Third Target: The Dark Apothecary

[Godhand]

Godhand crossed his legs and gave the woman an amicable smile, his blade having just nearly slashed her face off only a moment ago. He removed the cigar from his lips and gingerly placed it on the ashtray upon his table, careful to make sure the lit tip wasn't smothered. Afterwards he reclined backwards in his chair, as if about to deliver a long exposition on just how exactly he'd acquired his sheath. But just as he opened his mouth he uncrossed his legs, lurched forward off the chair and purposefully pushed the edge of his blade against that of the huntress. All, quite literally, in the blink of an eye. The drow barely had time to dig her heels in before Godhand powered forward, the only buffer between them their crossed swords.

The double doors swung open as Drusilia was nearly hurled out of the bar by the pressure the swordsman exerted upon her blade. And then, when she'd been pushed right into the middle of the street and the warrior felt he could comfortably handle her, he quickly withdrew his blade from the deadlock. The Adamantine Muramasa combined with the swordsman's unnatural strength had resulted in deep grooves being left on the mage-hunter's sword. Godhand smiled warmly at her. He had her; he knew it. Very few people could go toe to toe with the warrior without employing magic, and his sheath took care of that.

The drow glared at him as she dropped the damaged sword, quickly drawing her other in its place. She narrowed her eyes dangerously before she spoke, "I should have known you were a magical abomination. I suppose I'll have to kill you anyways, and it would explain how you killed one of my brothers..."

"Ah-ah-ah!" Godhand waved a finger in front of her face, "If I was a magical being this sheath you seem to have such an interest in would have already devoured me. No, sweetheart. I'm not magic. I'm just that damn good."

"Then where did you get that!? I refuse to believe you strolled into a shop and plucked it off the shelf!"

"It occurs to me that what you believe is none of my Goddamn concern. I paid for this thing; it's mine. And perhaps most pertinent to our current situation is the fact that you're not strong enough to take it from me."

[Mage Hunter]

For a few moments, Drusilia was tempted to rush in, his superior strength be damned, and try to take him out in one blow. Surely the human wouldn't expect such a thing, but the image of her long sword, scored deep with the force that had pushed her out of the tavern was overwhelming. It was obvious there would be no victory today, at least, no easy victory.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked upon him, but could see nothing easily exploited. The man was just a brute, and his posture, while relaxed was not unlike similar postures she had seen from humans before. It was more of a taunt, the kind of posture meant to make you think they were being careless, until they reacted faster than expected. She wasn't going to get him off guard. Pulling her bow was an option, but only so far as she could potentially get one shot off before he cut her in two. If he had scored into her sword, what he could do to her was probably far worse.

In short, she was fucked.

She couldn't back down, and he couldn't do so either. Him backing down required giving up a powerful artifact, which she could somewhat understand its desirability. The fact no magic could be cast around him meant that he would be safe from the necromancers during the war. She however couldn't let such an artifact remain in a heathen's possession, not while she still drew breath. The use of Anti-magic was a privilege, and this moronic titan was not worthy of it.

However, it seemed fate conspired to free her of the cage she had dealt herself in. An unearthly cry echoed through the air, sending a shiver through Drusilia's body as she suddenly felt her balance shift. It was as if she had suddenly ascended several hundred feet in the air, and only now was she catching up with the journey as she clutched her forehead feeling the after effects go. Fear, cold and unnatural gripped her heart as she looked about.

Guards were shouting as people ran indoors. Mothers plucked children up as they rushed to reach any open portal. Soon there were only men clad in arms and armor, the human mercenary and the huntress. Before long one of the higher ranking guards jumped between the two fighters and shouted a halt on the fight that was brewing between them, "You'll be fools if you kill each other! Derris Warsong is heading right for us, and we need every living body we have."

[Godhand]

It was as the last of Godhand's patience drained and he prepared to run the haughty drow through that their fight was interrupted by a roar. The swordsman didn't know what the Hell it was; it seemed to be coming from all directions. He couldn't get a bead on the source. His opponent seemed shook up by the feral shout, but before she could say or do anything a startled guard stepped between them. He seemed to be as rattled by the roar as the huntress, but he at least managed to explain himself.

