Second Target: The Gravekeeper

[Godhand]

The weather seemed to clear as he left Sir Maxwell's keep, as if his destruction had lifted a long and enduring curse from the lands. Still, Godhand knew it wasn't that simple; Xem'Zund's weather mages were probably just taking a break. No, he knew that until the true root of the land's rot was plucked out, Raiearea would continue to fade. The mercenary had at best only slowed the decay. He looked back at Lillian, dozing peacefully in the back of the wagon, belly filled with food that was rightfully his. He knew he couldn't bring her along for something like this; Godhand was going to ride this baby right down to the end of the line and may the chips fall where they may. He wondered what this did to his karmic balance. I mean it probably didn't absolve him of most of his sins, but surely it cleared the karmic debt created by those banks he'd robbed, right?

Oh, what's the fucking use? Fuck karma. The world didn't owe him anything and he didn't owe anything to the world. As far as he saw that made them even, not the cops one up. He whipped the reins in annoyance, pushing the geldings to hurry back over to that settlement he'd liberated earlier. It was then he realized he didn't even know the town's name; he'd definitely have to remedy that if he intended to use the place as his base of operations, which he did.

"Maybe they'll rename it after me."

Godhand chuckled at the thought and whipped the horses once more. Soon afterwards they finally arrived at the settlement. It was quite a sight; the whole town had huddled together near the entrance to await his arrival. As soon as his wagon had appeared in the distance, a great cheer went up through the town. Bemused, Godhand steered the wagon past the townspeople and towards the stables, smiling at the kids running alongside the horses. Was this what Letho felt like every day?

[Dissinger]

"Get out of here you undead piece of shit!" The voice was rather harsh, and the man that possessed it seemed a harsh person. However, it was the fact that his sword arm shook a little that caused the figure he was ordering out of the town to cock his head a bit, as if studying the guard. The foolish swordsman seemed desperate to prove something, and it seemed to amuse the man draped in a trench coat and keeping most of his face hidden under a fedora hat. Still, he tipped it back, revealing grey eyes that held an intelligence none of the undead had shown thus far.

"Oh, I should leave? I just got here. It's not as if I've killed the children to sate my hunger," Was the response followed by a soft chuckle before he gripped the rim of the hat and pulled it down, hiding his eyes. The man seemed shaken by the visage he had seen as the unknown stranger moved towards the middle of town. Was it really him? Had he come to join the slaughter, or deter it? The guard didn't know, so he did the only thing he could think of: he slashed at the undead monstrosity before him.

A hand moved with lightning speed to stop the blow before it even began. A voice filled with bitterness spoke, "I haven't fed on a living soul in three months, guard. I'm not here for your town, I'm here to find more undead to kill. So save your self righteous taunts for someone who cares."

The guard looked at the man before him before he spoke, "I told you to leave!" He seemed to be cowed now, the words coming out at barely a whisper. The hand that had gripped his sword hand squeezed lightly causing the man to cry out in pain before it was released and the sword dropped. The hand then moved and gripped the man by the throat before lifting him up so they were seeing eye to eye.

"Take your damn orders and shove them up your ass," He roared before he wound up his arm, the man screaming, and pitched him down the street, watching as he skipped across the road as a stone does across water. Moving down the path he sighed as he muttered, "So much for low profile."

Before him several men armed with spears were running down the street, obviously in response to their fellow guardsman's screaming.

[Godhand]

The town's elder approached the mercenary, hands clasped together and a hopeful look upon his face.

"Before you ask, the answer is yes. He's dead. I killed him. Re-killed him; whatever."

"HUZZAH!"

The elder threw his hands up in the air and another cheer rang throughout the town.

"Huzzah? Hahaha-hey!"

Before the swordsman could do anything to stop them, the men of the town had already surrounded him and hoisted him up on their shoulders. Godhand struggled, wondering if this was how a turtle felt like when it was on it's back. Finally they put him back down, and the mercenary's hands instantly went to his pockets to see if he'd been robbed while being tossed around. Everything seemed to be in order, so he merely straightened out his jacket with a huff and addressed the elder with a huff.

