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The one good eye in the standing corpse slowly moved as the bodies were inspected once more, before the spirit within the body seemed content. Then, abruptly, the corpse was no longer standing and unceremoniously joined the three others, much in the same fashion a sack of cloth would curl up after being dropped on the ground.
A moment later, the prepared corpse to the far left twitched slightly, then the eyes opened. For all the life in them, they might as well belong on a porcelain doll. They were moving now, though. The arms twisted round to push the upper torso up off the ground and the body of a young man who recently had come to Charmeil to trade in some artefacts he had found rose again. He looked down himself and inspected the clothing. A burgundy peasant's shirt, dark brown trousers tied in with a black rope belt and wooden sandals. He reached down and plucked the cloak from the corpse that had collapsed just a minute earlier and donned the salt-encrusted garment.
To anyone with the ability to see Spirts that didn't manifest in regular, visible light, the scene had looked more like this:
The standing corpse collapsed. As it fell, a small bubble of pale gray light appeared. Invisible to common senses, it remained at level with the heart of the corpse, when it was standing, but now, the corpse discarded was a curled up lump of dead flesh in brine saturated clothing and the sphere hovered above it. The small sphere moved over to the next corpse and jagged tendrils started out from the centre of the sphere, stabbing into the flesh of the new dead body. Then the tendrils appeared to drag the sphere into the body and the body twitched.
The new body got up and picked up the cloak from the previous host.
He looked around, evidently only now caring whether anyone had witnessed the spectacle.
"Now then, lets go treasure hunting," a monotonous voice droned from within the mouth of the young man's corpse. Had anyone heard the other corpse speak, they would think the voices were quite similar. They would be right.
The young man went over to a smoldering building and started lifting debris away from the rubble. There was a sizzling sound. Almost managing a surprised look, the eyes contemplated the burn marks on the hands and there was a raspy sigh from the lips.
A moment's concentration later, and the welts were already on the mend, visibly mending and returning to their previous state.
The corpse expressed frustration as the eyes surveyed the repair of the damaged hands.
He had forgotten to take into account that the building had until recently burned. Now it was smoldering. Still hot.
There was an orangy flash and a layer of something covered the hands, shielding them from the heat.
The lips twitched towards a crooked smile and the body set to work again, this time without getting singed by the rubble.
It was so much easier, without the broken wrist.
The dark figure stood in the doorway of a singed, charred building. His lips curled in contempt. Some other magical force had destroyed the City of Fire... with fire. Stepping into the light, he surveyed the port area. Something suddenly caught his eye, and he turned to see a young man working on moving rubble. The figure's eyes narrowed. The man must be getting burnt... Unless he was magic. His Sight Eye focused, and the true form of the laborer was revealed. A Spirit. No surprise- the place must be crawling with them after this slaughter. This spirit seemed older, swirling with an orange magic. Fire Resistance, no surprise either.
The Mage swirled his dark cloak around himself and stepped out of the light. He summoned a pitch-black, swirling orb of magic in his palm, and as he stalked closer it grew and seemed to strain to the spirit. The figure smiled grimly and swiftly pulled out a cylinder of pure diamond. The only thing that held Spirits, no matter how old. The Mage lifted his hand and spilled the Dark Magic onto the ground. The earth rippled and a dark blade erupted from the stony, charred soil. It silently whisked to the equally quiet owner and dropped into his leathery palm.
About ten feet from the Spirit he hunted, the figure stopped and chanted under his breath. A simple Freezing Spell should do, he told himself. Then he walked out into the dusky light. "Good evening," Corrose said in a husky voice,"I cannot express how good it is to find you. I have been so very bored; I hope you will entertain me at last?" Then, he stabbed the man through the chest and pulled black the silvery blade, now stained red.
The body staggered back and reached some measure of composure, the wound swiftly closing, as stabs were comparatively easy to mend.
The eyes flickered up and down the assailant. A Dark Magic User. Annoying. The body was getting sluggish, even more annyoing. It seemed, he was running out of options fast.
"Why make your boredom my problem?" the monotonous voice droned from the unmoving lips of the corpse; not hinting the slightest at any emotion.
Then he stepped forward and shoved the still smoldering piece of wood he had been holding into the man's face.
Nothing like a good offence, when on the defensive. It probably wouldn't hurt the man, but a distraction should suffice.
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"Why make your boredom my problem?"
The Spirit shoved a piece of smoldering wood in his face. The Mage dodged easily and set the wood and the corpse's arm on fire, hoping that the Spirit would become able to use its magic. The Dark Mage needed to know if the corpse's animator was able of enough power to be of any use.
He sliced down at the man's legs, setting his silver sword ablaze as well. Then, he sent a mental assault at the Spirit and tried to shatter the mind's walls. He knew Spirits weren't good at conjuring walls, and this one seemed like it would be an easy capture. "Smart, are you? I didn't think you were capable of that. After all, most Spirits are rather slow. It's helpful of you to show up. My... Guild, shall I put it, is running low on magic. Do you think you could lend me some? With that statement, he stabbed once more at the fragile wall of magic, leeching some from the swirling Spirit.
Time was what he needed and it was running out.
With quick series of jabs, swings and thrusts, he flailed the hands at the mage's face, pressing the attack and ignoring the minor damage that was incurred. The speed and force thrown into the fight tore ligaments and damaged muscles, but the damage wasn't a problem as he just as easily mended it.
He feinted a final punch, straight at the face, but rather than follow through on the punch, he grabbed at the wrist of the sword-wielding hand. He intended to hang on to that wrist, preferably breaking it. Broken wrists were a nuissance, he knew from personal experience.
