The Town Cemetery

[Ms_Elaneous]

The Town Cemetery

A passerby would first be struck by the large wrought-iron gate positioned between two imposing, carved stone pillars. This lies among the outer wall of the cemetary, upon the slightly shorter stone walls. Occasionally on the walls there is a cracked or crumbling stone, denoting a lack of maintenance for quite some time. In places devoid of obvious cracks, a series of withered ivy vines creep up over the sides, probably contributing to the wear and tear.

Through the gate a series of tombstones are aligned. Some of them stand at least as tall as a man and others are barely just stepping stones in the ground. The graves of the rich have tombstones obviously more ornamented and the poor, much less so, some just stones with faded names having been scratched on. However, all of them appear to be deteriorating due to lack of visitors or upkeep.

Further on there are a series of tomb buildings, catacombs for the dead of important families. Presumably they continue deep into the ground, but outside there are large stone doors, shut tight to protect the bodies from outsiders.

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran smiles as he reaches the cemetary, "You know, this place feels like home." He laughs.

[Lykan]

Sikka bites her lip

How so?

[Flabbicus]

(( Ms. E you misspelled cemetery. Sorry, I had to get that out of my system. ))

[Warpfire]

((Hey, she could be referring to the Swedish death metal band, Cemetary.))

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Oh, stop it you two are embarassing me! ^_^"... I fixed it, thanks. How embarassing...))

Vedran looks at Sikka and teases her, "You keep biting that lip and you'll bite a hole right through it. Your mother would never let me take you out again." He pushes against the heavy iron doors. When he walks through he shoots out a stitch from his shoulder to hold open the door while he bows with a wink. "And you should see my home sometime. The decor is much the same and the necromancy wing of the house always had this sort of feel to it. For obvious reasons."

[Flabbicus]

(( Hey don't be embarrassed. Because of that I now have a new band to look for or just mooch their CDs off of someone. ))

[Warpfire]

((Meh, its more ironic coming from me, really. I make mistakes like that all the time.))

[Lykan]

SIkka almost bites her lip again, and shivers

It's quite a new feeling, I must admit... Being in a graveyard and all...

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran adds a bit of wisdom that seems strange for his lackadaisy manner, "Miss Sikka, a cemetary is nothing to feel odd about. Most people are afraid of them because they are afraid of death. But death happens at some point for most everyone, and sometimes it's better that way." He grins at her kindly.

[Lykan]

She nods

Please don't take offense if I wish to stay alive, though.

[Ms_Elaneous]

He laughs, "Miss Sikka, I am fully aware of how much people like to stay alive. I'd never want to offend you so I'll try to honour your request." It's obvious he's teasing with her again.

[Nevrmore]

And suddenly, do to radiation fallout from a broken up satellite, all the bodie sin the cemetery suddenly come to life!!!

However, seeing as they are trapped in large wooden/metal boxes under six feet of dirt, they don't pose any sort of threat whatsoever.

[Lykan]

She nods, grinning

I should have smiled when I said that. It was meant as a joke.

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Ah, smiling helps," he says, still grinning, "I'd be clueless without it." Vedran walks around a bit, surveying various graves, "hm"ing at some and just shaking his head at others.

[Lykan]

Sikka follows him, looking around the graveyard while biting her lip

Are you looking for something?

[Flabbicus]

And suddenly, do to radiation fallout from a broken up satellite, all the bodie sin the cemetery suddenly come to life!!!

However, seeing as they are trapped in large wooden/metal boxes under six feet of dirt, they don't pose any sort of threat whatsoever.

(( Plan Nine from Outer Space? ))

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Yes. An interesting person. One whose spirit might still be hanging around," Vedran says, "And maybe one with a sense of humour?" He grins hopefully.

[Lykan]

She grins

Can you tell who would be like that, then?

[Nevrmore]

((Night of the Living Dead.))

The faint sounds of moaning and scratching can be heard under the ground.

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran smiles, "Nope. But I can take an educated guess based on what's written on their tombstones. Pick one out, Miss Sikka?"

[Lykan]

She bites her lip, and points to a tombstone weathered to the point where it just seems to be a slab of stone sticking up from the ground

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran walks over to it, "Want me to see if anybody is home? Spiritually speaking?"

[Nevrmore]

"Eeeeeeeeeerrrrrrr....Braaaaaaaaaainnssss"

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Are you still joking or are you trying to throw someone at us for fun? :smalltongue: Either way suits me. Vedran's itching for a fight...))

[Nevrmore]

((Well, as I said, they are trapped 6 feet underground, so there's not much they can do.))

[Lykan]

She nods

Sure. Probably somebody who died a long time ago...

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran nods with a grin. He puts his hands on the tombstone for focus and begins to mutter something, the dark edge in his voice, not unlike the time with the butterfly.

((I wish I knew more about how most people describe necromancy, but this'll have to do for now.))

[Lykan]

Sikka waits

((sorry for the slow posting, I'm multitasking currently))

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Quite alright, me, too.))

He continues to speak, muttering more words, and the grave begins to glow with a dark light.

[Lykan]

Sikka wonders how that something can glow with an oxymoron as she continues to watch the ritual

[Ms_Elaneous]

Uttering the final word, Vedran steps back aways, "Anybody home?" As he asks, the spectral image of an old man rises from the grave. He appears wrinkled and worn, but he sort of smiles at the sight of Vedran and Sikka.

[Lykan]

Sikka waves, smiling a little

May I ask who you are?

[Ms_Elaneous]

The ghost smiles happily. "My name is Donovan, missy." He looks like someone's grandpa. There are laugh lines around his face and happy crow's feet.

Vedran sits down upon and nearby stone and smiles. Sikka had picked out a nice one.

[Lykan]

She nods, biting her lip

How long ago did you die? Are you a PC, or NPC?

