Spirits of the Earth

Somewhere beneath the abandoned, ruined temple of Alainoth; a goddess long forgotten
Angsar's Day

"What are you doing?!" exlaimed the poor farmer, when the nightmare of an ogre came to release the bronze chains from their fastening to the wall, yet still bound the young man. The ogre said nothing, as it had since the past day when he was taken from his family's farm outside Uthlyn's walls. Never had Relt seen such a horrid thing. It was ogre, he surely knew that, but the beast had so many... things poking out of it, metal fixtures that would replace bits of flesh, and even one of it's hands seemed to meld into a wicked assortment of brown blades, and Relt had only been grateful in his trial here that they have not been used against his person. Still, that had not shook him from this nightmare, this alien place he found himself. The strange arches, the markings on the walls, none of it made any sense to the simple farmer. Even the metals he saw were strange, nothing iron, nothing familiar. Copper maybe? Relt's thoughts became chaotic as the High Winds while he was dragged down a corridor by this horrible creature. He caught a glimpse of it's face, the ogre looked upon him often. It said nothing, but gave a gurgling moan as if it was all it could to communicate. It was hard to tell; the ogre's face had been plated with metal from the nose down to the base of it's neck, with only that damnable, circular grating over where the mouth would be that allowed the chilling moans escape.

Many more thoughts raced through Relt's mind. His wife, his three sons, but mostly what on Earth was going on. Was this some Serenian dungeon? Serenity has never had too great of relations with Connlaoth, and oddities and the unnatural were known to be the specialties of the northern kingdom. The questions built on, but it wasn't until he saw this new figure that he only thought one thing: "I am going to die..."

"Smiles!" A screeching rasp wailed from the lipless mouth of the lich, Dhalekar, magical in origin, the skeleton with the thinnest weave of softer flesh coating it did not have the organs to provide speech, and so arcane means made a designed voice boom from it's coil. "Place him there!" A finger of bone and hints of sinew gestured to a corner with a table supporting a globular, claw-footed cage set before it - within it; a portly rat. The ogre did so, and with less resistance expected from the captured man, who seemed to have lost hope in either the sight of the lich, or the bone-biting cold that seemed to emanate from it. Dhalekar moved to another table, also full of scattered and various ancient machinae,  and twisted a few knobs and other  things. "Hair of two shades black, one of sand, skin of two quarters sun and approximate eighth of moon... Eyes of the forester..."

Relt had nearly gone mad at this point. The skeletal figure before him who's mere presence weakened him in body began uttering loud strings of words in a language that sounded both familiar and alien, yet nothing he could understand. He thought, for one moment of clarity, of rushing himself and his chains to the archway nearby in this room full of glass and metal, but the ogre loomed over, and the reality of his situation proved too heavy for him to lift. He could barely look upon the skeleton-thing, only catching a glimpse of it holding a strange, flat fork of only two prongs. A chime was heard, and Relt could only look upon the rat in the cage-sphere. How it recoiled in pain, toppled over again and again in what could only be pain, before the skin along its back split, and a bizarre cage of layered rings were pushed up out of its flesh, and began spinning. A sound came from it, it raised in pitch, and Relt began to feel his body quiver. It wasn't until the last cacophany of sounds (http://www.yourepeat.com/watch/?v=SECNGjngzDk&start_at=4&end_at=10) did Relt knew that his thoughts now were his last. 'Imel, Garron, I love-'

And then there was nothing.


Uthlyn Commons
The morning after Angsar's Day

Jobias stared at his razor as he angled the blade upon the small whetstone on the counter in his shop. A gift from the smith woman down on Applewich Lane, and a fine one at that. He could not for the life of him remember what he said to her at her apprentice's, her daughter's, funeral, but he could hardly imagine it was anything that would warrant such a well worked piece of iron. Clearly her grieving had not effected her work; a testament to the resolve of the people of Connlaoth, Jobias thought.

"Ya think it may be sharp enough there, Mister Redding? I may not have the fairest of hair but in Angsar's name, ya'd think you were about to shave a troll!"

Jobias snapped out of his stupor, of course the blade was sharp enough. "Now now, Mister Shanke, there's virtue in good preparation, ask your dear wife before thanking her on my behalf for the beef shoulder she provided for the reading the other night, she'll tell you." He took a note on the man's remark, as he has never been the impatient sort, though admittedly Jobias was working that razor for a scratch too long. William Shanke, the butcher, or really, the husband of the butcher. A retired soldier who finds to make do with time working at the shop Mrs. Shanke established out of their home while William was off standing guard at Connlaoth's borders. A bored man, really, and according to a confession from his wife, Enri, useless with a cleaver, for all that soldiering. If there was something making the man impatient, it was lost upon Jobias.

"Aye, tell her yerself, she's not to part a sodding word ta me since that incident with the hare."

"Hare is expensive, Mister Shanke." Jobias had slipped the oak-backed razor into the pocket of his apron and took his badger-hair brush, mixing it in a small clay dish of ass fat from the miller and some sunflower oil he had wished to experiment with when he came across it in the foreign market. A bargain, he had hoped.

William scoffed and looked out the open door from his chair, a touch of contrition spreading into countenance. "She said I 'butchered' it, Jobias, butchered it! Isn't that what we're supposed ta do? Pah! That harpy is only worried that I'm taking a hand in the business, I tell ya Joby. You know, a man coming into the work!"

'Joby?' Jobias thought to himself. William has never called him that before. Nor has anyone really. He approached William with brush and dish in hand, looking over the man's face in the light from the window and the open door. "That might be true to a certain extent, Mister Shanke, but I am sure Enri is only frustrated in not having full control of her routine anymore. It's been, how long were you garrisoned near Serenity; six years? It takes time to adjust to changes- same shave as before?"

William went on about certain intimate moments of discontent between he and his wife as Jobias began to work on his beard, careful to only inquire into his actions as result to his feelings, suspect that the man's unusual behavior might lead to confession of adultery. Using a towel, wet from the basin still holding yesterday's water, would clean the fat and oil and shaved hairs from the butcher's neck. William was proud of his wide bears, and only required little cleaning of the edges of his hair growth. Jobias soon armed himself with shears. "Your hair?"

"Aye, not just a trim today, see wot ya can do ta make me look like that bastard of Lord Wynn's; if that fop can look that tough without e'er working a day in his life, I think I could at least look the part! Haw!"

'Another change' Jobias thought. "I never took you for a man of style, Mister Shanke, no offense of course... I think I may know what you have in mind." There was definitely something on the man's mind. Jobias simply went to work as he mulled over how he could pry it from his neighbor and friend.

Angsar's day was the day in Connlaoth that Xerordir despised to death. A day to celebrate the wiping out of a faction of magicians with power so awesome they could raise the dead?! And not to mention that he was looking for a lich. A dangerous undertaking in itself. Now he was looking for a Lich, for the sole purpose of allying with them. He must have been insane. But then again, he had watched his mother be hacked to death for not being suitable for a demon. And he had then driven a knife into his sisters throat.

He crept around Uthlyn most of Angsars day, being unable to use his dark powers. Nothing much happened.

But the day after was much better. He found the location of a temple, the one Senka had informed him of. Kirnardaz kept him updated mentally, now being separate, but telepathically linked to his former host. This gave him a database, as Kirnardaz lurked the libraries and colleges, feeding him information.

"Now, Xerordir, this temple is supposed to be abandoned, but from my realm, I have observed an undead troll wandering the entrance, and also dragging a suspiciously human body into the ruin. Exercise caution here. That troll will tear you in half if you get snuck up on. I will teleport to you if needed." The voice in his head was definitely Kirnardaz.

Xerordir acknowledged, and proceeded into the temple, remembering that this god was forgotten. This god had no power anymore, no-one prayed for her guidance. She was lost.

The ruin was dark, and Xerordir summoned a standard flame. It would be clearly visible, but worked as a light. He walked on, and saw that he was indeed walking in an inhabited ruin. The place had disturbed spiders webs, and a lack of dark-loving creatures, namely rats and bats.

"Hello? Anyone home?" Xerordir then decided that he might need an ally. He summoned a shade, making sure he knew which shade it was.

The ruined temple to the forgotten Alainoth, hidden in the valley ridge outside Uthlyn
The day after Angsar's Day

Xerodir may have been disappointed in what he had discovered. Though the temple was difficult to find (whoever it attributed to clearly had a tenant of exclusiveness; the place was effectively invisible until you nearly stood before it!), it seemed utterly devoid of presence; and even appeared looted, by the look of the overturned and broken ancient fixtures. There were statues, which lacked identifying detail, and nothing of any danger seemed to appear as the flame guided the way on.

There was a great, worn sandstone statue further into the ruins, of some sort of woman, assuredly the focus of devotion to whoever built and maintained this shrine ages ago. The statue was depicted with wings, four of them in fact, that stretched in ovular form, all but one were broken in some way. They looked more to be something of more insectoid wings than anything feathery and angelic, and depicted in each of her outstretched hands were great spears, half of one laying shattered on the floor with rats scurrying away as the light was directed upon it. Behind the statue, however, was something worth noting.

A large, round doorway was seen at the bottom of stone steps. The door looked to be made of some sort of metal, but it had been opened, and by an eye trained in observation, recently disturbed by the look of the dust about it. There were cryptic markings running all over the surface of the door, and at the bottom of them was... parchment? Indeed! Only lightly covered in dust, the scattered sheets had words more familiar, that of the current written language of Connlaoth. IF Xerordir had any inclination to inspect them, however, such an urge was swiftly cut short as the singing of a stray arrow flew by his head from the opening in the metal door, followed by another that panged loudly as it hit the door on it's way out. With the magical flame still lit, Xerordir could witness a form emerging from the darkness beyond the portal; a skeleton, animated into a mocking undeath, was draped in ancient looking, dangling bits of rusted brown metal, and came to the man with a heavy spear and a tattered shield that matched quality with its "armor". It was followed by another behind it, and even further down Xerordir would hear a stretching, creaking sound that could only be another arrow ready to fly. Perhaps the goddess the statue depicted was not only a recluse, but a deity of war as well...

Uthlyn Commons
The morning after Angsar's Day

She was going to do it.

Right? Maybe it wasn't actually such a good idea... What would her mother think? Oh, she'd kill her. Disinherited. Disowned. 'Constance Carwick,' she could hear her scolding, 'do you even think at all about your place? Your responsibilities? How your actions reflect on this family? On this duchy?? By God, if I had to just have one child, you'd think Angsar would have seen it fit to send me a sensible one!'

But her mother wasn't here. That's why she was in Uthlyn, anyway, wasn't it? So she didn't have to be around her mother, and so her mother didn't have to be around her. (And, of course, so they could hide her away in the college until they'd find someone suitable for her to be married off to.) And anyway, that drunk jerk Rike Adain had bet that she wouldn't have the balls to do it, so to speak. The very, very last thing she wanted was to prove Rike Adain right, the macho idiot. Had his snide comment been at all brought on by the previous day, when she'd put him on the spot about his girlfriend dumping him for a soldier, a 'real man and not a college boy' in her words? Well, maybe, but that wasn't the point.

(And anyway, he'd brought it on himself. When he teased her that her Mark was the least of her worries, that no man would want to 'bed a woman with the figure of a little boy'... Well, she'd had no choice but to point out that she wasn't the one having trouble with being mistaken as a little boy!)

Anyway, forget Rike Adain. Forget her mother. She wanted to do this anyway, right?

"I want to do this anyway, right Dac?" she asked aloud of the large, shaggy gray Connlaothian Tracker at her side. The pair, girl and dog, were standing outside of Jobias Redding's barber shop, contemplating the very serious matter of going in. She'd had to come here - or somewhere like here - of course. The lady's maid who was normally responsible for her appearance - oh, there was another one who'd lay into her about this - would never consent. It was enough of a battle every day with her as it was. 'But your mother would say this. Your mother would think that.' Forget all of them.

Olive waved for the dog to go lay down and wait for her and, shoring up her resolve, entered the barber's shop. She was a skinny thing, with a straight boyish figure, and messy dark blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. You would never guess, looking at her, that she was the daughter of a Duke. This, of course, was intentional. The one thing you could tell at once by looking at her was what else she was. Stitched into her nondescript tunic was the symbol of the Church. She was a mage.

"Hello!" she greeted brightly. She could tell this was something of an intimate business. Probably a small shop with a small and regular clientele. And it wasn't lost on her that it was a men's barber shop. But still she had a bright and friendly smile. She'd learned early that, wearing the Mark, she had to be somewhat offensively friendly. Act nice and amicable before anyone had the opportunity to assume otherwise and turn their shoulder to you. "Do you, er, take new customers?"

OOC: Just for those who missed it in the plotting thread, I'm assuming this is before mages have been sent out of the city and up to the camps... / Pre-war times.

Alainoth's Ruin
The Day After Angsar's Day

Xerordir didn't even have to try. The skeleton was easy to bend the will of, and, he did so. The summoner hadn't put too much thought into this skeleton, and now Xerordir had two bodyguards.

