Taedium - Fantasy RP

[Giggilyomeromicon]

Taedium, to me, sounds like a magical word. One that was created by some witty author who has a line of best selling fantasy novels out, based around their amazing and origional setting. Apparently it's Latin for boredom. That's pretty much what I'm feeling right now, too, so I figured this is as good a time as any for kicking this off. Who cares about planning and thinking ahead, anyways.

As the topic suggests, this is a Fantasy RP. I'm intending this to be fairly free form, as well. Hopefully this won't explode in my face. Because I'm paranoid about quality, I'm going to want all character sheets be PM'd to me. That's underlined and bolded because I find to to be very important.

In terms of setting, I have very little information provided. I've thought very little about any actual plot, or setting (this is free form). What I have thought out is very loose, and intentionally so. What I've thought out can be summed up easily in my poorly written opening for my character. There isn't much there because I want everything to be made up as the RP progresses. Hopefully.

In terms of actual rules, I have very little. They are, as follows,

1. God-modding is allowed. If you want to do it, however, you have to do it well. That means no Mary Sues.

2. Despite being fantasy, I'd like for this to be somewhat realistic. Please keep this in mind when writing posts.

3. No classic fantasy races other then humans, or various kinds of humans. So please, leave out elves, dwarves, half-lings, goblins, orcs, trolls, etc. Zombies, liches, and the like are acceptable, as long as they are based on humans. If you want to make up your own race then feel free to do so. PM me a description of the race with your character sheet.

4. Include your character in the story. If we are on a tropical island fighting battle monkeys, please don't suddenly create a character who's stuck in an endless urban city twelve light-years away. This goes for all the starting characters, who I'll ask to be within a reasonable area of where my intro post is located.

If you have any questions about these rules, PM me. Also please be aware that these will probably be refined, and more rules may be added at a later time.

Now, for the important bit, the character sheet.

Name:
Race:
Age:
Gender:
Personal Information: (use this if you want to describe what equipment your character has, their biography, or any amazing magic. Feel free to leave this blank)

Remember, PM me your character sheets. Do not post them in this thread unless I have approved them! Once posted, just direct your character sheet here. Once we've gotten enough people I'll start the RP.

One last bit of important information, and possibly the most important. Anything that anyone wants included in this RP will (probably) be included on the RP's Freewebs site. It's lame, but it'll do.

If you feel you have anything important to add to the setting, then PM it to me. I'll add it to the Freewebs site. Please click the following URL and read the two basic things I've already added (necromancy and magic). If you wish to expand upon either of these, again, PM me.

http://www.freewebs.com/taedium/index.htm

Again, any questions or comment should be PM'd to me. I'd like to have some constructive criticism.

[Giggilyomeromicon]

And here happens to be my character sheet. Separated from the main post to make it easier to read. Note the last few paragraphs. That's basically all of the setting. I'll post a second post after this to kick things off.

Name: Tremor
Race: Immortal
Age: Really old
Gender: Male

To most, the cave would seem completely normal. A large, gaping hole in the side of a mountain, stretching back further then most would care to check. To a mage, the cave would also appear normal. At first, anyways. Upon further inspection, a secret passage might be found. A rock that was no rock at all, merely the image of one. This illusion, being possible to pass through, would reveal a side passage.

Nearly half a kilometer down this passage, after many twists and turns, is a tomb. It's a small room, in the shape of a perfect cube. In the center of this room's floor lies a crude, rectangular bed. Upon that bed lays a figure. He would not be called a handsome man. His skin is dreadfully pail, veins clearly visible beneath. Eyes impossibly dark, and hair to match. The man had a striking resemblance of a corpse. He wore a simple, light outfit.

Then his eyes opened for perhaps for what was perhaps the first time in many thousands of years. His chest began moving, his lungs taking in air. A cascade of thoughts reentered his mind. Memories, senses, emotions. An overwhelming amount of information flowed into him. He sat, for a time, sorting out his mind. Relearning the various processes needed for movement, for sight. Eventually, he regained himself.

Sitting up, the man's vision was quickly blurred, and his head felt as if it would split open. He brought his hands up to his face and slumped back down until the sensation had gone. Then, he made another attempt. This time it was successful. Reaching back into his mind, he recalled the process for creating a crude light with his mind. The spell was easy enough to remember, was he was surprised to note that his magical skills hadn't suffered much. A small light soon appeared over his head, casting a half light across the room. It had not changed during his centuries of sleep. The air still smelled strongly of stone.

Lifting himself off his stone bed, the man awkwardly moved over to the entrance to his tomb. His gait was bizarre, as he had not relearned how to properly walk. Without a second look back he exited the tomb, entering the winding stare case beyond. Shafts of moonlight were shining down from a tiny spec of light far above. As he followed the path, the man attempted to recollect his memories. Everything still seemed almost like a blur. Specific memories were elusive, as were specific facts. It was strange what he could remember, and what he couldn't.

Eventually the air became colder. The path was still narrow, however, the opening was just ahead. A small entrance, just large enough for a human to pass through. On the other side one could see the exit to the cave. No specifics had come back. He could barely remember why he had been sleeping in the tomb in the first place, and even that was shady. Somehow, however, he still retained his sense of magic.

The man reached the entrance to the side passage. A small stoop had been carved out just before the entrance. He noticed the echoes of his footsteps for the first time as he passed through, entering the larger cavern beyond. The floor was more rough here, naturally made. Beyond him was another small stare way, leading up to the large cave mouth. Looking back as he began climbing up the stare way, he saw the illusionary rock that would hide the entrance to outside eyes. This was a one way spell, and would only be noticed from the outside.

On the long way up he attempted to recall his name. Nothing came to mind, and he could remember people calling him it. It was at the tip of his tongue. Despite his best efforts, he could not remember. He walked the remainder of the way up trying to remember. Nothing came to mind. As he reached the lip of the cave he gazed out. Rather then a horizon, one could only see mountains. Snow capped the top of the highest peaks. Below him was a slope, lined with trees, heading down to a valley far below. A small river flowed through the valley. Beside it ran a round. In one direction it eventually left sight, and in the other it lead up to a large hill. Atop this hill was a group of lights, forming a city. Two smaller hills lyed on top of this. One of them appeared to house a keep.

For some reason, this reminded him of something. He didn't know why, but a single name came to mind. Tremor. It probably wasn't his own, but it didn't matter. He decided to call himself Tremor. Stepping out of the cave, he began moving down to the road. Thinking back, Tremor guessed that he was probably in one of the more northern kingdoms, probably Thriss.

It would be a long walk.

[DarkMirror]

Name: Red Drake
Race: Human
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Personal Information: Has a breastplate which comes with a pair of bracers and boots, in which is bound a powerful elemental spirit. Allows him to control wind, fire, water and earth, although the bound spirit doesn't always obey his wishes.

[100thlurker]

Name: Lord Nicodemus Bucephalon
Race: On a green, unremarkable world with lots of water (and other extraneous items of grave necessity) for Carbon based Oxygen dependent sentient lifeforms orbiting a yellow sun...

A creature with opposable thumbs emerged on the scene. Eventually there were many of these creatures. They walked about in proto-hiveminds and beat the shit out of every other animal on the planet, because they invented something called tactics, alongside the development of thousands of other weapons of unholy death, but that is another matter entirely. What does matter is that eventually this species of @$$holes and demagogues finally decided to call itself:

Mankind.

Age: 20
Gender: Male
Personal Information: He is the poster boy for magnificent bastards. He has the perfectly combed black hair, the perfectly white teeth, the fury inducing sneer/leer, the predatory eyes, the perfected locution and syntax, and the gloves. The gloves are always important.

He even has powerful magic.

There's one problem though. Because powerful does not necessarily mean useful. 'Why', you ask this omnipotent narrator? For in order to access this powerful magic, one has to be drunk. And I do mean drunk. Like, you can't even stand on your two feet drunk. No, getting a buzz is not enough. With this magic you might be able to hurt a fly if it already had four disgusting feet in a grave. You have to get mind-numbingly, vomit-inducing, flame inducing, Oh-Gods-this-hangover-just-split-my-skull-open-with-a-rusty-spoon, liver shriveling drunk.

Seeing a problem?

So Lord Nicodemus has to settle for mortal weapons. But he won't stay like this for long. Oh no, he's got plans. He is going to find a way to access his power. He'll topple worlds for it, split the very skies, genocide populations left and right, and all sorts of fearful dastardly plots without raising a finger.

Just you wait. He will. He's that good.

[kongurous]

Name: Ramius Jaxeran
Race: Human lich
Age: 396
Gender: Male
Personal Information: A necromancer with altruistic intentions. He has given his life and become undead so he would have an unlimited amount of time to study the nature of death with the intention to find a cure for death, through magical means or otherwise. He doesn't particularly try to keep his state a secret, he just avoids towns and usually resides in catacombs where his work won't be found and so he can study in peace.

[Kazeofwinds]

Name: Wyldhar
Race: Human
Age: Early 20something
Gender: Male
Personal Information: A somewhat scruffy looking guy with brown hair, blue eyes, and a large burn scar on his left cheek. A master artificer despite being completely and utterly incompetent with any spellcasting that isn't enchanting or artifact creation. This combined with his general curiosity towards and love of odd trinkets and gadgets has led to him to amass a rather large collection, including an automaton that looks like a human woman in roughly her late teens or early 20s that he dug out of a trashed mage's tower basement, repaired, and when it turned on it started following him around calling him master. He decided to name it "Sally" and has since had it help him carry all his stuff. Other note worthies include a rifle powered a combination of alchemy and coiled springs, a golf-bag of magic staves, A pair of goggles that let him see in the dark,A pocket watch that never needs to be wound, and a bottle filled with a glowing blue liquid.

Typically wears a fairly standard red tunic and brown pants under a dirt-colored cloak. The pair of goggles resemble a pair of brass ww2 fighter pilot's goggles, and are usually on his forehead when not in use.

[Protoss_Honor]

Name: Lodan Anasazi
Age: 30
Race: Human
Gender: Human
Personal Information: Lodan is so completely average, he would not stand out in a crowd of one, except for one thing. He is very well built, and quite strong. He wears nondescript brown cloth clothing, with leather pants, and a sleeveless leather jacket. He carries two main weapons, a poleaxe strapped to his back, and a rapier on his right thigh. He also has a hatchet and several knives about his person.

[Giggilyomeromicon]

Well, it's been nearly 24 hours, and this RP has actually received a good deal more attention then I thought it would. I've decided that now would be as good a time as ever to kick it off. If you haven't posted a character sheet, feel free to do so now.

Also, remember to check the thread before making any first posts. Because everyone should be introducing their characters, I think that contradictions between posts might be a problem. So please, make sure you aren't disregarding what has already been posted.

I'd also like to point out that Anoiktos has contributed the first bits of information to the, as he's named it, Encyclopedia. That's a better name then what I had previous thought of (nothing). Yay.

With that, I copy and paste the first actual intro post. I have no idea why I didn't just save the first part of it for now. Anyways, RP start GET.

----------

The city was dominated by its keep. The towering structure covered at least half a of the area. Surrounded by seven flanking towers, the keep itself easily took up one of the city's two hills. Beyond it, on the other of the city's hill, was a group of spires, nearly as tall as the keep. Between these hills was the meat of the city. Hundreds of buildings, seemingly placed at random, creating a maze of rock and mortar.

Surrounding these structures was a crude, low wall, constructed out of stones. Despite being a minor defense, it was very ornately constructed, with gothic looking arches and extrusions. The most stunning example of these was the town's main gate, an impressive, yet ultimately impractical structure.

