Nikita Mourning's Story

"I am no mage, I do not remember the nature of magic," he answered firmly and then turned sharply to the side before he continued, "The man was named Ezrael Flavaar, a being betwixt two halves. He was some spiritual entity contained within a child. His full nature I don't understand, as I had only bare encounters with him and we did not talk much, for good reason. I disliked his presence, he had the horns of a demon and wore dark clothing like death. He was clever and powerful, but as you can find his magical fort at the bottom of the lake I think you can conclude the same as me."

"Ezrael Flavaar is dead."

After letting that sink in he continued. "I was blinded by the beauty of a heathen race, who I deemed worthy enough to change my ways to impress. But I was wrong. She and a gnoll companion of hers lead to my death." His voice became quite snippy and sharp, almost as much so as his eyes.

Nikita Mourning sucked in a deep breath. She was not to happy with the news, and with the sharpening of his voice she almost stepped back out of the circle- but that would be disastrous for her, that would cause it- everything - to go wrong. It would release him in the form that he did have.

"No plans for revenge, then?"

She gave a soft chuckle and a head nod, "Well, thank you for the information..."

"You may leave now."

She waved a hand, in the attempt to banish him from the circle. She had no intention of actually giving him a body.

As she cleared up that she was not going to bring him back to life his eyes narrowed and he sniffed in distaste. "Hmph. So he is still alive then?" the French man asked. As if to answer the inevitable following question he raised a lone finger and stated, "Why else come to me? I am the last spirit remaining, and therefore I am the last safe being to ask." Suddenly he chukcled, then burst into laughter.

"You're a child," he said, gracefully stepping towards her and through her, leaving of his own free will. "This encounter harms me no more than words." He wouldn't care for the banishment, let it come.

It was by happenstance that Nikita was wondering about the quaint little market when she happened upon the stench of another necromancer – in this case, the stench was actually perforating the air. She scrunched her nose up and peered around, pale blue eyes searching for what her nose could smell.

It did not take her long – the aura of a necromancer was a wonderful thing since it made others cringe out of the way, their fragile minds breaking and bending beneath the power that they held. People, beings, were so awkward and fearful when it came to death, even though the best of powers lay in controlling it.

The tall, slender woman stopped where she was at and leaned against the wooden pole of the stand that she was at, potions bubbling merrily and awaited the recognition that she deserved. It was not every day, of course, that two necromancers happened to be in the same town and area. Besides, Nikita was a rather impressive being, standing at 5’11 and dressed in a black dress, with a high collar. Her hair had gone white from all the death she touched, leeching the color from her skin, her hair, and her eyes. Blue lips curved into a smile, exposing just a hint of her teeth.

Now to wait.

Jarad felt her presence after shifting through the various magical auras that dominated the market. He had to shift through countless vampires, thralls, minor mages, one very studious demon posing in the skin of a human and many more lesser ones. The shroud of his hood shifted as he his gaze did towards the woman leaning against the wooden post. She seemed powerful enough to discern the tendrils of his own energy that would seemingly glide over her own aura feeling it in more then one sense.

This new necromancer had Ankou shifting his path towards the woman the crowded market once more spreading from around him as if he was a shark in a school of fish. She hid the stench of death from herself something Ankou didn't do quite well, he never received instruction in how to and was on his own in many things. When he arrived near the woman he had too look slightly up to make eye contact as he was three inches shorter then he. His scepter and dagger were hidden under his robes and the staff he normally carried was tucked away in a pocket of space which he could easily materialize it from.

"Whom may you be? I have yet to meet a fellow member of the craft for some time and those that I do tend to find flee off." Jarad's voice was ghostly to a point as if two voices were speaking one of them slightly delayed behind the other.

His face remained shrouded even this close to the woman the weave of the spell hiding his features from view.

"I am Nikita Mourning," she answered, voice soft. While she did not have the overlap of power on her words, it could still be felt. She was much more subtle, than him, a softer power.. Maybe. Her eyes searched over his face, hidden behind his magic, and one of her eyebrows arched, lips pursing.

