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Then Edna, eyes gleaming as the twin lamp-stones of the great East Tower, drew Sleetbane from its cradle and fell upon the gathered host of undead with violent indignation. It is said that with each horrible grey head or arm severed, Dalsfveg’s hold upon his army faltered, until the remaining few made a vain retreat in the direction of the river bed.
Overcome with rage, Dalsfveg himself slew those that escaped the whirling circle of Sleetbane’s destruction, until he found himself alone upon the muddy field now choked with the remnants of his army. Edna’s scornful laugh found him then, clawing its way though his visions of conquest, rending them beyond repair. And with a nondescript flourish of her bloodied umbrella, Edna bade the Necromancer farewell, remarking on the unfortunate predisposition of his minions to end up in pieces, and voicing the hope that his next deadly army would prove of less shoddy workmanship.
–Excerpt from Tales of Edna Weatherspindle