[Ragman]

The plan was simply really.

Naloren knew it was foolhardy and witless to simply barge into the Palace, or summon a Daemon to wreck havoc as a distraction. The former would likely end up with him squaring off with the Priests and Priestess of the Temple grounds, and some of the Knight Templars, and everything will soon turn really, really ugly. The latter he belief would only cause the Palace security to tighten for fear harm reaching their pathetic King, making it harder for himself.

Naloren wasn't a man of finnesse subtlety. None of the Mithania's were. Everything had to be dramatized and grand, everything should not be accomplished by political diplomancy, but by the desicive wars and fights. The late foster father of Naloren, The Warmaster Shan'tilaar Mithania had never been a man of words, believing them to be filled with sinous lies and implications. He loved the real wars, the real battlefields, when he can defeat the enemy himself by putting the knife into his gut.

The Half-Esh'lahier was not stupid, however. Doing so would have been a witless act. The dramatizing could be left till later, after the King is dead.

And so slipping into Clara, the Master Necromancer reached across the infernal planes, feeling the cold fires stroking his anger, the voice of the nameless ones cooing and soothing his inner hatred, promising him the sweet vengeance. He almost swooned at the thought of finally able to kill his father, something that made a grim smile of irony reached onto his face, despite the iron resolution glinting in his shocking green eyes.

Shaping one of his own specialized spells Shadow Walk, he pulled the strands of the shadows and laced it around himself with Conjuration, before weaving an Abjuration around the essence of darkness to allow mobility to his spell.

The end result? Simply fragmenting his own body into the slinky form of black-gray shadows, making his invisible frame if possible, even more invisible as he completely blended into the white marble walls of this damnable City.

Maintaining the gateway to the Astral Plane, he once more Channeled the dark energies from the infernal planes as he Cast a Master-level Grim Aura, that would enable him to levitate, as well as remove the need to breath, to eat, allowing him to hide in small confined spaces if necessary.

Mother, be my judge this night.

He thought to himself, and of his mother whose life is now suspended in the stars, as he dived toward the Palace with frightening speed, silently and unseen.