Why was he hiding his face? She could have attempted to pry his magic away and force him to bare himself to her, to see if she was more powerful, or if he could withstand the slaughter - but she did not. Instead she inclined her head forward, white strands sliding along her chin. "Yes, it has been sometime since I've seen another of our kind around. If I may inquire as to why you are in this lovely place, allowin' so much of your power to... slide among the crowd?"

It was a waste. Leaking power, giving off a stench, overlaying your voice. So much more could be done with it. Hoarded, molded, and used for nefarious purposes. After all, most necromancers wanted -more- power, they had no reason to throw it away with silly stuff like scaring a crowd.

Unless he wasn't fully trained? If so, he could be dangerous...

Or very, very helpful.

It was true he couldn't contain the power of his fear for his instructions ended quite abruptly when his Master passed on prematurely to the other side. The overlay in his voice was more by accident when he had begun dabbling in his transmutation from a non human form. He decided to try and change his voice with it and that ended with him now having an after effect of another voice as if he was speaking from the grave. The lack of a teacher or finding the proper grimoire on fixing it left him in his current situation.

"I am known to the majority of people as Ankou." His voice holding the ethereal effect.

With his name being said he saw no harm in lowering the hood. It would just do more to paralyze various citizens in fear. When the hood came down so did the weave of magic with it revealing a smooth black face that looked as wood, parts of the cheeks and face pulsated a dark purple and the eyes an abyssal black peerless in whatever they looked at. His head was bare the same smooth black but with thorns rising in rose on the top of his head directed backwards the color lightening the purple at the tips. For all things concluded he did not appear human anymore.

The scream of a mad man pierced the market and echoed off the buildings and down the alleys. This was quickly followed by many gasps. The people backed away from the source of the commotion. A deranged looking man with dark skin was the source of the concern. He lurched forward and ran his nails across his brow and down his open eyes with such force that those dull fleshy orbs were rent open and ran down his cheeks.

"We are not the flame!", the man screamed with a ravaged voice. Women covered their mouths and turned away. Children ran from the scene. Even the men in the market backed away. One man wretched and then vomited at the sight. "We are but mouths and we are doomed!" Then despite being blind the man took off and with inhuman speed he charged at the two necromancers. Such was his charge that surely his frail body should break in half at his exertion.

Ankou turned to the sound of the man screaming. He was afraid it was him who caused such a disillusion possibly among the people here. The reaction time was rather sorry but it was efficient after Ankou looked to the man charging them even though he was sightless. His left hand pointed at the man fingers splayed as he directed them towards the mans chest. His Right hand shot down preparing a secondary seal of a black green that would hang in the air till he broke it.

"Manibus autem Necrotic" The voices still having the delay as a large had the width and height of Ankou's just shot forth with sharpened fingers aimed towards the chest of the man ready to impact. His left hand remained aimed at the man while he awaited to see if a secondary attack was necessary.

The clink of chains was heard as if huge links were scrapping upon each other just behind Ankou and Nikita but if they were to turn they would see nothing of chains and only the horrified faces of the people.

That dark hand, Ankou's spell struck true, exactly upon the mark that the necromancer had wished. The crazed man did not attempt to dodge the spell's assault. In fact the man was as frail as he appeared and the force of the impact snapped nearly every bone in his body. This did not kill him. Nothing could kill him now because you cannot kill that which is technically dead. He had been cold and dead for many hours now. The question may be asked later how the necromancers had not know it was a corpse.

Technically dead, but not some reanimated corpse fueled by animus or the talent of a necromancer. The corpse did not struggled or move further once Ankou had it in his spell's grip. A soul still resided within the corpse but this soul was tainted and did not transcend. It was as if this soul's previously planned destination rejected it for fear of being corrupted itself. To pry into the tainted spirit brought psychic pain and to pry further would invite horror and then assured absolute madness.

If the corpse was released it would fall to the ground in a heap of silk, once fine, and now stained with blood, shit, and soil. A curved dagger hung to what was left of the crushed corpse's belt. There was also a leather satchel, that looked to contain a number of personal effects.

Despite the madman being dealt with the people kept their distance from both him and the necromancers that had dealt with him.