((poor little fourth wall. :P))

[Ms_Elaneous]

((The fourth wall distracted me to punish you. ^_^"))

Donovan nods nobly at her, "I lived my life as a simple, hard-working NPC. I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I died. It was about a week before my granddaughter's wedding."

Vedran just looks on, pleased that she's doing a good job talking to the spirit.

[Lykan]

She nods

Is your grandaughter still alive?

((Wooh! Beat Windwaker again...))

[Ms_Elaneous]

"I couldna tell ya, missy. I decided to become a ghost because I'd promised her I'd come to her wedding." Donovan says with a smile, "I made it to the wedding."

[Lykan]

She grins

Freak everyone out, did you?

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Darn right. Most them deserved it, too," he says, laughing, "Never thought they'd have to deal with their Granpa's jokes again after he'd died. Uptight, the lot of them." He smiles mischieviously again, "I caught the garter..."

[Lykan]

She raises an eyebrow

Say wha?

[Nevrmore]

The ground shifts a little.

[NecroPaladin]

Two NPC ghouls prowl the area, coming across the two. Deciding that Sikka and Vedran aren't meaty enough to eat, they continue on their path.

"What does it take to get some beef?"
"Who brings a cow into a cemetery?"

[Ms_Elaneous]

The ghostly man looks confused, "Why, you haven't heard of throwing the garter? It's the man's version of throwing a bouquet."

Vedran wonders what Sikka doesn't know, seeing as most of what she knows is the Spire, magic, and langauges.

[Lykan]

She bites her lip, and shrugs

... I didn't know they did that.

((damn it... new sig went freaky on me...))

[Ms_Elaneous]

((How old is Sikka, more or less? I mean, how old does she look, I know the aging thing is funky for some of them.))

[Lykan]

((Ah, your the first person who asked that, weirdly enough... She looks 10 years old.))

[Nevrmore]

The ground shifts again, a little more violently.

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Okay, the joke needs alteration. I was hoping she was youngish, though, I kind of like the idea of him leading a kid around like some big brother.))

The old man's ghost looks at Vedran, "You, you there! You look old enough to get married. You gotta girl? Well, get hitched, this missy needs to see a how a proper wedding is done!"

Vedran jumps a little, looking entirely bewildered, "What?!"

The old man taps his spectral staff, "You heard me! Time to stop playing the field, settle down!"

[Lykan]

((well, she's tall for her age, so she could be mistaken for being older... :tongue:

Besides, she'll look even older tommarow. 1 year = 1 day just about... Not sure if that's an accuate mark, but it's what I'm using from here on out. :P))

Sikka giggles

An undead wedding... How necromantic.

Sikka gets slammed with 4d6 pun damage, as well as people in the surrounding area.

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran takes the damages and falls over on the grassy part of the graveyard. "Nyeh..."

The old man just laughs uproariously, "This one's a keeper! If you were a bit older, missy, I'd tell him to jus' marry you."

[Lykan]

Sikka raises an eyebrow

... Ummm... Uh...

She looks at the ground, embarrassed.

[Ms_Elaneous]

The old ghost man laughs, "Gotta love a girl who can throw out a good pun."

Vedran springs up with a somewhat acrobatic feat, "Actually, I'm disengaged from any women at this point. A bachelor of sorts. Heh..," he looks a bit bashful momentarily before grinning, "Anyway, anything else you want to ask, Miss Sikka?"

[Lykan]

She bites her lip, pausing a moment to let the awkwardness of the statement wash away, before asking

Were you related to any adventurers?

[Nevrmore]

A hill suddenly rises up out of nowhere in the middle of the graveyard.

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Are you having fun in my cemetary, Nevrmore?))

"Nope, but as I understand my greatgrandson is well on his way to PC-dom," the ghostly man looks about ready to tear up. "I'm just so proud!"

[Nevrmore]

((I'm trying to set up a fight here.))

The hill suddenly grows larger with an audible thump.

[Lykan]

She nods

Is he around here?

[Ms_Elaneous]

The ghostman is distracted, "Missy, I don't know 'bout you, but I'm not used to the ground moving around and shaking like that..."

Vedran moves in between Sikka and the moving ground, "Yeah... I'm pretty sure I didn't do that one."

[Lykan]

She shrugs

Okay... Whatever it is, I don't think it'll be much of a problem...

[Nevrmore]

And suddenly, a giant, skeletal fist punches right out of the ground where the hill had grown. A skeleton proportionate in size to the fist begins to rip itself out of the ground, roaring with its nonexistant vocal chords.

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Miss Sikka, I beg to differ with you on this particular point," Vedran turns to her with an uneasy smile, "If you wouldn't mind just hanging back for a bit, I'll scurry over and try to see what's going on."

[Lykan]

She chuckles

Do you think just because I haven't been outside, I can't protect myself?

SIkka bites her lip, mumbling a few inaudible words before her eyes turn pitch, and four shadow creatures spring from the darkness, gliding towards the skelaton and aiming to smash it to bits

[Nevrmore]

The skeleton, being about 5 stories tall, is not so easily broken as it rises out of the ground and roars again.

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran nods appraisingly, "Not bad, but also not working, Miss Sikka."

[Lykan]

She growls

Fine. Do this the hard way.

She calls out in some words of power and a globe of flame appears in her hand

Ashes to ashes...

She flings the delayed fireball at the skelaton's chest while the shadowcreatures continue their assault

[Nevrmore]

The skeleton takes the hit, his ribs turning a chalky black. He swings a giganto fist at the couple.

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Deadtimed in the Graveyard. My apologies.))

[Lykan]

((*is hit by pundamage*))

[Lykan]

((Hrmmm... Now what?))

[Ms_Elaneous]

((How much are you up for waiting? ^_^" I am semi-patient, but I think Nevrmore would be alright with us either just walking away or godmodding it a bit in his absence. He's usually on somewhere around this time...))

[Lykan]

((How am I about waiting?

If I don't RP within the next ten minutes, I'll go crazy.

I'm bored.

boreboredboredboredboredboredbored...))