"I'm carrying something," He pointed his thumb over at the wagon. "Got a girl in there." The elder waved his finger at the gunman and gave him a little wink, which disturbed him, but he carried on. "She was the Paladin's prisoner; name's Lillian. Now this girl is a close personal friend of mine, so I want you folks to take real good care of her."

A murmur went through the crowd.

"Are you leaving, warrior?"

"I have to; I'm not done with the list and, pardon me for saying so, I don't want to spend a minute longer than I have to here. By here I mean the country, not the town. You folks have been positively delightful." Godhand pulled his leather glove tighter on to his left hand. "Anyway, you know the drill. Which member of the Necrosition is closest?" The elder crossed his arms.

"I won't tell you you."

"What?"

"I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to fight two of Xem'Zund's most fearsome generals in the same day. I don't even know how you beat the first one! You will rest here tonight, and we will speak of this tommorow."

Godhand glanced at the crowd, but even the girl from last time wasn't talking. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before giving out a defeated sigh.

"Fine."

[Dissinger]

"Are you going to use those things? Or are you offering me skewers for the undead I'm here to kill?" The undead figure quipped as he looked at each of them. The elves were a rather hardy lot, and it seemed they hated undead on principle. Still, it seemed they were stubborn about one principle; that the undead should stay dead. Moving towards them, they began to back up before the ghoul, the fear clearly imprinted on their faces.

"This town has been liberated from the rule of Maxwell Anderson! You may not pass, foul undead! This is a village of the living, no longer a food store for the dead!" The guard yelled as he planted his feet, even while the undead monstrosity walked up to him.

"The gods above gave you one mouth, two ears, and a brain to figure out what the hell I'm trying to tell you. You ready? I'm not here to feed on your town, so get the fuck out of my way!" The voice boomed as the guards looked at one another, before the menace took his next action and roughly grabbed the spear, and followed up by snapping off the point. He then took the point and offered it back to the guard as he said, "Now, you going to beat me with that stick, or are you going to let me pass?"

The guard seemed perplexed by the undead minion's actions. He had spoken a few odd phrases, and seemed all the while to attempt to avoid killing them. Still, it was his job to restore order to the newly liberated village, and he was not about to be cowed by such a ghoulish figure, no matter his apparent strength. Looking at the man's eyes, the Elf saw something curious in them and quickly spoke, "You're supposed to be dead..."

"I'm supposed to be a lot of things; late for dinner is not one of them." With that he grabbed the guard and lifted him up. The other spearmen seemed shocked by the abrupt behavior, before the monster set their friend down next to him, firmly out of his way, and continued to walk forward. One of the guards stabbed forward and actually managed to land the blow, hitting the man in the back where a lung should have been.

The figure stopped and looked back over his shoulder before he grabbed the spear and roughly pulled it out of his body, and the man's hand. He then said viciously, "Next one of you chuckle heads to get the idea to poke me will get their spear, blunt end first, shoved down their throat for their troubles. I'm not fucking around, leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone, got it?"

[Godhand]

Godhand was talking to the elder as he walked over to the inn; it turned out his name was Caylen and he'd taken over the town elder's duties after their last mayor had been slain for defying Anderson's rule. Well, there'd be no more of that. With the Unbeliever dead, this time for good, the town was safe. On the other hand, it wasn't quite the great victory some of the citizens believed it was. The mercenary knew that as long as the Necromancer Xem'Zund still walked Raeiaera with impunity, it was only a matter of time before Delion, which he'd been told was the settlement's name, was once again overtaken by the undead. The Necromancer was the key to all of this, but he was too well-protected. He'd have to deal with his generals before getting a shot at The Scourge himself. Just as he was about to enter the inn and resume the celebration from where it had left off, a little girl darted through the crowd and began to pull on the mobster's hand.

"Mister! Mister! Come quick, the monsters got into the town!"

There was a roar from the men and women gathered nearby, and Godhand allowed the girl to lead him to the disturbance. When he arrived he reached for his sword, only to see the town's guardsmen getting tossed around like ragdolls by a ghoul nearly twice their size. The mercenary thumbed his nose and drew his blade, quietly stalking the man-monster as he broke yet another of his attacker's spears. Just as the mobster reared back and prepared to vivisect the creature, he turned to deflect another guard's spear and inadvertently showed Godhand his face. The mercenary chuckled and sheathed his Muramasa before holding out his arm to signal the town swordsmen following him to stand down.