He followed the corridor down to find a room, full of intricate items, devices and runes on paper. He recognised some of the books on the desks and worktops in this room, some of them he knew word for word, others he had seen in passing. Perhaps a copy of his book existed here. He studied the room, and Kirnardaz fed him information.

"Whoever is running this place needs to improve their security. The skeleton archer wasn't a worthy challenge, enough to frighten off normal people, but not you. Perhaps the troll would have been more fun, eh?" Kirnardaz jested, safe and sound in his private realm. He could send Skalos to help if needed. Dumb demons were always good workforces.

"Re:hak'ton, see if their is anything indicative of this persons plans. I desire to understand them." The shade nodded back at Xerordir, and went off to find notes, journals, diagrams, other informative papers.

Uthlyn Commons
The Morning after Angsar's Day

Jobias found a certain calm in cutting hair, much to his surprise when he first awkwardly stumbled through learning to do it proficiently. The surgical part of the job, too, wasn't so bad. Hardly experienced enough to be fully trusted by the locals, there were certainly enough desperate folk who badly needed a tooth pulled, and once an amputation to save a poor soul from an infection in the humors after an accident with a drunken cart drover. Maybe it felt like purging to him, the removal of unwanted and sometimes even dangerous parts of people that pose a threat to livelihood. Even unruly hair can get in the way of a busy craftswoman, it was especially true with soldiers. He quickly shook the thought away as ridiculous; such pride in this simple work, as if it could possibly equal to what he was before.

"Listen, Joby, I er..." Mister Shanke spoke in a timid tone unbecoming of the man, justifying the barber's earlier suspicions. "There's another reason the wife's been off with me."

A swelling of stiff conviction played in Jobias' head, he knew what the footsteps to confession sounded like, and he wasn't too pleased with this extrafamilial monicker the butcher opened up with. Visions of the rough man running about with bored girls who've tired of waiting for their husbands to return from their posts came easy into his mind. It was a story as old as Connlaoth, and it always seemed to end in tragedy, especially for the women involved. Still, he was a professional, and listening was a big part of his current one as well as the previous, and Jobias kept a calm demeanor to guide William to what he were to say. "Oh? You sound nervous, Mister Shanke. Do not worry my good man, you'll find sanctuary in this chair." He said, with a loud snip of the shears that relieved the butcher of a small clump of dried animal flesh fused in his hair. "Purge your troubles from your mind, lest they fester."

William twisted his lip and chewed at his mustache before speaking. He let out a great sigh with a dismissing chuckle. He began to shake his head, but quick and stern fingers from the barber put that to a quick stop. "Sorry." A quiet grunt of acknowledgment came from Jobias. "Heh, I don't know why it's made me nervous, this isn't a confession, it's not like I've done anythin' wrong er anythin', nor Enri. Just a strange find in tha shop."

Jobias furrowed his brow as he stood behind William with shears and brush in hand. He believed William when he said this wasn't a confession to anything, but what worried Jobias was that this was exactly what people would sound like when they were about to talk about mages, and didn't want the mages knowing about it. "You found something? What-"

His attention was seized by the entry of another into his shop. His eyes immediately locked onto the mage's patch on his tunic. No, her tunic. Strange. He nodded to her friendly greeting, and answered her question with a gesture to a wooden bench that lined the wall opposite to him and Mister Shanke. "Of course, have a seat." He has had female customers for hair before, but most of the time it was for more a medical emergency. Yet this strange young lady didn't appear to be in any sort of immediate trouble. Jobias played the possibilities as his inquisitive eyes absorbed her. By her unusual sense of style, she didn't seem to be exactly one with the populace, perhaps an awkward servant to a noble, but why would she come all the way out here? There was something about her gait, too. Maybe not a servant, but someone with the low spheres of the church? No, that didn't quite fit. That was definitely the posture of someone who at least associates with the upper echelons of society. Which would bring the question... Oh. Jobias began to speak, to tell this young woman that the apothecary is who she would need to see if she was with unwanted child, but he graciously held his tongue. If she was someone important, the matter would be of great embarrassment if spoken of out loud. Jobias simply gave her a warm, if forced grin, and he returned his attention to Mister Shanke's hair, thinking of days as a Mordecai, when he gotten used to boldly keeping nothing 'hush hush'. "Almost finished, William. You were saying?"

William Shanke stared at the girl, obviously busying himself with his own preconceptions of the newcomer, though judging by his sour expression, they were far less neutral than that of the barber's. Still, he tried to give a nod to her, though again his head movement was arrested by Jobias' quick hands. "Sorry." He snorted, no matter if some twiggy mage heard what he had to say. "O'right, well that sodding hare cost us a bit, yeh? So as tha usual with a downswing, I'd sent one of the urchin lads on some rat catching ta get us by till the next meet with the rancher. Good lads fer tha work, I'm saying. Shame they'll never amount ta anythin', even the military turns em away, most lend ta thievery ya know. Anyway, So I'm up last night choppin' up the things-"

"On Angsar's Day?"

"Well I," William's tone was embarrassed, but pushed past it like a boar. "Well it wasn't the daytime like I jus' said now wasn't it? I already got to hear it from Mrs. Shanke, Mister Redding, let me tell you. Gaw! If she is going through the trouble of not havin' words with me, ya'd think she'd keep to it when it came to the scoldin', but no sir, on and on, not just about the rats, but doin' it on God's day, oh she'd make you a happy sort, Mister Redding, but I've got a business to keep runnin' and.."

Jobias let the man ramble on about his usual spatting with Mrs. Shanke, regretting interrupting him with that sliver of chastising about Angsar's Day, as clearly it strayed the butcher from the actual point he was trying to get to. His eyes returned to the girl. She seemed nervous in her own way. Jobias realized he was staring, and was sure the girl felt at least a little uncomfortable, and decided to cant his head to Mister Shanke with a smirk.

Uthlyn Commons
The Morning after Angsar's Day

Olive wasn't put off by the cold reception. Or by the way both men stared at her. While it might not seem obvious to the average Connlaothian, this is what happened to every mage who work the mark. Every one. Every day. If Olive had let herself be too bothered by it, she'd have resigned herself to social isolation years ago. Of course, nobility also lent a certain degree of confidence and self-importance that helped in this regard. Not that Olive was particularly proud, but her upbringing certainly made it easier to not be concerned by the looks she got from everyday people.

So Olive gave a bright "Thanks!" to Jobias and flopped down on the wooden bench. The men seemed to be having a personal conversation, so Olive let her mind mostly wander. What would her mother think? Somehow, since she'd been sent away to Uthlyn nearly a year ago, her mother's disapproval had become harder to take than when she'd been home and fighting with her all the time. Secretly, though she'd barely admit it to herself, she'd hoped that by being away, maybe her parents would miss her and realize that they liked her fine how she was? Pah. What an idiotic thought. Unconsciously, Olive had been playing with her a strand of her long hair. Realizing what she had been doing, she stopped and stared at the dirty blonde lock. She was going to do this, right?

The realization had snapped her back to the present and suddenly she felt the barber's eyes on her. Her green eyes met his and she returned his gaze, not exactly defiantly, but unfaltering. She held his gaze until he turned back to the butcher. She followed Jobias's attention back to the butcher.

"Sorry," she interrupted, just realizing something that she'd heard the butcher say, "did you say you were butting rats to sell as hare?" Her tone was more curious and friendly than rude or insinuating (though, in truth, it also was a little surprised). But she continued, "But you wouldn't believe it. My dog caught the biggest rat I'd ever seen the other day. You could've sold that as a hare. Nearly as big as one!"

Alainoth's Temple
The Morning after Angsar's Day

Xerordir was looking through the necromancer's books, but it was simply just boring. He had left nothing to indicate plans. Just devices to play with. It was pathetic. No seemingly good grand scheme. Nothing. Just items. Xerordir looked at the markings and runes. Not a language he recognised. Old by the looks of it.

"Re:hak'ton, burn this place to the ground, we have no use of it. It is simply useless." Instead of giving the shade a match, Xerordir threw the fireball straight at the shade, setting it alight. It ran around screaming in agony, knocking things over in it's painful death. Eventually it ran into a pile of papers, the Shade dying as it burned.

"Guess no-one will miss it. It is simply trinkets and toys. No doubt the product of a senile old man." Kirnardaz spoke approvingly, seemingly grinning at the fire which had started.

Alainoth's Temple
The Morning after Angsar's Day

That day, beyond the broken seal of the door in the forgotten goddess's temple, deep beneath a twisting labyrinth of catacombs, Dhalekar had been been celebrating his early, minor victories over the past few weeks, months? It was impossible for him to tell, for now, time was only an ingredient to the deathless wizard; a component for stewing with his many projects and designs and experiments, to be stowed on a shelf until it was needed again. From the stealing of life from the unknown occultist that broke the seal to his dungeon, to the plentiful rats and vermin that paired nicely with all his tools and materials he had taken with him (oh how his old servants were blessedly quiet now, their bones working tirelessly upon the forge further below. The hatred in the faces they once had now only a distant, fuzzy memory, now replaced with the mirthful grin we all eventually bear as death's countenance.) The capture of the ogre had been a pleasant surprise, and Smiles, though perhaps reluctant, was an invaluable slave, and made most of his further projects possible. He was surprisingly quiet for his size, and never seemed to be followed as he snatched unsuspecting victims from the surrounding rural areas, one by one, well, sometimes two. His smaller creations had worked beautifully, through their single bronze eyes, wired to their spines, Dhalekar had been able to infiltrate and observe the city beyond his lair, the name yet unknown, as transferred vision were his only accomplishment yet. The deadlier rats had been almost completed, the test against "Relt" yesterday had proven that. Things were going almost perfectly for the ancient wizard, and in his celebration, he worked on a special arrangement, a work of art in the truest sense. It had no design for ambition against his walled prey, no, this was simply to prove he could still express beauty in this new form of life beyond life. He had parted with the display to return to one of his more personal labs, the ones Smiles was not even allowed to enter, where through mechanical and arcane design did he take the final steps to finish an object that would let him activate his artistic piece.

Then something suddenly felt very wrong. A pulling upon his essence. It only took a click in his mind to feel out the source. The skeletons at the broken seal, remains of those pitiful fae clerics that guarded the temple when he first arrived so so long ago, had been stirred. He felt that their will was being pulled from his near-dormant control, and in almost thoughtless reaction he felt to tear his hold over them as if to pull a rug from under this mysterious force challenging his domain, if only for the mere impudence of the interloper, but Dhalekar had not. The very nature of the energy that played in this small inconsequential moment was something familiar. Unless times have changed so drastically, not any hedge mage could just steal the control over another's animations. Could this be necromancy at play? Were there other survivors from that Wicked Angsar's holocaust? And could this fellow sense it to, in a sort of wispy handshake? Well, no matter the case, Dhalekar was not thrilled at the idea of anyone just wandering into his lair he worked so hard to obtain. He let this new force take slide the skeletons from his ethereal grasp, though with thought of devious guile, the lich left a tiny, tiny seed of his essence within the bones of the old temple guards before they were taken away. He had another idea.

The thin layer of frozen flesh that coated the bones in his feet grated against the stone floor as his form pushed itself to another chamber. Smiles was in the corridor, the dumb beast  putting flowers in the farmhand's scalp from yesterday the ogre kept as a souvenir. "STOP THAT!" His screeching magical voice sent a shudder through his slave as the lich moved on.

Dhalekar found himself in one of his larger chambers, full of spinning gyros and mirrors and a collection of bizarre arrangement of alchemae that were either impossibly ancient in design, or imagined by the lich himself. An observation room, it was from here that the wizard spied upon Uthlyn. Grasping his sickly metacarpals around strange rods protruding from a metal sphere upon the large stone center table, Dhalekar exhaled a purposeful breath from his maw, and looked upon a gyro adjacent to the rod-sphere, as slowly an image would appear after pops of energy sparked its rings to spin at dizzying speeds.

Somewhere above Dhalekar's tomb, in the labyrinth beyond the broken seal, a tiny crackly of energy pulsed, and a tiny heart began beating. thin, metal legs ending in hooks began to creak into life, and under the impulse of its creator, the strange object began moving in the darkness along the ceiling, a metal "lens" vibrating quietly and pointed forward as it moved a quick journey of twists and turns to the seal.

Dhalekar watched through this lens, just as his metal pet had slinked into just to witness some shadowy form burning the research that foolish explorer left behind before unwittingly awakening the lich's lifeforce. Who was this fool? What was his intent? The skeletons were still there, apparently guarding the lone invader. There was a look of curiosity on the man's face, but it didn't seem surprised by his surroundings, more disappointed really. A pulse of excitement and curiosity played in Dhalekar's mind, and turning his stealthy remote observer to look upon the wall, the lich found one of his own blood runes, and with another cold breathe, activated it while focusing his sight through the lens.

