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!"