[AmberVael]

Aesa appears, obviously a bit annoyed with something.
She simply encases the skeleton in force before it can react, then looks at Vedran.
I have a task for you.

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran jumps back a bit, not having expected her at all. He starts to lean forward to look at the giant skeleton, but realizes she's got it covered. He laughs and scratches the back of his head before turning to her, "Yes, Miss Aesa?"

[AmberVael]

((Ah! Sorry, I missed that you had posted. >.<))
Aesa looks down at Vedran.
There is a woman who looks like me in the streets. Her name is Sifa, and she hass long brown hair, gold and white wings, and blue eyes. She is with Rafael- you might remember him.
She has a wand that I want. Retrieve it for me and you will recieve your payment.

[Ms_Elaneous]

((S'okay. ^_^" It happens to the best of us.))

"As you wish, Miss Aesa. May I request that you take care of Miss Sikka in my absence? I'd hate to have taken her out for a night on the Town Cemetery and simply leave her there," Vedran grins and tilts his head to the side a bit.

[AmberVael]

Aesa smirks.
But it would be so educational...

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Of what? Don't trust Vedran?" He laughs, "I'm not keen on teaching her that sort of thing."

Vedran turns and gives a half-bow to Sikka, "Forgive me, Miss Sikka. Duty calls. In person and persuasively, might I add."

He then smiles at the old man's ghost, "It has been a pleasure. Take care of yourse-... Ah... I'll keep in touch." With that he leaves the Cemetery, obviously bound to the place that Aesa had specified.

[AmberVael]

Aesa chuckles and then looks at Sikka.
Now what do I do with you...

[Lykan]

Sikka bites her lip, looking from Vedran, then up at the skeleton

I'll be fine. Thanks for taking me out here...

She looks at Aesa

... Huh?

[AmberVael]

Aesa watches Sikka, curious about what she would do if she just remained silent.

[Lykan]

Sikka smiles, the black fire around her hands dimming

Am I doing a good job so far, Aesa?

[AmberVael]

Aesa says nothing, and just keeps watching Sikka closely.

[Lykan]

Sikka bites her lip

Did I? I mean... I did some heavy damage to it, right?

[AmberVael]

Aesa doesn't even blink, but just keeps staring.

[Lykan]

Sikka bites her lip

Why won't you talk?

[AmberVael]

Aesa smirks a little and keeps watching her.

[Lykan]

Sikka bites her lip, walks over to Aesa, and pokes her

Are you alive?

[AmberVael]

Aesa gets poked. She seems real, probably because she is.
She just stares down at Sikka some more.

[Lykan]

Sikka looks up at Aesa, and hugs her

Please talk to me... Please?

[AmberVael]

Aesa just smirks more as Sikka hugs her. She doesn't respond to her speech or her hug.

[Lykan]

Sikka begins to cry slightly

Aesa... Please...

[AmberVael]

Aww... are you sad?
Aesa looks down at her pityingly, then the expression drops off of her face she smirks.
Find someone who cares.
She vanishes.

[Chaotic Bob]

((....this would be a bad moment to exercise my title wouldn't it?))

[Lykan]

Sikka stands for a few moments, her eyes open wide, before she just collapses.

[AmberVael]

((Unless its a good random encounter, Mr. Maverick will be beating the crap out of it.
Besides, Rebo has more claim to that title than you))

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames appears and kneels next to Sikka. What's wrong? he asks gently.

[Lykan]

Sikka doesn't respond, though she is quite conscious.

[Chaotic Bob]

((I didn't declare myself Lord or anything...just Bringer...bleh, too many plottish things going around to truly secure the title))

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames tries to establish a contact with her mind.

[Lykan]

Her mind is sort of broken off, but there

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames sends a thought, Hello?

[Lykan]

Sikka's mind comes a bit back-to-earth

... Aesa?

[Lord Iames Osari]

No, my name is Iames. What's your name? Iames accompanies the thought with a pulse of warm, reassuring, friendly love.

[Lykan]

Sikka seems scared, even though his voice is friendly

Where is Aesa?

[Lord Iames Osari]

She is probably at her home. Why? Iames continues to send the reassuring feeling over the link.

[Lykan]

She- I- Cares- Someone- Aesa- Aesa- Aesa-....

Her thoughts are garbled, repeating most words over again and cuting off over and over agian, like a scratched disc in a radio.

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames wraps her mind in the reassuring warmth. It's okay. It's okay.

[Lykan]

Her mind flares to life, a rather strong burst of energy pulsing out from it

It's not okay!

She sobs telekiteically, wailing

She-... She doesn't love me anymore...

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames blinks at the strength of her mind as her outburst almost breaks the link, but he manages to maintain it. Not knowing what to say, he just keeps sending reassurance and compassion and warmth to her.

[Lykan]

Sikka keeps sobbing, an action which doesn't look like it's going to sbside anytime soon.

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames reaches out a hand to touch her shoulder.

[Lykan]

Sikka looks up at Iames, her pupils and irises exchanged colors. Her expression is not really discernable.

What do you want?

[Lord Iames Osari]

I want to help you not feel sad anymore.

[Lykan]

And I want Aesa back. What's you're point?

Electricity crackles around her

[Lord Iames Osari]

You may not be able to get her back, but at least let me try to help you, Iames says.

[Lykan]

Her eyes turn from black, to blue, and to yellow

What good are you!? You aren't her!

She sobs, curling into a ball

I want her back again...

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames tries to hug her.

[Lykan]

Embracing her at this point is like embracing an electrical transformer, though she doesn't resist, continuing to cry.

[Lord Iames Osari]

((Fortunately, I think Iames is immune to electricity..))

He hugs her, continuing to channel reassurances to her.

[Lykan]

She sobs one last time before going unconscious.

[Lord Iames Osari]

Iames picks her up and disappears.

