Out of Character:
Continued from Ka'thar Between Friends.
Closed to Homunculus.


Prologue

“We will feast in Eluriand!” a tall human screamed to the hordes assembled before him. The gathered warriors were a mix of the undead and the living, but all shared one thing in common; they served him loyally. He raised his ebony staff high into the air, the torchlight glinting off his many rings and creating fascinating designs on the cave wall. The wyrm skull stop the black pole he held stared menacingly across the masses. As their cheering died down, he addressed them once again. “You have all followed me well thus far,” he told them. “Tomorrow you will be rewarded by destroying the bastion of the elves! Down with Eluriand!” Once again the army hooted and hollered as their leader descended from the rock jutting high above the cave floor.

To a few gathered officers, the necromancer explained the night’s plans. “We march north until the tunnel leads us up into the village of Carnelost. From there, further north until we’re at the gates of Eluriand. There we will meet with Xem'zûnd to attack the city at dawn. We move out on my command; now go!” The officers scattered into the horde, each moving to their respective division to spread the word.

“Oh yes,” the mage of death whispered to the musty air. “The Horde of Shin’dril will wipe the land clean of the elves!” Turning quickly, he stalked down a nearby tunnel to make the final preparations.

~~~

Drizaghar had to rely on Fascath’s senses to guide him through the network of tunnels. Left to him, their journey would have been tenfold as difficult. As it was the going was tough. Tunnels had collapsed in places and the pair was forced to backtrack, sometimes sacrificing hours of travel. Though the familiar assured him they were nearing the undead and that solitary thought kept the dark elf going.

The subterranean complex reminded him of his home in The Underdark. Perhaps that was what ate at him. His people had exiled him from his homeland and forced him into the overworld of Althanas. Here he had been met with the same hatred and distrust that he experienced among the drow. No world accepted him and so he had vowed to avenge himself. Using the Tome of Necromancy left to him by a long forgotten ancestor, Drizaghar had slowly been learning the dark art.

Over the last few days, he and Fascath had discovered a second ability which could complement his own. In an underground library, they had used Ka’thar Manipulation to communicate with the soul of a woman. The dark elf hadn’t been able to find time to delve deeper into the secrets of the full ability, but what he saw had intrigued him. He hoped to blend those two skills with his innate ability to wield fire and create an entirely new brand of magic. But those dreams would have to wait.

<<Just ahead,>> Fascath said, interrupting his thoughts of power. Focusing through the gloom, he saw the faint glow of fire ahead and new the words of his familiar to be true. Where there was fire, one could nearly always find other beings.

“Fine,” the drow muttered. “Stay hidden.” Nodding, Fascath returned to the antifirmament until his dark elf master summoned him. Drizaghar stalked closer to the end of the tunnel, his ears straining for any sound of life beyond.

Or a sign of the undead, he thought and chuckled to himself. Quiet whisperings floated through the dank air and guided him down a side tunnel. Moving slowly so he wasn’t heard, the dark elf necromancer closed in on his target. Time to find out why the undead are gathering.