Tremor had walked for several hours along the road leading to this gate. Very few travelers encountered him on the forested road, none of whom wished to talk.

That was fine.

It was now, as far as Tremor could reckon, very early in the morning, and clouds were starting to fill the sky. Despite them, the moonlight illuminated the area well.

Because of the moon's cooperation, several dark shapes that were clearly not plant life. A man, attempting to hide himself in the darkness, was watching Tremor keenly from the side of the road. Many more watchmen had been along the road, keenly watching any travelers. It was not unusual for towns to post guards around their walls at night, but spreading them so far out was unusual. Almost as if they were expected trouble.

As Tremor neared the gatehouse he became aware of the fact that several of these watchmen had closed in behind him, evidently believing themselves to still be shrouded in darkness. Their movements, however, were painfully obvious. They obviously were not experienced professionals. The trained military must have been elsewhere.

Stepping into the gatehouse, Tremor heard a bell rang from somewhere behind the wall. A soft grating sound moaned out of one of the gatehouse walls. Dull candlelight spilled out. A grizzly faced man was there, standing within the gatehouse walls. He was the current gatekeeper.

"What business do you have here, traveler?" he asked. His voice was coarse and stringy.
"..."
A brief pause.
"If it's coming into the city you want, you won't be allowed access until you pay a toll. Ten Thrissian coins, as an entrance tax."

Reaching into the back of his mind, Tremor recalled a simple spell that would create ten illusory gold coins. In a couple of hours they would simply vanish, but by then Tremor would be within the city. Reaching his hand into one of the pockets of his trousers, Tremor did just that. A few seconds later his hand reemerged holding ten generic looking coins. He handed them to the waiting gatekeeper.

"Is this enough?"
"Sure is. I'll open the gates for you, but be warned. The town's a little uneasy. We've been forced to draft people into a makeshift militia unit. All of our regular troops were shipped out a few weeks ago."
"I noticed."

The gatekeeper gave Tremor an unapproving look, and moved to open the town's gates. After a few seconds they were open and secure. Tremor walked through.

[100thlurker]

Shading his eyes, he sneered at the mob before him. He always sneered. Rumor had it he had sneered when he was born. Apparently he sneered when he was asleep. If he ever slept at all. Some argued it was a problem with his self-esteem. Others said he was compensating for something. That the two parties were saying exactly the same thing had never occurred to them at all. Stupid, witless buffoons couldn't get rid of their earwax if it was ripping their ears off. Others said he was completely bonkers. They were entertaining, and none of them were serious at all. He liked them, in his own horrifying way. A third party said that the devil was telling all the secrets of the world. That was the only way to explain why he was so good. These ones often had "accidents". Oh yes accidents, terrible, utterly illogical, and convoluted ones. He always had plausible deniability. Every Goddamn time.

Their relatives had gathered here, cornering him in a dead end. They glared at him with hate. Oh yes, deniability did not mean innocence. Not when he smiled just like that upon hearing news about their deaths.

"Torches and pitchforks, oh my. What are you going to do to me you pathetic rabble of inbred twits? Yell a till the stars cover their ears in annoyance? Scream lynch mob for a while? I know that there isn't a man among thee. None of you could touch me if you dared," he leered.

One of the men stepped forward, clenching his fist around a massive axe. He lifted his head high. "YOU!" he roared, thrusting his axe at him, "You are the He-Devil sent to spite us! Well I'll not let you go free alive, not if I dared!"

A low growl spread through the mob, and the cobblestones beneath their feet dimmed slightly as their torches lowered in anticipation.

"Lariasons! I knew these filthy wretches were here! C'mon get em!"

The mob was allowed only a moment of bewilderment before another mob rushed from the streets behind them. Caught by surprise, the first mob reeled slightly, before lashing back. The commotion attracted guards, who quickly called for backup. When they attempted to calm the wild mêlée, they soon were devoured in it.

Nicodemus grinned as he weaved his way through the fighting. He had intentionally engineered his sneer. He knew it would upset people, The Laraisons especially. He had indeed crafted “accidents” designed to be obvious. They needed to know who had done this to them, otherwise there would be no point. The relatives would hate him; they would even try to kill him. They would try to lynch him. In doing so, he would drag them into Tabaison territory. The two parties hated each others guts, and the Laraisons would be too obsessed with him to realize where they were walking. Night helped more than a little bit. The Tabaisons would think that the Laraisons had come to do damage. They would try and fight them off. The guards would have to intervene, but he knew that the chaos would be too much for them. He was free to waltz into the Academy of Magic without any interruptions. The city guards would be too busy trying to enforce order. None would see him enter the building, because they would either be participating in or watching the brawl.

He walked unflinchingly out of the inferno.

[Anoiktos]

[Note: These events do not take place inside the city.]

Imult is not the cleverest, nor the canniest of players, but he knows well when he's found a professional, and relishes the challenge. The newcomer's face is concealed, a fact that makes him grin: Too often, players think that because their face is concealed their thoughts are protected, when any number of clues - fidgeting in one's chair, tapping fingers, small exclamations - can be as telling as the glimpse of an expression. Better yet, such people tend to be dangerously confident. Imult's face remains passive, but inside he is smiling: Such a mark comes only once a week at best.

The newcomer wears a well-worn coat from the fur of some animal - not bear, but rabbit, he thinks. This further relieves him; his mark is fast, but not necessarily strong, as a bearskin coat might imply. Of course, he muses to himself, it could all be for show, in which case he's got an entirely different problem.

As the game begins, he silently screams for joy; the newcomer has risen to the bait and bet a gold mark, stamped with Regnam's head. The fact that his cards are mediocre at best is no problem; with a bit of parlor magic, he's found, there's no set of cards that can't be bent in his favor.

As Imult asks for another card, pulling the thin paper sheet from the top of a raggedly marked deck, a caustic voice booms from outside:

"Neverborn! Shall I tear this inn from its foundations, or will you come to face me honorably? I will end your rampage this day, fiend!"

Imult recognizes the voice: that of a paladin of the Burning Eye. They did excellent work in chasing and hunting down necromancers, but Imult's experiences with them are otherwise anything but positive. Condescending, mean-spirited elitist knights, the followers of the Burning Eye see everyone else as their inferiors - or at least, he muses, those who try to steal from them. Their symbol isn't an eye for nothing, and as his mark stands up, he can scarcely believe his luck.

"Damn. Always when I've got a good hand. Cardsharper, you win this round; I'd suggest leaving. Now."

The newcomer's voice is cold and stiff, like the rasp of bone against bone, and while he wonders for a second why a necromancer would bother playing cards with him, Imult grabs his things, paying special attention to the gold coin, and runs out of the room. As he goes, he takes a peek at the newcomer's hand - a perfect string of Royals - and nearly drops it, a smile creeping onto his face despite his efforts to the contrary.

-----

Lothos smiles to himself, gritting his teeth for the battle ahead.

Weeks, it's been, following the Neverborn. Her methods are subtle, her manner wholesome, and she seems to have the knack for making herself unnoticed, but sooner or later, I told the chaplain, she'd have to give up the chase. As she has. And now I will lay her evil to rest for all time, in the name of the Burning Eye.

And if it goes badly, he muses, I have backup to make sure the job is done.

-----

"All right, Lothos. I'm here, now. What do you want? You think I haven't noticed you following me for the past month and a half?"

The Neverborn, affronted, steps out of the inn in style, flinging her cloak to the ground where it thumps down in a flattened heap. She faces her foe, an impossibly well-groomed man with shining teeth, a thoroughbred black destrier, and gleaming armor. On his shield, a burning eye stares, painted in the painstaking way meant to impress people with the amount of money you've paid some poor sap to ruin his hands and eyes for you. He is smiling with an expression that, Othri figures, has been practiced a hundred thousand times just to give it the appropriate mix of confidence and manifest irritation.

He shouts:

"Have at thee, fiend, for your-"

The paladin gets about that far in his speech before the Neverborn empties a crossbow into the Destrier's brain, felling it. Through some magic or training, the man manages to leap off his horse despite the armor, where any other man would have simply crushed his leg, and begins shouting obscenities at her denouncing her has dishonorable, unchivalrous, and something she can't pronounce, and she replies simply:

"If you want to fight, fight. You won't succeed in deafening me with your stupidity, though you may well make me more irritated. Do you have any idea how rare a string of Royals is?"

The man tilts his head to the side, momentarily confused by her reference, and mutters:

"What?"

"Cards, man. Haven't you ever played Fiddler's gambit?"

"Gambling! Hah! I should have known that a fiend such as you would relish the sinful role of chance in robbing an honest man from his-"

"I'm going to rob you of your mouth in a second, you brain-addled nincompoop. Did you want to fight, or shall I kill you for inconveniencing me?"

"A Knight of the Burning Eye always fights-"

Othri shakes her head as she reaches to her side. The patterns on the woman's pale, marbeled skin seem to twist and move as she does, pulling three small, many-pointed objects from a satchel by her side, a sort of leather pouch scraped raw from wear. When she looks up, the Knight is charging, holding the weapon out by his side. She nods approvingly; the height of the thing is meticulously placed so that it's difficult to duck without chopping off your neck, and equally difficult to jump over.

She throws one of the stars, striking the man inside of the visor of his helmet, and as he falls towards her, swearing, she deftly leaps to the side, her hide-crafted armor far more flexible than any metal casing. The man swipes at where she had been standing, unable to see from the blood now littering the inside of his helmet, and as the tip of his weapon scythes across the skin of her arm, the Neverborn snaps her fingers, more in a sort of ritual than any meaningful arcane motion.

The man's helmet detonates, shining with the light of a thousand suns for all of half a second before it stops, and the man's mildly molten suit of armor falls to the ground. At his death, her eyes glow slightly, the feedback from the imprisonment of his soul in the waves of the Dark feeding the core of her being, and the wound on her arm closes, re-knitting itself with little more than yet another mottled grey line. Her skin now seems more lustrous, and she moves with a more active gait.

As she watches, the Paladin's body burns still more brightly, and the fire shapes itself into the symbol of a watching eye; through it, three more Paladins appear, each dressed in hardened armor, and Othri sighs.

"What do you people want with me, anyway? It's not like I go around raising the dead or killing children."

"You", one of them screeches hysterically, "are a blight upon this very world; your existence is proof for all to see that evil works upon this land evermore. By erasing you, we fight the blight of -"

"Nyeh nyeh nyeh, I get it. You're all fanatical idiots. So, what do we do now? You all try to kill me one by one and insult me when it doesn't go the way you planned?"

"Of course not, fiend. You are not worthy of honor - we shall cut you down at once, like the beast you are."

For once, she muses, they're as good as their word - even before the man stops yelling, they charge, and she's amused to think that the image this most reminds her of is that of a group of barbarians rushing towards their prey.

On the other hand, she's the prey in question.

As one of the flame-worshippers swings towards her, she slides, kicking his feet out from under him, and manages to right herself next to the one who last spoke. He seems to have stopped early to ready some sort of incantation, and while in other circumstances she might have been interested to see exactly what it is, here she simply slides a shiruken into the joint in the back of the man's greaves and keeps going.

She begins running back towards the Inn as she pulls a pair of strange-looking pronged daggers from the inside of her boot and changes directions, pushing off from the ground and catching the nearest of her enemies' weapons between hers. With a motion and a burst of energy, the man's blade is shattered, and as the spellcaster begins chanting again, she opens her eyes wide, willing the shard in the shiruken she planted earlier to detonate, messily felling its target as she stabs the now weaponless man in the neck. The explosion causes the third man to stumble momentarily, which gives her enough time to get clear of the armor-coated slab of meat that's now shoving her to the ground.