[Ms_Elaneous]

A single metallic, glowing ring appears in the cemetery. As the ring hovers in the air, it seems to be duplicating, no, separating, into thin slivers over itself that slide vertically around it, above and below. Each ring begins to grow thicker, looking more and more like the figure of a humanoid. As the edges of the rings reconnect, the form of a woman solidfies.

Her cold eyes observe the cemetery calculatingly. They pass with little interest over the ordinary tombstones before she glides with elegance towards the tombs. She stops with a slight grin curling on her lips as she catches sight of a tomb inscribed with the name: Mor'Illorum.

[Ms_Elaneous]

The light tapping of footsteps can be heard echoing through the graveyard as she ascends the steps to the enormous doors of the family tomb. On the door there is the unfriendly face of a gargoyle, looking for all the world like a gatekeeper.

The woman approaches and runs her hand over the face fondly. It begins to stir beneath her fingertips.

"Who approaches the Tomb of Mor'Illorum?"

The woman removes a hood that she had kept over her face since she arrived. Her strangely slit eyes gaze into those of the gargoyle, almost challenging him and definitely commanding him.

"The final surviving heir of the Mor'Illorum bloodline." She emphasizes "final" ever so slightly. "Give me entrance to commune with my family."

The door growns and swings open slightly, allowing her to walk through. The echoing steps can be heard until the stone doors swing shut again. The gargoyle guardian can be heard as well, adding quietly, "The surviving heirs will always have entry."

[Nevrmore]

The gaunt man identified by Kaio Fyta as Ebola walks into the cemetery. He can't quite tell, but he does his best to find the very center of the graveyard and plunges his bone staff into the earth beneath him.

"'Boneyard Sorcery' my ass." He mumbles as he clasps his hands together. There are ripples underneath his bandages as magic begins to flood the area.

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Just because I can. :smalltongue:))

An eerie whistling seems to be coming from the surrounding area. The jaunty footsteps of a man echo across the stone, in time to the tune, no less.

[Nevrmore]

Ebola doesn't notice. The bandages around his arm puff out considerably as magical force tries to escape his body.

[Ms_Elaneous]

The whistling trails off as Vedran opens the gate into the cemetary. He could have merely jumped over the crumbling walls, but felt like pretending he was a normal visitor today.

"Perhaps I won't use the bodies myself... then again perhaps if they gave me permission, Miss Sikka would permit it. In any event, the ghosts are still up for grabs," he comments, mulling something over to himself.

[Nevrmore]

The bandages suddenly unwrap themselves, floating around Ebola's form and dancing in the air wildly. The underside of the bandages have strange runes inscribed on them.

Ebola's arms are a shriveled and black mess, but a faint aura is about them which travels into his bone staff and subsequently into the ground.

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Of course... she won't like it if I use those without their permission eith-..." Vedran stops his little self dialogue when he notices the man in the center of the graveyard.

"Well, that's a new addition. When did he get here, I wonder?" The amused smile appears on his face as he chuckles lightly.

[Nevrmore]

THe ground, like Ebola's bandages, also begins to pulsate, only this time it is not because of the magic. In fact, it only seems like the ground near tombstones are pulsating...

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran wraps his arms, even his shoulder stitches, over one another and watching appreciatively.

"Not bad..." he says, speaking to himself.

[Nevrmore]

Predictably, fists suddenly shoot out of the ground as undead bodies in various states of decay pull themselves out of their graves. Several mausoleums swing open as wealthier undeads come to join as well. Soon enough, it seems like every dead body in the cemetery has come and situated themselves in a circle around Ebola.

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran nods again, this time a little more emphatically, "Definitely not bad."

By the by, the Tomb of Mor'Illorum remains sealed. It does not appear that any of this energy infiltrated the surface, for reasons unknown.

[Nevrmore]

As the zombies gather around, Ebola opens his eyes. As if sucked by a powerful vaccuum, the bandages floating in the air suddenly zoom back onto his arms, wrapping around them securely. He pulls his staff out of the ground.

"Alright, good then." Ebola nods as he walks towards the gate. The undead make a path for him and slowly begin to follow the necromancer.

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran politely steps out of the way, half-bows, and gestures his arms as if to say, "By all means, continue."

"I do hope you'll enjoy yourself with them. Top notch work, might I add," he says, a friendly sort of light in his mismatched eyes.

[NecroPaladin]

Arrives the diplomat stumbles into the cemetery.

"Ow...why am I here? What..."

He feels the top of his head.

"My hair...and...my shirt..."

Suddenly he says,

"Why am I speaking out loud? It's like there's-"

His eyepatch flips over to the other eye of its own accord, and the nails appear. Everywhere. Not only on him- nails begin to spike through the ground all along where he stands, bringing up stone, grass, and the occasional bit of a corpse.

"-someone else here? You learn fast, human."

Arrives holds the eyepatch off of his organic eye, needing to talk.

"Wait...WAIT! What are you?"

The eyepatch snaps on to his face, and liquid wings extend from his back.

"I am salvation."

The Angel strolls through the cemetery, apparently looking for someone.

"Revenant must die...and as well..."

Deciding to irk a certain something out, he grins,

"Irisa de Ricciolino!"

[Ms_Elaneous]

Vedran watches the newcomer. Seems the cemetary wasn't merely for the dead these days. Quite the popular hangout. He tilts his head allowing the lopsided grin to become more lopsided still.

He waves a hand politely, "I do hope you'll enjoy the place. It appears most of the other dead are out and on business with a certain fellow, so I hope you don't need them."

He drums his fingers on a nearby tombstone, leaning into it. "Then again, that's what I was here for..." His brows knit together although the smirk remains.

[NecroPaladin]

"I only need one dead. One dead, who, by coincidence, wishes the comrade of a certain dead man dead. Thus, I truly wish two dead, or three if you include the one, or two again for the man already dead. Four or two, or even one seperately, if from there you move to the Clergyman."

The Angel bows deeply, it's nail-like teeth shining.

"I apologize for speaking in riddles, but it is trivial when inquiring would bring naught but death."