Xerordir would suddenly hear a shrill, unsettling shriek from almost everywhere around him. Through it, a number of layered voices seemed to pull away from the pitch into their own separate frequencies. They spoke as one. "WHO DARES ENTER THIS PLACE?! ANOTHER FOOL SERVANT OF THE FAE-BITCH, ALAINOTH?!" Dhalekar spoke, in the old tongue, the name and common title of the goddess that was once known in this land, ignorant that she, and his language, had faded under the sands of time even beyond just rural uneducated farmers.


Uthlyn Commons
The Morning after Angsar's Day

"Peh! Suppose I should of paid you then, witch?" William bitterly remarked after Olive had interrupted.

"That will be enough of that, Mister Shanke!" Jobias gripped the man's shoulder with a force that caused the fat butcher to wince with mouth agape, grasping at his shoulder as Jobias let go. "She's a customer here, and I won't have you chasing off any business of mine, sir!"

"Alright, alright!" William gave a reluctant eye to the girl. "Eh.. sorry miss."

Jobias quickly retook the reigns of the conversation. He nodded to the young woman. "You'll have to forgive Mister Shanke here; lost a brother to sorcery you know."

"A  better brother than you anyhow, Joby." William rubbed his face slick with the oil from the shaving cream, inspecting his hair with a turn to the mirror hanging on the wall behind him. "Gave better haircuts to his sheep, too."

"Oh will you stop calling me that." Jobias looked to the girl, and with a sigh, shook his head from the nonsensical distractions as he helped the butcher from his chair. "You said your dog found a large rat? William what was strange about your rats?"

"Jus' the one," William spoke as Olive opened her mouth to answer. "But lookie 'ere." He retrieved a strange network of tiny wires that ended in a bulb on one end. "T'ought it were strange I couldn't take the bugger's 'ead off. This was why; attached along the backbone with that ball-end where it's eye should be. A stench ye wouldn't believe. Look, just take the damned thing, I was goin' ta take it to the college, but didn't want them snoopin' 'round the shop with a mind to find more. Yer a sensible sort, Jobias, if a bit addled!" William stepped away towards the door, as if relieved to be away from the bizarre object. "Thanks fer tha cut, I'll save some flank for a stew fer ya!"

"Mister Shanke!" Jobias called out, but the man kept going. The last sound of him in the form of surprised exclamations on the sight of the massive tracker outside before moving on. Jobias looked at the strange object for a moment, noting the tiny carvings along its surfaces, before snapping his attention to the present lady. "Oh! I, ... My utmost apologies, my dear!" He quickly brushed the loose hair from the barber's chair. "That was highly irregular, I assure you. Please have a seat, are you here for a summer's trim, miss...?" He stood in presentation to the chair as his voiced trailed to inquire her name. The metal wires still in one hand, a storm of vague questions rolled through his mind, and hoped the lady might have something to add with her mentioning of her dog's large rat, but Jobias knew that any prodding now would only scare the poor thing.

Witch?! Olive lost her composure for just a second a look that was both stricken and angry flashed across her face. It passed almost instantaneously, but the expression left on her face was harder and prouder than it had been when she came in.

"I don't know any more about 'sorcery' than either of you do," was all she said. Even if she was used to it, she was always amazed by people who assumed that wearing the mark meant you were a magic-user. What kind of idiot would wear the mark if they intended to ever actually use magic? It just didn't make sense.

She watched the butcher storm out, smiling to herself at the exclamation when he ran into Dac. Served him right. She had to keep the smile from turning into a laugh, though, when Jobias apologied. Highly irregular, my ass, she thought. If the man thought that was highly irregular, he should spend just one day wearing the mark on his clothing. He'd realize pretty quick that there was nothing irregular about it.

Summer's trim?

Oh.

Olive had momentarily forgotten why she was here, and her hand rose almost protectively to her hair. She did want to cut it. It would be an exciting change and she wouldn't have to spend so long every day with her maid fussing over it. But the image of her disapproving mother loomed in her head and... Hey wait, what was that the butcher had handed over to the barber?

"Olive, my name's Olive. And, er, sort of," she answered distractedly, but when she stopped short of the barber's chair. Olive paused close to Jobias, looking at the mess of wires. Suddenly this seemed very important! "That's very odd," she said earnestly, gesturing with her eyes to the wires. "He found that in a rat? Can I see it? Dac, my dog I mean, caught a rat - geeze, it really was nearly the size of a hare. But I, um, didn't butcher it..."

Xerordir felt offended at the idea of being mistaken for the servant of a "fae bitch". "Not very interesting work here. Merely magical contraptions, and children's playthings. I have made more devious experiments in my time. Show yourself, for I am a necromancer, like the one who raised these skeletons. I wish to meet the sad tinkerer living here, and change him." Perhaps hurting this man's emotions would cause an issue. It was still better than trying to figure out was going on from these minor trinkets.

He looked over at Re'hak:ton's burning corpse. Which had smouldered out. No great fire to burn this wreckage to ash. Just a small campfire made of Shade. Pathetic. Perhaps this "fae bitch" had cursed this place, and everything in it, to be pathetic.

"I had a thought, which was incredibly dangerous of me, how about I send Skalos to meet that troll? No doubt, they are intellectual equals, haha!"

Alainoth's Temple

Dhalekar wondered what this insolent being was going on about. Was it talking about the dead explorer's equipment left behind by the broken seal? He began twisting some nearby knobs in his laboratory. "Hair of black, eyes of blood..." he whispered to himself. He considered granting this intruder audience, admittedly surprised that his tongue was understood by this creature, and it claimed to be a necromancer as well, but precautions would have be made first. Dhalekar was no fool, and even among the Collegiate there was always treachery that came easy for those who were hungry for the secrets of another.

Xerordir was suddenly flashed by a bright light in the darkness of the catacombs. The heart-powered mechanized observer clattered to turn on the ceiling, relieving him of the glare. "Follow the drone!" the walls would cry.

Should Xerordir indeed follow the strange thing, he would be led through a maze of catacombs, most stripped of their remains. Rats were a common sight, though they seemed witless and stuck in a sort of stupor despite their apparent labored breathing, like pumps more than possessing the natural breath of life. "Be you from the Collegiate of Nosferti?" Dhalekar spoke of his, now ancient, institution of magic and science, his voice echoing from particular smears of dried blood upon the cold stone walls. "Did the foul wizard-slayer, Angsar, fail in his ill-conceived crusade?" Now there was a name that would be familiar to Xerordir. The mechanical drone still clattered upon the ceiling, guiding the young necromancer without hesitance.


Uthlyn Commons

"Mmm" Jobias gave an uncommitted grunt to Olive's question as he looked at the strange spine of wires. There was something particularly eerie about the engravings in the metal, nothing he has ever seen in his career as a Mordecai anyway. It was a disturbing mess, especially to think it was surgically implemented in Mister Shanke's rat. In his curious wandering of thought he had thoughtlessly let Olive take a look at it, but he quickly pulled his hand away, setting the awful thing on the counter and placing his hat over it. "In a moment, I'm more interested in you right now." He reached a hand to her shoulder, which with the gentlest of firmness, encouraged her to sit down. Jobias, already with a brush in hand, moved to examine her hair.

"Just as I thought...!" Which he did think, the girl was enough of an oddity for him to consider as well. "Your hair is cared for, young lady. Hardly a split end." He stepped to the front of Olive, examining her in more detail, and not exactly being subtle about it. "I am Jobias Redding, Miss Olive. You have a lovely name, and yet so simple. Especially simple for one with healthy hair, and does not smell like the alleys in the morning." He took a glance at his hat that sat on the counter behind her. Had she somehow have something to do with that thing Mister Shanke left behind? This girl had the Mark, was it magical in some way? He felt he would still need to play a gentle hand in this, however. "What I mean to say is, I'm not sure exactly where you'd like me to trim, especially after it's been so carefully done by another?"

Uthlyn Commons

Olive was just starting to get a good look at the strange wiry object - and were those inscriptions? - when Jobias took the contraption away again. "Hey!" she began to protest, but before she could he'd pulled the wire object away and 'gently' forced her into the chair. Her eyes blazed defiantly, but...

"In a moment, I'm more interested in you right now."

Well... there was something compelling about an older man pushing her into a chair and telling her that he was more interested in her than the obviously-more-interesting-strange-rat-contraption he'd just set down. Even if he was a butcher. At least, compelling enough to settle her for a moment.

Olive didn't protest as he examined her hair, even as her eyes strayed to the weird rat skeleton... thing. Really, it was more interesting than whether or not she wanted a hair cut, wasn't it? She wasn't losing her nerve, she was just genuinely interested in the bizarre inscribed wire skeleton from a rat!

"Lots of girls take care of their hair," she countered. She glanced from him to the rat wire and back as he studied her. There was something strange about it. Like he was looking through her, not at her. She felt very exposed. Almost like she imaged... if she did use magic, and was caught by a Mordecai.. Hadn't she only come in to cut her hair? She was about to say something about how she was a student at the college, had an academic interest in that wire, and how not many college girls smelled like 'alleys in the morning' when Jobias asked...

Olive's mouth fell open.

"'Where?!'" she repeated, obviously shocked and offended. "Look, sir, I don't know where you get on about... But that's not the sort of business..." She fumbled the words, trying to get up and out of the chair.

'Where!'

Uthlyn Commons

'What?'  Jobias, a noble-spirited fellow, for one who would hunt and kill others, was visibly confused by Olive's reaction to his question, lost on the implication she had apparently received. With a trained alacrity of deduction, however, the barber thought two things. Either she was hiding something worth knowing, a thought that troubled him most after denying the mage, or she really had taken his question to a meaning that would even embarrass himself to imagine having suggested it. To the latter, he really couldn't have any girls that weren't street urchins running around giving the ladies of Uthlyn the impression that the local barber was a mad pervert with shears and collected trinkets from strange rats. No, he did a fine job enough eliminating potential prospects himself, thank you.

His face hardened to something more stern, and another encouragement to sit back down was made. "Calm yourself, Miss Olive!" He did not shout of course but there was something subtly commanding to his tone, as if he had training in such a thing.

'Oh, did she mean...?' Alacrity in deduction, indeed.

Jobias, though he never tried, could not think of the last time he blushed, if ever. He did feel his face change however, and realized that could not of been helping with his negotiations of presence to keep Miss Olive put. He slid the shears from his apron. "You hair, miss!" He cleared his throat and calmed down his own tone. "Sorry, I meant, how would you like me to cut your hair?" Smooth. It's a wonder he survived hunting magic-users with that sort of top shelf empathetic correspondence.

"Get your hands off of me." Olive tried to push Jobias's "encouraging" arm away, "And you can drop this 'miss' business!"

But she was - after all - much smaller than him and hardly used to being manhandled (as it seemed to her). So Jobias succeeded and Olive was "encouraged" back into the chair with a bit of a flop.

The girl glared back up at him from the barber's chair. Her expression changed just a little from fierce to suspicious, but she clearly wasn't ready to glibly chat while he cut her hair either way!

"Sure. I bet it's 'highly irregular' for you to get girls in here who you can look over and examine and then make lewd suggestions to, right?"

"I- Are you suggesting that-" Jobias could hardly believe the implication, it disarmed him. "Mis- My La- Look here, Olive, I can see how- no. No! I would never allude to, that is to say, something so lewd to you, or even think of you like- not that I couldn't, you're a fine young lady- Oh by Angsar that is not what I meant!" He tossed the shears onto the counter as he stepped a few paces from the chair. How foolish he felt, not only to be so misunderstood, but even more so for this gibbering lack of sense he was spitting now. He felt a strong urge to turn back around, point a strong finger and tell her how she would be wicked to dare force the idea into him, perhaps in attempt to distract him from the mage to get her hands on the strange thing Mister Shanke thrusted into his possession. However, he did not. 'That was another lifetime ago, Jobias. This is not how the common world works.' He thought to himself.

No, this was just a mere girl, and he had just made a total ass of himself. He reached a hand to the back of his well-groomed head, and rubbed his scalp a moment. 'Did I really just force her into that chair?' Jobias supposed it was more of a paternal instinct, she was being rather a brat, and needed to sit down. Right? She was nervous, and needed a firm hand to control the situation... His feeble justifications, though quick in his mind, just fell like a straw bridge.

He turned to her, and opened his mouth to say "Miss" again, but stopped himself with an inaudible scoff. In any case, apologizing again didn't seem like it would come across as sincere by itself. He knew he was an honest man, and so did many others that he has called neighbor, but this Olive did not know him, nor did she seem quite from around here. No, he couldn't rely on reputation here, only a good foot forward. If not for her business, then at least for peace of mind for both of them.

Jobias sighed and reached for his hat to set it aside, uncovering the skeletal arrangement of wire that he had hid underneath it. His words were softer now. "Truly, my apologies, Olive. I, this thing has me quite bothered. I used to be an investigator, of sorts, you see." He stepped back to the chair but kept a comfortable distance for her benefit. "I won't stop you if you wish to leave, but, have you seen anything like this?" He presented the eerie thing to her. "I surely have not, and I find it quite troubling."

