The Tagalong General

[Deus di Eclave]

Continued from Ka'thar Between Friends (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?p=111337).
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.

[Abomination]

It wasn't often that you saw a man walking around with a zombie's head attached to his hand. That was the case with Homun Culus, who was stumbling through the dark tunnels for quite some time. Sometimes the zombie head would moan, other times it would merely hiss. Either way, it was annoying, frustrating, and didn't contribute beneficially to Homun's hopeless situation. He had come to Raiaera to seek Xem'zûnd, who held clues to Homun's origin and held a great amount of power of his own. To assimilate such a being would make Homun somewhat akin to a god, which was an opportunity too great to pass up. Even if one was to consider the validity of the source of this information, the fact Homun assimilated that same informant and confirmed his words in his own memory was enough proof for him. However, through the weeks that Homun has been traveling this place, all he has found is undead and more undead. At first, hey! Free dismemberment! Then, when the plants started uprooting to trip him, he started getting a little sick of it all.

Finding his way into a cave during a particularly strong rainstorm (he found that he didn't like rain), the ground simply collapsed from underneath him and threw him into this labyrinth. Not only was it pitch black down there, but he couldn't get back up along the soggy walls and crumbling surroundings. He had only one way to go: Deeper inside. Along the solemn path, zombies randomly lashed out at him and gnawed on his body. He had to carry his sword in his right hand at all times. They were so pitifully weak that he couldn't even try to assimilate them. He used one of the blades in his left arm to impale one zombie through the head by pressing his hand against the back of its skull and protruding the blade through his palm and into its skull. What he didn't know if the darkness is that this particular zombie was covered in some sort of sticky mucus, and so the skull was stuck to the blade, which was stuck to his left hand, which was attached to his body.

After a few hours of this, he almost decided to just lob his hand off and wait impatiently for a new one to grow in. The problem is, his regeneration required his strength. The use of such an ability tires him, and the thought of passing out down here with all these sticky zombies running around meant that any nap he takes down here he wouldn't be able to get up from. However, fate smiled upon him kindly that day and he saw a fire. He had to take a minute or two to adjust his eyes to the fire after so long in the darkness. It seems that his path was converging into a larger, more respectable path. He walked into it, and noticed a new group of zombies. He snarled, his eyes wild and his body shaking with a heartbeat several times faster than a human. He cut up several of the zombies while yelling in absolute rage, and finally smashed the zombie skull attached to him into the wall as hard as he could, forcing the blade in his arm to break off inside. The aftermath? Sticky zombie residue on his hand, and some sort of serious damage in his tricep. Still, it was better than the moaning.

Then, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time. It was a white outline around a dark-skinned figure. He had never seen a drow before, but his stolen memories affirmed their existence. Never had he had a stronger urge, an enormous craving for assimilation. Screeching, He ran at this newfound target, holding his sword behind him and chopping down in a wide arc as soon as he reached his foe.

[Deus di Eclave]

Unearthly screams echoed off the walls as a hideous creature charged toward the dark elf. Narrowing his eyes in anger at letting his guard down, Drizaghar launched a quick volley of fireballs at his attacker. Their impact should have slowed the creature perceptively, but the thing came on full force and the drow was forced to dive out of the way. His enemy grunted as his sword smashed into the ground, the power meant to cleave the necromancer’s skull suddenly halted by the rocky ground of the tunnel.

Ending his roll in a low crouch, Drizaghar turned toward the monster and unleashed another fireball aimed straight for the thing’s chest. Flames exploded onto the creature, but it seemed unphased. Before the flames died out, the dark elf saw his foe clearly. The monster had eyes as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, their whites bloodshot and discolored with huge bags underneath. His teeth were bared in a wicked grin, showing that they were filed to sharp points. Blood dripped from his arm, but still the creature came.

Unhooking his crossbow from its place at his belt, the drow let a bolt fly. It struck his adversary in the throat, but if the beast felt any pain from it he didn’t let it show. Beginning to feel his chest tense in panic, Drizaghar returned the crossbow and slid an iron dagger into each hand.

