The gaudy tribal daubings that painted his body were still warm; the blood of the sacrifice held much power for the dark spellcaster. Power that was his to control. He summoned to him the lingering bio-electricity of the freshly dead that littered the battlefield. Through that tenuous, but precise connection, he bid them to rise. And rise they did. The atmosphere grew thick with magic, curdling the clouds and blotting out the high mid-day sun. A wry smile flashed across his sharp features; It was a new dawn, and a new day, he thought - for the dead.