Unfortunately, the third man is rather unwilling to stop long enough for her to catch her breath or stand again, so as he stabs his weapon to the ground, she rolls into his leg and shoves her second dagger into the joint between knee and upper leg. He flails wildly, deeply cutting into her hip with the blade of his weapon as he falls, and she twists just far enough to kick her good heel into his face until she hears a crack.

She kneels, wincing at the pain from her side - it seems as though he's cut right to the bone, and not broken it only because of its unusual strength - as the man stands, the dagger in his leg making it difficult for him to keep his balance. As he grunts angrily, hefting his weapon into the air for a killing blow, she sends out a silent prayer -

- and the man falls in a riotous explosion, a flaming chunk of ice and stone from the heavens having blasted him - and her dagger - into oblivion. She grimaces as the wound in her side heals, and goes to recover the dagger in the second man's neck, angrily muttering about wasting good equipment on spineless idiots.

-----

"Gam? Can I get another glass of cider, please?"

-----

Name: Othri Neverborn
Race: Unliving
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Personal Information: Othri is an unalive human paladin of the stars.

Bio:

Othri died in slaughter, and was born shortly afterwards into the arms of a corpse. Her mother was a peasant, a broken creature whose crops had failed with the advent of an early spring freeze, and whose life was lost shortly thereafter to cold, skeletal hands of an A'tok who had ventured farther south from the winter wastes than usual. This A'tok slaughtered their entire village, and in the wake of this massacre, Othri grew strong.

[Kazeofwinds]

Wyldhar, also sometimes referred to as Wyld, Will, or Willy (though he despised being called Willy, and those that did rarely got away without an injury of inconvenient curse of some kind) held a rather old staff that looked like it had at some point been burnt to a crisp in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. On one hip rested a miniature quiver filled with rods varying between 12 and 18 inches long and made of various materials both strange and mundane. Across his back was slung what somewhat resembled a modern bolt-action rifle, though it was covered in various brass fittings, gears, pistons, and slides. On his other hip hung a tan messenger-style bag.

Behind him, as always, was his constant traveling companion, a relatively attractive young woman with hair the strange green color of oxidized copper (as well, that's what it actually was) and copper colored eyes, wearing practical workman's clothes under a cloak identical to Wyld's. Over her shoulder was a large golf-bag of staves of various makes. Both of the traveling companions wore brown wide-brimmed hats, and neither of them carried anything that resembled a normal weapon.

The pair currently stood at a roadblock made from a downed tree and the remnants of a trashed wagon. A band of rather generic looking bandits had surrounded the two of them, and currently had various weapons leveled at them, mostly spears - though there were a few crossbows in the mix. Wyld looked at the paper then at the paper in his hand again.

"Well, this wasn't on the map, but our resting place for the night is up ahead, I think."

One of the bandits stood on top of the tree trunk with a crossbow leveled at Wyldhar.

"This road has a toll, all your valuables, now..." The bandit pauses for a moment, "....and give us your woman too."

Wyld, for his part, looked back at Sally, thought a second, then turned back to the bandits. The green haired woman unslung the bag of staves from her back and sat it down next to Wyld, it resting on a pair of little legs that fell down when it tilted to the appropriate angle.

"Sorry, Sally isn't for sale, no way I'll find a companion of such fine craftmanship again. As for my things...well, I've spent far too much time gathering them all to just give them up to some boring highwayman that probably couldn't use them, not that they'd be useful to you lot anyways. I'll be on my way now."

The head bandit was obviously displeased by Wyld's decision, as his next words were a death threat followed by an attack order. The green haired woman lunged forward with an inhuman speed and precisely deflected the crossbow bolts headed for her male companion with a blade that seemed to have appeared in the place of her right hand before bounding towards one of the bandits and dropping him with a flying kick to the forehead. Wyld pointed the staff he'd been using as a walking stick at a bandit on the other side of the path and spoke a command word. A bolt of lightning jumped from the head with a loud thunderclap and struck the bandit in the chest before splitting into two and jumping into the two bandits closest to the target, and continuing in this fashion until it struck Sally, who didn't seem to notice- though she flung a bolt of lightning at a tree immediately afterwords.

"I love that you're immune to lightning magic, makes this staff so much more useful." Wyld smiled.

"If I wasn't, you would have probably killed me now by accident, master."

"Yeah, that's probably true, and I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"It's only proper that I address my master as Master."

"I already told you that you're free to do what you like, and that I'm not your master."

"You repaired me, activated me, and named me, therefore you are my master."

Wyld sighed, opting not to continue an argument he'd already had dozens, of times over the past couple years.

"Anyways, grab the bag of staves and let's get to the rest stop, Sally."
She nodded, retrieved the bag she'd put down earlier, and the two of them made their way around the improvised barricade and towards the inn they'd be stopping at somewhere down the road.

Eventually they arrived at the rest stop, entering with the precisely correct timing to see a man with his dagger in his leg explode at the receiving end of some form of spell he didn't recognize. The woman who probably offed the...whoever he was, recovered a dagger Wyld assumed to be hers from a man's neck before sitting down and ordering a drink. A few other corpses that had been dispatched in rather nonconventional fashions sat on the ground, mostly ignored.

Wyld walked over to the nearest corpse before squatting down and considering it for about 20 seconds, another ten seconds of rifling through the dead man's belongings resulted in a sigh.

"Bah, nothing interesting on this guy, just the standard Flame-eye enchantments. Why is it that conveniently placed dead people are never carrying anything interesting."

Wyldhar repeated this process for all the bodies, giving similar though not identical comments about all of them, though he gave extra attention to the helmet that had seemed to have exploded from the inside before replacing it on it's dead owner's head. That finished, he took a seat at a random table, Sally took up a position standing behind him and to one side.

"I've told you before I don't like it when you stand there like a butler, you're a friend, not a servant, sit down."

Sally nodded and sat down, while Wyld shouted out an order for a meal and something to drink.

[kongurous]

There was something Ramius always found comforting about his work, particularly when he was in the catacombs of a new city. Perhaps it was the repetition of it all after having done this for over three hundred years now, since he was nineteen years old. Maybe it was that he was so estranged from society as a whole (a highly likely conclusion!) that he only found solace in his unlife's dream. It was also entirely possible that he was just crazy and that all of this was him expressing this crazy. Ramius cared not for he knew his mission was a good one and that with every body he studied, he was one step closer to finding the answer to his question: how do you stop death from happening to mortal beings?

For today's experiment, Ramius had not bothered to put his robes on and was completely without clothing. Not that it much mattered, his mortal flesh having long since decomposed, but he always liked to snicker at the inherent impossibility of being a naked skeleton, at least by most conventions. It also made much of his studying simply easier to do without the long sleeves or the hood covering his eyes. Before him, on a metal slab he had sterilized with a spell beforehand, was a freshly deceased body of a young human female, estimated to be between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four, with red hair and deeply tanned skin. Her hands, fingers, and feet were calloused and her teeth bore the unmistakable condition of belonging to someone who was not quite so privileged as to afford sodium bicarbonate. The cause of death was apparently a sharp blow to the back of the head from some blunt object, possibly a log, a mace, or something in between.

Ramius cared not. It did not matter what had killed her, only what it had done to her body to make her die. To this end, her head had been shaved clean of hair and an incision had been made down the middle, going from the top of the head down to the cleft of her chin, and the two halves were folded over and to the side with the muscles painstakingly removed by classification and placed within airtight jars he'd prepared prior to the dissection. He had removed the ligaments holding the hinges of the jaw together and the lower half had been laid aside after it had been deemed to be in perfect shape, aside from the askew, discolored teeth. The cartilage of her nose had been also set aside, doing nothing but getting in the way, and he broke the topmost vertebra of the spinal column and precisely cut the cord.

Ramius held the skull in front of him after cutting the trachea and other unimportant bits in the neck, suppressing the urge to chuckle at the situation. A skeleton looking at a skull, it seemed rather funny to him. With the brain still inside the skull, however, it felt heavier than it should have but he was hesitant to break it open because of how much it could damage the precious organ inside. He turned the skeleton around and saw that the skull had already been fractured in the back and that it would have done little more than give her a concussion. Someone, or something, must have led to her demise later. He removed the bits of skull loose enough to take off without much effort and retrieved his bone cutting scissors from the instrument table.

He snipped through the bone down the middle with as much effort to preserve the brain and what remained of her respiratory system as possible and he set the right half of the skull side, picking up the brain delicately and admiring how young and healthy it looked but feeling somewhat depressed at how such a young life could be cut so tragically short. He turned the brain around to the back and saw some fragments of skull embedded into the tissue and saw a rather nasty bruise that was synonymous with a direct, sudden bash in the back of the head.

"A mace." Ramius whispered, which would have looked odd if anyone was watching because skeletons lack lips and vocal cords.

He set the brain into another jar and closed it for later study. For now he needed to catalog the other organs in this woman's body and idly waved a blood-smeared hand at the remnants of her nose left unstudied in both halves of the skull. They weren't nearly as important or interesting as anything else.

[Protoss_Honor]

A shadow fell over the rabbit sitting in the middle of the road, and it immediately froze in sheer, unadulterated terror. Furtively checking its surroundings, it bolted for the safety of the bushes that more or less lined the side of the road. Lodan followed the rabbit's movement with his eyes and ears, concentrating on the momentary distraction from the monotony of his journey. He quickly put the rabbit behind him and turned his attention back to his more immediate surroundings. Taking a look at the sky, he determined that High noon had passed and the temperature was almost at its zenith. Gazing forward, he saw a small building looming in the distance. Twilight would be just beginning when he reached it he guessed. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby bushes and ruffled his short cropped brown hair.

Other than sighting or hearing the occasional small creature, the rest of Lodan's trip was uneventful, and he arrived at inn shortly after twilight, just as he had guessed. He entered the inn and searched for a place to rest. Spotting two empty tables, he chose the closet one, which was neighbor to a group of 4 unpleasant looking chaps playing a game of cards, and man and a woman who, for some reason that Lodan could not quite determine, struck him as especially interesting. Pulling out his pollaxe and placing it on two adjacent seats, he sat down in a chair that put him close to the table of two without being too obvious, and called out an order for a rum and a meal. Mulling for a few moments over how to approach the two characters, he finally decided to just go at it. Scooting his chair so he could see both of them, he introduced himself.

"Fair evening strangers, I am Lodan Anasazi, free spirit."

The blue-eyed man spoke for both of them, "Wyldhar uh.....I don't remember my last name, not important. My green haired friend here is Sally."

Lodan nodded in greeting toward Sally and then responded, "So, if you do not mind my asking, what are the two of you doing around these parts? Myself, I am simply traveling around, for I get restless when staying in one place for too long."

"Looking around for more interesting things to add to my collection or take apart. Magic items, machines, whatever."

"Indeed? It has been a while since I have met someone with an interesting answer. You are such a someone. You intrigue me Wyldhar."

Lodan and Wyldhar continued talking for a while, until Lodan excused himself to find a room to retire to.

[Biohazard]

Name: Darius (Prefers to remain anonymous and uses various aliases)

Race: Human

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Personal Information: Freelance Businessman (You'll find out later)

I'll throw in a post probably on Tuesday, I'm going out of town. I could post from my phone but it just takes so long to write on that thing, as sexy as it is.