It sits on a tombstone, and juggles nails absentmindedly.

"But then, I always bring naught but death, no matter the number."

As he catches the nails, he goes,

"One dead,

Two dead,

Three dead,

Bar State, and I am appeased."

[Nevrmore]

Ebola coughs as if to break up an unusually long silence.

"Thanks." He waves to Vedran after he complimented the necromancer's work. "I try."

[Ms_Elaneous]

The Angel receives a courtly half-bow in return.

"No need to apologize. Riddles stretch the mind," Vedran says, quite pleasantly.

"So you must kill a group of people in a chain to get to the one that you want? Or do I misunderstand? Or would you rather I not understand at all?" Vedran elegantly holds a hand out, wrist up as a sort of "please, continue" sort of gesture.

As he seats himself comfortably on a tombstone that appears stable, as stable as any in this decrepit graveyard, he looks over to Ebola, "One necromancer to another, you deserve the praise."

[NecroPaladin]

"You do not misunderstand. The meaning is simple. You'll die, I'll die, but they die first. And then, in the wake of it all, I will undie, while you and they and all the rest will not."

The Angel stops juggling the nails, and they recede into cuts on his arms.

"Who knows? Maybe someday I will kill you. But not today, today I have one dead to meet."

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Well, that's unpleasant." Vedran then chuckles, "I'm not sure whether to wish you luck or not."

Rubbing a thumb that doesn't seem to match the rest of his hand, whatever matching was on that sewn together appendage, over his stitched shoulder, he lazily lets himself fall forward to a standing position.

"In any event, I'll leave you to it." He wanders out of the the cemetery, whistling.

[NecroPaladin]

"Rest in peace,"

The Angel waves, cheerily, before continuing its wandering.

"If I wished to kill Revenant, where would I be?"

He corrects himself, realizing that Revenant is his priority, not someone else's.

"Ah. Revenant OR Iris."

[Nevrmore]

Ebola makes a symbolic 'tipping-of-the-hat' gesture to Vedran as he departs, a small army of undead following him.

[Ms_Elaneous]

The tombs may seem to pop out of the rest of the scenery. As though perhaps, inviting someone to draw nearer.

There has been a sort of detection. Not so much of the Angel, but that of his intentions.

It pleased the observer.

Greatly.

[NecroPaladin]

Indeed, The Angel walks further into the cemetery, playing along.

"I knew that it was here."

[Ms_Elaneous]

A tomb somewhat grander than those surrounding seems to stick out in his mind, perhaps. Somehow sticking out in an ever so faint shade of pale olive green.

Funny, that.

It is a strangely ornamented tomb, as well, even without the odd tone of colour.

A single staircase half-spirals up to the tomb's entrance, the pattern of a snake winding down along it. Downward for the mouth faces the first step, as though to bite at the heels of those who would climb it.

Atop the center of the pillar around which the stairs encompass, there is yet another view of a beastly creature. A faceless gargoyle. This not facing out at the rest of the graveyard, but in fact inwards. Rather odd.

It's empty gaze leads to that of perhaps the missing face, mounted upon a massive marbled stone door. It seems to glare at you from whatever side you approached it. Like one of those paintings in a haunted house.

Watch the eyes.

[NecroPaladin]

The Angel confronts the gargoyle, inanimate as it may be.

"Well. Am I waiting for a meeting, or may I enter?

Be aware that inviting my kind can have rather deadly results."

[Ms_Elaneous]

The distinctive brooding face on the door speaks. The voice drawls a bit, seemingly not overenthusiastic about his career choice. Not that he'd been the one to choose it...

"Who approaches the Tomb of Mor'Illorum?"

Whether or not the Angel been announced by a procession of dancing girls, piles of treasure, drawn in a carriage pulled by dragons, and most importantly, someone to reveal who he was, the gargoyle is compelled to ask that question.

However much it may irk the both of them.

[NecroPaladin]

"I am not a person, so no 'who' approaches the Tomb of Mor'Illorum. But I am an event, a "what.'"

The Angel grins wider, and nails begin to slide out of its arms again.

"I am the death of Irisa de Ricciolino."

With this, the two huge, bloody wings unfurl from his back, and spikes bristle all over the poor diplomat's body. He begins, as is his mantra, to laugh.

((Guh...deadtiming for now...It's a bit selfish, but I want a little time to myself...:smallredface: ))

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Selfish? Nay, I am proud of you for having a life. :smallbiggrin:))

CR-ACK

SN-AP

These would be the sounds of a long still gargoylian body returning to motion. And the body stance rather matches the expression of the face. Not happy.

"Then you are an unwelcome event," it hisses, a stoney look in it's eyes. Besides the obvious reason why.

The look disappears in favour of one of confusion. This change explained perhaps by the trembling of the door and the surrounding building.

This was unexpected.

[NecroPaladin]

"Strange, considering that I always was welcomed by the sound of anything breaking," the Angel hisses.

He briefly considers putting a nail through the gargoyle's head, but eventually finds no reason to.

"Who's down there?"

[Ms_Elaneous]

The door shudders, sending an amount of dust and rock cascading from the ceiling. There is the distinct feeling of dominance and displeasure behind this. But not aimed towards the Angel.

The gargoyle body cringes while the face appears unamused. He grudgingly admits, "You have been granted entry. You are... welcome."

[NecroPaladin]

The Angel sets down in front of the tomb, and with the sound of a meat grinder its wings recede and hammer into its back. It grins and its eye rolls wildly as it takes the first few steps in.

"Angels are always welcome."

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Not within the halls of Mor'Illorum."

With that final message, the massive stone door begins to shut behind him, sending down another cloud of dust and rock to mar the face of the sun behind him.

The rays of light that had been bathed him blends smoothly into the dark nothingness that now swallows him. It seems to accept him, embrace him, in spite of the words of the doorkeeper.

