashes darted across her vision with the throbbing behind her eyes.

“The stairs or the chapel, priest?” She yelled out, not letting up with her cyclonic headstones, still finding moments to cast out a line of super-heated air even as she was starting to go blind from the pain.