"You'll be fools if you kill each other! Derris Warson is heading right for us, and we need every living body we have!"

Godhand recognized the name; it'd come bundled with the Necrosition list since apparently he was likely to bodyguard or at least partner with one of them the warrior took down the first couple of them. It was supposedly some big, imporant general: the fist of Xem'Zund, simultaneously his right hand and emblem. He'd read up and apparently just the mere sight of him was enough to reduce most inexperienced soldiers to shambles. Could get messy. Technically he hadn't been paid to kill Warson, but if he was around then it was likely one of the weaker Necrosition members was skulking around too and he figured acing them both would probably demoralize the rest of his troops, or at least empower the flimsy guard stationed to protect the border town. The swordsman sheathed his blade, ignoring his former opponent, and placed his hand on the agitated guard's shoulder.

"Calm down. Where is he coming from?"

"Why!?"

"Why wha-...listen, just tell me where the attack is coming from, alright?"

"To the north! But you can't go out chasing that monster; we need to seal ourselves in and brace the doors!"

"North. Alright."

And just like that, Godhand sprinted off at full bore. Quite a sight to behold, or not behold as it were, considering that at seven times a healthy man's speed his form was barely discernible to the human eye. He shot past the panicking townspeople, quickly scurrying to and fro as they attempted to find something heavy to brace the town's gates with. Leaping as soon as he reached the walls, he cleared them easily and landed outside with what seemed like an almost choreographed crouch. Steadily advancing was a single platoon, led by the general himself. Godhand dug his feet into the ground, clenched a hand around his sheath, gripped the handle of his Muramasa and waited.

[Mage Hunter]

The huntress seemed oblivious to everything that went on about her as animalistic fear threatened to override her martial training. As she clutched her forehead she groaned softly before she leaned heavily against a wall. One of the guards looked at her before he spoke, "Are you alright Drow? We need you and your blade right now, don't die-"

"I'm not dying you simpleton," She snapped as she felt the heat of anger rise through, dampening the chilling touch of cold. She finally understood, the monstrosity that was this Darris Warsong had some kind of magical fear producing effect. As she focused her mind her rage at having been so casually affected by magic overwhelmed her, and the light in her eyes grew brighter. Shaking off the magical effect she reached out and picked up the damage long sword, sheathing it in the scabbard for her back.

Moving to the front gates one of the guards rushed up to her, "I have no clue what is going on, but the human just leapt the wall. I told him not to go, but he seems like he's going to die now. Can you do anything to stop them?"

Drusilia sighed before she spoke, "I need on the other side or at least a place I can fire my bow. They should have some necromancers to keep that beast from destroying itself. If I can take them down, there will be little keeping the force together..."

"What good is there in killing the necromancers?" The guard asked before he pulled her over to one of the supply depots. Drusilia looked over what was before her. There was a few bandages, a few suits of metal armor. However as she looked she finally saw what she sought. A suit of leather armor rested untouched on the table, perhaps the only set there. It was flexible enough for what she needed. As she picked up the bandages she looked about the area before she sighed.

The guard pressed, "Again, what good does killing the Necromancers do? They remain animated separate from their creator!"

"Because when I rob the land of its magic, I wish to make sure no one is around to restart the flow," Drusilia snapped. She then picked up the leather. Made for a man, but she could make do with little modification. She then began to unbutton her shirt as she looked at the guard, "Don't just stand there being useless help me! I need to bandage my chest tight so I'll fit in this mockery you call armor!"

[Godhand]

He could already hear the monstrosities drawing their ragged breaths as they approached him, a mindless moan occasionally escaping one of their tattered lips. Godhand grit his teeth and prepared himself for an attack. He'd entered the classic Iaido stance, which he knew would be good for this type of situation. The creatures weren't smart enough to attack him from several directions at once, and since they were all coming from one group there was no chance of him being blindsided. That meant that all he had to do was dig in and wait for them to come, picking the stance that allowed him to maximize the arc of his slashes.