"Enough!"

All of them froze, and Godhand walked forward to clasp a hand on the shoulder of the NWO's resident zombie.

"Are you guys hassling my frat brother?"

[Dissinger]

Seth stood there staring down each of the guards, while they attempted to poke at him with spears. Irritation boiled up inside of him as he would grab the spears and toss them aside, only to have them pick them up. It almost became like a game for the group. Seth would toss a spear, the guardsman would go after it, and the next would attempt to skewer the ghoul. By the time he had finished with one, the last one he had tossed the spear on would have returned and would be waiting for an opportunity to strike.

It would have been comical, except for the fact it was more annoying than not. Finally someone broke up the group, as he heard an all too familiar voice behind him. A strong hand clasped his shoulder before the man spoke of the harassment, for it surely couldn't be called a threatening of the ghoul. Finally Seth let out a nervous laugh as he spoke, "These jackasses with you? Perhaps you should train them in how to use those things, can't grip them for shit."

Perhaps he had been around Dan too much.

The guards seemed bewildered as Seth promptly shook hands with the white haired Godhand Striker. With the tension of the situation diffused Seth let out a sigh before he looked about the town and said, "I was going to come in here and see about bushwhacking some of the undead, though it looks like you already got things under control here. Fucking annoying though, I'm nearing my meal time."

It showed as his voice held a more irritated note to it. It had been hard not to just rip open one of the guards and get to the feast inside. However, he was more than certain that wasn't something the leader of the NWO needed to hear. On any other day it would have seemed odd for such a meeting, but Seth was tired of the concept of coincidence. It was good fortune to find the man in, of all places, here, so Seth just rolled with it. He could sort out the facts later, when he was able to. Perhaps there was a few undead he could eat, at least push back his time limit, till he could feed in earnest.

"So, what brings you to this hell on earth man?" Seth asked before he looked over at his accomplice.

[Godhand]

"Work. Unlike you, I actually have a job."

Godhand puffed some air into his chest to seem bigger. Standing next to Seth always made him feel small. It was funny, because he actually hadn't been that tall in life. He'd just been a short kid; baby faced, all of that. He looked like a damn teen-bopper back then, which he basically was. But then someone had killed him, Godhand had never bothered to ask what that was all about, and he'd just kept on growing after they'd buried him. Now he was probably the biggest member of the New World Order, and his boyish good looks had gotten sanded off as well. Some might say that it wasn't an improvement, but at least now the mercenary didn't feel like he was fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with a young homosexual lad.

"Alright, everybody relax. This guy's with me."

The townspeople shared questioning glances, but they knew better than to contradict their liberator. The ghoul and the mobster strode into the inn, the tables positively weighed down with food. Godhand knew Dahlios couldn't eat anything that hadn't once been a person, so he took a perverse delight in making exaggerated satisfaction noises and staring directly directly into the zombie's eyes while chewing a piece of turkey. He washed it down with a mug of good ale before rubbing his belly and giving the ghoul a toothie grin. Godhand looked around the room to see if there were any ladies present before lowering his head with a grave expression on his face.

"Listen, Seth, I've been meaning to ask you...", another glance around the inn, "Can you even still fuck chicks or does just dust come out?"

[Dissinger]

Seth let out a terrible laugh that saw a few of the patrons jump. The laughter was hysterical as he tried to calm himself following Godhand's verbal and mental assault upon him. When he finally had it under control his voice held a humorous note to it, "Imagine if you will, that you can't feel anything from your waist down. Not that it won't work, but you just feel nothing. That's what its like to be me. I probably could, but I don't particularly see a need to. I also doubt many people are into that kind of thing."

He then sighed as he looked at the turkey that Godhand was devouring. He then leaned on his hand broadly as he spoke, "So, your rubbing in my face I'm dead aside, I heard that Anderson bit it, was there anything left?" His voice held a slightly interested tone. He doubted there would be, Liches seldom left anything behind when they died. Still he held out some hope, consuming the mage killer would at least give him respite, and considering the mass that the man had held in life, it might have even counted as a full course meal.