[DarkMirror]

Red sighed, and kicked the dry, pale dirt, sending a billow of dust upwards. He had been stuck in the desert for a long, long time. Luckily, his 'companion' was able to keep him hydrated, and he knew enough about what plants and animals were around to keep from going hungry.

Before him was a half-sunken pyramid, its stones covered in dirt and its doors wrenched open long ago by some inhuman force.

The wind around him spoke, whispering in a strange voice not quite there but still at the same time perfectly auidible. "This is the place?"

"Yeah. Lucky it was this close to where the dustmen dropped us," Drake replied, continuing to walk towards the doors.

"So... what does this place contain, which will help us escape this cursed waste?"

"Supposedly it was built by a race of man long gone, who were said to be incapable of dying. Their greatest mages made these pyramids as the centerpoints of empires, allowing them to rule the world for nearly a hundred thousand years. What we see is only the very tip of a far larger structure, buried beneath the ground for all eternity."

"Oh." There was a pause. "If they couldn't die, how are they gone?"

Drake laughed. "Don't ask me, ask the old man who told me over his fifth mug."

Once they had entered the dark, cavernous doorway, they headed deeper inside, illumination provided by a small orb of flame which orbited the man. Deeper and deeper they went, finally arriving in a massive chamber. A beam of sunlight drifted down through the air, illuminating motes of dust and finally settling on a massive black arch of stone, nearly thirty feet high.

"Thats it. One of the portals. We are so damn lucky to have been able to find this place."

"I can only imagine. I dont relish sitting on your dirty bones for the next few hundred years."

"You and me both. Now, I'm going to need some power to get this thing working..."

"How much power?"

"Oh, I don't know... enough to turn the stones in a castle to boiling slag?"

"I think I can manage. Brace yourself."

Drake did so, locking his legs in place and extending his arms to point at the crooked gateway. Averting his eyes, he whispered, "Now!"

A blast of searing fire streamed from around him, arcing and crackling and burning to the archway, where it wrapped around the cold black stone and was absorbed. More and more heat washed over the room, the floor cracking and glowing red from the excess.

"Keep going! We need more!"

"Doing the best I can, human!"

Suddenly there was not even flames and simply pure heat, the air rippling and wavering as it streamed into the artifact. And then it stopped, and a black curtain of darkness hung between the stone archway.

"It... worked?"

"Yes. Told you I could do it."

Carefully stepping over the near-molten floor, Red stepped up to the gateway. "All they say you have to do is imagine a certain place, and It'll take you there."

"Can you think of a place better than here?"

"Well, yeah. Anywhere."

"Point taken."

And then, with a gust of wind from behind which could have the force to throw a house to the ground, Drake was sent flying into the curtain, passing through silently to the other side.

As he fell through the darkness, he yelled, "That wasn't very nice!"

"Sorry. I was impatient. You said anywhere you could think of was better than here, so I took that as a sign you had come up with somewhere."

"I had, a city. I was trying to narrow down the details to which one, exactly."

"Oh."

And then, with a staggering, he was standing in the middle of a town square, looking around in shock. He leant over, nearly throwing up and gagging.

"That... was not fun. The shock when you step out... Ugh..."

"Oh, please dont spew everywhere. Not the politest thing to do to a city when you first arrive."

"Didn't you drag one into the earth, never to be seen again with your last owner?"

"That was different. They had insulted his choice in hair style. I was very fond of the 'scorched off eyebrows and no hair' thing."

"Yeah, yeah. Now, lets fine somewhere to eat, shall we?"

And with that, Red wandered off deeper down the nearly deserted streets of the small city, looking for an inn.

[Giggilyomeromicon]

The streets, for the most part, were completely empty. The town's populace was either busy elsewhere, or completely shut up in their own homes. The only mildly interesting sight to be seen was what appeared to be a riot taking place in one section of the city. Two groups of citizens were smashing into each other, engaged in an all out brawl, with the town's civilian guards attempting to retain order. It wasn't going well.

Besides them, there hadn't been anything terribly interesting. That was fine. The city's twisting streets seemed to stretch on forever, lacking a main road system to connect all of the city easily. A clear path from point A to B would be difficult to find here. The fact that it was still dark out didn't help.

At this point, Tremor was surprisingly close to one of the city's major hills. The group of towers he had seen from afar adorned this hill. The urban sprawl present in the rest of the city ceased at the base. A large, tall wall, far better constructed then the one bordering the city, surrounded the tower district. No clear gate was present. A small opening was carved into the ground near one point of the wall. A small flight of stairs lead down into the gloom.

Tremor decided that he honestly hadn't anything better to do. He headed down the steps.

[kongurous]

Slicing down the torso with his scalpel and using a custom made sternal saw, Ramius cut the ribcage of the woman away with his bone saw and beheld the contents of her chest in front of him. The lungs were mostly a healthy pink with some black smudges, either from having been a light smoker or been around secondhand smoke, and the heart appeared to be perfectly healthy, if somewhat small. What this indicated to the necromancer was manifold and would definitely need documentation and study to determine the exact cause.

He cut the arteries and ligaments holding the heart in place and beheld the organ for a moment before placing it inside another jar. He did the same with the lungs, placing them in the same jar and wiped his hands on the off-white apron he'd put on since taking out the brain. The abdomen and thorax were usually full of blood and other nasty surprises so having something to clean yourself with was always nice.

Suddenly, a high-pitched alarm blared in his head. One of the magical sentries he'd set up at the entrance to the catacomb had been tripped. Someone was coming.

Sighing deeply out of frustration, both with having been interrupted and with having no way to discreetly dispose of his dirty work, Ramius took the bloody apron off, put it over the body, and grabbed his black hooded robes and quickly put them on, tying the sash around the waist lazily because he didn't really have a waist to tie it around.

Ramius kept the hood down and cleaned his hands as best he could without any water on hand or a desire to summon water. He also began to formulate a plan of escape should this intruder be hostile.

[DarkMirror]

"I don't know if you noticed, but someone just wlked by."

"So?"

"In case you havent noticed, there aren't many people out here. In any case, the fact that someone was out and about is interesting, and should be noted. Besides, they might know where in the world we are."

Drake sighed, stopping in the middle of the dark street. "Well? Where are they?"

"Off in that direction," a gust of wind drew dust down one of the streets, "Heading to your left about three blocks from here."

"If it makes you happy, I'll try to find him. You'll tell me where his tracks are?"

"The earth is just one of my domains. It'll speak when I ask."

Drake set off, the elemental at his bidding muttering directions as they followed the footsteps after the man, eventually arriving at a series of towers. A small set of stairs headed deeper below ground.

"Well? What does the earth say about this place?"

The whispers of the wind sounded almost hesitant, worried.

"Bad things."

[Vhaeraun]

Name: Diego Slaughter
Race: Human
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Personal Information: Blind psionic weapon master. Lost his sight at a young age and was taken up by a powerful psion who taught him to master his psyche and build a picture of the world around him using constant mental probes. These probes not only allow him to see the world around him - albeit without color - but they also allow him an uncanny ability to read one's surface thoughts and allow him a definite advantage in combat. Since his master died, he has traveled the lands, searching for that fight which will prove to be his match.



Diego walked calmly through the gates, his short stave slung low on his back, the rest of his blades hidden so as to not draw attention to himself - he found the worst thing one could do was draw attention to oneself before attention was warranted.

So Diego walked calmly, his senses assailed by the slums placed close to the gates. Excrement was foremost, but sweat and even blood was present. He was forced to limit his mind's focus, as the crush of people threatened to shatter his sanity with the sheer number of surface thoughts.

He strode through the streets, following the cues of those around him to instinctively find the inn. He went through the door into the large building, assailed by a different sort of smell. Gone were the revolting scent of excrement and sweat, now he was assailed with the sweet smell of ale and food - salmon, unless his nose was wrong.

He sat down in a corner, easing his sore body down into the seat. He had to rearrange his weapons to allow him to truly relax. He took the opportunity to ease the blindfold off his white eyes, letting the warm air tickle them. He hated having to wear the blindfold, but he hated more people trying to kill him thinking he was easy prey - most of the time, they barely stood up when he whipped his stave around.

The busty barmaid came up and said, "Can I get ye som'thin?"

Diego said softly, "I'd like a mug of your ale and a piece of that wonderful salmon you're cooking."

Barmaid nodded, "Comin' up."

Diego waited for his food, and ate it with some trepidation at first, but with more gusto once he realised he was savoring the best fish he had had in years. He drank deeply of the ale, taking delight at the way it mingled with the lingering flavor of the salmon.

With dinner done, he went to the barkeep and requested a room. There was only one room left, and Diego took it without a thought. As he strode away, he could feel the eyes of more than the barkeep on his back, but he cared not. He ascended the stairs and located his room.

He closed the door behind him and put a chair under the handle to keep it from opening without his approval. He stripped to his waist and arranged his weapons on the bed in order. He laid next to them, taking care to both cover them up with his clothes and to make sure he could grab one at a moments notice - he didn't get to his age in his profession without being cautious.

[Giggilyomeromicon]

The stairs lead further underground then Tremor had estimated. It seemed as if several minutes had passed before he reached the bottom. The passageway he now stood in was no more then two men wide. Despite the small light hovering a few inches over Tremor's head, the passageway was barely illuminated. Almost immediately he realized he was standing in a crypt. The walls were lined with long, narrow cavities. Laying inside of these were groups of bones and the remnants of burial garbs, carelessly strewn about. Guessing by the state of decomposition and care these were the oldest bodies.

Moving further into the passageway, Tremor became aware of how loud his footsteps were. The sound was echoing far down into the catacombs. If anyone was there, they would know he was approaching. It didn't matter much, but he wanted to keep it in mind. Observing the sound of his footsteps, Tremor noticed another sound. Another set of footsteps, originating further in the tomb. Quickly stopping only further proved this notion. For a few seconds the second pair of footsteps continued.

Whoever it was, they were trying to be stealthy. Dimming his light, Tremor began moving more cautiously. It was difficult. The tomb was decrepit, with uneven floors and periodic holes. Once or twice Tremor almost lost his footing. The second set of footsteps never started again.

A small light became visible, beyond the darkness that surrounded Tremor's own. Extinguishing his own light source, Tremor silently gazed ahead. There was an intersection up ahead. A torch had been lit and placed upon a hold on the wall. There was no one in sight.

Even more cautiously then before, Tremor moved up. Sticking to the right side of the wall, he moved into the light source. Almost immediately, the second pair of footsteps picked up. A young, yet determined voice followed suit.

"Who's there?"

A figure came around the corner. Heavily clad in plate armor, wielding a well polished sword, stood a young man, no older then 20. His face lacked experience. A large, red eye adorned his armor's breast plate.

"I-identify yourself!"

Looking back down the tunnel, the man shouted again.

"Sir! Jarus! There's another one down here!"

Tremor stepped out into the corridor. He wondered who this person was, and what the red eye signified. Seeing Tremor, the man shouted out a profanity, and readied his sword for an attack.

Before he could close the gap to attack, Tremor raised his left hand. A burst of white erupted from his palm, colliding with the armor clad figure. The white flames spread across the man's armor, disappearing within the gaps of his armor. Screaming resonated through out the crypt. The armored figure collapsed on the floor, flames engulfing his body. Within a few seconds there was nothing left, save for bone and his equipment.

The smell of burning flesh wafted its way to Tremor. A cascade of memories followed it. He remembered, now, the type of magic he excelled out. He had been a pyromancer in a past life. The powerful magic he had once wielded returned. Some of it still remained mysterious in his mind, the purposes of the spells unknown.

