Seeking the Shadow. (Finding a necromancer.)

[Immael Kha'Serith]

15th Brightening , The Month of Aperitus Era XV Post Fractum

The slums stank of human degradation and waste. Softskins living their lives in poverty and suffering.

Immael thought that the whole world should be like this. He wore his hood up, which covered most of his head. He could do nothing to conceal his wings and tail, nor the scaly appearance of his exposed flesh.

He kicked violently at a human as they begged at his feet.

"Get back, wretch."

He moved down the street, not quite sure of what he was looking for, only hoping it would be evident when he saw it. Maybe an ale house would be the place to start. He entered the first one, noticing the hush that fell over the bar as he entered. His eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, meeting glares and little else.

"What? Ssssomething hanging from my nossse?"

He stared down every eye that would meet his, then moved towards a table with a sleeping drunk. He turned one of the chairs around so that its back was facing the table, and sitting with his wings folded and his tail hanging to the floor, resting his elbows on the back of the seat, he looked at the sleepy drunk's greasy hair. He reached out with a single claw, and tapped the bum's head with the point.

"Hey, sssquishhy. Wake up."

Should the human fail to wake up, he would stand and delived a strong kick to the side of the table, atempting to jolt it against the drunk and wake him up.

[Moonshrine]

The bum did indeed wake up with the tap on the head, seeing as the dracons sharp claws had scratched his scalp when they met the humans head. The drunk stumbeled upwards, knocking the chair back and table forward and in a surprising fluid motion suddenly had a sword in his hands. The man pointed it menacingly at the red eyed monster.

There were gasps and cheers from the surrounding crowd as a circle was quickly formed. It seemed this lazy bum wasn't as drunk as previously thought, and indeed quite agile. Things were not looking good for the dracon.

[Immael Kha'Serith]

The table thrust heavily against the chair, and threatened to push him backwards. He stood, put a boot on the chair, and jumped onto the table, landing in a crouch so that the movement of it wouldn't destabilise him. Immael rose with a menacing slowness, his claw drawing a a sickle from beneath his cloak. The blade gleamed with a razor's edge in the low lights.

"That wasssss rude."

He flared his wings, the wind rifling about his body as he did. His tail swished through the air as he agitatedly surveyed the man.

[Soldier]

The bum merely inclined his head in a mocking acknowledgement of the Dracon’s words. The sword was held in his hands like he knew how to use it and he was amazingly agile. Even as Immael flared his wings, he saw the Human’s blade slashing straight for the soft membranes, his blade coming down in a smooth arc. Even as the Dracon’s sickle appeared in his hand, the Human said nothing. As the Dracon watched, a flare of red filled his eyes, and he came in hard, charging for the Dracon while his weapon came up and about in a viscous swing chop.

[Immael Kha'Serith]

(OOC: Soldier, you are my god.)

Immael was familiar with the general perception of his kind, and that human psychology was to demolish the things that made him a dracon. As the blade descended, he turned. The blade would miss his wing, and continue downwards to the table. Immael planned on stepping on the flat of it and pinning it there.

"Your kind are alwaysssss sssso exsssssssuberant. Pray tell, oncccce I kill you, can I bring you back from the dead and do it over again?"

He flapped once, then tucked his wings against his back, keeping them from being exposed to further harm.

[Soldier]

OOC: Watch it. You can say you tried to dodge the swing, but you can’t say you did. I’ll let it slide once. And now, you may kiss my most Holy of Hands. *Offers the Hand of Soldier for you to kiss*

IC: The sword clanged as Immael stomped on it, the sounds of bone breaking as the Human’s fingers were crushed under the metal blade. The Human didn’t even cry out, not even acknowledging the Dracon’s words. Indeed, his other hand whipped up, slashing across the Dracon’s belly with a dagger that had come out of nowhere. The look on the man’s face was eerie, indeed, a look of hunger at the blood that flowed thick and black from the gash. The pain was immense, more than one would expect from such a tiny paper cut, and the pain was spreading. Too late, Immael noticed the green goo dripping off the slender blade. His limbs became heavy and the last thing he saw before blackness took him was the Human opening his mouth to reveal his tongue had been cut out. The mouth came to Immael’s wound and started to feed, sucking up the black blood and swallowing, before the Dracon knew blackness.

