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As I was not there myself, I had to piece together the following events from what the survivors of the whole incident later told me… not all of them of their own free will.

Scorpio ran as fast as he had never run before. Chunks of dry soil flew where he darted along the path; at one point a sharp-edged stone punctured the sole of his leather boot, but the relentless rattling of the bone men breathing (not really) down his neck banished all thoughts about the less important things in life.
Not that he had ever doubted the existence of walking, fighting skeletons; it was just that they had usually been inside of people when he met them, not running around all by themselves.

When the robed figure had appeared on top of the hill, Scorpio had at first assumed that the wandering templars were going to pay them a visit; those men had, according to Cavalorn, traveled by the hut each day before the Old Mine had caved in. Only then had he recognized me who was being chased by a mass of heavily-armed bone men…
Luckily (or so he thought) the skeletons had ceased to follow their prey as soon as the former guardsman had drawn the two-handed sword he had, among other things, borrowed from the castle's armory.

Well, despite their pathetic looks the skeletons had turned out to be formidable opponents. Their strikes were fast and precise, and their measly bones tough enough to withstand a great deal of abuse... it was only good that the edges of the walking dead's weapons were everything but razor- sharp. Scorpio had been hit several times now, but not one strike had managed to do him serious harm. Apart from that he was a tick faster than his pursuers, and he possessed enough stamina to lead them around in circles for a while… or so he hoped. Given enough time, he might even come up with an idea about how to get rid of them permanently.

Abruptly, the rattling behind him stopped. Either those skeletons had suddenly lost interest in their chase-
-then he noticed where his headlong flight had automatically taken him, and he came to an abrupt halt himself.
The Old Camp's main gate was closed, the flickering light of the torches illuminating a small troop of guards. They sported this certain bored-to-death look which usually came with continuous watch duty, and if Scorpio was not completely mistaken, East Quarter's Fletcher was among them.
The instructor touched his jagged incisors with the tip of his tongue.
So in front of him were six former fellow guards who would undoubtedly slaughter him as a deserter, and behind him as many walking dead who wanted nothing more than whet their blades on his bones…
A brief look over his shoulder and straight into the dark sockets of a pursuer's long-dead eyes was all it needed to convince him of which manner of death was the preferable one. He dashed toward the guards as fast as he could.

The first one to notice him was a guy in the plate mail of the Heavy Guard; his name was Tico, and like many of Gomez' guards he had received most of his basic military training from Scorpio. Readying his crossbow, Tico rammed an armored elbow into Fletcher's side.
"There's work ahead. You owe me five, hearty."
Fletcher shot the Heavy an unhappy glance, then he focused his attention on Scorpio who was hurtling towards the guards.
"Huh? What's this going to be?" He scratched his head in wonder. "Did somebody open season on morons? First Aaron, now the sarge - looks like they're all coming baaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
And then the hissing, rattling and saber-wielding skeletons were among them, dealing out blows in all directions.
Scorpio ducked out of the way of one of the gate guards' swords, kicked - in passing - the legs out from under another of his flabbergasted ex-mates and rushed on along the 'moat' that surrounded the camp close to the outer walls.
He sprinted at top speed for several more minutes; as the din of the battle and the panicked shouts behind him decreased in terms of volume and frequency, however, something made him look back.
And slow down his pace.

There had been a time when Gomez' guards had been like family to him.
Of course, it had not justified putting up with all the shit that had happened lately… especially not the brutal slaughter of the fire mages, which had been his original reason to depart. But leaving Fletcher and the gang to the non-existent mercy of a bloodthirsty horde of creatures which should under no circumstances be walking the earth was, in his opinion, not much better.
And thus - quite opposed to his original intention - Scorpio turned around and fell into a slow trot which became faster and faster.

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