Olive crossed her arms and sat back skeptically as Jobias flustered through his response to her accusation. But as he went on, her furious indignation was slowly turning into amusement and she couldn't keep a smirk from growing on her face. "- not that I couldn't, you're a fine young lady -" Oh boy. He really had a knack for communication, didn't he? Maybe that's why he worked in a barber shop, the sort of place where his clientele would be almost exclusively men: To make up for his total ineptitude at talking to women.

Well, maybe she'd caught him off his guard. He certainly didn't seem smooth enough to be a liar, anyway. Olive chuckled as he tossed the shears aside and paced away from the chair. Now she was seriously considering forgiving him, and believing him, and was thinking of a jab to use about how he thought her 'a fine young lady' when he turned around and offered his real apology.

The smirk disappeared from Olive's face. Her blood ran cold. 'An investigator, of sorts.' That could only mean so many things. But she was pretty sure it meant one thing. And here she was, in a shop full of... sharp things, alone, with no one really knowing where she was. Well, Dac was here. He was bigger than either of them. Olive swallowed. She wasn't one to run away, and she didn't want to now. But her concern was clear on her face. She almost always wore her heart too much on her sleeve. Her eyes followed Jobias's to the wire. It was strange. Everything about this day so far was strange.

Slowly, Olive got up from the chair and walked over to the counter where the wires were, standing close to Jobias to see it well. She wasn't very good at gaging personal space, even - or especially - in such awkward situations. Still, her heart beat a bit fast. She was wearing the mark and she was alone with no indication of who she was. Normally 'who she was' protected her and she knew it wasn't unheardof for mages to run into trouble once they were spotted. Not for doing anything provacative, just because they were marked.

Olive kept her eyes on the wire contraption. She reached out to pick it up, but her hand stopped short. What were those marks? Why didn't she want to actually touch them? "No, I haven't seen anything like it before." She glanced sideways up at Jobias, testing the water. "They don't teach us about wires in 'sorcery' class."

Xerordir listened to this person's interrogation. Was he just insane?! These things had crumbled long ago.

"The Collegiate no longer exists. It fell hundreds of years ago. Angsar died, and is now a Connlaothian god. You need to catch up old timer... Necromancers are scarce... Me and you are a dying breed..." Xerordir followed the drone.

Uthlyn Commons

Jobias felt an unexpected pang of discomfort as Olive came near to inspect the strange item on the counter. It had been some time since he was with the Mordecai, and after witnessing on a handful of occasions such strange events to occur when a mage comes into contact with esoteric little oddities like this engraved wire, he felt a bit exposed. Though his innate ability to keep magical energies from sparking to life nearby him, all he could think of in that moment was when he sold his beautiful armor. A full suit, masterfully crafted. He received the coin he needed from it, but how many times had his old steel cage saved his life after the magic was gone? Then Olive made her remark, alluding to his rather rude use of the word 'sorcery' and its association with her being a mage. A shock of embarrassment coursed through him, but, staring at the wires and absorbing the sheer cheekiness in her tone, he couldn't help but let a rough release of airy laughter escape his mouth, as if a great pressure had been relieved from in him.

"No, I imagine they didn't..." the corner of his mouth twisted to a grin. Normally even joking about involvement with an institution of magical teachings would be no laughing matter, but even Jobias wasn't so much a stiff as to not see the humor in it. "Though I wish they had," concentration came to his brow.  "I can't make anything of this." Jobias pointed out the etch-work in the metal. "The metal looks to be something like a copper or bronze, but the markings; It almost immediately looks like old Serenian runes, but they're not right, too round... I think." He really wasn't sure; despite his studies in identifying magical things, and he could think of no other purpose to stick a metal skeleton inside a rat, he was lost on the nature of the markings before them now. "Did they teach you cryptography at least?" Playing along with her joke, though his tone was more serious than mirthful. Jobias still had yet to deduce where this girl came from, and was at this point grasping at straws.

Uthlyn Commons

"Honestly, I only ever study hard enough to do better than the boys," Olive answered his question matter-of-factly, her eyes still on the contraption, "and they're all shit at languages. I mean, obviously -"

But she caught herself. She was going to say something about having obviously learned something of runes and ancient languages during all her years being tutored, but that was the last thing she wanted to admit! In fact, she now wondered, had she even said before this that she was a student at all? Sloppy. The last thing she wanted was for Jobias to figure out who she was. She wasn't really sure what was going on here, but whatever it was, that'd ruin it. It usually did.

So instead she turned the focus back on him. She turned to look up at him, then took a step back so she could look at him proper. Her gaze was scrutinizing, examining him as he'd earlier examined her. "You seem to know an awful lot about this for a barber," she observed guardedly. "Or even for a former 'investigator... of sorts.'" She raised her eyebrows, as if challenging him to deny her unspoken assumption. If she was being rather bold, she didn't stop to think about it. Really, she never did. It was on the long list of the traits that a young lady shouldn't have that she was sure her mother could repeat by heart. (But a trait which, nonetheless, probably had its roots in the privilege of nobility). "Or is it always this exciting in your shop?"

Beneath Alainoth's Temple

The spidery drone, powered by a necrofied heart, scuttled along the ceiling of the tunnelways for an almost suspicious amount of time. If this temple had been built for a Fae, then it was one of madness, or secrets, or both. along the blood glyph-spotted walls were motifs carved clearly by ancient hands. Lacking in detail, yet intricate, they displayed a series of ancient battles, along with other strange events of what could only be great acts of trickery or mischief, it was hard to tell by the glow of the clattering creature Xerordir followed, escorted by the two skeletons he had taken from whoever held the temple now.

However, the drone paused after Xerordir spoke those words. The glyphs appeared to have activated again, that awful voice returning. "A GOD?!" The cackling that ensued was something that would irritate a demon. The drone moved on as tiny flecks would flutter off the various glyphs from the vibrations of the dungeon's host. "That despicable murderer of knowledge! To think that I have awoken in an age where he could be revered as so! Perhaps it is fate that gives me now the opportunity to cull such fools that would look up to the heavens in search of -Angsar-!" More cackling. "I expected the Collegiate might not have survived, they had weakened themselves internally long before the Slayer of Wizards came. It pleases me to see that the Art still survives, Necromancer!"

The surroundings began to become something more familiar to one of said Art, as twisting, downward pathways would bring into wider catacombs. Through thick barred grates scattered along the walls and floor. seemed filled with refuse of necromantic experimentation. Abandoned torsos gutted of their bones, piles of skins and furs left rotting, chewed upon by even more of the misshapen rats that just didn't seem to move as jerkily as rats should. In cross sections of the maze of corridors, animated corpses of man and beast watched from the darkness, groaning in that lovely way that they do, and seemed to actively step away as Xerordir would pass by, as if showing respect for their guest. "Ah, we have arrived!" The walls cried once more as the drone made a turn to a great metal door , covered in designs of many humanoid figures bowing in prayer, but to what was not certain, at that part of the door's mural seemed to have been violently scratched out with deep cuts. "Welcome, Necromancer!" The door flew open from the inside with an icey blast of wind.

Inside was some round grand hall, whether it was meant for religious or celebratory use, it was unclear. It seemed the majority of the bones that would have filled the catacombs behind had been moved to this room, however, and the stone statues that had been carved into the curving walls had their faces replaced with skulls. Along the back wall, however, was an immense, impossible work of machinery, full of large crescent looking cogs, vials full of unknown liquids, and all manner of bizarre, and somehow ancient seeming metal parts that led from a large, central glass cylinder, partially filled with a glowing blue fluid. Attached to the top and bottom of the cylinder were a myriad of hoses composed of bits of smooth skin patched together, and those hoses connected to strange pods that held what seemed to be still-living people, though hardly conscious.

Before all that, an immense figure, wrapped almost entirely in soaked burlap, reached out sickening hooked appendages to a large, bronze circular grating, and dragged it off like a large lid of sorts. The bones that lined the base of the curved walls rattled, and skeletons began dragging themselves free, yanking tattered banners free from their resting spots, standing as standard bearers for the lich, Dhalekar, as he rose from the large tunnel revealed by the ogre. Draped in faltering robes that must of been old as the temple, he would not seem much more imposing than the other skeletons around, but there was a strange gleam in the thin flesh that covered his visible bones, and there was an undeniable presence of magic that emanated from him as he hovered above from whatever depths were below. His eye sockets were empty, there was nothing of flesh that was important to this being, merely a vessel for which to focus upon when he spoke, his voice clearly coming from an origin as ethereal as the invisible, necromantic chains that bound him to the dead around him. "Ahhh" He spoke, or rather echoed, "It is a good sign that the first I meet in person is a student of the Art. I am Dhalekar, Lich Lord of the Nosferti, and I believe we have much to discuss..."

Uthlyn Commons

Ah, so she was educated. Jobias did notice a certain gentleness to her hand when she reached it to the wires before that made him wonder if she had a privileged background, she certainly didn't come off as a workhorse like the smith down Applewhich anyway. But then there was that common tongue again when she spoke of her colleague's linguistic acumen that stripped away any logic from him that Olive came from any higher shelf of social strata, unless of course, she has spent a good time amongst the regular folk of Uthlyn, as he has known some families are want to do with sending certain relatives off to the... the College, ah, she was a lark in a gilded cage who has managed to keep her wings from being clipped for a day. Finally the pieces were starting to come together.

Entirely pleased with this revelation, he began to say something very clever, but it was Olive who spoke first, with questions of her own no less. Though he kept a stone face, Jobias couldn't help but admire this sort of reckless tenacity this young woman seemed to enjoy throwing around. That, and with the bit of having something to prove over the men in her class, reminded him of Lady Moira, whom which he fought along side with in some of his more fonder memories of his profession, Angsar rest her soul. Looking at Olive go on with her own clever interrogation, he tried to force the mirrored fondness from his mind. Olive was young enough to of been Moira's daughter. By God, even his!

Though she was right, he was letting on more knowledge than he has admitted of being privy to. Not only of that, but she was also onto something with how dreadfully devoid of other customers were in his shop, normally there would be at least two people, and perhaps another going on about the local dreary gossip Jobias tended to ignore and, didn't he have an appointment about now? "That, Olive, is a very good point!" Jobias held up a finger, stepping towards the open doorway that led back to the street before quickening his pace just a moment, catching his hand on the threshold as he looked to something in particular outside.

"Oh!" He exclaimed. "Mister Harroc! No, yes, I can take you, no, I haven't the-, just a moment!" Jobias turned to lean back into the shop, giving a look that seemed half bemused, half accusatory. "I don't suppose this is your tracker scaring away my other clients?"

A Lich. Interesting sight, to say the least. It explained the talk of the false god Angsar's crusade, the Collegiate, the Nosferti, all of it.

"Well... You're a refreshing sight. Those trinkets and necklace parts upstairs, were they yours?" Xerordir looked at the ogre. So the Lich had the standard undead ogre as a pet. Xerordir could top that. A flesh hungry shadow demon topped everything. But Skalos was only a bluff, and there was no need to call him out of rest just yet. He had no reason to call Skalos in as a bluff.

"Nice ogre... Ever raised anything bigger?" Xerordir tested, to see if this ancient being, Dhalekar actually had raised something with skill. Xerordir didn't see an undead lord. He saw a tool, a trinket maker, who could try his designs for nothing, and Xerordir could take them, improve them.

Uthlyn Commons

Olive didn't say anything, unsure at first what Jobias meant. Ah, she realized as he went to the door, customers. Other customers. Olive knew that if the rest of Jobias's clientele was anything like the butcher, she'd hardly be welcome. (Was she welcome now? she wondered. It was strangely hard to tell). And more than that, she bet that once anyone else was in here, the mystery of that wire rat... thing would be swept swiftly away!

On impulse, not thinking, Olive took advantage of the moment that Jobias looked out the door to find his customers. Moving quickly, she snatched the wire contraption and stuffed it awkwardly into the pocket of the loose pants Connlaothian women wore. For some reason, she was surprised when it didn't burn or sting her skin. Why had she expected it to? She'd think about it later. She was quite certain that she wouldn't get away with this for long, but she was also fairly certain that Jobias wouldn't want to make a scene in front of his waiting customers. Especially a scene with a mage.

"What? Dac?" she asked, her face the picture of innocence in defense of her dog. "He wouldn't scare a soul! Look, he's just sleeping." Nevermind that the dog was the size of a bear. "But, if you want him out of the way, fine," she said with a theatrically exasperated sigh. All the while she'd been moving closer to the door, keeping her hands in her pockets and turning to keep the side of her with the wire opposite to Jobias.

She walked a wide circle around Jobias as she exited the shop, turning to walk backwards for a moment as she waved cheerily to the barber (with her other hand, of course!). "Thanks for the interesting morning, Mister Redding!" The dog got up once she was out of the building and padded over to her side, nosing the pocket where she'd shoved the wires. "We'll try to come back soon some time!"