The swordsman felt the first of what were undoubtedly many victims near his range of attack. Godhand proved immutable, never hesitating or even acknowledging the presence of the abomination, until he was finally within striking range. Then, for seemingly no reason, the creature uttered a groan and fell in two. It must have been quite perplexing for anyone on the outside. The warrior remained still as ever, in the same position he'd always been. What they hadn't seen was Godhand quickly drawing his blade, vivisecting the zombie with one fluid stroke, then sheathing it again. The more perceptive might've seen a burst of movement, but it was so quick and Godhand entered his former stance so comfortably that most would have judged it a trick of the light.

Two more of the undead shambled towards Godhand, but they were dispatched in much the same manner. It was only when the true brunt of the attack force reached the warrior that his movements became evident, his right arm a blur as he quickly drew and sheathed his sword for each strike. It was tiring, yes, but holding the sheath with one hand and the blade with the other, whipping out the Muramasa with each strike allowed Godhand to imbue the blow with more power. He didn't need to, he supposed. Most of the zombies were in such an advanced state of decay that their flesh gave away like butter, and the Necromancer never bothered to outfit his lowliest troops with anything but the decrepit leather armor they'd fallen in. Armor which was, of course, no match for the masterwork Adamantine Muramasa he wielded.

He knew, of course, that the most important thing was not to surrender any ground. But this was easier said than done, as the zombies were no longer coming in sparse waves. The main force had arrived and it was all Godhand could do to stem the tide of rotting flesh. He stopped sheathing his sword after each strike, deeming it a formality at that point, and did his best merely to hold the shambling undead at bay. The sounds of Godhand's slashes were muted, however, when a loud roar exploded from the battlefield. The scores of zombies instantly parted for their master, and the warrior understood why as an enormous behemoth he didn't understand how he could have missed approached with a perverse purpose in it's step.

[Mage Hunter]

The armor was a tight fit over her chest, and while she appreciated the fact it was present, sooner or later she'd need to find a set actually made with a woman in mind. At the very least it protected her skin from the raking claws of zombies. Grabbing a few quivers of arrows she moved along the wall before she climbed up on it. The guards gathered around the gate nervously as she watched with keen interest what the human thought he was doing.

He had sprinted rather quickly and bounded the wall, so he was fast; he had shoved her out of the tavern without breaking a sweat, so he was strong. Yet he stood there impassively sword held in the sheath she could have sworn he had stolen. A snort of derision left her lips as she focused on the pestilent patch of diseased flesh, which even now was approaching the mercenary. Her eyes focused keenly on the group before they took on a slightly blue tinge. The mass of flesh was a brilliant blue, strongly imbued with magic, yet she continued to watch, picking out individual auras while focusing on the stronger of them. Finally she saw them; hiding amongst the zombies they didn't look like much, to anyone who didn't know what to look for.

Still her eyes strained to pick them out and she could understand why. If anyone was capable of detecting magic like her, they would of course have to hide amongst the animated corpses, or else they would not be able to hide from such detection. As she lined up the shot she heard another shriek before once more the ground felt as if it had fallen a thousand feet below her. As she struggled to keep her balance she groaned the arrow dropping from her fingers. If it wasn't for the presence of mind she had drilled into her, the bow might have fallen suit.

Still as the fear threatened to overtake her she shook her head and cleared her mind. She was needed, and these abominations had to die, now. As she drew another arrow she once again focused on the mass of flesh, seeing on of the abominations reach the front, seemed to call for the human's flesh all for himself. Her eyes narrowed before she looked closely at the tangled mass from behind. None of the zombies looked out of place, and she was loathe to waste time trying to find the right ones. Nocking an arrow into her bow, she took aim for one of the zombies closest to the behemoth that even now seemed ready to tear the human in half.

The arrow struck true as it sunk up to the fletching into the skull of the half rotted zombie. It promptly keeled over and fell with the force as she shook her head. Wrong zombie, she'd have to search while thinning the herd so to speak. Once again her eyes took on a blue tinge as she began firing on the brighter of the zombies, hoping to find the hiding necromancers in the army.

