The huntress was about to make a witty retort about liches, and further to talk about Godhand's rather dapper dress. She was about to show a bit of that Drow arrogance so many found alluring. Not that she was interested in any of the people present at the current battlefield, only that she was bound and determined to show the necromancer what he was worth to her. Drusilia knew without a second glance she was a trial for most of these people, and only one was weaker than her.

This much was gleaned from even a basic use of her ability to detect magical auras.

She never got the chance to say a word however. Drusilia's world went dark about her, even as she began to feel the nausea of being immersed in magic. This was not unlike the time she had taken Warson's enchantments upon her, watching in horrified fascination as they sought to do the same vile things upon the hunter's body. The Drow shook her head to free her mind from the unseemly magics, only to find them cling desperately to her head.

She took to a knee, even as the others were fighting off their nightmares. Softly she heard it, a solemn whisper in the back of her mind, which sought to seduce her, to let her accept the gift that she was being given. The strength it would give her, the ability to fight the necromancer. It was a truly terrible power, able to topple nations and force the gods to kneel before her. This was all laid before her, she only need open her heart tot he dark energies that even now, sought to pry open the door.

"You, who thought you could harm me by besting my lieutenants. You, who fought the Necrosition and survive. You have not done anything, but removed a piece from the board," The voice rang through her head, seeking desperately to shatter her defenses, even as she began to retch up the hard tack she had not swallowed five seconds ago.

She focused her willpower, wielding it as a club against the encroaching darkness. She swung it about clumsily, feeling some of the tendrils of magic fall away, only to be reconnected with a moment's thought. It sought her mind, tearing slowly at the hair she had pulled back only moments before into a ponytail, preparing for the worst. It clawed as her armor, her skin her very bones. The magic even now was seeking to claim her, to open her to the winds of magic.

Baruk's words rang in her head, "Zombie, though with the amount of necromantic energy in her we'd be lucky if tha's tha least she becomes. We might be looking at the next Warson if we aren't careful..."

She wasn't going to become a zombie; she wasn't going to die here. She wasn't going to give in, and gods be damned she was going to kick that necromancer's ass for making her spill what little food she had left on the gods be damned floor. The heat of rage focused her will, even as she reached for her belt. She shook her head before she managed, "Magic..."

"I see you still fight, that is promising. I think I shall make a new undead out of you, craft you into something far more suitable first. Perhaps make you into the undead version of the N'jallian Spider Magi..." His voice filtered into her head. She growled lowly, forcing herself back to her feet even as she felt the porous surface she was looking for and grasped it.

She was focusing on the litanies of hate, forcing them to march through her mind, focusing on the words with every inch she reached forth. Fully standing she spoke one tersely crafted sentence, "If you think I'm going out like a chump, you can kiss my purple Drow ass!" With those words her willpower focused intently on the stone in her hand, causing it to flash brightly. The white light expanded in an ever growing hemisphere until finally she was freed from the necromancer's grip. Letting go of the stone, she drew both swords, even as the Necromancer spoke of dying in this place today.

With the parting magic from her body she heard the soft words, whispering in her ears, "I didn't expect you to fall to that parlor trick. Not truly, but you will be mine. I don't let those who slight me live, and for poor Nialon Sunscar, you must die."

She grinned before she spoke softly, more to herself than anyone, "Looks like I pissed off the right guys..." Stepping forward into the chamber she didn't even bat an eye, seeing the true form of the Necromancer lording over her. A soft smile crossed her face before she looked back for Godhand, then shrugged not seeing him emerge from the fog and shouted to the Necromancer, "You made me lose an alright lunch back there. Now, I don't like horking up my food, so let’s just cut to the chase and you take your beating like a man. Rather than hide behind childish antics..."

A hand lashed out and a wave of sorcerous power slammed her back against the wall, the spell his only reply to her tort. She was more than certain he didn't like that, and the fact the anti magic she had spent the last week building up hadn't truly softened the blow meant she was really in trouble. The magic had the added affect of dazing her, as she shook her head from the fog it created in her mind. Once again the voice crept into her mind, "You're too weak pathetic creature. To think I was going to elevate you to a truly wondrous position. Perhaps I should make you into the next Warson, that anti magical aura about you should prove an interesting mix with the flesh crafters..."

She groaned getting to her feet, but still kept that smile plastered on her face. The beginning of another witticism was forming upon her lips. It was just proof that you could not shut the girl up, could not be cowed. There was nothing she truly feared in this chamber, only another monster for her to play with and take down.