With that, Olive turned and headed quickly down the street, half skipping half jogging. What she hadn't realized yet, and what she would soon, was how stupidly dangerous what she had just done was. Not a danger from Jobias, necessarily, but from anyone who might find her now. Her, a mage. A marked mage. With a mysterious, sinister-looking and clearly magical item.

Uthlyn Commons

Old Mister Harroc had a slight fear of dogs, especially mountainous ones as mountainous as trackers, after losing a buttock from one back in his less reputable days of youth. So much was his fear, that even a sleeping Dac was enough to keep him from the barber shop's entrance, even with the pain he desperately needed to see Mister Redding's services for. He was delighted to see Jobias come out to help him in, but it turned out to be some mysterious mage girl to rid the tracker from the premises, herself along with, much to the barber's confusion. Harroc watched Jobias call out "What about your hair?" which Harroc didn't understand, her hair seemed to be one of her better qualities from what the old man could see. The pain in his tooth reminded Harroc of why he was there, and he tugged at Joboas's shirt as he had seemed distracted with the departure of the stranger. "Another fish slip out your net, young man?" The barber gave what Harroc believed to be a rather rude stare.

"What?" Jobias was indeed annoyed. "God, nothing of the sort. How's your tooth?"

"I feel like an angry pixie took a residence in it."

Jobias casually spat onto the street and looked out towards the direction Olive disappeared off to with her tracker, Dac was it?. "Right, well let's see if I can evict it. Doubt it's paying rent anyway." He shook his head and gestured for Harroc to enter. He looked over the houses and shops along the lane, up and to the white tower of Uthlyn. It's bells were just now ringing to herald the end of the morning.

Having done this before, Jobias exchanged the tools in his aprons from those of grooming to crude surgical ones that he had bought out of necessity of his trade one by one. Well, only some were actually bought. Trade was a big part of his profession. Services were always needed, and tools were always required. Harroc usually traded various tools that aided household maintenance, but he wasn't here for a shave and haircut, and actually had offered two bits Connlaothian for payment. Three if Jobias could fix his problem without actually having to remove the tooth.

Poking around inside the old man's mouth, he could see some signs of decay. Holding a lit candle and a small iron lockpick he couldn't for his life remember how he came across, he explored with the pick, following the reactions of pain from Harroc, and taking small breaks to allow the man to imbibe some medical whiskey Jobias kept for such occasions. "Well, Mister Harroc." Jobias wiped his bloodied tool with one of the small linens he kept in his apron. "It doesn't look all that well, but I think we could save it. I'm going to clamp on it, and see if I can relieve some pressure on the humors in it. Take another drink, you may feel some pain. Harroc didn't need to be told twice.

Jobias clamped pliers onto the troublesome tooth, gently at first, and them more firm, gently and very slightly twisting and nudging about, bearing through the wretched groans of his customer, using the sounds as a guide. The process of relieving humors, as he understood, was a gentle and lengthy trial, and the barber felt his mind wander back to his previous visitor, Olive. Why did she leave so suddenly? Did she not need her hair cut after all? Surely he offended her greatly, and did not need to hear anymore after her suspicions of his 'investigator' past were voiced. Still, she did seem so very interested in the strange artifact. Jobias wondered if she felt the same eeriness he did from it, that wretched, obviously arcaned thing, that... that...

"THAT WITCH!" Jobias yanked the pliers to point at the empty space next to his hat where the wires were left, the dramatic gesture heralded by the mad howls of Mister Harroc, who was very suddenly cured of his toothache.

A few minutes full of many apologies later, Mister Harroc had drunkenly stepped out of the shop, pressing a mass of slightly bloodied linens to his mouth. "Two bits Connlaothian then, of course," Jobias said with his best effort of not sounding too guilty for asking as he escorted the old fellow out the door. "Now get you to the apothecary, Mister Harroc, and tell her to put half of the poultice on my tab, yes? There's a good fellow. Thank you, Angsar's Blessings, yes!"

The door was then quickly shut and locked. Jobias stormed to grab his hat off the counter, and shoved through the next door into his home. He threw his apron onto his one large table in the central room, replacing it with a cloak from a wooden stand. Moving to his sleeping chamber, he played out scenarios in his head. Olive had just shown up the same morning as William had with the strange object, she had shown an immediate interest in the thing, and then... and then avoided having any professional work done. And now clearly she had gone with what she had wanted apparently from the very beginning. Jobias paced in his room, findally moving to one end and opened his standing wardrobe. She claimed she didn't know anything about the markings on the metal, but then made it known that she has studied languages, and wasn't the worst in the subject either. 'I mean obviously-' she had cut herself off. "Obviously what?" He heard himself speak aloud, though he didn't mean to.

Clearly the girl knew something that Jobias did not. She was also a mage. None of this sounded well. If she was indeed just a curious student, he knew all too well how people would react to her just carrying around something like that. For all he knew, his Mordecaism was the only thing keeping her magical presence from activating some sort of magical reaction to come from the object. There were many ways that put her in danger, and Jobias felt contrition for having been at fault for that. There was also the possibility that she was indeed a magic-user, and he had let her fool him into getting some sort of weapon back into her hands.

Grabbing his old folding hand-crossbow and longsword from the back of the wardrobe, Jobias equipped himself, concealing the weapons under his cloak. Olive was in danger, but the part that really troubled Jobias was that he was unsure whether he was heading out to protect her, or condemn her.

He left the building from the exit on the house side, and stepped beyond his small garden, tipping his hat with a smile to some friendly, familiar faces before looking down and up to the white tower where the College of Connlaoth had rooted themselves for years. He did not know exactly how he would find her, but the College was a good place to start.

Beneath Alainoth's Temple

"Refreshing? Ah, that mess you decided to burn in the temple. No, but I thank you for cleaning up that mess, I had not the mind to bother dealing with the matter.... No, those were the toys of the scholar that found my tomb, and awoken me. Clever enough, and yet, not clever enough."

Dhalekar considered Xerordir's words about the ogre and summoning something 'bigger'. Was this insolent whelp actually posturing before him? Of course he has summoned something 'bigger', bigger, and beyond the simple cage of flesh.  It was enough to anger Dhalekar to consider sapping the life force from Xerordir right there, but, he man did seem rather young, and though the lich's memories were in a haze, the impertinent air of upstart wizards was an all too familiar thing. He was in no hurry now anyhow, and perhaps it would be useful in the long run to have another known familiar with Necromancy.

He simply gestured to Smiles. "Ah yes, the ogre that yet lives, well, in a manner. More an experiment than how did you say, a 'pet'." Dhalekar touched the ends of his boney fingers to eachother. "It hangs forever at the threshold between life, death, and constructed unlife. It does not require the things living vessels require; food, rest, ecetera... I like to keep it moist from time to time however, yet, he is intelligent with his original mind to handle complicated matters for me." Dhalekar considered explaining the fusion of alchemical procedure and necromantic talent that led to Smiles' rather profound existence, but given this newcomer's complete lack of interest in the great machine that loomed over them all in the background, he determined that the technical minutia of procedure would be lost on the poor boy. No, this human before him seemed more of a raw powered sorcerer than a true student of the Art.

"Of course, we all have our youthful days where we toyed with favorite creatures." An airy, hissing chuckle escaped that mocking skeletal jaw. "But I have since learned that it is often more serving to summon smarter than bigger, many, than but one dragon yearning to be slain by a glory devouring knight. Already I have the city outside ridden with my servants, in plain sight to the populace, like flies on an unwitting corpse, fat an unaware of the tiny things that will devour it whole in its design." He moved his hands away from eachother and stretched them out to the great piles of bones around them. "I could bring these bones together into a single serpent to crash down upon you if you are wishing a display of power, but, we are not children, after all, are we, you who enter my domain without a name...?"

Olive slowed her pace as she got a comfortable distance from the barber shop. It appeared she'd been right about Jobias. Maybe he hadn't noticed her taking the contraption - though she'd hardly been very smooth about it - but if he had, he'd been more interested in not causing a scene in front of his customers than in getting it back. She took the item out of her pocket to examine it and, when she touched it again, felt it tingle. That was strange. Quickly, she stuffed it back in her pocket. What to do with it now? It was a mystery, and Olive rather wanted to solve it. She couldn't take it home. If she was found there with an ancient, creepy-looking magical item and word got back to her family, they'd kill her.

Wait.

A realization was forming in Olive's head. Maybe a butcher or a barber or some other unmarked commoner could take something like this to the college to have the professors and scholars look it over. But she couldn't. If she was found with something like this, she wouldn't be in "trouble" with her parents, she'd be in real trouble. With the law.

Realizing this, Olive abruptly changed course on her way to the college. Instead headed into what she knew would be a fairly empty, rundown part town. If she could just get away from people a bit, she could figure out what to do now. As she was walking, wondering what her next move would be, she noticed a rat scurry in the lane ahead of her. It startled her, sure, mostly because it was awfully early in the day for rats to already be running around. But she wasn't one to be too bothered by small things like rodents, so she kept on going, headed nowhere in particular.

Funny, there was another one.

And another.

Olive was already getting a bad feeling when she heard Dac growl. She turned around to see the dog with one large rat in its mouth and a handful more biting at his feet. And then... She looked past the dog. Oh dear lord. There were, easily, at minimum, at least thirty rats following them! This was not good. This was very, very not good. Wearing the mark was one thing, being followed by a small hoard of vermin? Well, that was just asking for trouble! And if she thought her mother would be mad about her hair...

Olive turned down a long, narrow alleyway. She needed to get out of site! She increased her gate at first to a quick walk, but the rats kept up with her. Soon she was full out running until - oh no. Another wall of rats was coming from the other direction! Olive had just enough time to jump onto a stack of crates before the two masses of rats joined. There were hundred of them now. She climbed onto a higher crate to make room for Dac to come up as well. He stayed on the lower crate, growling at the mass of rats.

The girl looked nervously down at the rodents. Perched precariously on the old wooden crates, she was a sitting duck. It was only a matter of time before the rats got her or someone found her like this. And she had no idea which was worse.

"My name is Xerordir. I am right in guessing you are planning something. You have your own contraptions, and no necromancer hides in ruined temples with no reason these days." Xerordir simply looked at the skeletons, and they crumbled into piles of bones, the magic released.

"Tell me Dhalekar, have you ever been possessed by a demon? To have it take control and give you power beyond reckoning? To feel the insatiable lust for blood and violence, the urge to defile everything you come across?" Xerordir summoned a fireball, and, through some mental co-ordination with Kirnardaz, brought Skalos through to the temple.

As the dark magic hit the floor, Kirnardaz teleported Skalos into position, who had been promised a game of fetch with a hellhound if he looked menacing and scary until taken back to Vorax.

The demon stood, straight and tall, menacing as possible, all 8 eyes opening in eerie unison.

"We... Are... SKALOS..." The demon screeched in a horribly unearthly fashion, the tendrils on his back lashing out at random stones in the wall.

Beneath Alainoth's Temple

Ice seemed to form out of nowhere, swirling with scattered bones around Dhalekar's form in reaction to Xerordir's incantations, the lich had anticipated the necromancer might of tried something, but he clearly wasn't expecting a demon. Smiles had already begun cowering, the ogre had seen many horrors, but none so offensive as the impossible unreality of demonic presence. Dhalekar himself almost hissed a gasp at the sight of the thing, but, as arrogant as he was powerful, he kept his composure. After all, he could not be killed, not anymore.

"Infernus! You traded yourself to the whims of devils for this power?!" The ice and bones slowed in their vortex, drifting in a calm hover. "It is indeed an impressive display... I can see why a mage would be tempted to strike such a pact,... but, no, I would not give myself to possession; I am subject to my will and my will alone. How much of yourself is truly you, Xerordir? You seek carnage for sake of it's own, bloodlust to feed your masters? I am indeed planning something, and its designs go beyond reckless destruction." A boney finger was raised. "Though... as for carnage, it does have its uses, I am forced to admit. I do not wish to hide in decrepit, ruined temples for long. As a survivor the Nosferti, I am to rebuild the Collegiate, yes, I must, and the city outside shall become the nexus from which I reign. I am devising something special to turn its witless inhabitants to my will, a gift of magic and ingenuity that will serve to bring the Art back to its strength I knew so long before... Tell me, Xerordir, my influence yet is only so strong, perhaps there is a way you and your..." He dared to look upon the face of Skalos "associate, can assist me in gaining foothold over the city. In exchange, well, what is it you wish for, Xerordir? Why have you come to this place? Is it the ancient knowledge of the Nosferti? Surely not even the Infernal Palace is privy to all that was held by the Collegiate's knowledge of the secrets of Necromancy. What of when you inevitably perish? Surely your soul would become the play-thing of the devils, but what if you could assure your soul is forever kept in the realm of material? Say you your desires, Xerordir, and you shall benefit greatly from the rebirth of the Nosferti Empire!"