[Godhand]

Godhand watched cautiously as the creature approached him, stopping just out of striking range. Whatever it was, it was smart. He looked human, or like he might have been human at some point. He had mostly stark grey hair, similar to Godhand's and almost the same shade as his surprisingly non-decayed skin, but there were long grooves in his head where he'd been scalped or otherwise scarred that prevented the hair from growing back. His eyes were red and beady, but what most drew the warrior's attention was his mouth. Sharpened teeth criss-crossing into a shark's smile, he definitely looked messy. The swordsman smiled right back, calmly drawing himself up to his full height, which was admittedly still paltry compared to Warson's, and sheathing his blade. The hulk wordlessly reared back his tremendous rust-covered mace, seemingly giving Godhand one last brief appraisal before swinging it with all his might.

The warrior, for his part, swung his fist and attempted to connect with the head of the weapon right when both their inertias reached their peak. It did, and a deafening boom was heard as the iron head of the mace practically burst apart when it collided with Godhand's fist. Shards of rusted shrapnel flew everywhere; Godhand was spared given that the force of the blow was directed away from him. Several of the zombies were felled, and though many of the shards had blown back into Warson's face, he showed himself impassive. It seemed that unlike most high members of the Necromancer's forces, he was as dead to pain as his troops. He slowly drew his hand up, removed a particularly large piece of shrapnel from his face, then flashed that terrible smile at the mercenary once more.

Godhand pulled his fist back knowing he shouldn't be too impressed with himself. That mace was heavy but it was just poorly crafted rusted iron; it was a wonder that it'd held together as long as it did in the merciless hands of Xem'Zund's undead enforcer. What'd actually damn near broke his hand was the power with which Derris had swung it. The warrior rubbed his doubtlessly bruised knuckles before walking forward and placing a hand behind the abomination's neck. No small feat, considering it was a good foot taller than Godhand. He then drew back and attempted to smash his forearm into Warson's face, though given that he was so tall the mercenary only managed to get him in the upper chest.

The creature stumbled back, surprised by the power in Godhand's hit. But it quickly collected itself, walked forward and responded with an identical blow, only he actually managed to connect with Godhand's face. Godhand took a couple of steps back and clutched his head, attempting to stop his brain from rattling around inside his skull. Jesus, that blow had shook him to the teeth. The enforcer mercifully allowed him a brief moment to run his tongue over them, and the swordsman was happy to find none had been knocked out. He regained his bearings almost as quickly as Warson, though. The mercenary steeled himself, dug one foot into the ground and then leapt up so that'd he be at the same height as the beast before striking him with a forearm shot that, apart from catching him in the face, now had the added force of Godhand's inertia. Godhand landed on his feet, barely, and that one finally toppled the monster.

[Mage Hunter]

Drusilia cursed as after the third zombie was left on the ground, with more holes in its head than it began with. Her eyes were picking up highly magical creatures, but she couldn’t seem to pick them out of the crowd. Part of her blamed the monstrosity’s battle cries which seemed to jar her mind and give her an overwhelming sense of foreboding. However, that was an excuse, and not one she was about to make.

Who cares if she was scared? She had a job to do.

As she opened fire with another arrow she sighed as she tossed down to one of the waiting guards another empty quiver. Some of the arrows had flown off the mark and she could have sworn she was aiming better than that. Still as the tangled mass of flesh parted for the brutal spectacle she was trying to weed out the casters from this motley crew of undead miscreants.

A sigh left her lips as her eyes narrowed, it wasn't so much of a headache after she had gotten used to the blinding blue hue that the world had become covered in, from the guards right down the that mutant monstrosity, she was having problems detecting the necromancers that had to even now be fortifying that brute against the human mercenary, who despite her predictions stubbornly remained alive.

As the human traded blows with the undead creature she sighed nearly ready to give up and charge from the sides when it occurred to her, perhaps she was having problems, because she was looking in the wrong spot. Why would they have even hidden the necromancers in the army? No, if they had tried to poison the well, that meant she had to get the poison from somewhere, and if that poison was meant to soften up the town for an assault such as this, then others had to be prepared to...

Immediately her eyes wandered over the guards as she saw others on the ramparts firing arrows much like her. Some seemed to take aim and fire relentlessly, wasting ammo as they fired upon the zombies, others, however, seemed all too keen on watching, and it was these guards she focused on. One of the guards had taken the poison, what if he hadn't disposed of it? That meant that the poison was still around, and was a potential hazard. What could they hope to gain if they killed a human and a Drow?

