Zandor had been duped.
The anger springing from this realization fueled his blades, as they conceived their dance of arks, lunges, and feints. Another member of the undead fell, his head rolling lazily from his shoulders and his body collapsing to the ground. Two more took his place. Affording himself a quick glance back, his suspicion was confirmed: Delvin was still trying to open the door.
He had met the rogue in a tavern situated on the outskirts of a small human settlement. As far as debauchery went, it was nothing Zandor considered special, yet the local patrons were possessed with some form of pretentious pride in the roughness of their beloved bar. Too be expected from simple valley folk, but Zandor's business was not with them, he found worth in the wanderers that stopped there for sustenance.
Delvin was the seediest. He had a rat face with features that appeared to be almost gravitationally yanked towards his nose. It was a repugnant epicenter, as it was hooked in a witch like arc, overall his appearance was enough to scare off most: of course Zandor approached him first.
The man was hungry for gold, and so this infatuation had placed in his possession the location of an active necromancer, a heavy bounty on his head. Lawful work didn't seem to suit Delvin, however, he gave the impression that field work did. Confident that he had found a worthy accomplice, Zandor joined him on this hunt, both swiftly finding the cave the wizard sheltered in.
Zandor had been duped.
Delvin claimed to be the best lockpick in all of Connlaoth, but it now appeared he was the best liar. Zandor knew from experience that liars only made his job infinitely more difficult. Especially when entering a cavern inhabited by a Necromancer powerful enough to raise a veritable army of undead, and then shape a normal cave into a pestilential abode dedicated to his own vast egos gratification.
Now, the pair had been cornered at the back of a large room hewn out of the mountain's rock. Their only method of escape a large door sitting stately at the room's back. It was locked, and Delvin was the very soul of ineptitude.
"Drop the tools!" Zandor shouted at his accomplice
"What!?" Returned Devlin, red faced and shaken with panic. Incredulity punctuating his voice.
"Drop them now! Fool!" Zandor shouted back, casting a glare at the elf, his Witches Eyes glowing red from the fury of battle.
Delvin let his thieves tools clatter to the ground, slipping from his vibrating hands. Zandor wasted no time, he sprang from the hoard of undead, short and longsword slipping easily into their sheaths. With the speed of a mantis, he seized Delvin by the hair and kicked his calves out from under him.
"Wait, Zandor no!"
His former friend then seized him about the abdomen and slung the frantic thief into the advancing onslaught. Tumbling back into their midst, their attention was torn from Zandor and onto the enticing whirl of a man struggling to get to his feet. Each one of their blades tasted the blood of the erstwhile mortal, and each of their mouths sated itself upon the agonized figure, until he screamed no more.
Zandor, now with a brief window of oppurtunity, shot to the ground, picking up Delvin's tools and swiftly picking the lock. It was disappointingly simple, and he lost much respect for the Necromancer when the door swung open and was swiftly closed as soon as he emerged on the other side.
He came out into a pitch black hall, his Eyes being able to see clearly, and his ears quickly ascertaining the sound of footsteps echoing down its length
