10th of Cylus, 718th Arc
Midnight
Al’Angyryl Cavern
It had been a struggle, coming to terms with the need to return and present himself before Mongrel. The man was not known for his kindness. Even though Neronin was an accomplished mage, Mongrel still unsettled him. The idea of presenting himself before him and all of his cronies was not ideal. But Maws had already seen him and the news of his return would be out soon. Neronin wanted to come back in of his own accord.
So here he was, standing just within view of the cavern entrance. Undoubtedly the lookouts had already gone down to inform Mongrel or some other lieutenant of the presence of the battered old beggar. Neronin sighed and approached. The silent form of Yoriq followed behind him, unarmored but with a heavy woolen cloak Neronin had bought to mask his obvious undead state.
Yoriq’s pale hand gripped the hilt of the Longsword at his waist. The revenant whispered incoherently as they walked forward. Neronin tried not to show his exhaustion and ragged state as he walked purposefully towards the cavern entrance.
“Stop right there!” Came a cold voice. “You ain’t gonna move a muscle unless you want to be a pair of pincushions.” Neronin could see the pair of men hefting crossbows. They were new to Neronin, recruited after he had left most likely. Neronin raised his hands placatingly, but the revenant Yoriq chose that moment to speak in an audible and clear voice.
“Beat you to the punch!” The undead said in a harsh rasp. One of the thugs was jumper than the other. He fired the crossbow and the bolt slammed home in Yoriq’s chest. The undead made no response to this, only stepping back slightly with the impact. “When it flows, the forest grows...” It said under its breath.
“What the hell is wrong with your friend?” The man who fired asked in a hushed voice.
“Don’t mind him, he isn’t in his right mind.” Neronin responded. “Why don’t one of you go inform Mongrel that Marrow is here to see him.” Neronin eyed the sharp points fo the bolts now aimed at his chest. “I can wait here.”
The two fighters exchanged a look. “Marrow, eh? I’ve ‘ears of ‘im.” Said the older man, a bearded, burly man. He glanced at Yoriq, his eyes narrowing. “‘Eard ‘e was a witch. ‘Eard ‘e could make the dead walk ‘gain.” The man shot a quick look at his partner and the man swallowed, looking at Yoriq with his shadowed head. “But ‘ow we know you is ‘im?”
Neronin glanced at Yoriq. He willed the thrall to reach up and lower it’s hood with its free hand. The pale, deathly white face of the Biqaj thrall stared out at them. The embers of green light burned in the Cylus night. Neronin gestured. “Yes, dead man walking.” He glanced from them to the entrance of the cavern. Then a man came running out, another leather clad soldier with a crossbow over his shoulder.
“He’s on his way, the Prince has been told!” He said, slightly out of breath. Of course, the old gruff man had been stalling. Good soldier. Mongrel clearly hired quality men. Neronin kept his hands up as the three men all aimed their crossbows at him, waiting for the Prince of Eternal Mercies.
Midnight
Al’Angyryl Cavern
It had been a struggle, coming to terms with the need to return and present himself before Mongrel. The man was not known for his kindness. Even though Neronin was an accomplished mage, Mongrel still unsettled him. The idea of presenting himself before him and all of his cronies was not ideal. But Maws had already seen him and the news of his return would be out soon. Neronin wanted to come back in of his own accord.
So here he was, standing just within view of the cavern entrance. Undoubtedly the lookouts had already gone down to inform Mongrel or some other lieutenant of the presence of the battered old beggar. Neronin sighed and approached. The silent form of Yoriq followed behind him, unarmored but with a heavy woolen cloak Neronin had bought to mask his obvious undead state.
Yoriq’s pale hand gripped the hilt of the Longsword at his waist. The revenant whispered incoherently as they walked forward. Neronin tried not to show his exhaustion and ragged state as he walked purposefully towards the cavern entrance.
“Stop right there!” Came a cold voice. “You ain’t gonna move a muscle unless you want to be a pair of pincushions.” Neronin could see the pair of men hefting crossbows. They were new to Neronin, recruited after he had left most likely. Neronin raised his hands placatingly, but the revenant Yoriq chose that moment to speak in an audible and clear voice.
“Beat you to the punch!” The undead said in a harsh rasp. One of the thugs was jumper than the other. He fired the crossbow and the bolt slammed home in Yoriq’s chest. The undead made no response to this, only stepping back slightly with the impact. “When it flows, the forest grows...” It said under its breath.
“What the hell is wrong with your friend?” The man who fired asked in a hushed voice.
“Don’t mind him, he isn’t in his right mind.” Neronin responded. “Why don’t one of you go inform Mongrel that Marrow is here to see him.” Neronin eyed the sharp points fo the bolts now aimed at his chest. “I can wait here.”
The two fighters exchanged a look. “Marrow, eh? I’ve ‘ears of ‘im.” Said the older man, a bearded, burly man. He glanced at Yoriq, his eyes narrowing. “‘Eard ‘e was a witch. ‘Eard ‘e could make the dead walk ‘gain.” The man shot a quick look at his partner and the man swallowed, looking at Yoriq with his shadowed head. “But ‘ow we know you is ‘im?”
Neronin glanced at Yoriq. He willed the thrall to reach up and lower it’s hood with its free hand. The pale, deathly white face of the Biqaj thrall stared out at them. The embers of green light burned in the Cylus night. Neronin gestured. “Yes, dead man walking.” He glanced from them to the entrance of the cavern. Then a man came running out, another leather clad soldier with a crossbow over his shoulder.
“He’s on his way, the Prince has been told!” He said, slightly out of breath. Of course, the old gruff man had been stalling. Good soldier. Mongrel clearly hired quality men. Neronin kept his hands up as the three men all aimed their crossbows at him, waiting for the Prince of Eternal Mercies.