• Closed • Midnight Mercy (Noth)

10th of Cylus 718

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Neronin
Posts: 411
Joined: Tue Jan 10, 2017 4:34 pm
Race: Human
Profession: Mage
Renown: 210
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Midnight Mercy (Noth)

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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.
word count: 571
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Noth
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Midnight Mercy (Noth)

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It had been a rather sorry state of affairs following the sudden disappearance of the chief necromancer of Al’Angyryl. Of course, there were the personal issues which arose at his sudden disappearance, the feelings of betrayal and mistrust that naturally flooded into the hybrid’s heart at the news that one of the few persons he was beginning to consider a ‘friend’ as well as an associate had suddenly vanished from sight. Yet, beyond even those intricate emotional tendencies that had wrought through him, he understood too the way that the dynamic of the entire organization would be changed by his sudden absence.

In the place of what was certainly one of the most talented mages he had ever witnessed, Divinya was allowed to assume his position. She was the only person in the organization with any real knowledge of the necromantic arts, and the truth of the matter was that they relied far more upon the thralls and assorted abominations which were created by the dark arts than might have been evident. The thralls were notably expendable in a way that human beings were typically not. Sure, a person could be sacrificed if it meant that a particular objective was accomplished, or if it was the most logical conclusion to solve a problem, but it was far easier to sacrifice that which was already dead, as well as to replace it than a living and breathing person.

Fascinating enough, even after Neronin; or Marrow as he often preferred to be called, had abandoned them, his vice-like control over the Maimers had remained. They were easily the most substantial and dangerous creatures that he had observed come out of the gaunt fellow’s laboratory, and yet, with his absence, it was revealed that Divinya lacked either the finesse or the talent to subvert them from his will so that they might further serve the organization. Oh, it was true that they would not harm him, because their protocols had been created with his safety in mind, but they would devour any other person in the cavernous system which meant they would only really be useful in a scenario where each and every person in the cave other than himself was a hostile. The idea of the Maimers chasing prey in the same manner that a cat chases a mouse through tight corridors was somewhat humorous, but comedic thoughts did little to alleviate the genuine disappointment he felt at the loss of so valuable a tool.

Perhaps it was for the best, he didn’t quite trust Divinya in the same way that he had trusted Marrow. She had given him little reason to distrust her, naturally, but there was something about the snide proudness and egotism she displayed in their conversations that made him suspicious of her intent. Were it not for the fact that they both knew he was more than capable of dispatching measly thralls, he was not altogether uncertain she would not have made a move for the proverbial throne of the organization, though, perhaps his suspicions were unfounded, sharpened only by the paranoia which follows after leadership.

Thoughts of the wandering necromancer rarely left his mind for long, and whilst he scoured through reports and little tid-bits of paperwork; he had been requesting that certain inquiries be written down when possible so that he could keep better record of them, though the fact that many of his soldiers were illiterate did make such things a tad more difficult, he found his thoughts wandering once more. It was not as if though reports on the numbers of weapons in the armory, or the vague and listless claims of talent and subterfuge were not fascinating, they were simply monotonous to the point of being nigh torturous at times, and it was far better to rest his weary mind than continue scrounging through documentation.

He heard the heavy footfalls striking against the cavern floors even before they reached his door, and knew instinctively that they were coming for him. It was a seldom occurrence that soldiers actually ran through the halls and corridors of the cave system, probably because they were relatively tight at times, and it provoked injury to sprint whilst so confined. That fact combined with the man’s evidently rapid stride led the Avriel to believe that the message must be of importance, and whom else to be contacted about such matters than the esteemed Prince of Eternal Mercies?

The message was brief and to the point, and yet, it immediately drove him out of his chair in a hurried motion, frightening the man for an instant who believed that perhaps he would be the first in a long line of unfortunate messengers. Instead, the Avriel clasped the fellow on the shoulder, and promptly sent him back to the line. Could it truly be that Marrow had returned to him? What were the chances that it was simply an imposter, someone that Divinya had attempted to hire who happened to know necromantic abilities and who she believed would pass off as the long-lost chief necromancer? No, the very thought of it was absurd, considered the hybrid as he strode down the halls, his talons raking excitedly against the stone.

The underground gave way to the surface, and his knife-like feet dug into the dirt with reckless abandon as he approached the observer line. Crimson eyes locked onto the series of figures, identifying each with predatory analysis, marking a trio of them as his own soldiers, those whose perceptive abilities had set them apart from the rest and who were under the direct command of Ears for the sake of security. The man was a fidgeting wreck, and needless to say, he was less of a combatant than a few of the children he had encountered, but he made one of the best counter-spies he had ever had the chance to meet.

One of the figures was familiar, and one unknown, but the hybrid cared not for the apparition; presumably it was either a traveling companion of Marrow, or else one of his monstrosities, though it did seem to move with some more… life than the ones in the past had been capable. The Avriel paused a few feet away, staring out into the darkness, the features of the few lit only by the moonlight. Yet, even in that dim and shadowy concealment, he easily recognized a familiar face that he had not seen for quite some time.

“Marrow, you’ve returned?” His tone was pleasant, as though he were immensely satisfied at the sudden reunion, though, it grew somewhat more worried or perhaps even cautious as he relayed the next portion. “Where did you go?”
word count: 1125
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Credit to Pegasus


As a note: Noth is a Grandmaster in Intimidation. That means that he's at least as scary as the Count from Sesame Street. Beware.

"The tyrant confuses those he can't convince, corrupts those he can't confuse, and crushes those he can't corrupt." - Anonymous
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