The Lord's of Light, Right and Might!

About half a day ago...

Finally the call had come.
Since their last instruction from the joint trinity of their three individual church leaders, all twenty-one of them had been camped less than an hours ride from an outlying, smallish town.
Nothing had been clearly explained to them but they all knew their duty and had absolute faith in their gods and their mission.
Seven Paladins from each of the orders of Pelor, St Cuthbert and Kord made up this holy battalion.
Three proud companies of men serving together for the sake of all humanity.
Shouting well drilled instructions, Lord Ponificius; leads the combined brotherhood of heavily armoured holy knights as they charge as one, on their powerful war-horses toward Fewham.
They don't know what they'll face when they get there but, whatever it is, their victory is certain and sure to be glorious!

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away

As soon as Bastien, Nitendae and Volkon disappearate, Sereena rolls up her gossamer sleeves and jangles her bangles.
Smokey, summoned, ghost-like horses appear one after another until all three stand patiently for Marlon, Demitasse and Sereena to stow Issack's left behind gear.
Once mounted, the pretty young sorceress leans back in the saddle and shouts "Hold on tight!", before spurring her phantom steed onward.
Despite having an inkling of the potential speed of these ghost horses, all three of them are shocked by their velocity.
None have them have ever travelled at anywhere near this rate!
Still, they grip the reins within their fists, squeeze their knees as tightly as they can manage and simply try to hold on for dear life.
Fortunately, the ride is surprisingly smooth. Demitasse struggles to rationalise this, until he realises the reality of his situation. The magical phantom steeds are effectively flying and although it seems as if they're galloping, their smoke-like hooves aren't really touching the ground!
After about seven blurred-by hours, the misty-grey horses slow to a canter, a trot and then to a stop, giving Marlon, Demitasse and Sereena plenty of time to dismount and unload their belongings.
As the horses evaporate, Demitasse turns to Sereena.
"Do you think the others have arrived at Fewham yet?"
Sereena considers the question...
"It's been nearly eight hours. They'll probably all be dead by now. Volkon definitely!"

Marlon looks up and adds, sulkily, 

"Well at least HE got a kiss before dying."

A Fewham good men

After ascertaining that the remainder of Lady Sybille's manor house is safe and free from any remaining undead, Captain Dunn leads his sergeants Slater and Indigo back out into the streets of Fewham.
It's apparent that the Death cultists have fled, but scores of the animated skeletons remain and are still aimlessly wandering around.
Annoyingly, the Death-cultists had dragged the evil ranger Awrongun's corpse away, along with all his remaining stuff. Still, Volkon had managed to snag his weird, shimmery cloak and Nitendae had taken his powerful, magical longbow.
Shouting for any and all remaining town guards to come out of hiding, and with the aid of Volkon, Bastien and Nitendae, Dunn, despite his advancing years, shows why he's still captain of the Fewham guards.
Without intelligent leadership, the skeletons fight without reason or self regard and as Captain Dunn and the others start to hack them down, other guards emerge from their hiding places, alongside some of the braver townsfolk.
Mindless as they are, it doesn't take long before the last of the skeletal undead are smashed and the town free again.

Awrongun's equipment:

Cloak of Displacement (Minor) : Taken by Volkon

Composite Longbow +3 (Strength 16) Taken by Nitendae (But then later sold for lots for cash)

A Wight carry on

Once everyone is ready, the beefy Volkon and Bastien drag back the piled up furniture. They try to be quiet but it's an impossible ambition.

With the heavily armoured War-priest on one side and the seemingly oiled up Barbarian on the other, Captain Dunn pulls open the double doors.

...

There's a moment when the eight chalk-faced, undead Wights standing there, lock eyes with the adventurers over the space of the few feet between them.
Both groups knew what to expect. Unable to break through the blocked door, the creepily quiet and supernaturally patient undead, simply awaited the adventurers return and the adventurers, having encountered the Wights previously, knew they'd probably still be there.
The moment seems to stretch out until suddenly, an arrow flys from Nitendae's bow and hits the closest Wight dead between the eyes...
Without their rune-stitched leaders though, these recently risen Wights, though ferocious, fail to pierce Bastien's plate-mail armour with their claw-like fingernails or manage to slip under Volkon's great-sword defence.
The half-elf Nitendae allows himself a tight-lipped smile, as he picks off the undead, one by one, from the safety offered by his two human friends.
He's glad they won't have to pursue them back through the fortified mansion. Undead care nothing for self preservation or even their own existence and generally attack until either they're destroyed or you're dead.

Coming out of the closet

Aware of the potential danger, Nitendae exploits his sensitive, elven ears and listens intently through the secret door at the back of the heavy dresser.

...

Nothing.

No sound that the undead (and frankly terrifying) Wights had managed to breach the makeshift barricade behind the main doors.

Once back in the main chamber, Bastien and Volkon stand guard behind it regardless. They're both acutely aware that no outside help is likely to arrive in the next few hours, if not days! 

The Paladin Lords of 'Light, Right and Might' were the only hope of that and considering their unwillingness to flee and how badly they'd faired, they're certainly all dead by now.

Bastien snorts derisively, despite himself.
Back in the alchemy chamber, Lady Sybille recites from one of her remaining scrolls and colour returns to Captain Dunn's jowly cheeks. With his back straight and the ruddiness returned to his face, he looks much more like his former silver-haired soldierly self.

Scrolls, Potions and Half-truths

Passing through the secret alchemy chamber, Bastien notices Lady Sybille's shoulders stiffen at the sight of her opened cupboards and looted stocks of scrolls and potions.
Slightly embarrassed, he apologises and signals Nitendae to return everything that wasn't used.
"Forgive us your ladyship. We took them only in the hope they might have assisted us in your rescue."
The beautiful women pauses for just a moment.
"Some of these potions and scrolls have enabled me to retain my secret over the decades. A secret I fear, I must maintain forever."
Captain Dunn coughs.
"Don't concern yourself my Lady. The lads and I have been talking and we think we've figured out why you look so young and we don't mind in the slightest. It's nothing to be ashamed of... You, you're like the boy here... You're a Half-elf!"
Nitendae's jaw tightens at an unbidden memory. No half-elf could bleed so long or freely as he'd seen Lady Sybille do on that sacrificial altar.
Whatever she was, it wasn't an elf.

When a hundred thousand gold just isn't enough

Looking around, Bastien does a quick head count...
Nitendae was at the back but obviously struggling with his heavy chest.
The plate-mail clad cleric is about to send the muscley and unencumbered Volkon back down to help the slightly built elf, when they both hear the reassuringly repetitive grind, bump and jingle sound of a wooden box full of coins being pushed up stone steps.
As soon as the elf's pointed eared head pops into view, Volkon pulls a knowing expression.
Nitendae smirks in response and nods over his shouder to Issack; the magical backpack.
"She said we couldn't take any more of HER treasure but I couldn't just let the paladin; Ubriz' magical sword and armour just lay there... Could I?"

Ubriz: Paladin of St Cuthbert:

Long sword +1 
Heavy metal shield +1