[NecroPaladin]

The Angel continues to walk forward, his boot-encased feet echoing along in a manner not unlike the trot of a horse. He almost goose-steps, in military style, although the added weight of the nails in his arms stops him from swinging them. Eventually, he raises his hands regally and shouts out,

"Well? Are you there? Because I'm terrible at introductions."

He smiles, and adds a glib,

"Although my exits always slay."

[Ms_Elaneous]

A ring of deep green light begins to glow beneath the Angel's feet, a cold, feminine voice seemingly coming out of the darkness itself, echoing about him. "Count yourself fortunate. It has been long since these halls were graced by the presence of an heir."

The ring shifts along the floor, the light somehow making the room seem chillingly darker as opposed to brighter. It appears to be directing him deeper.

"We may speak here or we may speak face to face. However, you have come to me, not I to you. It will remain this way." Apparently that is what the light is for, leading him to her.

[NecroPaladin]

"I prefer face to face. It makes it much easier if diplomacy fails."

The Angel follows the light, his smile growing wider and wider, to inhuman size.

"I hope you don't mind this talk of killing. It comes natural to me."

He gestures to the darkness, as though he were already speaking face to face with a person.

[Ms_Elaneous]

A laugh, a simply delighted one, yet amazingly devoid of warmth, echoes this time, "Forgive my outburst, but realize where you are and to whom you speak."

The light leads him past various dark doorways, seemingly springing into existence at their approach. A few seem to be barred by the same sort of glowing light as the ring. Close inspection would show that this is, in fact, a series of small linked rings, sealing off the rooms.

Closer inspection would reveal glowing eyes behind the glowing rings. Eyes that have whispering voices rising from behind them. Something alive dwells in this place, or perhaps, something unalive.

"You must also forgive the distance to the throne room. I assure you I do not force you to walk it from spite." The ring continues to shift along the floor, leading into a spiraling slope downward. "I can also assure you that you would find it quite difficult to find of your own accord."

[NecroPaladin]

"The Angel of the Scale forgives nothing. But I have little to gain from hostilities, spectre."

Arrives walks perfectly in the center of the light, largely by accident. He continues to gesture into the darkness, and the light.

"Particularly in that I suppose while I am here, I am at your mercy. It is a distasteful role."

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Then I shall no longer waste my breath with polite apologies. Though worry not. It isn't much farther."

The magic ring slightly picks up the pace. Apparently the hostess is growing impatient as well.

It leads him into a tighter spiral, now moving almost straight down. The slight slope had now merged with a steep staircase. The ring bends at odd angles as it is cast onto the steps.

[NecroPaladin]

The Angel observes the ring, as it casts strange patterns on the walls. Observe does not necessarily mean "cares about." He frowns as he descends the steps, hoping to find something other than these confounded rings soon. In the back of his mind, he decides to do something about this later. Something rather violent, although not necessarily directed at this particular woman.

[Ms_Elaneous]

At last the staircase opens into a larger area, although, he may not yet be able to see where this is precisely, still lit by the pale glow of the ring. However, this glow seems to be flickering uncertainly now.

As though it might...

Go out.

[NecroPaladin]

The blue glass eye pulses as he adjusts to the change.

"Well...have I arrived, or is there another needless diversion?"

His temper is flickering, dwindling about as swiftly as the light.

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Never have I directed you needlessly," is the rather unemotional reply. "Come now, what sort of hostess do you think I am?"

The Angel may be interested to note this is no longer a ghostly voice from the shadows, but of a flesh and blood being, though it still echoes through the apparently spacious room. To whom it belongs to be revealed shortly.

The ring appears a good distance before him. Although, it no longer seems concerned with his ability to keep up. Instead, it seems to raise, sliver thin, a few inches from the floor.

Suddenly, it crashes to the floor, shattering. Shards fly through the air, propelled by some force no doubt apart from the simple act of being dropped.

[NecroPaladin]

At the sound of the crash, the Angel smiles again. It always likes the sound of anything being destroyed, living or not.

"The kind who would be very useful if she were to show herself."

He looks down to his arms, and stretches. Red nails jet in and out of them at various intervals, sprinkling blood down below him. He appears to not be bothered by the loss, but rather simply retracts the metal enhancements, shivering with what might be some sick form of pleasure.

[Ms_Elaneous]

The shards appear to be heading to different, yet symetricallly placed, parts of the room. Perhaps to the chagrin of the Angel, it hadn't been for the sheer joy of making things break.

They do, possibly to counteract the aforementioned chagrin, shatter into smaller pieces still on contact with something solid. The mist-like dust flutters upwards, asserting it's dominance over gravity, and envelopes what appear in the dim glow, to be stone spheres.

Simultaneously, the mists all converge on these spheres, which flash with an intense light, filling the room with too much perhaps, considering the sudden change from "no light" to "LIGHT! LET THERE BE LIGHT DAMN YOU!"

When the blinding rays reach a somewhat more comfortable, if not still a bit dim, level, the entire room is in view to him.

The lit stone orbs appear to be supported by large columns of a greenish marble. Before each column, however, lies something far more intriguing.

A monster.

Rather, a statue of a monster, done with shocking detail. A greater abyssal basilisk here, a chaos beast there. A manticore, chimera, umber hulk, grey render... over a dozen beasts in all, lining the walkway slicing through the massive chamber.

As stunning of this visions are, they are dwarfed by a particularly large and impressive one, taking up the position as centerpiece on the opposite side of the room. A gigantic, stone remorhaz sits with it's body curled up against the back of the curved wall. Its front rears up, as though it were preparing to bring its gaping jaws down upon the person who sits before it.

The person who sits before it, however, doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest.

An empty grin graces the face of a particularly lovely woman, who can not be identified as human nor elf nor any other race. Human would perhaps be as close as one could get to describe her, yet that is offset by her eyes. Bright olive green, intelligent, calculating, and cold. Most importantly cold, shining from behind a thin veil of midnight hair.