As the monster closed in, eyes crazed and sword at the ready, the dark elf felt something he was not accustomed to: fear.

[Abomination]

All bunnying in this thread pre-approved.

When the fireball hit him, Homun felt the heat for a moment before it dissipated. It was like getting pushed, and it wasn't enough to stop his mad charge. His sword hit the ground, giving way to the sound of metal hitting rock. Another fireball hit him and nearly pushed him back, but it still wasn't enough to do any noticeable damage. Then, something struck his neck and caused him to take a step backwards. He started choking and coughed up some blood, with a growing stream steadily coming out of his throat. A bolt had lodged itself into his throat! It was preventing most of the blood from escaping, but it pierced his voice box completely and prevented speech. He dropped his sword and reached for the bolt with his right hand, gripping it firmly. One, two, three...

CRACK! He ripped the bolt out of his neck, blood bursting out of his neck and and nearly sending Homun into a stupor. His left hand was still damaged from the zombie head incident, so it was stuck in a grasping position that was good enough to hold onto his throat. Being the small device that it was, his voice box regenerated before the blood flow had even been stopped. His weakness bothered him, the fact that something like this could slow him down was unforgivable. He picked up his sword with crazed eyes and closed in on the drow, his left hand still holding his throat. Looking into the drow's eyes, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time: Fear. Yet, wasn't fear something that the living possessed? None of these zombies seemed to mind being disemboweled.

He stopped his movement, a stream of blood bursting between the cracks of his fingers following his coughs. He didn't seem to blame the drow for the damage, but rather his own weakness for being afflicted by it. This soothed his temper a bit, and the realization that he could actually talk to another being after weeks of zombies also calmed him down. He dropped the sword in his right hand again. Due to his newly-formed voice box, his voice was akin to an old man who hadn't spoken in decades.

Between coughs, his whisper-like yet grating voice spoke, "Xem... Xem'zûnd... where is he?!"

[Deus di Eclave]

The monster stopped its advance, its multicolored eyes squinting through the gloom toward Drizaghar. "Xem... Xem'zûnd... where is he?" its voice rasped through the dank air and the drow was taken aback. Fingering the sharp blades beneath his fingers, he warily stepped back away before replying.

“I know that name not,” he answered in fragmented Common. The translation book he used to change his words from drow to Common was good, but nowhere near perfect. Regardless of how well he spoke, the creature would likely understand the message.

Blood poured from the hole in the thing’s throat where it had removed the iron crossbow bolt, but Drizaghar saw the flow slowing as time passed. Within seconds, the flesh had knitted itself back together and formed a star-shaped scar on the skin. Otherwise, there was no evidence that the monster had ever been struck.

The situation was beginning to worry the dark elf necromancer. A strange man wandering around the subterranean caverns beneath the Red Forest in Raiaera who attacked anything he saw and who could heal himself in a manner of moments; something felt… off. He took small comfort in the fact that the creature was no longer intent on killing him, but knew that the tables might turn once again.

“Who is this Xem'zûnd of which you speak?” he asked the black-clad figure standing before him. Tensing every muscle in anticipation, he readied for the fight to resume at any moment. This was a beast that could not be trusted.

[Abomination]

"Liar! Filthy liar!" he hollered, his foot hitting the iron bolt on the ground as he stepped forward.

He looked down upon it, and his craving came back to him. The sweet taste of new abilities, the delicious feeling of power surging throughout his body. The enticing fear in the drow's eyes was almost too much to bear. With the failure to give an acceptable answer to the Homunculus, there was only one recompense: Assimilation. He could at least ask how he could get out of here, but where is the fun in that? It seems strange that a positive reply from the drow would've spared him; the concept of mercy was alien to Homun after all. None of those experiences with those zombies mattered anymore, he simply threw away the wisdom he gained by not attacking first and asking questions later.

He cackled, "I will pry your lying tongue from your head."