- = - = - = - = -

Immael awoke to find himself inside a dank cell. The walls were poorly set stone, the door made of solid oak, and the water dripping down the walls was quite foul. Other than a simple stone bench on which he was chained, there was nothing. The room was completely bare. Except for the odd-looking Human and the massive cloaked figure behind him… The Human looked small, frail and weak, and he peered down to see if Immael was awake. When he saw he was waking drowsily, he whacked him good and hard across the snout with his staff. “Wakey, wakey,” he said in a cheerful, giggling tone. “Silly Lizards can’t sleep all day, you know, even if they were poisoned. We want to know why you were playing with our pet, you see…”

[Immael Kha'Serith]

(OOC: I aint kissing nothing. Sorry, I'll remember, describe the action, not the result. I knew that.)

Immael reacted in his typical fashion when confronted with odd situations. He swore loudly. When the staff laid across his snout, he hissed.

"If our positions were reversed, you'd likely not find things to your enjoyment. As it is now though, I seem to have little choice in matters. But know that calling me a lizard again will not get you positive results."

He rattled the chains he wore, his eyes burning. His usual hiss dropped. Condescending to someone, even a softskin, who happened to have him by the tail was not a wise choice.

"Your, little toy was it? Seems to have drank of my blood. Need I tell you that is fatal to those who still draw breath?"

His eyes roved the cell. As he shifted, he remembered the gash in his stomach, and his claws spread his torn shirt to expose the site of the wound.

[Soldier]

The staff came down with a solid thump across the Dracon’s snout again. “Respect your betters, Lizard,” he said in a cheerful voice. “Besides… Who says he drew breath? The living bear no use to me. It is the dead who serve me.” So saying, he pulled the cloak off the hulking figure behind him, a massive Humanoid. Dried, tattered flesh hung from yellowed bones, and the face was nothing but a dry, cracked skull. The corpse was obviously long dead, yet red pinprick eyes focussed on the captive Dracon with a hunger that matched the one the bum had. “The end comes to all. Why not use it to your own ends?”

The Human gestured to his creation and it lumbered out the door with an amazing fluidity and grace for something that should have been in its grave. Once they were alone, the Human turned green eyes back on his captive. “Now, we shall get to know each other, yes? We will play a game.” He gestured, and the chains around Immael tightened, preventing him from moving. “I ask, you answer. If you don’t, I cut off a piece and feed it to you. Are you ready?”

[Immael Kha'Serith]

How Immael longed to take that staff from its wielder and destroy the man who held it. His tongue snaked between his teeth as his hissed. His eyes focused on the torn body of the figure, and he knew what he had come across, the second he saw the walking corpse, he smiled.

"Cannibalism is not my nature. Although humanity tastes just fine. Ask away. You will get your answers."

Despite the tightening of his bonds, he seemed to relax, settling on the bench. His only wonder was where his weapons had gone.

[Soldier]

The Human had a somewhat surprised look on his face as he eyed his captive. “For one about to die, you seem to be in high spirits,” he said slowly. “Do you usually have a smile when you face death? You’re a lunatic! I like this... It reminds me of me.” He ran a finger up the scaled on the Dracon’s leg. “So what is it about me that makes you smile, hmm?”

[Immael Kha'Serith]

Immael had never been a fan of people touching him, but he did his best not to show revulsion at the pasty feeling of the soft digit on his scales. He cocked his head, one of his eyes steadily regarding the man.

"My father was a necromancer, quite possibly one of the last masters to exist as far as I know. I grew up around the walking dead. Hell I just waded through a sea of them a few brightenings ago. I must admit though, your particular brand are certainly...... to my blood thirsty liking."

He casually flexed a claw, examining the tips to make sure they hadn't broken.

"As for death, as I said, I'm well accustomed to it. Taking life? I've been made to hate all my life. Death? Another soul to add to Jalat's dark realm. I not only worship death, I yearn to become death. I yearn to feel my claws shape death, and use it to destroy. I desire to take those, pathetic fools, who spit upon my race."

He suddenly splayed his claws, which slid over each other with a savage sounding 'shcnick.'

"I will make this world burn. Even if I have to come back from my grave to do it."

[Soldier]

OOC: You’re bound tight, amigo. As in, unable to move.

IC: The Human chuckled before slapping the cursed staff of his across the Dracon’s snout. “Death is a means, not an end, is it?” he asked. He undid the sash of his robe, pulling the fabric apart to reveal a disturbing sight. Dead flesh hung from his bones in tatters. The desiccated remains of internal organs showed through, including the unbeating mass of his dead heart. “I am death, in a quite literal fashion. Be careful what you wish for, Lizard. You may just get it.”