The Streets of Uthlyn
Midday

After turning down yet another eager vendor, this one desperate to rid his stock of fish before the noon sun made them more unappealing than the trek to get them to Uthlyn already had made them, Jobias kept a determined pace towards the College, the belltower his guide. He had kept his mind solely on the plight of the mage-girl, Olive, and did not realize how rude he must of been to the familiar people about the street. He wondered how he would talk to the people of Uthlyn's college to inquire into Olive's whereabouts without giving her away to dangerous suspicion. He was still unconvinced either way if she was a victim of circumstance (Though then again, no one had asked her to take the rune-carved wires), or someone actually worthy of that dangerous suspicion. In his early career before taking up the shears, he had seen too many mages put to the pyre that had only been loosely associated with darker designs beyond their knowledge or intention. If he ended up responsible for the unjust persecution of an innocent girl, why..."

"Hay Mister!" the call of a street urchin derailed Jobias' train of thought.

"Not now, child, I am busy." Jobias quickly noted the filthiness of the boy, and silently cursed himself to have done so, as eye contact with the crafty children of the city only encouraged them to bother one further.

"Yer the barber ain'tcha? Willin' ta lend some bits fer poachin' these'ere rats, Mister? Clean up your streets, make it right'n'clean fer yer customers?!"

Rats?

Jobias stopped and turned to the kid. "What are you going on about, boy, speak quickly!"

The urchin boy gleamed, the promise of a mark already dangling food and possibly some sweets for his day. "Rats, sah! They're all over the place, y'know! Nasty things. I found a whole mess of em down the way, willin' ta get me hands dirty fer a coin a'head!"

Jobias looked to the tower, then back to the boy. So much talk of rats today, what was going on? "What do you mean, 'a whole mess'?"

"Droves of em sah! Me and tha mates got us some nice sticks to-" the boy's words that came after sounded awfully practiced. "Ensure the betterment of the community's daily assurance of sanctity, ... for some Connlaothians, a'course!"

Formless puzzle pieces danced in the barber's head. Uthlyn has always had rats, never has he heard of so much mention of them, and with Mister Shanke's discovery... Jobias looked at the tower again, and sighed. Olive would have to mind herself just a bit longer there, as his instinct of investigation just couldn't quite ignore the curious offer of the kid smiling too eagerly to him now. "Here." A coin he hoped he didn't spend on wasted time and Olive's endangerment. "Show me, and be quick about it!"

Well the boy wasn't lying about one thing; after lead down a few turns into some of the older streetways, an entourage of children armed with a various assortment of sticks, clubs, and random tools both sharp, blunt, and pointy had collected one by one. Jobias was beginning to wonder if he was about to be viciously mugged by the diminutive militia when he spotted something in tune with the lead  boy pointing.

"There!" the whelp whelped. And there, funneling down an alleyway was a practical stream of brown and black hair, rats, and more rats, had been moving together as if guided by fat, elusive cheeses. Some of the children gasped and took off, not having any of this, but their plucky leader gripped his crudely shaped switch, which had a single carpenter's nail driven through it, spoke bravely to the remaining boys and girls. "Right mates, FOR CONNL-"

"Not on your life, boy!" Jobias interrupted with a firm hand, pushing the boy back towards the others before stepping forward. "Keep behind me, and don't touch the things!"

Jobias stepped towards the alleyway, and into the mess of rodents. He thanked the thickness of his boots, and bent to the corner to see where the things were going to, when something rather strange happened. Very suddenly, one rat nearby stopped moving forward, and seemed rather confused, as almost a perfect circle about the thing suddenly moved independently in scurrying, random directions, leaving the one, who upon closer inspection appeared misshapen and rather wretched. Jobias unslung his folded crossbow from under his cloak and almost as soon as the lathes snapped into position, he fired a bolt straight into the fat center of the creature. Oddly enough, it did not make even a squeak. He stepped over quickly to it and snatched the dead thing, yanking his bolt from it. There was something definitely just wrong with this particular rat, but he had hardly a chance to think on it, as there, hiking up toppling crates, was Olive, and her traker, Dac, surrounded by a heaping mass of the rats.

"OLIVE!!" He called to her in shock and immediate concern. He turned to the small mob behind him, who seemed to have lost their enthusiasm for civil heroism. "Alert the guard! Go, NOW!" Jobias then looked to see how he could negotiate getting to the poor girl and her dog. "Olive! I'm coming!"

"Skalos-friend, if you would kindly go back to your cousin." Xerordir commanded with a steel voice, colder than the tundra of the north.

"I am no demon's plaything. I am the equal and friend of a demon lord. A Prince. Oh so very rarely do people coexist in a body with a demon. Me and him achieved this. Although I have my own goals. He had his, we parted, but he still keeps contact, provides me with information. He is a good friend. I have many allies..." His voice now trailed off into a more mysterious tone, with a hint of threat. He was not playing, he was alluding.

"Tell me Dhalekar, have you ever met Senka, the Whisper? She is very enigmatic. And a very powerful ally. We are forming something more encompassing than the Collegiate of Nosferti, we are forming a Council of Shadows." Xerordir spoke with disinterest, as if he didn't care whether Dhalekar joined. Hopefully he would make it feel competitive enough for Dhalekar to want to join.

"We are the strongest of the strong, the deviants, those who have accepted powers too fearsome for mere peasants and commoners, and even the mightiest of mages. We are a league of dark magicians, necromancers and demon summoners. I am an embodiment of all three craft." Xerordir held out one hand, a black flame enveloping it.

"Dark magic..." The flame grew bigger, sucking in light.

"Necromancy..." He opened his other hand, and in a green flame stood a small illusion of a lich and skeleton.

"Demoncraft..." A third red flame appeared in the air in front of his chest, containing an image of Skalos.

He extinguished all the flames and crushed the illusions, making a little bit of smoke. When the smoke finally settled, he made his offer.

"Interested?" Xerordir took off his mask, and smirked at the Lich.

Dhalekar let out a vicious cackle, though secretly he was glad to be rid of the rather intimidating Skalos. "So you were not sent on the whims of devils, but that of this Whisper, Senka?" He pointed a ancient hand to Xerordir. "You did not know of me before coming here, you made that quite obvious already, demon host, and I am more convinced that you know nothing of just how 'encompassing' the Collegiate is..."

A rasping call to Smiles without words sent some sort of message to the ogre to cause it leaping down the open pit in the circular chamber. Dhalekar returned his eyeless gaze to Xerordir. "Still... you are obviously a being of power, and that is something always worth looking into. I would be a fool not to investigate avenues to strength in the future, my new empire will need allies, so... Call your Mistress; this Ssssenkaaa... I would speak with her, and we can then all see how your Council and I can benefit from eachother, yes?"

Olive was perched, crouched on the highest of the wooden crates with nowhere left to go. Even Dac had retreated up a level. Though the rickety crates wouldn't support the bear of a Doug's weight any further. He was growling and snapping at the rats as they drew climbed up, trying at least to keep them for reaching highs girl.

As if things weren't bad enough already, the sound of the approaching children reached the pair. Oh no. If anyone found them, they'd see a mage surrounded by HUNDREDS OF RATS and find the awful thing in her pocket. Oh God, she'd be hanged. And what was worse, it was her fault. What had she been thinking, taking this creepy, obviously suspicious, obviously magical, cursed thing ?! Stupid, Olive, stupid. They'd find her, and hang her, and then word would spread all over Connlaoth of how Constance Carwick, the wicked daughter of Duke Carwick, had died an awful wicked witch, and then her mother would fall to ill humors and die of the scandal. She could see it all now.

The desperate idea of just throwing the weird rat thing (hoping all the real rats followed it) and then running as fast and as far as she could was just forming in Olive's mind when she heard Jobias and the children. A wave of relief welled up inside of her, and then was just as quickly replaced by doubt. He was probably just hunting her down to turn into the authorities!

But when he arrived on the scene, he seemed worried about her. Seemed like he was coming to save her. She sent him a look of relief and gratitude and opened her mouth to call for his help, but...

Guards! Why couldn't this man just be reliably bad or good? She'd justnthought he'd come to rescue her - though why should he? - and now he was calling for GUARDS. She couldn't keep it inside. "'Guards?!" she repeated, and wild fear shone in her eyes. "Oh God, they're going to kill me!"

Even though she had no right to, Olive felt betrayed. Guards were going to come. They were going to drag her away and throw her in a cell and then they were going to hang her or burn her or feed her to a bear, for all Olive knew. All because she wanted a hair cut! It wasn't like she even knew this man, this barber, but he had called her a fine young lady and had played with her hair and now he was going to feed her to the bear.

But even through her fear, Olive noticed what was happening. Around Jobias the rats were scattering. Oh, she'd been right about what 'investigator' meant apparently. But for now...  "Just, just keep walking towards me," she called to Jobias. "They're scattering, see? You don't... You don't need to call the guards..."  Her voice was shaky and she realized, dimly, that he had already sent the children for the guards. But maybe if he got here before them, if she threw the awful rat thing back at him, then maybe she'd have time to run before anyone got here.

Run where? Olive preferred to take her fences one at a time, thank you very much!

Xerordir was worried. Xerordir had no idea how Senka would feel about being called up for this. It would be stupid for a start. Why couldn't this lich not just discuss with Xerordir?!

"I do not serve Senka, I am her ally, and neither me nor her have the patience to deal with this. You can discuss your terms with me when I help you, understood? A favour for a favour. You get help. I get an audience and true discussion over this when we have restarted your Collegiate. Or you can be straightforward and drop the Collegiate idea. Simple. The Council will perform the same function, but will encompass grander schemes. Schemes that reach into the heavens and hells that others dare naught but pray to." Xerordir was in no mood for silly games with the lich. Dhalekar could accept the given terms, or Skalos would come back.

Beneath the Ruined Temple of Alainoth

Dhalekar clacked his jaws in delight with a heavy, icy, unnecessary breath. He noted the change in tone in Xerordir's speech. It was still impatient, but different than before. Xerordir quickly had made an offer of aid or acceptance to this Shadow Council that Dhalekar knew nothing of despite its own claims to great things. Apparently the very idea of this Senka coming to join them was something terrible to his guest, who only just moments ago commanded the presence of a demon from another realm.

Interesting.

Dhalekar decided quickly in his head that joining this council now would might be a foolish thing before meeting this Senka. Would he be an "ally" of Xerordir as Xerordir has alluded to him being an "ally" to Senka? It reminded him too much of the internal pyramids of power from his time, and it tasted like poison to him. He would be just as foolish to turn away aid to his cause though, there was still so much to be done before he could take the outer city, who a prisoner has informed him to be known simply as "Uthlyn".

Before he replied, Dhalekar could see Smiles nearing the chamber from down the hallway, carefully carrying a large table with metal cups and pots, one steaming. The lich made an airless, silent whisper past Xerordir to the ogre, informing his minion that they would not be expecting guests after all. He then let his projected voice escape his jaws. "Very well, I shall discuss with you, Xerordir... These are complicated matters, but a trade in services is something that does stir pleasantly in me... I am ever busy to realize my dream to take Uthlyn, and there certainly are things that I am in need of. Aid my conquest, Xerordir, and your Council will find an ally in a new Uthlyn."

Dhalekar drifted down to the floor, and his foot bones scraped against the stone floor as he neared Xerordir, though of course keeping a very respectable distance. The lich had made smooth gestures with his hands, with a terrible screeching sound emanating from his form that trailed off into a croaking moan as between his open, skeletal hands appeared a myriad of flashing green images, spherical in appearance, seemingly views of random parts of the city; a blacksmith bellowing her forge, a guard picking his nose, oddly enough a terribly frightened girl with a large dog climbing some crates in an alley, a shining knight conversing with a robed figure, the images kepts appearing and changing faster and faster until they seemed to form together in a rather twitchy image of the entire city of Uthlyn, so small in the lich's claws. "I have seen so much, but hear little... I seek more information; who holds the city? Who commands the warriors that stand to protect it? I need to know my enemy before I can deliver my deathly prize to it."

The images futtered away into nothingness as Dhalekar made made a gesture to allude to height "The tower there is perfect for my design, but it will take time to complete what I have in mind. Once it is implemented I will have an army that will surpass any paltry force that can be raised from the scattered dead outside the walls. I may need protection for my endeavors at those final moments. I... was not concerned about my defenses here, but yet, here you are... The outside world must be persuaded not to enter this place."

He let out a cutting rasp. "I MUST have Uthlyn! Aid me, Xerordir, show me the power of your Council, and I shall be in the debt of it, and you will have a powerful nexus to call upon. Those are 'my terms', as you say."

He gave a wave to dismiss Xerordir, having given his terms. There was nothing more Dhalekar had to say.

Except... "Ah... and if those things are but simple toyings to you, infernal one, I will be in need of a Queen, a companion to rule beside me from the tower, yes..." He cackled once again. "I would be most grateful if you were have a potential bride presented to me..."