Corrose suppressed a sharp gasp as his wrist snapped. He ground his teeth and with his left hand, he stabbed out with his sword. He had trained with both hands, but the broken wrist would give the Spirit an advantage, because he was now slower and more clumsy. He grimaced and called upon his own magic. Dark shadows crept down his arm, filling the break with black shade. He flexed his hand. Much better, he thought, and stabbed at the Spirit's host.
Fire roamed down his sword and set the earth ablaze. It set the Mage's robes on fire as well, but those were extinguished by the magic in the cloak before they could do any harm. Corrose snarled and launched a melee at the Spirit, drawing out his twin gold blade. The two swords flashed down towards the corpse's shoulders. They should make a clean cut, Corrose knew, cutting off the arms. His enchanted blades were dwarf-made, and cut through bones like cutting through water.
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Aeska smelled smoke. She lifted her head and sniffed. It wasn't Ark's tiny blaze, it was full force magical fire. She tugged at her companion's arm. "We have to go. I think Penny's being attacked." She shouted a instantaneous explanation to Ashia, and then jumped down the tree, barely touching the ladders. Valaser darted after her, gliding down in a dizzying spiral.
Aeska arrived at the plains where she saw flashes of fire in the distance. She grabbed gasps of air and sprinted over to help. A Dark Mage was bringing twin blades, silver and gold, down on a corpse. She knew that it was Penny. She pulled out her longsword and swung up, catching both swords on its silver-blue blade. Smiling grimly, she tilted the sword and the blades screeched off. The Dark Mage looked at her in surprise. "Hello, Corrose. I trust that you're doing well?" The mage didn't reply, just stood there with his mouth open. "Sorry, I can't have you going around decapitating my friends."
Aeska's Sword-
It wasn't a very nice thing to do, but then again, neither was dismemberment or the implied threat to capture someone and leech off their power.
So he made the low blow. Or rather, he kicked. Hard.
If the foot managed to connect with the targeted groin of the Dark Mage, it was delivered with enough force to break his own ankle and probably some of the toes as well. What it would do to the Dark Mage was up in the air. The man obviously came prepared for a scrap. It was terribly crude, getting physical and brawly like this, Pendwil chastised himself, but he was lacking severely in the magic sword and deadly spell department, so he had to go with what was there.
In this case, quite literally disarmed, there were the legs. Attached to the legs were the feet.
Just one leg and one foot, really.
The other leg was sorely needed as the only connection to the ground and the only balancing feature as well.
And just now, he quite forcefully tried to attach his own foot to the groin of the Dark Mage, whose name was apparantly Corrose.
He idly wondered, if the Feline would make an appearance as well.
The Dark Mage narrowed his eyes. He watched the Spirit's form shift idly inside of the corpse, and suddenly its leg jerked upwards. A kick aimed straight for his groin. He snarled and grabbed at the foot that swung up towards him, smiling grimly. He stepped to the side, unless his grab was unsuccessful.
What in the world was that girl, Aeska, doing here? He though he'd dispatched her when Endor had been burned. Now his Riders were a stray force. He sent a Shadow Spell towards the girl with his free hand, knowing that if anyone else joined the brawl, he was currently helpless. Corrose pent up his anger and let loose a free tendril as soon as the Shadow was released. The tendril of fire burrowed into the crust and deeper, pulling lava up to the surface. In the process, he sensed another magic user nearby- a Fire user, he knew, sensing he presence in the flame.
However, he couldn't care less if this was the leader of the Earth Force. Sending pillars of lava up as well, he tried to re-muster his magic. Corrose gasped in his head. Magically exhausted. He collapsed, sending shockwaves of Shadow out to his foes. One message managed to arrive at its destination, though.
Corrose had called the Riders of Endor.
She was a slip of a girl who had obviously stood no chance against the Earth Beast and its deadly sonic power. She was quite limber though, and he spared a fraction of a second to wonder what she had been doing here.
Then she rose and inspected her new form briefly, before unceremoniously fleeing the scene. The thanks and apology for Aeska had to wait. The Dark Mage's call for help had not gone unnoticed.
As she started to speed away, an orange glow formed around her hands - the fireproof fingers effect - but then it began to spread across the entire body, extending its protection to encompass all of the girl's corpse. The power had apparantly managed to transmute in a very brief span of time. A miniature emergence, perhaps?
Initially, the concern had merely been to put distance between his new form and Corrose, zigging and zagging at random to avoid any ranged attacks as best as possible. Abruptly, the girl spun and changed her direction, heading for the tree with the secret passage.
She finally reached the tree, seeing a slim girl standing near the passage. Something was wrong- she didn't look entirely alive.
"Penny?"
"Yes?"
The voice didn't belong to a young woman. It was monotonous. More like an articulated buzzing of flies circling a corpse.
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"Oh... Well, good to see that Corrose didn't get you. That would have been really, really bad." She smiled grimly, wondering what Penny was searching for.
(Sorry that this is short, I'm a bit rushed.)
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"Yes. Yes. That would have been bad. At least from my point of view. How are you invested in the matter? I thank you for your timely intervention," the voice said, at length. The lips were almost moving in synch with the words.
Apparantly not waiting for an answer, the dead girl turned around and started looking after clues to the secret passage the others had used earlier. The investigation was quickly abandoned, however, and the dead eyes looked at Aeska again, though only briefly, before turning back to the ruins behind the Exulum.
"How long do you think we have, before whatever his final gesture was, manifests as trouble?"
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