Ankou did not release the hand from the corpse, he merely extended the magic of the hand into the corpse. The hand acted as a mirror to him as he shifted towards the soul of the body. He was touching it with his magic in a way but it was more akin to a surgeon using a machine. He continued around the soul tentatively looking at the energy of the being it's life force and a proper way to take it. In his other hand he kept the other spell ready just in case.

"Hm this is quite interesting. I could try absorbing the soul into a vessel but even that could be deadly." Ankou mused to himself and Nikita.

Something was wrong. Nikita felt the wrongness of the blind man - the dead - moments after the other necromancer and unleashed his power and stopped the frail thing. She should have been able to feel the presence that which animated the body, but she didn't - no, all she heard where the chains. The woman didn't bother to look behind her, to search for the noise of the being who had corrupted the soul, it would be useless. This was a show - someone elses show - and she would not be impressed and would not allow them to know that they had her interest and, possibly, respect.

Instead Nikita allowed for Ankou to take care of business and waited to see what he would do. It was obvious that the corpse had some sort of trapped laid upon it, be it in the personal affects that were left clattered upon the floor, or perhaps in the energy of it's death, something that both Ankou and herself would be attracted to - but who would be watching them? Was it a trap that had been waiting for this, was the moment foretold, or had they just...stumbled upon this?

"I would be careful. While you taste it's soul, something could be tasting your magic, and you already allow for so much of it to be wasted..."

At her words, Nikita clenched shoved her hand into a pocket of her dress, fingers curling around a small blue stone, which was warmed with stored power. "You never know what might get a taste."

"Do I not look like I have more then enough to spare?" He continued his dissection of the soul in the body as he contemplated separating it from the body and whether or not he could possibly put the soul in a container of some kind.

He stood for a moment more pondering the fingers of the necrotic hand no longer moving.

"What do you think of this Nikita? Should I attempt withdraw the life force from the soul even though it seems capable of non transcending or should I simply tuck it away with a few ethereal friends?" Ankou said waiting for an answer.

The sound of chains grating had ceased and the people of the market were moving away. Very soon the square would be empty. Ankou was more than welcome to continue to examine the tainted soul. The link to his magic, used now to prod and poke the spirit transferred searing psychic pain into him. Still it was just pain and would cause no lasting harm unless he pressed further. The man's shattered soul was gibbering and screaming for help across the higher transitive planes. He pleaded for release from an unknown pain. The smell of ancient eldrich magic and horror hung upon the spirit, permeated it to its center. The man had seen something or done something terrible. The experience had shattered his will and corrupted him to his very core.

Handling the body and the corrupted spirit was like pressing a hand to a searing hotplate but it garnered Ankou some insight. The man had been in control of his own body, but barely. The animus, a link and animating force of all spirits had a tenuous connection to his body even after his heart had stopped. This had been caused by the inability of the soul to transcend and pass on. Now that the body had been crushed the animus had disbursed and left the maddened soul.

If this spirit was consumed it would cause terrible harm to Ankou. This soul, this entity that once was a man was nothing now other than a bane. It's existence would corrode the fabric of the world around it until the end of times. A demon from the lowest planes had more in common with a seraph than this thing had to a normal soul. It was absolutely foul, an utter wreck, and it was quickly becoming something even more terrible, an abomination not fit to exist within this universe.

Perhaps some helpful clue could be found among what were once the man's belongings?

With his initial examination done he wrenched the magic attached to the necrotic hand back but the body and soul would remained where they were. The pain wasn't anything unusual to him, nothing he had not already experienced in his own dabbling of the dark arts. His left hand now free he pushed his right hand through the signet still hanging in the air. The black green writing shattered as as a mire of oozing black and green nauseous fumes rose under the body. With the smell stronger then what Ankou even excreted many would begin forfeiting their food to the ground and moving far away from the small mire.

Though this wasn't all he had planned as two large skeletal hands rose from the oozing darkness to grasp onto the body carefully as the necrotic hand broke apart. A smaller hand rose stripping the belt from the man, with a flick of the hand the belt and supplies landed at Jarad's feet. Then the two larger hands settled back into the mire with the bod slowly.

"That takes care of the issue there. I will attempt to study it more later with a better method. Would you like to join me in that endeavor, Nikita?" Ankou staggered a bit as his energy had been drained quite a bit.

