Argus glanced at the dunmer, wondering what Thoras talking about. He was about to ask just that when Merric cried out in surprise, drawing the nords gaze out to the swamps. People were swarming towards them in ragged clothing, some clutching weapons, but most empty handed. It took the warlock a moment to realize that these 'people' weren't people at all, but risen dead. He remembered the words of the soldier at the road, not so long ago. Apparently, the man had been on to something. "Necromancy" he heard Thoras hiss, suddenly dropping his somewhat cheerful and carefree attitude in a heartbeat. The anger in the elfs voice was surprising but there was no time to dwell on that. The dead were closing on them with an urgent hunger that seemed obvious even in their dead, emotionless eyes. Those that had eyes, that was. Argus readied his axe.
He had his spells as well, but they were limited in usage, and besides, he wasn't sure he wanted the others asking awkward questions about why his magic was different than most mages. The first of the undead foolish enough to rush him went down with his axe in it's chest. The keen blade cut through waterlogged clothing and rotten flesh with equal ease. It died a second death with a gurgling snarl, a pungent odour filling the air as it did so. An explosion to the left sent swamp water, limbs, and mud in every direction, indicating Lorkas had joined the fight. The nord wizard continued to incinerate or explode the oncoming undead with casual gestures that sent balls of flame into their midst.
To the right, Thoras was laying into the dead with his glaive and the khajiit woman was on her way to join him as he impaled one of the dead with into a nearby treetrunk. Behind them, the breton and his petite khajiit companion were mirrored by Sothas and his dunmer friend. The altmer woman who had introduced herself as Ysane had apparently forgotten her feud with Balgur. "Nice to see everyone getting along for once" he grunted to Merric as he cut down another growling corpse. Movement from a cluster of trees near Lorkas drew his eye.
Another zombie, a late comer to the battle, it seemed, stumbled onto the cobblestone road, a rusted mace clutched in its' hand. Looking around with its' one remaining eye, the zombie fixated on the nord wizard and its' mouth dropped open in a soundless snarl. Argus had no doubt his fellow nord could dispatch the creature. If he knew it was there. But as the thing shuffled closer, bringing the mace up for a skull crushing overhand strike, it seemed Lorkas was too focused on the crowd of undead surging towards the group. If he did see his attacker, it wouldn't be in time to do anything about it.
With a muttered curse, Argus lifted his left hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled, as if cupping a bowl, and focused on the power that his 'Watcher' had bestowed upon him. An instant later, a bolt of blue-white flame flew from his palm to strike the zombie in the upper torso. The flames ravenously consumed the flesh on its' chest and face, leaving a charred, grinning skull. With a splash, the dead thing toppled back into the muck on the side of the road and Argus turned back to the fight at hand.