Making a short leap over the flaming corpse, Tremor passed beyond the intersection, and game into a large room. The main chamber of the crypt, he reasoned. Stone platforms, each large enough to hold a body, were spread across the vault. The overpowering smell of decaying bodies. The sound of more footsteps.

"Sorel!"

Another well armored figure appeared. This one was wearing a series of garments over his armor, decorated with red eyes. Judging by his face, this man was much older then the youth Tremor had just slain. A magical shield covered his figure. In the man's hands were a large, guardless sword. This would be Jarus.

The magical shield present would make Tremor's magic ineffective, if not useless. Not knowing what to do, Tremor attempted to back away from the charging figure. Attempting to put as much space between him and the knight of the Blood Eye as possible, Tremor ran a twisting path between the columns and beds that decorated the chamber. The plan wasn't working.

The enraged knight was easily keeping pace, and Tremor was running out of room. There only seemed to be two entrances to this vault, the two of which were between Tremor and the knight.

Only one option remained obvious at this point. An instinct, a well learned action, was demanding to be performed. One of the magical spells he knew, one of the spells he could barely remember. He knew, however, that this situation called for it.

Pausing between a pillar and one of the stone beds, Tremor about faced. Jarus was still a ways off, long enough to use this spell before the knight would reach. He did just that. Not knowing why, Tremor held his right arm out, positioning his hand as if he were holding something. A black, liquid flame poured out of the skin of his arm, traveling into his hand. There it formed the hilt of a sword. As it formed the guard, a blade rapidly shot out, as dark as the sword's hilt. Large, jagged edges adorned the blade, forming a pattern that seemed vaguely flame like. A flamberge.

As the blade finished materializing, the liquid flames leaped off the blade and poured onto Tremor's body. In their wake formed a small, seamless suit of metallic armor, of the same material the sword was made out of. It covered every inch of Tremor's body completely. Somehow he retained sight.

Jarus reached Tremor, but the flamberge moved suddenly, almost as if it was guiding itself. Jarus, sword over head, swung down only to be met with a parry from the flamberge. Yelling in rage, Jarus leaped back, recollecting himself.

"I see that you have more then just fire magic, abomination. Fear not, for your fate is sealed."

The knight's sword suddenly sparked to life, arcs of lightning running along the blade. He came at Tremor again, this time with a lower side swing, attempting to blow Tremor over.

The blade collided with a pillar, slicing clean through it. Tremor had ducked back, narrowly escaping the blade's path. Lunging forward, the flamberge stabbed straight through the man's left shoulder pauldron. Giving a shout of pain, the knight attempted to make another side swipe as Tremor pulled the blade out of the man's armor. The flamberge ripped through the man's arm, which at that point was barely hanging on by a thread.

The knight's blow went wrong as his arm gave out, colliding with Tremor's side with barely any force. Another swift stroke of the flamberge decapitated the knight.

Scanning the room, Tremor sighted a figure that was not one of the dead that lay upon the stone platforms. It had appeared out of the shadows, and was creeping towards one of the exits. This was probably what these knights were after. As Tremor approached this figure, its head quickly snapped around. Its hood flew up, and for a second Tremor glanced a human skull. It looked rather sad to him. The figure stopped, still staring at him. Its skull was now hidden beneath the robe's hood.

"Hello," Tremor said.

After a few seconds, the lich responded.

"Good morning. Can I help you?"

Another set of footsteps were ringing down the passageway.

"Let us speak elsewhere. Another exit?"

[kongurous]

"Speaking elsewhere? Of course. All you need to do is touch my hand." Ramius said and held out his crimson left hand. If he could smile, he would have. The man he was speaking to reached out and grabbed the bony extension with no apparent emotion. The necromancer thought this to be an unexpected reaction but that nothing of it for the moment.

"Whenever I'm preparing to stay in a place for awhile, I tend to set up magical wards and ways to quickly move about." Ramius reached into his robes and pulled out a shining silver necklace with an amulet embossed an emerald-inlaid galleon. "Concentrate on the necklace."

As both of them did so, the room around them swirled from a brightly lit vaulted expanse of catacombs to a mishmash of colors and sounds that resembled the simultaneous scrapings of rusty metal on rusty metal and that of fingernails being raked down a chalkboard. The combined colors form an ambery mix of color that soon reassembled itself into that of another room where the necromancer and the other man appeared soon after.

"We should be safe here for the now, it depends on how far my hunters want to go. I've been here for a month and even I haven't explored all of the depths of these catacombs. So, who are you and what can I do for you?" Ramius said as he placed the necklace back into his robes.

"Nothing, at moment. I am thankful that you have helped me, though. As for a name, I am called Tremor. Yours?" The man replied.

"Call me Jaxeran."

[Anoiktos]

"Anyway", the drunk stumbles, chattering in his haphazard way, "I was fighting the ol' dragon to the west, you know, Korondraazzz... Uh, whassisname. Name. Uh." He seems cheerfully off his rocker, swaying incessantly from side to side. Despite his attempts at sitting on the stool positioned directly beneath him, he seems to find himself on the floor about half the time.

"You had it right the first time. Korondraz. Haven't met him yet."

"I sh'ldn' thn' so, wh't with him bein'.." the man motions with his arms as though trying to grasp the side of a building; "big an' sh... sh... scaly."

"I see. And perhaps you killed him with your drunken breath?" Neverborn's sarcasm is, perhaps, wasted on the man, as he continues to take her words at face value:

"N... Naw. Jess' stabbed him. An' an, he pushed me away like I was a gnat. Slapped. Inna air. Ear. Summat."

"And your point was?"

"I hate dragn's. No r'spect. None at all. Ain't nothin' - nothin' ... Errr..."

"All right. So, quick question, why are you sitting at my table?"

"'s a free... free... country, innit?"

"Not that I know of. Are you sure you aren't drunk?"

"Ain't drunk. If.. If I wuz drunk, I wouldn' think I were so sober. Yeah. Things make less... less sense when I'z drunk."

"I'm not sure if that's accurate."

"Weeell... I dunno, really. It made more sense a few minutes ago. Ssssay, maybe I am drunk." The man staggers somewhat and falls off his chair again.

"No. You're just becoming more sober. Hmmm. This inn's getting too full for comfort", the rabbit-fur covered figure says, clasping her cloak together offhandedly. She stands, neatly avoiding the man's comatose body, and scans the room with an appraising eye. The usual assortment of drunks, gamblers, regulars, and crazies appears to have presented itself, and she smiles at the idea that even crazies take to regular patterns.

The Neverborn walks cheerfully off of the mead-soaked floorboards, stepping into a mud-coated road with aplomb, and removes her rabbit-fur coat, wrapping around her shoulders like a cloak. She glances up and down the road and straightens the braid of her hair before setting off at a leisurely pace towards the object of her current irritations: a certain nearby city.

[Biohazard]

Darius shifted slightly from his position atop a three story tenement building. The sun would rise in three hours whether he had gotten his mark or not, and the seemingly random nature of the layout of the town wasn't making locating him any easier. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and leapt off into the night to resume his search. (Brought to you from my phone. More comes later)

[Kazeofwinds]

Sometime around sunrise,a somewhat cranky Wyldhar and Sally, who was as unemotional as always, arrived at the edge of town. The town itself seemed to be in the midst of being attacked by fairly run of the mill zombies along with some things that were far more interesting, they looked somewhat like suits of armor, though they were a good nine feet tall and wailed in the same manner as spirits bound to undead.

"I wasn't expecting anything nearly this interesting this early in the morning. I wish I was in a better mood to appreciate it. Get a number twelve ready for me, would you?"

He tossed his current charred walking staff to sally before beginning to dig through the bag hanging from his shoulder. His arm went far further into it than it should have been capable, eventually pulling out a balled up net on a thin metal pole, and a small bottle. Sally switched the charred staff with a substantially more ornate one and held it in one hand as Wyld started his work.

He Removed the rifle-like device from his back and removed the feeding box for its usual ammunition- 3 inch long sharpened metal nails with little bits of rubber around their bottoms, pulled back the lever that slid along one side, pushed it back into position, and shoving the rod the netball was attached to down the barrel. Golems were typically either immune to or resistant to magic- making them a terrible nuisance for the unprepared to capture.

Choosing one of golems that seemed to be on the edge of the pack of attacking whatsits, Wyld got closer. Once he deemed he was within decent range- roughly 40 feet, he took aim and fired the ball-on a stick at the golem. Roughly 5 feet before striking the golem the ball exploded and expanded the enchanted net, which proceeded to entangle the golem before some form of enchantment triggered and immobilized the thing entirely. Wyld started dashing towards it as he reslung his launcher over his shoulder.

"Let's go get it."

Sally nodded and matched his pace before tossing him the staff. Wyld made a direct line for the incapacitated construct as Sally proceeded to either kick the zombies into domino-effect like piles or just slice them into chunks. Still running, Wyld stuck the small bottle into a slot on the staff that seemed to have been perfectly made for such a bottle, then jumping onto the golem's back and 'stabbing' it through the net with one end of the staff. The entire area lit up with a glow, and Wyld hung in the air as the staff did it's thing with a crackling sound followed by the brief sound of something like a Vacuum, as the golem appeared to be sucked into the staff.

Wyld tugged the now-empty net, which returned to it's previous state of 'ball on a stick' in his hand.

"Okay, we've got what we wanted, lets get out of this shitstorm before we're snackfood, or another one comes along."

"Extended battles with multiple opponents are typically unwise."

"Yep, Over the wall we go. You know the drill."

Sally move next to Wyld, who put his arm around her, then clicked his heels together, spoke a command word, and leaped over the fence like a rabbit with springs for feet, carrying Sally along with him. The two sailed over the fence, and landed on the roof of some building on the other side of the wall.

[Giggilyomeromicon]

"What is it that you are doing here?"

"Complicated answer but to put it simply, I am a necromancer attempting to find a cure for death so no more people will ever die of natural causes such as age or disease."

Tremor dropped his sword. As it left his hand, the metallic casing that had surrounded his body rushed off and returned to the blade. In turn, the blade's material launched itself back into Tremor's arm.

"I had forgotten that."

"You don't remember a lot, do you?" observed the lich.

"True. After spending several thousand years dead, memories become difficult to recall."

"You died and came back? That's a fairly interesting process. Do you know how this happened?"

"Death would be the wrong term. I spent a long time.. dormant. I don't know why. My memory isn't good."

"I see. Well, I doubt you enjoy being down here as much as I do. If we're going topside, however, I'm going to need a way to make it more difficult for people to see that I'm a skeleton. So if you have any spare shoes and a mask, or even just one of these, that would be great."

"The only possessions I own are the clothes I'm wearing."

"Well, that's unfortunate. Ah well, I'm effectively immune to death and you're probably more than you appear so if we have any trouble I think we're fine."

Jaxeran held out his necklace, and then they were gone. Far above, now, in the streets of the city. It was nearly dawn. Besides the lighting, there was nothing different about the down. The streets were still empty. Behind him, Tremor could see the stairs he had gone down earlier.

And then there was a howl. A low, horrible shriek that reverberated in every bone in his body. And then there was another. Another sound, after that. The sound of a city wall being smashed through. Looking towards the sound's origin, a series of specks were flying through the air. The skies were overcast.

"We should go. Now."

There were people in the streets now, coming out of their homes after hearing the cries of the golems. Most were confused and panicking. It was difficult to navigate the streets, even more difficult then it had been before. Pushing their way through the crowd, the duo were attempting to reach the wall opposite of where the golems seemed to be coming from. As they neared the wall, even more howling picked up. The sound was so close now it was nearly impossible to think. Many of the people around them ran back into their homes, or just collapsed in the street.