Nikita pursed her lips - she did not enjoy being talked to in such a way. No one, at least in her mind, had so much power that they should squander it with silly parlor tricks! Besides, if the other could not tell that something was happening, some force moving them and dictating their actions, then perhaps he was not worthy of a necromancer's title. That was a matter for another time, and place, though.

Pale blue eyes narrowed on the broken body, her nose scrunched upwards, perplexed expression on her face. It was difficult for one such as her to ignore the crying of a soul- not because she felt for it, but because the power that even the damned had was great- but she did not want to soil herself or her magi by handling it. She was much, much more careful than this Ankou was, cautious - wise.

"Now that you've done a magical examination perhaps you would do a physical one?"

She gave a nod to the corpse, her fingers still tucked away in her pocket, face relaxing back into an expression of mild amusement and curiosity. It was not that she had a problem touching the dead, but...

Something was off.

"Why did you come to the market today, of all days, anyway?"

"Oh I was here to see if I could obtain any of those rare materials I would need to achieve Lichdom. My former master attempted to do so and as you can see by the lack of his presence that it was a failure. But a lesson was learned and he has passed on." Ankou paused for a moment shifting back to the former question.

"Would it not be smarter to have a thrall or something else conduct a physical examination? The pain that the soul was able to do to me was enough to bother me. I would hate for the body to be trapped in such a way as well." The hand wrapped in a mixture of clothes rubbed his chin thoughtfully at this.

Many things had come to transpire so far from journeying to the market. This was his reason for usually avoiding such places filled with people and the mere fact he was usually not a wanted guest. With the current turn of events he was already thinking it was time to take his leave and disappear once more into the expanse of unconquered terrain.

When the leather satchel hit the ground its contents spilled out: Stopped ink bottles, quills, and two books. One of the two books was a smaller, leather bound, and closed with a bronze clasp. It appeared to be a journal. The other was larger and partially wrapped in thin animal hide. The cover had partially come off. The larger book was bound in some type of grotesque, thinly stretched hide. It smelled of terror, horror, and madness.

The curved dagger that the man had upon his belt was not of remarkable make though it was made of starmetal with an ironwood handle. Dried blood was present on the blade as if it had been sheathed without being cleaned. Beyond this he had nothing but a few gold coins, some bandages, and about a day's supply of dried rations and water.

If inspected the man's body was in terrible shape and had been before it had encountered Ankou's magic. Closer inspection would reveal that something was moving just under the man's thin ebony skin in multiple places within his body.

The market was now empty.

Finally, the other had a good idea! Nikita gave a quick nod of her head, white strands momentarily blocking her face while blue lips started on the spell that would, if it worked, raise a simple skeleton that could search the broken one's belongings. She was mostly interested in the books - they were valuable, she could tell. While she gathered up the small amount of power that was needed to raise the skeleton, she noticed that the market was empty.

Her concentration wavered slightly, though her lips did not stop mouthing the words to the spell, and in a few moments time there would be a half-formed skeleton ready to poke, prod, and snag the book for her own use. It could also protect her, to a degree, willing to throw it's self into harms way and die - again.

"Lichdom, huh? You're leaking - tossing - power about. You're nowhere near ready for that kind of magic. Do you even have any Storage?"

The skeleton, once formed quite easily retrieved the smaller of the two books for its master. When the animated bones went for the larger of the two books black shapes sprung from the man's corpse with all the speed of shadow flying from a torch's light, If eyes could follow they would see these shapes were tentacles, barbed, and littered with suction cups like that of an octopus. So many of them pressed out of the corpse's mouth that it snapped the corpse's jaw off. Still more poured out of the body's torn eye sockets and from every other bodily orifice until there was a great ripping sound and dead intestines, blood, and bits of other internal organs fell upon the ground.

The tendrils flew at Nikita's servator, more appropriately they flew at the book that her servator was reaching for. While the attack commenced to take the book the man's corpse roused, raised up like a marionette on puppet strings. Joints that were already broken clicked and pivoted strangely. The strange corpse creature would grab the book or it would grab the skeleton as it picked up the book. The later would face a crushing vice with all the strength of a giant and wrenching force in different directions to rip the tome from its grasp.

If the book was captured the creature would attempt to flee.