That was why he was in Raearia, he was looking to feed, and needed food that nobody would object to him eating. He didn't need angry mobs clamoring after him because he ate the town drunk. So, when he heard the undead were going rampant in Eluriand, he decided to perform an experiment. The first undead unit that contained a zombie felt his anger at his situation, before he began to feast, and came to the realization that it worked, he felt his hunger sate itself with each juicy bit of flesh.

After that, it became open season.

He had bushwhacked many patrols, sometimes ones entirely comprised of skeletons, if only to get used to his new found strengths. The weaknesses were a bitch, but he was more than certain that he could wean off them given enough time. It was just the feeding frenzy that was annoying, and he had finally found an okay solution to the problem. Looking up at Godhand he chuckled softly as he came out of the fog of thought, before he spoke up, "Seriously, I'm interested in any bodies from your little exploit, cause I sure as hell bet none of these saps did it."

[Godhand]

Godhand cleared his sinuses with a snort and began to wolf down another drumstick. Jesus, what they did feed the poultry in this village? He wondered if it had been this good before the Necromancer's seizing of the elven nation, and then paused to consider that perhaps it was because of Xem'Zund that the meat was so good. His chewing began to slow, and he gave a Seth a horrified glare when he realized that there was a good chance that the chickens were feeding on the same thing he did. He began to frantically rationalize eating human flesh, and how, well, they were elves so it wasn't really human flesh, and how there was no reason to feel bad about it. No good; he still felt like he was about to vomit. He swallowed the turkey in his mouth with a gag and stood up suddenly, addressing the inn-keeper.

"You! What do you feed these birds!? I demand to know!"

The man merely stared at Godhand blankly, then reasoned that he was probably just shocked how good it was. A satisfied grin came over his face and he spoke.

"Why, only the finest bird seed, sir!"

The mercenary collapsed back unto his chair with a relieved sigh, a hand clutching his chest. He looked at Seth.

"Jesus Christ, for a second I thought you and I were eating the same thing. What did you ask me?"

The ghoul repeated his question.

"Oh. No...No; there wasn't much left. Anyway, I don't see how you can eat that stuff. That'd be like me eating a rotten turkey. But Hell, if it keeps you from raping and pillaging or whatever it is you guys usually do, then more power to you." Godhand leaned forward again. "Listen, I'm doing a sort of...I guess you could call it a tour of duty here in elf land. Taking down some of Xem'Zund's generals. Thing is, there's some messy customers on my list that I could use some help with. I wouldn't usually ask this of you but damnit, it's thanks to me you're back on top. What do you say? You gonna help me out with these guys? I don't mean right now, I mean I'd like to get some sleep first. You too; I could get these fella's to make you a coffin. That's what you people sleep in, right? Coffins? Isn't that what you sleep in?"

[Dissinger]

"Jesus Christ, for a second I thought you and I were eating the same thing. What did you ask me?"

The words were ludicrous, and Seth couldn't be sure if it was a joke or not. Still he raised an eyebrow even as his hat came off his head and rested on the table. Godhand was known to grow a bit paranoid at times; hell it happened all the time in Sanctuary. Banishing further thoughts of the Brotherhood's former bastion he looked at the old mobster before he heard the man go off on an entirely different tangent, switching gears faster than the dead Lavinian could keep up.

"I didn't make the rules about me coming back. I just do as they direct. If they say eat my weight in flesh in a week's time, I damn well do it, because the alternative is I do feed, by destroying everything in my path till I get enough. Rather choose my meat much like you," He said as he sighed and heard Godhand explain about his predicament. He talked about how Seth owed him one, which he guessed was true. The war between the NWO and Imperial had seen him well fed. He had even watched the prophet Ranger Nailo run like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"I don't sleep as much as I used to, maybe an hour or two tops nowadays. Guess its one of the perks. So, just give me a corner in here to take a nap in and I'll be good to go," Seth replied, "As for your problem, I see a lot of good things in that. Mainly meaning I get fed more than I think I could possibly eat. Guess we'll find out soon enough..."

Seth leaned forward and gently gave a slap to Godhand's arm in camaraderie before he leaned back in his chair. He carefully tilted his head this way and that popping the joints in his neck before he leaned back forward the chair creaking under his weight as the two front feet slammed down in front of him. He then gave Godhand a grin as he said, "So, when do we leave?"