As he spoke, a zombie snuck up behind him and was about to pounce. A blade burst out of Homun's right palm, and he swung it behind him and chopped the brittle zombie in half. The blade extended three feet out, with the base of it at his palm. The handle of it was still inside his arm, compressed into molecular materials that affixed the blade as a part of his arm. The bleeding in his neck had stopped, but his skin was still fresh and easily bruised. Plus, all the healing done so far had rendered him somewhat groggy. He let go of his neck with his left hand and charged at the drow, now somewhat conscious of the crossbow. He held his left hand out as his right hand was drawn back, ready to either grab the drow or failing that, slice him up.

[Deus di Eclave]

He had judged correctly, the unstable being before him was too unpredictable to hold conversation with. After turning swiftly to rend a zombie in twain, the creature whirled about and closed in on the dark elf. Drizaghar let the throwing daggers drop lower into his hands and whipped both forward simultaneously at his target. Both blades struck the beast; one striking his chest and glancing harmlessly off after drawing blood, but the other burying itself deep into his right elbow. It mattered not, still the thing came.

Backpedaling quickly down the tunnel, he barely had time to draw his staff before the monster was upon him. One hand closed around his neck, the fingers gripped tightly, while the sword rose for an attack. The drow necromancer’s mind whirled; his foe was insatiable! How can I defeat him!? his mind screamed.

Drizaghar brought up his left hand to grasp the wrist around his throat. Unleashing his power of necrosis, the dark elf began to drain his enemy’s lifeforce. Even as he began the process, he hoped the creature had a lifeforce to drain… No matter. he rationalized; he had other plans. Raising the staff before him with his other hand, the drow summoned fire. Flames raced along the length of the staff, consuming it, yet leaving it intact. As the creature’s sword came down toward him, Drizaghar moved to intercept the weapon with his own.

“Fascath,” he whispered, unsure whether or not the familiar would be able to hear him. The grip around his throat was tighter than he had originally thought. And as the seconds ticked by, it would become increasingly more difficult to act. He had to break free from this beast soon, or he had little hope of coming away from this encounter alive…

[Abomination]

As he held the drow's neck with his left hand, he considered how utterly unfortunate it was that he couldn't command the damaged blade inside his left arm to move. He wanted to inflict the same kind of damage as had been done to his own throat, but right now he could only choke and attempt to decapitate with his right-handed blade. There was a rip in his shirt from where the dagger bounced off his skin after cutting through the first layer, and there was a dagger still lodged in his right arm.

His steel was blocked by some sort of flaming staff, and he started to feel like his body was being pulled towards the drow. A feeling like his very essence was being sucked into the throat-holding hand and then disappearing. He didn't notice at first, because something more powerful was occurring. His skin became very dark, the whites of his eyes turned entirely ebony, and his red eyes became brighter. The wound inside his left arm began mending, the scar on his throat disappeared, and the dagger in his right arm fell out on its own. Now, he almost could end this once and for all.

Of course, assimilation had other side-effects. The rush of memories into his head told him a story of an exile; a refugee; a man who may know even less about the world than him. The Underdark... A place where powerful dark-skinned beings existed. In this drow's mind were the very directions to such a place! Yet, another thing became clear: He wasn't lying before.

After the super-regenerative effects of the initial assimilation, Homun felt the life draining away from him at last. He let go of the drow, jumping backwards and pulling the blade back into his arm. At last, his ears became pointier, until he was some sort of cross between human and drow. He tried to piece together something useful out of the drow's memories, but he found it difficult to make any clear pictures without some sort of association with previous assimilations. That's why it was so easy to make use of the memories of Luc Kraus; the man knew nearly everyone. Now that his need for assimilation was satiated, he considered the implications of what he was doing. Mainly, his memories were at least telling him that this dark elf was a necromancer, which for all intents and purposes meant that he could keep zombies off of Homun's face, arms, legs, torso, and everything else that belonged to him that those damned zombies kept touching. He couldn't discern from the memories whether or not this drow knew how to get out of here, which was perhaps the only tangible reason he wanted to let him live. That and, well, maybe he wasn't a liar after all.