As far as she could tell, a whole town of people and bodies for the army of Xem’zund, which already was ghastly huge, no something else was at work here. As she saw one of the watchers finally nock and arrow her eyes focused on the man, delving deep into the mysteries of the aura about him. As she had come to recognize a few auras, at least telling her of the schools of magic involved, she realized this man was not warded by the schools of the bards. No, this aura was different, twisted, perverted, so similar to...

An arrow was knocked as she opened fire hitting the guard squarely in the shoulder. Cursing at the off kilter shot she nocked another one as he clutched at the arrow, struggling to remove it. The guards nearest to her were already drawing steel as she fired another one, this time striking home. The arrow sunk in the man's chest punching through the leather he had clad himself in before she rushed forward, seizing her prey.

The man was gasping for breath, but seemed otherwise unaffected. His eyes had a glazed look as if he was seeing things far away. Even as the other guards rushed her location, demanding explanations she cursed in her native tongue and slapped the man across his face. As she locked eyes she saw a hint of awareness in them before she hissed, "What did you do?"

The guard laughed as he hissed gutturally in her native tongue, "Dos orn zhaun jiv'undus, dos orn zhaun treemma, t'yin dos orn el." Drusilia again repeated her question only to recieve laugher and the guard spitting on her. As she slammed the man into the ground she hissed the question once more before he answered, again in her native tongue, "L' Mercenary orn rei, lu' xuil ukta, l' Necrosition zhal ku'lam 'sohna. Flamgra wun uoi'nota dos waele elg'caress."

She let the man go as some of the guards watched, apprehensively before she spoke, "He thinks he doomed us..."

"What do you mean?" One of the guards asked as they leveled their blades, still unsure as to what had happened.

Looking at the rampart she drew her only good blade as she looked back at the guards, "Check the well, don't let anyone drink from it, check the food stores, don't let anyone eat. We may have been undone."

Before the guard could even ask her for an explanation for her assertions, she had leapt off the wall, and charged into the mass of undead flesh, bringing her sword about in cleaving blows to the limbs, she was on a mission to disable, not kill.

[Godhand]

Godhand lunged after Derris after he fell, locking an arm around his ankle, grabbing the end of his foot with his free hand and twisting. Just as he was about to slip in a leg and turn it into a grapevine lock so it'd be harder for the abomination to escape, Warson powered himself over to his back, curled his legs and fired both feet into Godhand's face. The zombie's legs were incredibly powerful, so much so that the mercenary was not only knocked to the ground but actually led backwards, completed a spin, then rolled back unto his own ass before laying back. Godhand cupped his face and tried to get the world to stop spinning, but as he sat up the creature ran forth and nailed him with a swift kick to the chest. The wind rushed out of him even though he hadn't actually hit his stomach; the strike was simply that powerful. The warrior was certain his ribs had gotten cracked.

The beast leaned down and grabbed Godhand's hair with his left hand before raining down blows with his right. If Warson's forearm wasn't blocking the view, you could have seen the mercenary's features degrade as the zombie pummeled him. His nose quickly began to blood, though he was surprised the kick he'd received earlier hadn't broken it already. Suddenly Godhand blocked a punch with his forearm, grabbed the creature's skull with both hands and then slammed his forehead into Warson's, a dazed and far-away look on his eyes the entire time.

Derris stumbled back long enough for Godhand to get to his feet, shaking his head to try and get the haze out of it. Godhand regained his bearings and dashed forward to try and clothesline the beast, but it countered with a kick to the midsection that really did knock the wind out of him. The beast grabbed his head and drove a knee into his face, but before Godhand could fall back down he grabbed the mercenary's arm and whipped him into a nearby tree. Godhand bounced off it, groaned in pain, then fell back against it, too dazed to protect himself. The monster ran forward and struck him with all it's mass with a splash that nearly knocked the tree down. It was like getting hit by a runaway truck. Godhand slumped against the now cracked stump, barely keeping himself on his feet, and the monster prepared itself for another splash. The gunman's tongue lolled out of his mouth and he had a blissfully unaware dullness in his eyes as he took a few hesitant steps forward, but just as the monster approached at full bore Godhand slipped out of his apparent trance and fell back executing a drop toehold, causing the beast's head to collide against the tree at an astonishing speed. There was a sickening crack and Warson rested against the tree with his chin up at an unnatural angle. The warrior was confident he'd broken the thing's skull.