___________________________________________________________________________

The back alleys of Uthlyn

"Bah!" One of the many rats milling about Jobias' legs as he made slow progress through the hairy stream had run up and bit through a pantleg. The aggressive rodent was quickly removed and thrown spitefully against the wall of the alley with a pained 'Skreek!' from it's crushed form. "Oh! So you don't think a hoard of rats chasing good townsfolk to higher ground isn't a concern of the local authorities?! Another sorely missed subject in Sorcery School!" He spat out angrily, his eyes searching the mass as he kicked a few out of his way.

Olive was indeed spot on with her suspicions, but what concerned Jobias was the extent of his abilities as a Mordecai. Magic just didn't shut off around his presence, it kept it from manifesting, which meant to him that magic was not just present, it was actively working. As he advanced, Jobias found another rat that looked a bit off compared to the rest standing rather stupidly as rats nearby it scattered just like the last one, and after loading another bolt into his crossbow, released the missile to find home in it's fat form. There were still more massing, but he was almost close enough to do something about the girl's situation, Jobias wasn't quite sure what to do with the tracker. At least he could chance a few words until he can get close enough to attempt to take control of the situation.

"Well Olive!" He called out over the din of chirping rodents, opening his arms wide as if this were all some kind of sick jest. "I want to like you, Angsar knows why, I really do, but you seem to be making it rather difficult for me! You see, I had thought I was showing a sweet girl a trinket to sate her admirable curiosity," He paused just a moment to thrash a few rodents that had given him a bit too much attention. "Maybe even give her a good haircut!" Another bloater was spotted, and ended with a 'twang!' of his crossbow. "But then here we are! I'm not sure if you're a sorceress, or just a thief, or both, but either way I can understand your hesitance of accepting the help of the Guard! I am an understand man, Olive!"

Stomp! Stomp!

"The way I see it, you got very few options, and very few moments to make up your mind on them! You can either evade my inqueries with your DAFT defiance until the authorities arrive with their dependable understanding to things like this, or you can use that clever head of yours, and throw me the god damn wires, and let me take you out of here where you can explain to me personally why you stole them in the first place!" Preferring the latter himself, Jobias opted not to collect his strange kills, damning himself for being involved in this in the first place (and leaving evidence behind to boot), in order to gain faster ground to where he was closer to the rats that were just piling up along the crates like a fast-growing infection. He just wasn't quite close enough to stop whatever was originating this magic that was calling them all.

'What are you doing, Jobias?' With faith, he slung his crossbow and reached out his hands to Olive.

"YOU wan to like ME?" she spat back at him. "You're trying to get me killed, or worse! You don't know the half of what will happen if the guards get here. All because your stupid, rude butcher and your stupid shop and pushing me around and making inappropriate suggestions and then being nice again and then being scary and now you're trying to get the guards here to haul me away and then throw me in the river and feed me to fish! Supposing they don't keep me for awhile first! Fill in how that story turns out yourself!"

Somewhere in her head, Olive was aware that she was being very unreasonable and very unfair or, in short, that she was being a brat. But in all the other parts of her head she was very, very scared. And the thinly veiled threats of this Mordecai or, maybe if he wasn't lying, ex-Mordecai for some reason weren't making her feel better. And of course it didn't help that, at the end of the day, she had no one to blame but herself. It only made her angrier at Jobias.

"Pah! Yes, please!" She took the wire contraption out of her pocket and threw it as absolutely hard as she could at Jobias. She certainly didn't want it anymore! And then, 'like magic,' once it was i the Mordecai's reach, the rats looked confused, just waking up, and spent a good amount of time running into each other as they attempted to scurry back to the shadows.

Olive watched the rats bump around and looked down at Jobias, unsure. He was right, there definitely wasn't a lot of time. And it was true that, for whatever reason, she sort of liked him. Sort of. She was also sort of afraid of him. But she decided the possible threat of Jobias was a better bet than the definite threat of the Guards. Swallowing, she grabbed his hand and jumped to the ground, landing half in his arms. "Please," she said urgently now, looking up at him with huge, scared eyes. Her tone was much more subdued, which wasn't exactly an apology, but it would have to do for now. She knew better than to try to run away. He could easily cuff her and hand her over to the guards himself. "Can we get out of here now?!"

Xerordir liked the idea of kidnapping, it was clean, efficient and actually got you somewhere. Especially if your threat was a painful, excruciating, defiling death. It was difficult to pull off for some species though.

"Of course I can. I can find you several potentials, and the throwaways, I will resurrect as slaves to be shared. I will get an odd number, so the slaves can be split equally. After my excursion with Kirnardaz, I do not desire women, I desire the company of the dead. I will find you a bride. And I may find myself some stepping stones." Xerordir spoke with a smile, but internally he was getting annoyed. But he had agreed.

"Kirnardaz, I am beginning to dislike this Lich. If needs be, I will summon you to banish him to your realm. Your eternal stress release." The thought was projected through the minute magic that worked the barriers, into the mind of Kirnardaz, who replied in kind.

"Gladly. I need a new stress release." Kirnardaz snarled through the realms.

Beneath the Ruined Temple of Alainoth

Dhalekar had pondered on Xerordir's words, and nodded through them slowly as he spoke favorably of the terms, well, except perhaps that one bit about splitting an odd number of slaves. Perhaps it was simply customary in this time to split one part in half as a sort of symbolizing finality of an exchange from one overlord to another. In any case Dhalekar was pleasantly surprised that he was willing to except all of the lich's requests. "Very good, I shall see that your council is repaid in kind over fold, Xerordiiirrrr..." His voice trailed off, as his mind raced for possible scenarios at hand. He could think of none that would need the demonologist here at this time.

"I have much work to do yet, Xerordir, if there is nothing else... Shall I call for an escort back out of the labyrinth? The Fae-Bitch that housed the temple above was an irritating creature..." Dhalekar gestured a hand back to the door from whence Xerordir came.

Indeed, the Lich did have much to do. He turned his head ever so slightly to catch the edge of the great machine behind him. It wouldn't be long from now before his captives will begin to awake, and he needed to be prepared for collecting at that time.

_________________________________________________________________________

The back alleys of Uthlyn

As Olive spat out her protests, Jobias let go of a bit of pressure in his throat in the form of an inaudible grumble. Though he found this defiant spirit pleasing to listen to back in his shop when things were delightfully not ridden with magically entranced vermin, it was not as amusing when he knew that the guard, though he has known them not to be entirely reliable, especially in the quiet city of Uthlyn so near the Capital, could be arrive at any moment.  He silently cursed his mindless calling for them in the first place. Only a scrap of years ago, it wouldn't of mattered, magic user or not, he could have had them escort Olive to her home in a cushioned palanquin and never bother her again,  but now...

'What would you have done anyway?' the thought crawled through his mind as his hands reached out waiting to receive the wires in question. Mordecai or not, this wasn't the sort of thing he finds himself tolerating. Though feeding mages to fish was not something he has ever heard practiced, Jobias didn't think he would normally bat an eye if she were, she must of been tied to this thing somehow, otherwise why? Why in the infernal hellscape would she do something so painfully foolish?

Jobias, momentarily lost in his questions, was not expecting for the wretched metal skeleton thrown with such force, and stumbled the slightest bit as he did what he could to catch the damn thing properly, cutting his palm on them in the process. Oh, that's it! What a wretched brat, this girl! Jobias pocketed the awful thing and reached for her again. He almost didn't notice the quick disinterest of the rats as his head boiled with ire. Oh and reckon she's quick to accept his help now, is she? How could she possibly think that he wouldn't throw her to the guard now? Why in Angsar's Kingdom would he ever even imagine assisting this girl, this thief of black magic, this-

"Oh." was suddenly all that Jobias could think when he caught her. The alleyway suddenly seemed very quiet to him. The rats did seem to be gone, at least, Jobias imagined. Those eyes.

He almost didn't hear her entreating to leave, though the distant clamoring of men in the distance had snapped him from this spell. In complete irrational reasoning he suspected more sorcery, but he knew that was impossible, unless she was some sort of extra-dimensional being. By Angsar, wouldn't that just be his luck. Jobias said nothing, he only took her hand, and led her down the alley the opposite direction of the approaching guard. Instinctively he made the general Mordecai gesture to trained trackers to have the dog follow, he didn't check to see if the dog understood, he just had to get Olive out of here. He wasn't positive where he should take her, if anyone had seen her go into the alley, and noticed the rats that followed. The guards did seem to come quickly, maybe they were called before he sent the urchins. All he could think was to take her back to the safety of his shop and home, and simply headed in that direction, with her.

There was no sorcery here, no. Jobias was just an old fool.

"Of course Dhalekar. Oh, and that demon I summoned earlier, Skalos?" Xerordir felt like pointing out a truly strange fact about the demons he knew on a name basis.

"The demon that I was a vessel for was stronger. And more insane too." With that he followed the way out, summoning a minor imp to guide him out.

Xerordir decided he would be better setting up shop in the city. He could use portals to get there quickly now that he knew the place.

Neither Olive nor her dog needed to be told twice – or once, for that matter! –  to get moving. The girl ran hard on Jobias's heals, Dac following heavily behind. She threw a furtive glance over her shoulder, an icy panic in her stomach as she heard the guards approaching, but before she could see them they turned a corner and the scene they were running from – the rats, the crates, the approaching guards – disappeared.

And where was she going now? Who knew if this man were really safer. Maybe he'd been kicked out of the Mordecai because he'd been too cruel, not love-the-sinner enough. Maybe he'd only saved her so he could drag her into the basement of his barber shop and cut her up to bits. Olive was used to getting herself into trouble, but this was going a bit further than she was accustomed to... But, for some reason, she equal parts trusted and feared the strange barber. But she would worry about that latter, for now she wanted to put more distance between herself and those guards!

Ding dong ding dong! Dong ding ding done!

The sound of the church bells made their way through the fearful thoughts clouding Olive's head. Of course! Olive ground to a halt as they passed the church ringing out for the imminent mass. Well, rather, she tried to grind to a halt, but due to Jobias's greater size and momentum, it came out more skip-hop-skip-stop.

"Come on!" she urged, pulling Jobias to the church. This, to Olive, seemed like the perfect place to be right now: Both to hide from the guards, and for each of them to calm down a little.

"Go home, Dac," she instructed the dog, who gave one whine before trundling off.

Jobias might have been surprised by the immediate change in Olive's demeanor once she entered the church. She moved with the slow and serious piousness of someone who went to mass at least once a day. All outward signs of the mouthy, defiant girl from the barber shop or from the alley disappeared. Olive's movements were like muscle memory. And in a way they were. She gave Jobias only one, meaningful look before sliding into a pew and kneeling as the mass began.

Indeed he was surprised, on a number of things. Firstly, Jobias was surprised at his sudden loss of composure; though he was familiar with chasing, his hasty decision to become made accomplice to whatever it was Olive was involved with had put him in unfamiliar territory. Where was he going, his home? That little urchin's voice played in his head, followed by a terrible and somber feeling.

'Yer the barber, aint'cha?'

Jobias dwelled on the scenarios of repercussions that could very likely occur, so much that he hardly realized that Olive redirected them to the church until his focus was snapped back by her quick transformation. Oh he knew that walk well, it was the first refreshing sign of something normal since this blasted day started. Quite surprising, to see it from the same girl he still wasn't sure to be some sorcering con artist, but there was such a serenity in her now; could that indeed be rehearsed, she did bring them here, was this another step in her series of back up plans?

There were those eyes again, the look she gave Jobias put him to take in his ornate surroundings. Midday Mass, yes, this would be a good place to be, in any case. Jobias found himself joining Olive's side at the pew, and gave himself to the ceremony beginning. He listened to the opening hymn, as the high sun beamed down into the great, circular stained glass window set in the ceiling of the church, so that the statue of Angsar below would be illuminated.

Midday, the time when the light gave Angsar the power to slay the wizard. Though it is not to be taken as to put the mage to the sword, no, rather it is taught that the height of day's light is when one can find the strength to overcome, to face even impossible challenges. Angsar did not teach to hate the mage, Angsar taught the people that the simplest man can define their destiny, no matter what forces assail him. Jobias turned his head slightly to look upon Olive. Thoughts of suspicion and conviction and guardedness just seemed so heavy to bear right now, right now, he just saw this simple Connlaothian, here for mass. That felt good enough right now. He whispered something to her, but it came out inaudible. Jobias turned his head towards the priest before the statue, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to lose himself to respite into the sermon. He was almost surprised he could.

The movements of the Church were so practiced and memorized for Olive that she didn't even turn her head when Jobias murmured something to her. Really, she didn't even hear what he'd said, and she vaguely wondered if it hadn't been a threat. She didn't think very much about the mass or what was being said or Angsar or anything like that. She worried about the guards, whether or not they'd still be out looking for them by the end of mass, and what Jobias was going to do with her now. At least she'd sent Dac home. She was sure that if the dog had been mentioned to the guards, not being followed around by a bear-sized dog would be something of an advantage. Well, at least for now, she could relax a little. Whatever the Mordecai-cum-barber was going to do, he wouldn't do it during mass. And luckily for Olive, the midday mass was the longest.