"Driz... Drizaghar," he uttered in a voice of his own mixed with the drow's, his grin turning into the same frown he had before seeing the fire. "How... you know how.... how to get out of here? I... searching for necromancer... like you."

He wasn't aware of the very limited abilities Drizaghar possessed as a necromancer, since memories and what is read in books are misleading in the mind. The mind of an elf was very confusing, as their extreme longevity and whimsical nature often confused reality for fiction. Homun was ready to believe just about anything right now.

[Deus di Eclave]

The creature pulled away, his body having changed somehow. Drizaghar had no idea what just occurred, but all that he could think about was breathing. In and out; how he had taken it for granted before. His familiar materialized out of the air near him, but he held up a finger to keep the ethereal minion at bay. More likely than not, the creature wouldn’t be able to see Fascath; a fact he could use to his advantage if the brute should attack again. He extinguished his flaming staff with a thought as his adversary began speaking.

In very broken Common, the monster sounded out the drow’s name. How does he know who I am!? the necromancer’s mind screamed. The thought was quickly pushed to the back of his mind, though, when the thing questioned the dark elf’s navigation abilities before revealing that he was searching for another necromancer. Drizaghar’s ears perked up at this mention; another necromancer here in this subterranean maze? Perhaps that was the Xem'zûnd he had talked about before.

“There is an army of undead just ahead,” he told the beast, unsure whether he would attack again or not. The creature was too unpredictable to trust, but that didn’t mean the dark elf couldn’t use the brute to his own advantage. When they found the army of zombies, Drizaghar would attempt to use his necromancer powers to control one. He had never tried such a feat before, so the outcome was questionable. However, even if the experiment should turn sour, he could unleash the creature on the horde. Maybe they’d even destroy each other…

“Perhaps this Xem'zûnd commands the army,” he pointed out. “Truce?” He hoped the irrational being would honor such an agreement if it was made, but he had little choice at the moment. He couldn’t afford to let this creature distract him from his goal.

[Abomination]

Although the appeal of assimilation permanence was there, exerting himself would undo the regenerative effects. Like before, he'd rather not find himself short on strength down here. It would take a while for the damage he took to heal itself naturally as well. Since he wouldn't make use of this assimilation in combat, it would likely last a while. He decided he would let this drow live until they got out of here.

Oddly, he found himself more comfortable talking in drow at the moment, "Udos zhal meun natha bista abbanid (We shall form a short alliance)."

It wasn't cracked or difficult to form as his Common had become post-assimilation. Perhaps the long duration between assimilations has made him slightly more susceptible to their influences and transformations. His constantly-changing temper had become a singularity of calm and his quick decisions turned to thoughtful consideration. He even began to consider the drow's feelings toward him. His eyes narrowed as he picked up his sword and stuck it back into its sheath.

He stepped to the side and likened his hands like an entourage to a king, his fingers pointing towards the direction Drizaghar was facing, "Nau'thal l'i'dol (Lead the way)."

[Deus di Eclave]

The fact that the creature could speak drow startled Drizaghar at first, but conversing in his native tongue soon eased his mind. Still, as he led the way down the narrow passage, his hackles remained raised and ready for any sign of trouble. Whether from the creature following him or the horde of undead waiting yards away, he did not yet know.

Fascath floated nearby, the maniac behind the two drow not concerning him the slightest. Whispering to his familiar so that the beast could not hear, he asked “What are their numbers?” Instead of responding, the ethereal being simply motioned ahead.

Drizaghar peered around the corner of the tunnel and saw masses of zombies milling about in the open cavern. Motioning behind him for the creature to remain silent, he stalked just through the opening to widen his view. Decrepit corpses reanimated to fight for a dark necromancer; the legions of undead soldiers gave the air in the cave a putrid stench. The drow nearly gagged before he buried his nose in the folds on his piwafwi.