They stare at him from her elaborate throne, surrounded by the arms of the remorhaz. Her hands grip the arms, rather, the dimly lit stone spheres within them, as she pulls herself to stand.

"I hope your journey was worth the trouble." Whether she means for him or for her is uncertain.

[NecroPaladin]

The red, metal teeth show through once more, glinting in the sudden light. In a voice half-drawn from the diplomat that is its host, and half-drawn from what must be the fires of hell itself, the Angel bows deeply, almost mockingly, and rasps,

"As do I, my lady. As do I."

With that, the nails pulse outward all over his body. Unlike the previous body of the Angel of the Scale, these nails point outward, creating the image of red spines. This only adds to the effect of the great, bloody wings that unfurl behind him.

"And who...

No, what, perchance, are you?"

[Ms_Elaneous]

((*pant pant* So... much... lengthy flavour text.))

The woman's eyes scrutinize him, his wings, his crimson nails, enjoying what she sees, though it does not show in her expression. This, was a prime example of much of what she embodied.

"You may call me Azeneth. I am neither human nor inhuman, yet above human in my birthright," she steps down from the dais beneath the throne, feet hitting the floor at the word "above."

"And you are a long awaited event." Her grins grows almost bone chillingly and mirthlessly.

[NecroPaladin]

((Aww...you're struggling for my sake! No matter, I love the imagination that you put into this...))

"I am glad to be so. We face the same target, Irisa de Ricciolino. As well, I am sure you will have no aversion to tearing apart her compatriot as well. He must also die."

He grins in kind, returning from the bow.

"Where do we start?"

[Ms_Elaneous]

((Thank you. I was trying to show this place the way I'd imagined. Hard to do, I find. ^_^"))

"Her compatriot? I assume you can only mean the focus of her necrophilia," she says, the faintest distaste tainting her otherwise blank voice. "I have no qualms with his death. Or redeath, as it were."

[NecroPaladin]

((You made it look easy, if lengthy.

And I was wondering when someone would call it that... (-_-") ))

"I found that he is a marvelous tool to hurt the girl with. And that was only when they'd met."

He grins yet further, penting his fingers (although there is no visible metal on them, they click and snap like spinning gears) and beginning to formulate a plan.

"Imagine his use now."

[Ms_Elaneous]

((I'd reserved it specifically for Azeneth. It seemed to suit what she'd say.))

"As much as you seek her pain, I merely seek her demise," she says, looking somewhat haughty, as though above these petty desires. There was something far more important at stake than the retribution of simple spite.

"Yet, he could be used as leverage, I do not doubt it."

[NecroPaladin]

The Angel speaks in a pleasant voice, although his face momentarily shows rage.

"My dear, when you are dealing with me, pain and demise are one and the same. Do not worry. She will die in pain, which yet entails that she will die."

With the sound of metal bars clashing together, he returns to a steely grin.

"And truly, would you not rather that she die with no one there to take up her name?"

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Do what pleases you. As an enemy of my inconvenience, I will aid you in what ways that I can." She closes her eyes, almost as though the already meager light is starting to bother her.

"As for his death or redeath, I care not. He is a monster, nothing more, nothing less, despite what she might claim." This idea seems to have a great deal more weight down deep within the catacombs, amongst the stone creatures, by the voice of this strange "Azeneth."

[NecroPaladin]

"Of course he is a monster. He used to be me."

The Angel straigthens up its body, evidently entirely comfortable saying,

"And I, clearly, am a monster."

Putting on a more bussinesslike tone, he hunches back over.

"Shall we coordinate a plan, or shall I simply kill the first of them I see present?"

[Ms_Elaneous]

"I had originally planned to allow her to get herself killed. It seemed quite likely, particularly when I had last seen her," she says, the hint of a sigh in this.

"However, she appears more durable than I would have previously calculated. A most troublesome mistake." Mistake has a strange emphasis to it.

[NecroPaladin]

"Indeed. I believe that both of us have discovered her will to fight firsthand."

The Angel clenches his fists, causing yet more nails to spring out. The rage in his voice is building.

"We may toy with her, but her end must be swift. Both of their ends, if we are to be certain of her demise."

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Her will is pathetic. But her guardians are not. I found it to be unworth the effort to try and destroy them merely to get to her."

A set of glowing rings, such as the one that had been on the floor, loop around her wrists.

"As I had said, I assumed she would have managed to kill herself off. Kaio Fyata would have been her target had he not returned prior to her departure. He had seemed quite capable..."

[NecroPaladin]

"A pity. I doubt that he would be interested in any alliance that does not involve the dead."

He clenches his fists yet further, his joints popping in a revolting manner.

"Those priests were MINE. What happened?"

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Yours?" she asks, sounding almost surprised. "I do not know. However, they refused me the pleasure of her death. Claiming something of "fate.""

[NecroPaladin]

Ping!

The sound of a hammer hitting a nail goes off in the Angel's rage-filled head.

Ping!

Ping!

Ping!

The Angel goes through a variety of expressions, ending in a more maniacal grin than before.

Four more must die.

"I have no qualms about them. If they must be ended as well, so be it."

[Ms_Elaneous]

"Our hitlist grows, so it would seem," she says. This doesn't seem to bother her, however, as she is grinning softly all the while.

[NecroPaladin]

"So it will be. So it will be."

The Angel lets out a trademark evil laugh with a slight metallic flare.

((I'm assuming that this is where it fades to black before the big showdown?))

[Ms_Elaneous]

((I suppose that sounds fine. I'm surprised he didn't ask her anything about her motives or this place, though. Still, I don't suppose he cares. :smallbiggrin:))

[NecroPaladin]

((He really doesn't. He just wishes the painful deaths of Maph'tey, State, Revenant, Namesake (already happened), and Iris first and foremost, then the priests and Alastor on the second tier. Deep down, it's all the Angel exists for.))

[Rebonack]

Crazy is such condescending term. Crazy is jumping in front of a dragon armed with only a rusty shovel. Crazy is attempting to open a door by throwing oranges at it. Crazy is really, truly believing that the rats will eat you if you go to sleep.

