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Music blared through crowds of cheering onlookers as soft, Spring flowers tried their damnedest to hide the stench of dung that occupied the jousting range. The entire Order of the Rhomboid Table stood around, partaking in their usual antics. This was the Tourney, the Order's annual festival of lighthearted competition and drunken boasting, at which Sir Lee and Sir Osis fought for supremacy. The next joust pitted Sir Valence, the knight-watchman, against the newly knighted Sir Cutt, a self-proclaimed “Technomancer” and proven duelist.
Sir Cutt jumped about, attempting to mount his warhorse, Norman. Valence had bounded atop his steed swiftly, to the cacophonous applause of the spectators in the flag-adorned stands. He saluted them before lowering his helmet's visor and turning to the range. A nervous, freckle-faced squire handed Sir Cut's helmet up to him. The knight waved to the stands before donning the heavy brain-bucket. A jerk on the stirrups and Norman turned rakishly toward the valiant field of mud and manure. The two great horses, both deep reddish brown, whinnied and patted the ground beneath their hooves. Revving their biological engines with doses of adrenaline. Cutt was equally enthralled, freeing his steel shield and mechanical lance. The lance's nose was fitted to spring forward, exerting additional force into its target. The lance was laden with cogs and other machines, Sir Cut used both hands to steady it, leaving his shield slightly out of place.
The sounding of the starting horn. The jousters raced toward one another. There was screaming coming from the stands. Something strange had caught Sir Valence's eye, but due to the speed at which he was traveling and the sheer thrill of the joust, he could not have a clue towards what it was. Impact. Valence's lance missed Sir Cutt's shield entirely, splintering wildly against his chestplate. Stunned, Sir Cutt pulled upon his lance's trigger. The immediate, explosive power of the spring launched both knights from their mounts. The screaming continued, all around. Sir Valence and Sir Cutt flew backwards and slammed hard into the swampy mess on the ground.
Something slammed into Cutt's helmet. He tried to stand. Another mass pummeled him back to the ground by his helm. Beyond the persistent screaming, he heard something. A distinct rattling, painful groans and the raspy breaths of a long-dry respiratory system haunted the newly chilled air. He heard the swish of a heavy steel blade before feeling a skeleton, which was much more lively than one would expect, collapse upon his limp body. Pushing the dismembered skeleton to the ground, he picked himself up and removed his blinding helmet.
The Tourney was quickly becoming a battlefield. A mass of limping, groaning undead. Bleached-white skeletal warriors and zombie-like beings with green, rotten flesh staggered through the forest to the south. Knights clamored for whatever weapons they could find, while the horrified civilians were hurried into the safety within the walls of Elmhold.
Knights, who had been participating in other competitions, rushed to the jousting plot. Sir Fer'brah ran to battle wearing nothing but a pair of embroidered swim trunks, a knightly surfboard in hand for use as a weapon. Sir Loin DeSuilla, who had been participating in a Mythril-Chef competition, wielded a sword-fish, which, to be fair, was more fish than sword, but it would suffice.
Cries went out across the legion of knights. The knight captain, Roland, could not be located. Sir Cutt thrust forward with his shield, bashing a fragile, unarmed foe. Many of the undead carried twisted, rusting swords and some carried round, wooden shields, caked with dirt. The knights locked weapons with the rotting enemy. An undead commander rose through the trees. Undead commanders were massive, two to three times larger than an average man. They were the reanimated forms of great heroes and villains whose bodies were able to channel more necrotic energy than the typical undead. They were a necromancer's dream, hulking weapons of doom and dread. The orbs of necroplasm that sat within its eye sockets were fiery and red rather than the milky white of most undead.
The undead commander swung a massive, stone ax.
Sir Valence noticed a glint of bright metallic armor race through the ground behind the lumbering commander.

Its good, although I dare say I would prefer a bit more building of the universe its sett in though but that is just me though

It's going to exist between chapters in the rulebook. It definitely doesn't hold up as well when on its own. I have a bit more to add to it, written but not typed up.

Ah I see well that makes sense.