Gazing about at the sheer size of the force, the dark elf estimated roughly four hundred zombies waiting for orders. It appeared as though they were leaderless, for their ranks were loose and unorganized. But how would you organize an army of the undead? Drizaghar reasoned to himself. He couldn’t imagine that they were cooperative…

Some of the better armed zombies turned at a sound and shouted to the rest of the horde, “Shin’dril returns!” Shambling to their predetermined locations, the zombie rank and file quickly shaped up into something almost resembling a true army. The dark elf strained his neck to see who he assumed was the necromancer in charge of the horde.

Shin’dril appeared to be human, he carried himself proudly and with an air of disdain for the zombie underlings who served him. His dark staff clicked on the stone floor as he strolled up a rock jutting out over the sea of undead faces. “We march out now to meet Xem'zûnd in Eluriand!” When the cheers died down, the necromancer continued. “Legion Clades,” he called to a specific section of the army, “lead the way. Slay any who stand in our path. Raiaera will fall!” The undead gave a huge warcry and legions began marching out of the great cavern, heading away from where Drizaghar and the strange beast lay in wait.

“Udos zhal'la flohlu, (We should follow)” he said to his momentary ally. They needn’t worry about masking their movements, the din of shifting corpses and clanking armor drowned out any sound that they would make. “Xal flohlu mina ulu Eluriand, (Perhaps follow them to Eluriand)” he commented. Whatever decision they made, it needed to be made soon; for an army of undead, Shin’dril’s Horde moved quickly.

[Abomination]

Various long-term things about the drow were unlocked by Homun's ability. The problem is that not much of it was relevant, and since the recent memories were so quickly conceived he could not access them. What Drizaghar was doing down here... what his hopes and dreams were.. the very nature of his escape from The Underdark... it was all a blur. Still, he believed that the drow had to be down here for a reason, and so far he has at least acted like he knew what he was doing.

So when the drow presented the plan of following the zombie horde unnoticed, Homun silently nodded and followed. As they went through the tunnel, Homun noticed how much larger it was getting. Where exactly was he? This wasn't just some cave; it felt like something made by a living being. Was this Xem'zûnd character able to do this? There was so much Homun didn't know. However, if that Shin'dril was to be trusted, he was going to find out sooner or later. The thought occurred to him that he would know a lot more if he assimilated the aforementioned zombie general. If he would get the chance, he would definitely attempt this.

The tunnels themselves were one of the ways Xem'zûnd managed to strike as fast and furiously as he did. Surpassing the convention of land battles, he took various cities completely by surprise from underground. However, they had their limits when it came to the various magics employed by the elves around their stronger cities. Xem'zûnd made sure to sprout his zombie horde well beyond the observational range of elven strongholds.

Eventually, the zombie horde appeared to stop suddenly, which surprised Homun as he scrambled into a shadow for cover. It looked like they reached something. The exit? Something else?

[Deus di Eclave]

The sudden stop confused the dark elf and he sent Fascath ahead to investigate. Since the ethereal being would not be seen, there was no need for him to sneak around. Still, he stuck close to the wall of the wide tunnel and drifted past the ranks of zombies. Several uncomfortable minutes passed and still Drizaghar heard nothing from his familiar.

He still didn’t entirely trust the creature beside him, but there was little he could do at the moment. An uneasy alliance, he told himself. Finally, the shadowy drow returned from the frontlines with news. However, Drizaghar didn’t want to have to relay the information to his companion, so he turned to the beast and warned him.

“My friend will be joining us,” he told the black-clad monster. Hoping the thing wouldn’t attack as Fascath transitioned into the Firmament, the drow turned toward his familiar. “What did you learn?”

Fascath manifested himself in the form of a dark elf; his features blurry and ever shifting. His piwafwi whirled about his legs, blown from an unseen wind coming from up ahead. “The Legion Clades is scouting out the land between the mouth of the tunnel and Eluriand. Shin’dril estimates two hours before they begin moving again,” Fascath reported. “Clades is not made up of the undead,” he added when Drizaghar began to walk away. The drow necromancer’s head snapped around, his eyes intent on his familiar.