The two neared the wall, and turned left. Ahead was a small gatehouse, allowing escape from the city. The street bordering the wall was surprisingly wide. To their right was the wall, and meters ahead was the gate. To their left, a series of buildings looked out across the street, towards the wall. There were people out, still, looking around.

Then the wall blew out. Stones were sent flying into the buildings, crushing people, windows, and walls alike. Dust flowed out from the rubble. Then there was a large, breathtaking crash. A figure rose from the dust, taller then any man. Its form was large and hulking, with over sized arms. Another howl. The people who hadn't fled or been killed on impact were long gone by this point. The golem turned away from the carnage it had wrought, and faced Tremor.

Tremor noticed that he was now quite alone on the road.

The Golem leaped out of the dust, revealing for the first time its form. A rough, almost white body, Short legs, overly long arms, and no visible head. A series of cryptic carvings and runes ran along its body. As it landed it crushed the stone street beneath its legs. Tremor noticed its face. A bizarre, fleshy extrusion, hanging limply from the golem's head. An eye was clearly visible, but the rest of its face was hidden by a tumorous growth, which sprouted an abundance of small tentacles.

Tremor shot a fireball into the golem's face. The fire, so hot it appeared to be a pure white light, burned away at the thing's flesh. It burned away the face's flesh. There was a solid wall of bone below.

The golem, enraged by this, leaped at Tremor, attempting to crush him with one of its massive claws. Sidestepping frantically Tremor managed to evade the beast's hulk as it smashed into the ground he had once been standing. The golem swung one of its arms toward him, using the other arm to support itself, and launched an inferno of flames towards Tremor. A solid jet of fire collided with Tremor's figure.

A few seconds later, the fire dispersed itself. A black, armor clad figure stood, brandishing a flamberge. The golem had already launched itself towards Tremor, running at full speed. A quick few steps to the left saved Tremor from the golem's attack.

A white, bony mass collided into Tremor's chest, knocking him backwards. The golem had easily regained its footing, and was already launching another series of attacks. Two more blows collided with Tremor, throwing him down the street, back the way he and the lich had came. The golem was already bounding towards Tremor by the time he had righted himself.

The golem raised its right arm back for another punch. Tremor ducked down and charged at the golem. Its punch went over Tremor's body. Lifting his sword up, he held made a sideways slice with it, cutting the golem's bone armor. A terrible grinding sound emitted from the golem's body as the sword passed through. The golem landed its punch into the ground, embedding its arm in the ground, and landed. In one fluid motion it launched itself from the ground again, loosening its arm in the process, and smashed into Tremor, knocking him into the pile of rubble that marked the wall's demise.

Temor rolled to his right, righting himself in the process. Another loud boom and a series of tremors alerted him to the golem's presence. The golem was already reaching out with a left handed hook by the time Tremor righted himself, but the golem's punch flew over Tremor once again.

Running forwards, Tremor made a left-reaching slice, cutting through the golom's torso once again. The terrible screeching sound was present again, but it persisted even after the golem collapsed. It had been cut in two at the waste. Still, this didn't down the construct. It attempted to right itself again, using just its arms. With a running leap, Tremor landed on the golem's back. Footing wasn't good. The flamberge dove into the golem's thick back, trying to destroy whatever the thick armor was attempting to protect.

A report of his success came when the golem collapsed onto its side, nearly throwing Tremor off. A white, bone arm collided into his head, the jolt of which sent him off the golem's back. The flamberge slid out of the thing's back easily enough. The golem dragged itself around, and started crawling its way towards Tremor. It let out another howl. This one, however, wasn't nearly as powerful as the screams it had been emitting earlier. The golem died soon after.

Righting himself, Tremor looked towards the large gap in the wall. There was no longer a gap. A horde of corpses, many of which were far into decay, were shambling his way. Any attempts to fight through them would be fruitless. Already, the ones on the edge of the pack were feasting on the remains of those caught in the wall's collapse.

Tremor turned away, and ran into the city. Hopefully he could find Jaxeran again.

[Protoss_Honor]

(OOC)TIMESKIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(/OOC)

Lodan awoke before sunrise the next morning, collected his belongings, and then headed downstairs. He sat down at the same table he had had the night before, ordered a meal with drink, and proceeded to consume same. After completing his meal he paid for both it and the room, exited the inn, and continued on his journey. It was quite uneventful, until he saw smoke billowing up from the town ahead. That however, was not what caught his attention. What caught his attention was the small army of zombies and golems.

"Dammit! I hate undead!" He muttered to himself, as he picked up the pace. Most people would see it wise to head in the opposite direction, or at the very least not get any closer, but Lodan wasn't most people, so he raced toward the chaos instead of away. Pulling out his poleaxe, he held it horizontal with the spear-head pointed forward, and impaled a zombie square in the stomach. Freeing the weapon from the zombies body, he swung the axe head, and decapitated it. Flipping it over, he swung in the opposite direction and detached yet another zombies head from its body. He continued forward in such a manner, throwing in punches and kicks and stabs when a good slash wouldn't do, leaving a trail of zombies behind him, until he came upon a necromantic golem. It saw him about the same time he saw it, and both stopped for a moment and stared at each other, sizing one another up. The nine foot behemoth swung its fist at Lodan, and he barely ducked in time to avoid being sent flying. Lodan easily determined this would not be a battle easily, if at all, won, and decided to make a strategic withdrawal away from the golem. He turned away from the golem, and charged back into a mass of zombies, slicing, hacking, slashing, thrusting, impaling, hitting, and kicking his way through.

Spotting a young child cowering by some wooden crates, he fought his way toward it with mad desperation, leaving broken zombies in his wake. Reaching the child, he turned to face the oncoming zombies, and saw a golem coming right for them in an awkward, lumbering gait.

"Crap." he hissed, grabbing the child with one hand, and running away from the golem. Seeing that he and the child were surrounded, Lodan returned his pollaxe, grabbed his hatchet, and with a mad yell charged the weakest point of the zombie mass. Slashing and hacking and shoving his way through the zombies with what could almost be described as a bloodlust, Lodan finally managed fight his way past the wall of undead before the golem reached them.

Scanning the area, Lodan spied a small gaggle of people heading toward a hole in the wall that the undead seemed to have abandoned, and raced toward them. He delivered the child to them, and then assigned himself to protect the group, at least until they were safely out of the city.

[DarkMirror]

Red rolled out of the way, a massive fist crashing into the ground where he had been lying just a moment ago. The Golem reared upright, roared, and then attempted to pound him again. Once more, he rolled out of the way, but this time he also extended an arm.

The earth beneath the hulking creature gave way, cracking and displacing the coblestones of the street, and finally resolidifying as a pit, nearly twenty feet deep. The Golem fell, shreiking, and hit the bottom hard. However, it stood up and began to attempt to pull itself out.

"Well, that was certainly interesting. Hope I was helpful."

"Yeah, thanks. Now, I feel it may be time to get the hell out of this city before the rampaging Golems smash us into paste and scrap."

"Sounds good to- Oh, hello."

Drake shook his head as he stood up. "What?"

"That man. The one we followed. He's down a few blocks. Lets follow him."

"Again? The last time we did that, we found a damn creepy set of stairs."

"And avoided being around here when the golems broke through."

"Good point."

Drake set off at a run in the direction the wind started blowing, spotting the man a few blocks off. "Hey! You!"

[Giggilyomeromicon]

Tremor slowed his pace and turned his head. There was a man, fairly far away, looking at him and shouting. He looked to be wearing some ragged pieces of decrepit armor. Probably wanting help. Not important. Tremor turned and continued on his way.

A large wall of stone erupted out of the street in front of him. Maybe the man was important. Turning around Tremor watched the man approach. When he arrived, the man looked fairly taken aback. Maybe the lack of features on the armor?

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I am looking for someone. Maybe you-"

Tremor's answer was cut off by the wall behind him behind destroyed. Another golem, this one a quadruped, stepped through. Another cloud of dust rolled out. Not a good time for talk, Tremor decided.

Darting into a nearby alleyway, he looked back into the cloud of dust. He couldn't see anything.

Tremor continued on his search for the lich. If the man had sense he would probably survive. I'll talk to him later, Tremor decided. If the man really wanted to talk to him, he'd follow.

[DarkMirror]

The Golem smashed the ground where Red had stood with misshapen hooves, and then prompty caught fire, screaming in unholy agony. A few meters away crouched Drake, perfectly still.

"I would start running now."

"Good idea, you think?"

As the creature stumbled forwards, Red bolted for cover, kicking down a doorway of a nearby building, running inside, and then collapsing the back wall to exit. Ahead, in the street, were a number of zombies, moaning and slowly shambling forwards.

"Should have stayed in that thrice damned desert!" he roared, a wall of flames leaping between him and the undead. They shambled forwards anyways, catching fire and becoming walking torches.

"Shit... do something!"

And then, with a involuntary upwards sweep of his arm, several of the zombies flew into the air, propeled not by air but by massive pillars of stone. "There we go. I suggest running down the alleyway two blocks to our left. It'll lead further away from the breach."

Drake obeyed, running as fast as he could in the direction oppsite the remaining zombies.

[Vhaeraun]

In retrospect, the destruction of the wall probably saved his life. Diego was always a light sleeper, but somehow people managed to enter his room without his knowing.

The hideous crunch of the wall pierced through his sleep. His eyes snapped open, and he became suddenly aware of a presence within his room; multiple people had somehow entered without waking him. He admired their skill, but he could not allow them to live after invading his privacy.

He waited until one attempted to approach to the bed and struck. He had chosen to grab his short stave when he fell asleep, and hat is what he lashed out with. His clothes flew off the bed - catching one of the assailants in the face - and the short stave whipped around and slammed into the back of the neck of the one to his right, sending him crumpling to the ground, dead or unconscious, Diego didn't care.

He leapt out of bed and threw the stave butt first into the face of a second, shattering his jaw and sending his head snapping backwards violently.

With his stave gone, he somersaulted over the bed and grabbed his short sword and dirk. He turned to face the last two in his room who, despite having seen Diego rip through two of their fellows, thought they had the advantage.

The one on the left lunged, his blacksmith hammer leading the charge. But Diego, being trained, saw the flaws in his attack plan, and easily swatted aside the weak lunge. As the man stumbled past, Diego sheathed his dagger deep into his back. His friend, thinking Diego distracted, also attacked, only to find Diego facing him full on. He stopped in his rush, and dropped dead as Diego's sword found its way through his heart.

Diego wasted no time in getting dressed, clearing the pockets of his assailants and throwing on his weapons. He secured his blindfold as he went downstairs. As he walked past the barkeep, he threw a few coins onto the counter and said, "Oh, and there are 4 corpses in my room. Consider it a parting gift."

He left without another word, and strode into hell. Outside, screams filled the air as people ran in random directions. Diego looked around, trying to decide where the assault was coming from. And then he saw a horde of zombies. He scowled; it had to be undead. He pulled out his longsword and a flourish of throwing daggers as he waited for the approach.

He stood for nary a moment and the zombies saw him. As the group shambled for him - he counted half a dozen - he emptied his throwing knives into three of them. He must've hit something important as they fell to the ground and didn't move any more. With his odds severely increased, he unsheathed his short sword, and lunged.

He ripped through the first one in seconds, severing its head and sending it's body shambling past him before falling. The second tried to grab him, but he buried the shortsword into its skulll and gripped the longsword with both hands and removed the limbs from the remaining zombie before planting his sword into the remains of the twitching zombie.