When it finally concluded, she made no hurry to get out. Instead, when she left the pew, she moved to the alter of Saint Timothy, the saint for tested souls, and knelt to silently pray. This was something she always did in church. It looked good for a mage, and she since her mark never went unnoticed in a church, it was an extra precaution she was accustomed to taking. She liked to think of him as something of her personal friend, and they would grumble together about the small-minded people filing out of the church. Good ol' Saint Tim.

Finally, Olive got up from kneeling and moved to leave the church, finding Jobias with her eyes. As always happened when she was in a church (and sometimes when she wasn't), her presence garnered many pitying stares and murmurs from the clergy. The grace with which Olive handled this - especially considering the manners she'd shown so far - betrayed that she had, at least to some degree, by someone, at some point in her life, been taught how to carry herself.

She walked slowly when they left the church, with a decidedly more conciliatory demeanor. Olive might be by nature a little combative, but she wasn't entirely stupid. She knew that would be of no help to her now. And, she hated admitting this, ending up swamped by all those rats had been her fault and if Jobias hadn't come, someone would have called the guards, and there wouldn't have been anyone there to whisk her away. However tough she might try to be when she was out in Uthlyn away from the college, she wasn't so ill-mannered to not thank him, or at least apologize.

"Um," she started awkwardly, shuffling her feet as they headed away from the church. She paused and took a breath, then the rest came out in rather quick succession, with Olive looking at her feet the whole time. "Look, I shouldn't have taken that thing from your shop and I know that whatever trouble I caused with it was my fault and I know I behaved very poorly back in that alley and I said some things that weren't entirely fair. I was afraid and I'm sorry." She was still afraid, but she looked up at Jobias now and finished a bit more slowly. "And I realize that I'd still be stuck back there now if you hadn't come and that someone would have still called the guards and... Thank you."

After the service concluded, Jobias let Olive go by without accost, and watched her for a moment as she gave prayer at the altar of Saint Timothy. He thought it of mild interest that she chose that altar in particular. When he had arrested magic-users, It was always Angsar they would cry for, or Fenton as a close second, who of course was the Saint of Forgiveness. He always despised it when they called out to Saint Fenton, to dare to reach to bend the ear of the Saint, pettily bleating for forgiveness after turning good townsfolk inside out with but a few spiteful words.

Since having this chance to catch breath, Jobias thought a bit more clearly about the situation. He noted how lucky the two of them had been for not actually having encountered the guard themselves.  Without faces to associate with the undoubtedly confusing mess left in the alleyway, perhaps the worst  was behind them. He considered the evidence left behind; three crossbow bolts, three strange, dead rats. He wondered what would happen to the diminutive corpses; if they would be properly looked at if anything for their strange appearance. Wishful thinking no doubt. Without the alarm of magic at work, it was very likely they were simply disposed of. A shame; if there was something to be gleaned from any connection between the strange wires from the butcher, and the bizarre magical occurrence in the alleys, it would have been from those rats he shot. If investigation came to his home on the word of the urchin boy that led him to find Olive, he could tell nearly the complete truth, sans the identity of the girl who found herself in trouble, and have no fear of reprisal.

Olive came, and with a gentle grin he silently agreed that it would be safe to leave. At least she was safe, or should be safe anyway. Despite his anger for what she had done, Jobias came to the strange realization that if she hadn't, he would never have discovered the magical nature of the wires, not with his mordecaism. Whaever she thought she was doing, it didn't seem she really had anything directly to do with the incident.

When she spoke her contrite, Jobias' face looked a mix of bemusement and forbearance. They stopped a moment in their exit down the steps of the great entry to the church. Jobias placed a gentle to her cheek, giving a mild, but endearing grin to her when she thanked him. "Think nothing of it, Miss Olive." In his newfound comfort he had forgotten her distaste for prefixes. With a light brush of his thumb he withdrew his hand, and looked out to the city as he continued.

"To you I owe credit for the discovery of something undoubtedly sinister in Uthlyn, of a nature I know precious little about, but I am simply glad that you are out of harm's way. I... I am sorry if I had frightened you back there, I was unsure of your intentions, and while that still continues to play question in my mind," He said, with a notable cant of his head. "I have a hunch that you are not, in fact, a crooked-nosed sorceress orchestrating a plot to to turn all our first borns into three-headed goats." Jobias' eyes were caught by the sight of two city guards discussing something of slightly beyond a casual nature, a hand gesture typically used to describe height was used, and the level of which would fit that of the children of the street, though they did not seem terribly alarmed. He continued walking with Olive on a path away from the guard. "I think we are safe, but perhaps it would be wise if you did something to dress yourself differently in the near future."

Then he remembered. "Do you still fancy a haircut?"

Xerordir had been naughty and taken a stroll in Kirnardaz's realm, using it as a shortcut. The screaming as Kirnardaz's guards slaughtered the innocent demons in his realm was satisfying. No demon prince was naturally benevolent. Always a tyrant.

He arrived at the other end of the passage, as far as Kirnardaz could take them. Saint Timothy's church. He was going to destroy the church. Demons could invade the city if he flipped the holy symbols. And that would make Dhalekar's job harder, exponentially.

He clambered up from the skeleton filled catacombs, summoning hundreds of zombies with Kirnardaz's demonic power. He released them all into the church, as he went up through it. Then, he noticed the service was already over. Oh well. Time to release them into the streets.

He made sure all the zombies had succeeded in killing the holy men, and then opened the church doors for the zombies.

"When the hells are full, Angsar's enemies will rise again!" As he threw his arms up, the mass of re-energised zombies spewed into the streets, causing people to scream and flee. These weren't any zombies. They were sprinting, mad, flesh hungry zombies of death.

"Oh Angsar, how we pray that thee shall die in the blackness of undeath, and how  we pray that life shall continue at the whims of those who control the dead!" He remembered the words very clearly from a connlaothian play he had once seen, which was about the return of the Necromancers to Le'raana.

"Loyal citizens of Uthlyn, pray that Angsar will protect you... AS HIS HOUSE BURNS, HAHAHAHA!" The church erupted into flames, dozens of zombies fleeing, burning flesh contaminating the air.

((OOC: The madness has begun))

Olive was feeling a lot of things at once. On one hand, she was glad to see Jobias so much more relaxed; she hadn't actually thought the side trip to the church would be this effective. On second hand, maybe he was being too relaxed now; maybe it was a rouse to get her off her guard. On third(?) hand, an older man was paying attention to her and had his hand on her cheek. But on fourth hand, if it were genuine, Olive thought the sudden turn of mood was awfully... sudden, and she wondered if this were really affection for her, and what phantom he might be seeing when he looked at her. Whichever hand were the true one, the gesture was sufficiently tender to make Olive blush, just a little. She didn't normally blush, and she thought furiously now that it must be because she was already off her guard, what with everything else going on.

"It's, um, you don't, er..." Now she was the flustered one, but she managed to keep herself from looking at the ground again. This whole thing was just so bizarre. The entire day had so far been entirely out of sync with her real life. But she frowned up at him when he made the comment about a sorceress making three headed babies or some other such nonsense.

"You know, that's just a tad offensive." Her eyes had that defiance back in them, but her voice was calm and she didn't move away. "Maybe jokes like that are harmless and don't get old from your end of things. You might feel differently if you had to walk around with this stitched into all of your clothing. But," she gave helpless little huff of a sigh, "under the circumstances, I forgive you."

She was about to say something about the hair cut, about whether or not it would really be safe to go back to the barber shop, about whether his words meant she was free to go now, about whether or not he wanted her to go, about the wires and the rats and what happened and if he was 'kicking her off the investigation team,' but she didn't get a chance to say any of those things.

Though they were no longer within sight of the church, Olive's head ticked to the side as the sounds of fire and panic reached them. Her heart froze. All of her froze. This was not good. Unthinkingly, she grabbed hold of Jobias.

"Um," she tried to put on her best brave voice, but it was a complete failure, "I think this might not be the best time for a haircut..."

Olive needed to get out of here. Whatever was happening, she needed to be nowhere near it. She looked over her shoulder again in the direction of the noises, and then back at Jobias, her heart racing. Well, today seemed to be a day of impulses, and Olive didn't really have time to sort out what she felt. So, abruptly, Olive bounced up to the balls of her feet and kissed Jobias quickly on the cheek.

"Thanks again," she said hurriedly, then turned and took off running as fast as her feet would carry her.

Beneath the Ruined Temple of Alainoth
weeks after the razing of Uthlyn's Church in the Commons

"What do you mean, no more farmers, imp?!" Dhalekar echoed in a metallic shriek from the cavity in his rotted throat, the vibrations from the enchanted stone embedded within flapped the remaining dry tissue in an way that grew more intense with his conjured voice.

"P-p-p-peasants, my lord! They have withdrawn from many of the outskirts v-villages; the C-Connlaothian soldiers are making p-patrols!" Bax, the fourth replacement of Dhalekar's assistant from the distant Xerodir, was ever loathe to bring this sort of news to his master's new ally, who seemed to have a complete misunderstanding of the value of his red-bottomed kin. "We have t-taken many, my lord, b-but these people in this realm, they are... are ... resilient?"

Dhalekar set down the intricate, bronze instrument in his bony fingers back onto his sea of charts upon the drawing roost in his laboratory. His tattered Nosferti silks flowed like a river of smoke as he descended in a footless glide to approach Bax, whom immediately began cowering and clutching his bestingered tail, and with a smooth gesture, the lich lifted the imp in a gentle levitation. "Then take the ogre; if patrols have come to this region, then their bodies shall suit my needs!"

"Y-yes of course, my lord!" Bax began whimpering a bit as he began slowly rolling in place without a means of stabilizing himself in the air. "But, but you demanded discretion, I am unable to break a command, even by a new one unless the first was dismissed! That was in the rules!"

The necromancer hissed. "You complain to me of your own negligence?!" His bones creaked as he waved his arm to his side, and Bax yelped as he found himself hovering over the rat pit, meters deep with squirming, screeching, modified rodent spies. "Perhaps you should join your predecessors then; I have not the patience for this!!"

"HEEEEE AAAHH NO NO NO, NOW NOW, MY LORD PLEEEAAASE - it was Goppul's doing, not mine NOT MINE! The mines, my lord, the mines!"

Dhalekar kept the imp in place, but began hovering towards him, his angered calling quelling a bit to give into restrained curiosity. "What are you prattling about- What about the mines?!"

"Goppuuuuuuul did it, my lord, not Bax! He feared you would kill him, a-a-as you did my lord, and rightfully so! His yielding of metal was too low, you were displeased!"

A groaning hiss. "By the prophets, whatever did that imbecile do before I gave his bones to Smiles?"

"He, he did as commanded, my lord! Increased production! However, he did not have the same command of discretion as loyal Bax, obeeeedient Bax! Bax follows the letter, my lord! Bax would never make the mines so noticeable! I saw it myself!"

"WHAT?!" The lich's voice pushed the limits of the stone, the shrill of the echoes even giving a small jitter in the surrounding undead laborer's resonance, as if they paused to cringe at the volume of it. With his free hand, Dhalekar reached out, and still standing meters away from the levitating devil, he pulled invisible strands and suddenly yanked his hand. With a terrible cry, Bax's left eye ripped from its socket, and followed the sharp gesture of Dhalekar's hand to go, careening, towards a heavy looking bronze gyro on one of the main tables - its rings had already begun spinning to impossible speeds, and almost hungrily it accepted the unwitting imp's offering, immediately and irrevocably rending it to an organic mist, which caused the device to glow with unsettling pink energies. Dhalekar unceremoniously released Bax into the pit of voracious rats, though he barely heard the imp's screams, so focused was he on the gyro as he glided over to it.

Within the gyro, very recent images of himself came into view, and with his skeletal hands the lich began manipulating the speed of the various rings, flashing to previous sights Bax had seen with the eye, until everything came to a dead stop. There it was, nestled only miles from Alainoth's ancient, thankfully well-hidden temple, was the site in which Dhalekar had ordered for his growing hoard of minions to begin extracting dense metals from for his purposes. It was, as the temple above his catacombs, hidden well enough by the growth of trees that lined the foothills of the valley that encircled Connlaoth, but true to the imp's words as he struggled helplessly for his life in the pit, there was a careless amount of expanding activity. Once living farmers and other country folk, the dead were toiling about all around the site, as if making any most direct path to the veins that were detected. Perhaps most dire of all, was the smoke that rose from one of the shafts. Whether it was Bax's predecessor or not, they had begun smelting right there in the mines itself for but a scant bit of productivity. Effective, of course, however, there could be little imagined to be an even more foolish beacon to their operations.

Dhalekar's fingers twisted into eachother into mock-fists, and his bones began to glow a sickly blue as he let out another would-be ear-piercing screech.

"WHERE IS SENKA?!"