[Mage Hunter]

Drusilia was hacking away at body parts as she fought to keep the majority of the zombies away from the mercenary. As the zombies became aware of the tasty treat in their midst they stirred and groaned, turning on her with a mindless frenzy. As she grinned she reached into a pouch at her waist, even as more of the Zombies began to clamber over their fallen brethren.

Holding tightly onto the null stone she had been given she swung viciously to give herself time before she focused solely on the stone, just as her mentor had taught her. Finally she dropped low before the bright flash of white light hit the area surrounding her, just as the last of the zombies had pressed forward hungrily to get her. Immediately, as one the bodies fell into disused pile, but Drusilia wasn't done yet.

She had to disconnect these bodies from the Necromancer himself, and there was only one way to do that. As she focused she could feel a soft breeze, distant, yet alluring. It promised power, control, and immortality. It promise power without price, and without reason, but she knew its siren song well. It was the Song of Necromancy, the wind that offered everything for the mere price of turning against the order of nature, in a most heinous fashion.

Her hands plunged her sword into the ground before they reached out, grasping for the winds of magic. Even as she closed her eyes, she could feel the eyes upon her as she began to tug, and pull at the magic in the area. While she couldn't stop the necromancer, not entirely, she could at least put him at a disadvantage. As she began to pool the dark energy of Necromancy within her, she focused solely on that which animated the bodies, even now seeking to reawaken their former puppets.

It was sickening, it promised so much, yet offered so little. It was a gruesome display of power, one that sought to reanimate the dead, time after time, and it would only take the briefest spark of magic to set off the kindling for this flame, a fire that would spread across Raiaera in an unholy blaze. This is what she was meant to destroy, and perhaps she had been foolish to not realize it before. High Bards be damned, she had to destroy this cancer, lest it return to destroy her beloved homeland.

The more energy she drew upon, the more it sought to infest her, to encompass her and join her. It caressed over her skin as a lover would, and it was all Drusilia could do not to retch in disgust. The winds of magic were seductive yet cruel, requiring such sacrifices the likes of which no sane man should ever pay. She continued to pool them as she looked forth at the beast and suddenly, she understood.

This best was a magical malady the likes of which a true Necromancer could only dream of. Its creation was lovingly done, at the behest of perhaps the most demented minds in Xem'Zund's army. Its existence was as the Herald of his armies, but that was not what its true purpose was. The winds of magic had told her as much, even as she struggled to not listen, they whispered, offering her more, if only she reconnect to them in the way she had at one time been.

Her eyes narrowed as she reached forth at the Behemoth. her eyes raging with an inner inferno. Her hand clenched once more as she gritted her teeth, and yanked for all she had. She could feel a give in the winds of magic surrounding the beast, and she clenched her teeth tighter before she muttered,

"Magic is for the weak.
It corrodes the Body
And withers the spirit
It drains the courage
And befouls the air
It gives the weak false hope
And the pathetic false wisdom
Magic is for the weak
Only nature is strong!"

With each syllable the winds of magic seemed to grow colder and more distant. Each incantation of the litanies of hate steeled her resolve against the magic as she once again grasped at the winds that enveloped the beast. Finally gripping tightly with both hands she let out a cry of rage and yanked hard. As her arms spread out wide she felt the magic strip away, before it sought a new target and immediately latched onto her.

A garbled cry left her lips as waves of nausea overcame her. She stumbled a step, her balance shifting wildly as she tried to fight off the waves of magic. Her skin before her very eyes was growing pale and sickly. Her limbs were being twisted and deformed to match those of the undead before her. The null stone had been wasted earlier by her attempt to strip the zombies of their unlife, and now she was stuck with the curse of the Necromancer as it raged through her system. Fighting through the pain as her body withstood the magical onslaught she cried out, "Kill that behemoth before it strikes you down!"