He collected his weapons and started to walk before he saw the massive figure. It wasn't alive - he could tell that by its lack of thoughts - but it also wasn't dead - only magic could possibly hope to power such a large brute, and only if what was inside was on the brink of death.

Diego smiled. Call him crazy, but he never backed down from a fight, especially one that could potentially be his last. He sheathed his swords and pulled out his stave; he wanted to test the limits on this beast. He steeled his will for what would possibly be the biggest fight of his life.

[kongurous]

Ramius, after making it known that fleeing was the best course of action in his mind, had run back into the crypts and began the process of bagging up the organs he'd collected in his month of living in the catacombs in a magic bag that held much more than it let on. He had several of these bags on the inside of his robes, each holding different things and he was putting his books, pens, ink, organs, and everything else important into the appropriate bags.

He also made a special note to retrieve his phylactery, a small brass lobster that he'd received as a birthday present three hundred and twenty years ago from his niece. He'd cherished that little girl and was very sad when she died a year later, so in honor of her memory and with a promise to find a way to bring her back to the life that was cut shorter than it should have been, he used that lobster as his own trinket of immortality. It was indeed a fairly odd object to carry around but he cared not. Not that he socialized much anyway, not many people like necromancers and not many necromancers like good necromancers.

Using his necklace to teleport himself out once more when he was finished collecting everything, the sun was steadily rising and necromantic golems were still rampaging along with far too many zombies than necessary. With a sigh, Ramius knelt to the ground and buried his hands in the dirt. His mind temporarily skipped into the Great Ocean of Death where souls go when they pass from this world and he quickly gathered eight souls, bound them all to a single word, "rhubarb," and in a decidedly sickly green light, eight zombies from within the crypt appeared in the air above Ramius. A humanoid green wisp of smoke flew into each and gave their eyes an unnatural red luster as they descended and stood limply around Ramius in a lazy octagon.

Satisfied with this little entourage, Ramius gripped two of them by the head and breathed a command word. The green wisps of smoke that had possessed their forms originally quickly escaped through their eyes, ears, and mouths and began to revolve around Ramius' arms. The remaining six reorganized themselves into a hexagon and Ramius sighted a breach in the wall that had relatively few zombies pouring in from it. He also sighted, down the way, Tremor and some other man in rags.

Jogging the way to them, with his zombies keeping admirable pace given their undead state, Ramius waved a bony hand at Tremor and shouted, "The six zombies around me are mine! I have no idea what caused these other undead minions to attack," he caught up to them and lowered his voice. "Probably a cabal of necromancers or something. A very well supplied cabal of necromancers."

Ramius stood up straight and turned around, his connection to his thralls telling him that hostile zombies were coming. "I suggest we run, now. Go for the east wall, I saw a hole that wasn't heavily defended by either side. Getting through will be easy!" Ramius again shouted as he aimed his arms at the incoming tide and the wisps shot off into the crowd, dancing between zombie, slowly drawing away what little magic they could. If given enough time, and enough time was usually about twelve hours per zombie, they would devour the entire swarm but the necromancer assumed that they did not have enough time.

"Go!"

[100thlurker]

(OOC: EDIT: Looks like next post will be about drunken, hilarious, and utterly ruinous godmodding. Was this one good?)

The city’s Academy of Magic was quite small, and quite easy to dismiss as just another house. Or rather, it would have been, if it were not for the massive, extravagant garden that encompassed the several acres that composed the structures land permits. That and the magically charged fence, crackling ever so slightly with pent up guardian spirits and many fanciful magical charges. It was only barely past the shoulder height of any prospective assailant, and its material seemed to be that of strengthened paper. He knew better, the consistency of the gates was composed of a peculiar stone. The gate was simple, two doors of iron bars curving into a rounded shape. It was the statues carved into their posts that posed a threat, as they could call lightning bolts from the very skies. An assault against such wards would have to be fairly fantastic if it wanted to penetrate into the grounds. There ought to have been a fair sized guard contingent, but they were distinctly occupied with other matters. Practically the entire night watch would be “occupied”, while also avoiding massive blunt trauma to the skull. It would be several days by the time everything had been fully sorted out, and he would either be long gone, or pulling the strings of the entire governance. Still, there were two guards by the gate, watching the streets intently. They were competent folk these, they knew an asset when they had one. He had the entire estate had been thoroughly documented. He knew every trick, every seemingly insignificant flaw, the exact schedule of the guard rotations, the craftsmen who had molded stones into art, the names of the two hundred rock quarries which supplied the stones of the building. If he wanted to, he could bring the entire structure down with a word or two here and there, a flash of silver and gold in others, and a simple strike by one of his many blades in exactly the right spot. The process wouldn’t take longer than twelve minutes, from the very start to the very finish. It could be done in broad daylight too. Or he could unleash himself, in which case he could simply overpower every single practitioner of magical arts inside the building at the same time. Albeit it would be alongside utterly catastrophic property damage to everything in a two mile radius, alongside the glowing, glassy crater where his target used to stand. Again, that would defeat all his careful machinations in the first place,

It was futility though, as nothing stopped him from cheating.

He circled around back, weaving through the narrow streets to his destination. The nearly overgrown back door was guarded by a single failing ward. Vines wrapped around its structure, leaving only bare hints of rusting metal underneath. The back of the estate was nauseatingly ill-kept. The sadly decayed guardian flared to life, attempting to bring its power to bear. He could feel the intoxicating taste of nebulous power gathering to the vortex that was its core. Using a sharp burst of willpower, he lashed it with the strength of his will. The ward shrank back, bowing before the mental strength of the intruder. Normally he would have simply destroyed any set of wards with that mental control, but he had immense reverence for the sentient magical guardians often used by the Magic Academies.

He leisurely waltzed through the jungle esque backyard, as the moon shone dimly through the rare gaps in the leafy canopy. At least the back door was neatly kept, and it did not make a sound of protest as he opened it. Alas, still no wards. Disappointing really, but nothing he didn’t expect. It wasn’t anyone’s fault if the defensive budget had been focused at the front. Most ragged mobs that passed for armies in this day and age couldn’t tie their shoelaces if they had help. So it was no surprise. It still let him in though, which was a momentous error. An error the likes of which had never been seen before. Really, would it have taken that much effort to add an alarm ward in the back? Well, it was the reason he had chosen the damn route in the first place, so maybe he should be focusing on his goal. He found the building plans were remarkably accurate to the finished product, either because of the skill of the workers, the iron fist of the foreman (commonly called the Butcher of Paychecks, and aptly so), or the sweet, sweet thought of jewels and gold being showered upon them by grateful wizards and witches. The damn thing was almost exactly correct, which cut the time he would have to spend here by at least 40 minutes. No need to stalk the corridors,

He found her in the library. Like he always did. She never really did change. She had the same strict bun, cleverly made to let locks of hair escape and frame her face. She wore the same droll, innocent clothing, but worn with such extreme care so as to reveal just the right assets. She used the same graceful but shy bearing. Working by magical lamplights, intently focused on whatever the bleeding hell she was working on. Either because she was so focused, or the quality of his wear, she didn’t notice him at all. Nicodemus knew it was the latter rather than the former. No matter how absorbed she appeared, she had a near mythical sense of what was going on around her. He made note to give many ripe rewards to Dednundahre, the craftsmen who had made his garments.

Her only warning was when he drew his saber from his scabbard. The smooth noise of the drawing action hit the woman like a sledgehammer. The book she was reading slammed shut, ominously loud in the tight confines of the room. She winced at the noise, even as she was orienting and preparing the first stages of a spell.

The shock on her face upon seeing him was worth all his meticulous planning, all those days submerged in a choking cocktail of miserable anguish, all those long agonizing months of waiting. He made note to give the craftsmen triple his earlier reward. There were few moments as precious as this.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk Sidhe, what possessed thine mind so terribly as to take up residence in a building with such spectacular security faults? Besides, did thou really entice such a fantasy that a creature such as I would roll over and die like a tired, filthy, mangy dog? Even worse, thou didn’t stay to finish what you started! I’ve made criminal errors, once or twice, but never something of such awe inspiring magnitude. I applaud thee sidhe, your arrogance doth make you a schemer of mental constitution rarely seen,” Nicodemus drawled.

He was hit by a crippling blast of raw emotion, one that would have sent any man tumbling to the ground. The air distorted under the warping power of his assailant’s mental tendrils. Unperturbed, he flicked the blade of his saber toward the magical assault. The waves of energy flowed about the weapon, which one could swear was suddenly lined with writhing runes. His foe ended her attack just as abruptly as she had struck. He relaxed the arm holding his weapon.

“I see you’ve lost none of your snake like speed Sidhe. As for the strength of your punch, I would not vouch for it in a plain fight. You’ve withered worse than those peaches you gave me.”

“How did you do that?” she spat, her jaw muscles clenching. Her large eyes glared daggers at him. He relished her hate.

“Amazing what one can do with a hammer, an anvil, a willing piece of metal, and an impressive amount of willpower,” he answered, lazily seating himself in one of the many chairs in the library.

“Hah, a buffoon like you-”

“Only partially correct, at the time of its forging I wasn’t at all in possession of the skill to make a weapon such as this. So I cheated, and had a professional do the delicate work. What I was capable of was the willpower. No thanks to thee, Sidhe.”

“Stop calling me that,” she hissed.

“Since it infuriates you so much, I acquiesce to thy demands Leah. Oh, and you can drop thine guard, I’m not here to make your last moments utter misery. Not as I promised when you stabbed me in the back. A truer confidante there never was. But I digress; I’ve matured beyond that point.”

“What do you want from me then? I you wouldn’t come here simply to make idle chatter, not when you could kill me.”

“Ah, that I could. Let’s not get hasty. And don’t ask questions that you already know the answer to, lest you test my patience,” he said as he waved his living sword about.

“Fine, I’ll be blunt, like your mind. I don’t know how the curse works.”

“Who is the blunt one here!” he barked, throwing his head back with laughter.

Leah gripped the tome in her hands till her knuckles grew white.

“I’m speak in all seriousness, I know nothing about it. Though the two of us know the end result. A wizard that has to bury himself in the tankard to push a pencil!”

“Careful, I could do…things…to thee in order that you divulge the information that I know you have.”

He was going to say more until the sound of a massive detonation hit him. He sighed heavily as he dragged himself to his feet. He smiled lopsidedly.

“Always the interruptions. Very well, but know that the mark I branded on you is now active Sidhe. You can’t touch me now if you dared. I’m not for innocents dieing needlessly though, so I will have to see to it that whoever rudely interrupted us is taken care of.”

He pulled a long syringe from his belt, amber liquid filling its volume.

“Pure unadulterated alcohol,” Leah breathed, recognizing the substance.

“It is indeed. Quite a lot of power I can unlock with this little syringe. I probably won’t even need half. Good day Leah, I will be seeing thee again, quite soon, in a couple hours in fact.”

With that he jammed exactly half of the content of the syringe into his wrist vein and leaped out the open window of the library.

[Kazeofwinds]

Wyld and Sally stood on their rooftop and watched as the zombies poured into the city and the golems started smashing the walls. While he watched, he popped the bottle-which now contained an incredibly tiny Necromantic golem- out of the staff and tossed it into his bag. The siege went on for a few hours with no sign of letting up, and more zombies poured into the city.

"Damn, there goes the 'wait and hope they leave' plan."

"Master, sometimes you make terrible plans."

"I never said it was a good plan. How does getting the hell out of here before we're turned into zombie chow sound?"