Despite being condescending, it can be a reasonable description. Of an action. Of a person. Of a state of mind. Of one's dreams. Of one's fears. They could all be called crazy given the right peculiarities.

Perhaps you prefer 'mentally unbalanced'? Or maybe 'special'?

Or mad.

Insane.

Off one's rocker.

But how often is crazy a point of view? Might one be justified in believing they will be devoured by rodents the moment they drop their guard? That they're being stalked by some malevolent force? That they are, in fact, a boiled egg?

Well... that last one might be hard to justify.

There are times when the psyche of mortals just can't take the strain. Something seen that cracks their mind and sends them tumbling into the inky pits of madness. So often, it seems, that it's the utter clarity of a situation that the mind simply can't grasp. One might even say that learning of the truth is the surest way to drive one's self crazy. It is said by some, some who now reside imprisoned for speaking of fathomless things, that mortals should be thankful for the state of ignorance they live in.

Reality is a vast, cold place. Filled with things such that the slightest inkling might set one's mind afire with insanity at its merest existence.

All that said, the young man who is, currently, digging his way into a grave out in the Town's cemetery is quite clearly mad. A dashing sort of fellow, the sort that one might like immediately. If not for the odd, nebulous sense of dread that seems to follow him about incessantly. It's rather hard to place exactly what it is that makes being around him seem unpleasant, really.

Animals tend to dislike him. More than once he has had to go out of his way to avoid getting his throat pulled out by inexplicably agitated dogs. More than a few of the hounds have found themselves of the nasty end of a dagger he keeps on his person for exactly that sort of trouble.

He's clad in rather voluminous, loose fitting clothes. The sort that do a rather good job of keeping one warm in the colder months and make it a fair bit harder to guess where one must stick a knife in you. As mentioned before he has a charming look about him. Well kept hair, stubble that betrays a trimmed beard, a rugged, well chiseled face. Then there are the eyes. They themselves have nothing particularly remarkable about them. Rather, it's what's behind them that is peculiar. They have seen things that no man should see. Treasured up knowledge that no man should have.

Which no doubt begs the question of why he's digging into a grave set before a crumbling headstone. Which no doubt has to do with that aforementioned madness.

Because, after all, Immanuel Whateley is quite clearly insane.

He mutters to himself as he works, glancing about furtively now and again as if he expects something inexplicable to snatch him up and devour him horribly at any moment.

[Rebonack]

It's surprising, really. Surprising that no one has bothered to interrupt the grave digger. Normally such activities are reserved for the nether hours of the night, when light is all but banished save for what torch and moon might shed.

Ghastly work at a ghastly hour is the norm. It is expected that a ghoul would be digging up the dead when spectators are less prevalent.

Rhythmically the spade bites into the earth, hurling it over the edge of the growing pit bit by bit. As Immanuel works deeper noisome vapors begin to waft from the damp soil, causing the young man's head to spin as he coughs. Soon though his face is covered with a scarf, granting some small respite from the odious onslaught.

He hopes, truly hopes that no one will stumble upon his little misadventure. It would make the whole situation rather difficult to explain, you see.

"Has to be here. No where else could have hidden it. Have to find him. Have to finish him. Have to be sure he won't walk again," Immanuel mutters under his breath as he works ever deeper into the wormy earth.

[Rebonack]

On the digging goes, shovel full after shovel full, until at long last the spade strikes against something solid. Something that, despite being solid, gives below the blow.

Rotted wood.

Immanuel now begins to struggle with clearing away the coffin lid, scooping away earth and moldering barrier alike. The stench has grown significantly greater now, which in of itself is a strange thing. If the headstone which now lies buried below a mount of dirt can be believed the poor soul entombed here has been deceased for many a year. There's no way such a smell should be detected.

The occupant should have long since rotted away.

And yet, as the lid is finally pried away it isn't a pile of bones that Immanuel finds inside.

The corpse is bloated, swollen with fresh blood that even now drizzles from the thing's lifeless mouth. A vampire? But aren't vampires usually suave and emaciated and so forth? Apparently this fiend isn't whether it's a vampire or not.

Immanuel begins to search the corpse, his fevered motions indicating worry. In his mind this situation could rapidly digress into something altogether unpleasant. But, of course, he's also mad. So he may be wrong.

And there it is. A copper scroll case inside the corpse' pocket. The cloth has long since hardened, so cutting it away with his dagger is necessary. And once that small object incrusted with green oxidation and years of corruption he visibly calms. It was here. This hadn't been another dead lead. Was there hope now? Or at least not utter despair. Time would tell, as it always does.

Little time until the stars are right. He must finish before.

Immanuel clambers out of the grave and pockets his newest acquisition while at the same time extracting a small pouch of glitter white powder. With said powder he begins to slowly trace around the perimeter of the desecrated grave.

[Rebonack]

The odd, disconcerting man mutters under his breath as he traces about the edge of the grave, an intricate geometric patter of concentric circles and triangles slowly forming as he works. The exact meaning of the design probably isn't too familiar for anyone looking on it. It isn't a usual sort of magic after all.

As the design about the corpse is completed Immanuel glares down at the bloated corpse.

"You won't be harming anyone again," he states, his voice taking on a strange air of authority. When he speaks again his tone has become guttural as he recites an ancient and powerful formula. "Ogthrod ai'f geb'l-ee'a Yog-Sothoth 'ngah'ng ai'y zhro!"

The body suddenly convulses as its blood sopped flesh quickly decays away into little more than dust, leaving nothing but moldering bones behind.

And then he speaks again pointing a single finger at the geometric array.

"Er'eelah so'thul Yog-Sothoth aqu'rus! Uaaah!"

With a tremendous hiss of acrid vapor the grave is suddenly filled to the brim with sizzling acid. Acid which eats away at the sparse remains of the fiend.

The strange man glances about once more before hurrying out of the cemetery.