"Running would be a reasonable plan."

"Well then, let's get to it."

The pair made their way across the rooftops, hoping to find an exit that wasn't already besieged by zombies and golems. Their timing was convenient, because as soon as they leaped off to another roof, a chunk of the outside wall came crashing down and crushed the building they'd previously been standing on. Another twenty minutes of roof hopping and they reached a clearing, it looked to be a park. Across this park was exactly what they were looking for, a relatively unattended hole in the wall.

"That looks like our way out of this mess, Let's go."

Wyld and Sally jumped off the rooftop and landed at the edge of the grass that made up the majority of the park. The one problem being the place was far from empty, though two dozen zombies was hardly a problem in comparison to the rest of the place. Wyld pulled a wand from the quiver on his hip, It was carved from white wood and had snowflakes and swords carved along its entire length. Wyld gave it a shake and spoke a command word, causing a blade made of ice to spring from the wand and encased his hand and the wand in a large blade of ice.

One of Sally's hands did the same, though less magically and with a blade of adamantine instead of ice. Together the two engaged the first group of zombies on in their path to the gap. The zombies weren't particularly tough, a good slice to the head or, in Sally's case, punch or kick to the head or chest, would either kill them or knock them over long enough to get past them. A few zombies shattered from the secondary freezing effect on Wyld's blade, but they weren't out of the proverbial woods yet, there were another dozen zombies to fight through.

"Master, we may have a problem, possible enemy reinforcements approaching from the road"

She dispatched a zombie adjacent to Wyldhar in order to give him enough time to get a glance at the robed skeleton running at them at a brisk pace surrounded by zombies.

"Ah shit."

[kongurous]

"Oh good, a survivor who can fight and some sort of construct." Ramius thought to himself as he jogged along, not particularly looking back to make sure Tremor and the other man were following or caring. He knew Tremor could take care of himself by virtue of the fact that he was a very ancient Immortal with a magical sword and Ramius just didn't care about random bystanders.

The necromancer's eyes didn't catch the construct's obscenely swift motion but his thralls did and it was their contribution to his consciousness that likely saved his unlife as it allowed him and the nearest thrall to him to duck as quickly as they could under the construct's slice.

Without skipping a step, Ramius urged his thralls to hold off the other zombies and grabbed the arm of the rather nondescript looking man, save for a scar on his cheek and a fairly scruffy look to him, and pulled him along as he ran.

"I take it you aren't with them," the man said, picking up the pace and eventually going so that Ramius didn't have to pull him.

"Not in the least bit. Will your construct be alright?" The necromancer asked, not bothering to look back or to look at the man while he spoke.

"I am fine." A more feminine voice replied and Ramius saw to his unoccupied side was the construct, her arm still shaped like a blade. "Shall I destroy this one, master?"

"He's not with them and looks like he knows where he's going, I say we keep going."

"I suppose he is somewhat correct, I do have some idea of where I am. Best not tell them that." The necromancer noted mentally. "I hope y'all can keep up. I don't have muscles or lungs so I never tire out. By the way, we're headed towards the east wall. If you see a man throwing flames around with a big sword, he's probably with me. If he has a buddy in raggedy armor, then he's with me too."

"Noted and we'll be fine."

"Good. Keep running, don't stop unless something makes you stop or until we're out of the city. By the way, you can call me Jaxeran."

[Vhaeraun]

Diego opened his eyes as the beast threw itself at him. It moved with astonishing speed, covering the distance in less time than it took Diego to wonder at it. It was all he could to to throw himself out of the way and slapped the stave across the back of the ankle of the beast.

His stave had absolutely no effect save angering the brute as he righted himself and watched the brute turn and lash out with a fist. Diego leapt over the massive strike and landed on it. He ran up the arm and thrust his stave against the place its head should've been. His stave somehow got stuck in the folds of armor, and he had to abandon it as one of the huge hands came up to crush him.

He flipped off and drew his swords as the hand slammed against his stave, shattering it. However, the brute seemed to be stunned from the impact of its own blow. Suddenly, Diego had a plan. It was possibly suicide, but he had to try, even if he died in the attempt.

He waited for the strike, and lunged. He ran straight at the huge monster and it tried to grab him. However, he dropped to the ground and slid between its legs. One hand followed him, but Diego was already up and moving. He jumped onto the back of the beast and ran up, again to the head. He started to attack the headpiece half-heartedly, enraging the monster to again hit itself. This attack was faster and harder - attacking the head seemed to enrage it even moreso than anything else - and slammed down where Diego was.

As he landed on the ground, he saw a few fairly small pieces of bone chipped off of the monster, and knew his plan was working. He repeated his attack strategy, enraging the brute further and causing even larger pieces to fall.

He tried to repeat it, but the golem had learned his attack pattern by now. As he ran at the golem, it suddenly stopped and slammed its fists into the ground right were Diego was going to be. Diego had seen his mistake soon enough, and was able to stop short of the slam.

Even so, the impact shook Diego and he faltered. In his moment of weakness, the golem righted itself and aimed a blow which should've taken Diego in the torso, ripping him to shreds. Diego was able to dive to his right, but not quick enough; the fist slammed into his left arm, snapping the bone in his forearm as if it were a twig. Diego screamed in pain, and suddenly he felt nothing. The world around him went silent, as if he and the golem were the only living entities.

He lifted himself off the ground as the golem turned toward him, impossibly slow. Diego set his arm and wrapped it tightly with a piece of cloth. When he were done, he turned his attention back to the golem, now throwing another punch. Diego easily dodged the slow moving fist and leapt onto it and rushed up the arm to again stand on the golem's shoulders. He hammered blow after blow into the hole the golem had opened up himself.

When he saw the golem's arm coming to hit him, he moved down the arm and let the hand slam into the hole, sending a shudder through the body. The arm pulled back and Diego moved up to rain in more blows in the now gaping hole. He could just make out some darkness against the grey of the golem's armor, and he attacked that directly. He heard an odd sound come from directly underneath him and he knew that he was finally dealing some damage.

He hacked and stabbed for a few moments longer and hopped off to let the golem slam its massive fist into the hole one last time, causing some sort of shriek to resound around him, snapping him out of his trance.

Suddenly, pain and sounds assailed him, and he dropped to his knees. In front of him, the golem tottered for a moment before falling to the ground. The massive body did not move again. Diego let himself have a moment of breather.

He had been accused of many things, but stupidity was not one of them. With his newly broken arm, he was suddenly aware of his weakness. He lost his stave, he had chipped the living hell out of his longsword, and he was out the use of one arm. To even consider trying to continue fighting against another one of those beasts would be suicide, and Diego had proven - to himself if to no one else - that he could kill one.

So that left one option: flee. But he did not know how; still, heading towards the walls was probably the best choice he had. He realised that the people closest to the walls had probably fled already, and the army would continue pushing in towards the city center, so the walls were probably relatively unguarded - at the very least, there would not be a golem, given their strength.

With his mind made up, Diego cast his longsword to the ground, drew his short sword, and ran as fast as his arm let him towards the crumbling walls.

[Protoss_Honor]

Lodan was running. Lodan was running for his life. Lodan was running for his life like a bat out of hell.
And it is no wonder that he was.

.........

With a grunt, Lodan cut off the head of the reanimated corpse scissor-style with two sabers he borrowed from a couple former-guards-turned-future-undead. Then, with a deft flick of his wrist, he flipped one of the swords so that it pointed in the opposite direction, and then slammed his arm down, back, and up, cutting a two foot gash from groin to chin in the zombie behind him, before kicking it so that it fell. With his other sword, he dismembered another zombie with three quick slashes, one to its neck and each shoulder. In a similar manner, he worked his way through the undead horde, pushing toward a clearing where two men were practically fighting tooth and nail for their lives. He reached the men just as the second man's weapon broke. Tossing them his two sabres, he grabbed his poleaxe and swung it out, buying them a second or two of breathing time.

"Good day to ya, mighty fine weather we are having for a battle, eh?" he asked with a wild grin.

Both of the men were too exhausted to reply and simply set about battling the demonic tide. Suddenly, a great shaking of the earth, accompanied by loud, repetitive thudding, caused the three men to lose their footing. Lodan turned towards the sound of the thudding, and what he saw turned his blood to ice. Charging at him and his two companions was a group of three golems.

"Crap." he said aloud. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! I suggest we run now!"

And thus, we return to, Lodan was running. Lodan was running for his life. Lodan was running for his life like a bat out of hell. The two men were only a step or two behind him, and the three golems only 20 feet or so beyond them. One of the men tripped and fell, but before Lodan or his remaining companion could stop to help him, one of the golems reached him....

The screams would haunt Lodan for many nights to come. Putting on an extra burst of speed borne of sheer horror, Lodan quickly outdistanced the other man. That man's screams would also return to terrorize Lodan in his dreams.

Turning his full attention to what was ahead of him, Lodan spotted a semi-familiar figure not too far ahead. His brain raced almost as fast has his legs, trying to recall where he had seen the person before. Ah-ha! The night before, at the inn. It was the girl Sally, and her companion Wyldhar. They were accompanied by a figure in a cloak, whose hood had blown off, revealing his head. It was white and barren. Like a skull. A lich? Why are they running with a lich? Lodan wondered. Questions later you fool! Now is time for escaping. With a new resolve to solve the mystery of Wyldhar and the lich, Lodan continued his deadly race against the undead monsters. The outcome of the race was of dire importance. Victory meant life itself. Defeat meant death. Or worse.

[DarkMirror]

Red had run into the alleyway, down another street, and once more found the Immortal. Soon afterwards, some sort of... thing, for lack of a better term, had appeared, which the man seemed to know, and ushered them onwards, quickly disappearing.

Drake and the other man had rushed after him, even though he had long ago outpaced them (Despite the lack of muscles).

Finally, Drake ran around another corner, incredibly happy that he didn't get tired easily, and even more so that the elemental 'companion' was able to directly feed him air and water. Looking around, the man was only a little ways behind him, and the thing of bones was standing with two other people. One was a man, the other a woman (Who soon seemed rather odd, due to the fact that one of her hands was a blade).

A few dead zombies were littered about, so a fight had obviously taken place.

"Hey! It's us! Why in the nine hells is everyone running off on me today?"

[Anoiktos]

[do forgive me if i've misunderstood something, placement of the characters is still a bit unclear to me]

As Othri approaches the village, her skin prickles; that part of her that remains on the other side of life senses others - many others, following several different allegiances. With some small interest, she notes the presence of two of the people from the tavern - one firmly rooted in life, and the other nonexistent, as though she had never lived or died. Othri stores this information but does not comment on it; she has long since given up on judging people for who they appear to be. Several of the undead around - powerful beings - are unchained, bereft of bonds and even seem to have granted themselves power over the other, less capable undead.

Othri sighs, walking up to the line of zombies without paying much attention to them; as they turn towards her, she utters a single word in Vorl'mak, the language of the dead, and they move to let her past, looking for more interesting targets to fight. In the terms of a necromancer, this magic is the simplest and most difficult of all; it is not used to bind, or control the undead, but merely to suggest that they should be elsewhere. It is akin to screaming "Fire!" in a crowded theatre, though with nowhere near the panic this usually implies.

Othri sees it simply as pulling gently at the strings of command, more blowing the undead out of her path than commanding. As she nears the gate, noting that one of the undead lords and the nonliving humanoid and her attaché appear to have gathered, she notes the presence of a fourth figure, a creature who has no shadow in death; this person, it seems, is unaffected by that realm, though his life-force is strong.

Unfort