“What then?” he asked.

Fascath thought a moment before replying, “I do not know the word for it in Common; they are kal'daka lodias… wolf people.”

[Abomination]

Homun watched... something... form itself from the drow's shadow and sneak over to the zombie horde. It was difficult to see, and he wouldn't have noticed it at all were it not for the subtle ripples in the air. In fact, he only saw this due to his assimilation. His own shadow was behaving in a strange fashion as well, but he didn't notice. He couldn't make sense of Fascath, so he assumed that it was some sort of spell.

As the ethereal being scouted out the army, Homun had time to consider the zombies themselves: They were organized, fast, strong, almost competent. This was a far cry from what he's seen thus far. Did their general have some sort of strange ability to turn those shambling meatbags into something formidable? The thought of assimilating him grew more traction in his mind, until he made it a secondary goal- with the assimilation of Xem'zûnd at the forefront. He was content to simply follow the zombies to the great necromancer, however he wasn't sure what the drow was planning.

As the shadow returned, it assumed a slightly more tangible form. To any normal person, this would be their first sign of the being, but Homun was aware of it before. Homun moved toward the drow for a closer look, and noticed himself becoming visible. He hadn't noticed it before, but blending into the shadows concealed him a lot more than he thought. Was this an ability he had before? No, it couldn't be. He didn't really care.

The description of these 'wolf people' were irrelevant to him. There was nothing useful in this report except that the army was stopping, and that this tunnel lead to Eluriand. Homun thought back to Xem'zûnd and his goal, trying to piece together what he knew thus far, and one topic seemed to jump to the front of his mind: How? How was he going to get close enough to assimilate? Why was this thought occurring now? Perhaps the machinations of the drow's mind was affecting him into making much more coherent thoughts than he was used to? Maybe that could be why he was about to suggest something that pre-assimilation Homun wouldn't have thought up.

"Their leader... get... inbau uns'aa veir ulu ukta (Get me close to him)."

If he could assimilate one of Xem'zûnd's generals, he would have some sort of access to him. Plus, Shin'dril probably had some useful information in his mind. He could associate it with the thoughts of previous assimilations and create concrete memories about Xem'zûnd. Of course, there was also the possibility that Shin'dril was too powerful and Homun would lose himself in the assimilation. Since he was still undergoing a current assimilation, he couldn't see whether the zombies' leader had a bright, powerful white aura or not.

Also because of his ongoing assimilation, he considered the drow's feelings once again. The following words were completely alien to the personality of the previous Homunculus.

"Skrel udossa pholor l'toha zith. Tesso uns'aa dosst inth (Put us on the same page. Tell me your plan)."

He casually stared off into the depth of where they came from, "H'uena Usstan inbau veir, dos orn kampi'un (Once I get close, you will understand)." He repeated in Common, "You will understand."

[Deus di Eclave]

Drizaghar didn’t know what to make of the news that Shin’dril’s scouting division was made up of wolf people and not zombified warriors. Perhaps the knowledge will come in useful later, he figured, turning his attention to the creature he traveled with.

“My plan,” he mused over the words; in truth, he had nothing solid formed in his mind. However, the necromancer was used to thinking quickly and tendrils of strategy were beginning to weave together in his mind. If only I could shadowwalk, he thought of the Spidermagi he had seen in the Black Desert; their ability to disappear into the realm of shadows and reappear elsewhere would have been useful to have. Unfortunately, he hadn’t a clue how to harness such a power.

“Ussta inth,” he muttered to himself. Somehow he needed to get closer to Shin’dril and gauge the man’s powers. Though, that presented a problem because there was an entire army between the two travelers and the leader of the horde. Turning to the creature, he outlined the plan he had, “We use the side tunnels to circle the army and come out in front on them. We’re working on a time limit though; less than two hours until Legion Clades returns. I think we should split up; you take the tunnels on the east side and I’ll take the ones on the west side. I’ll send Fascath if I find anything,” he motioned to his familiar as he spoke the last lines, indicating that the shadow drow would act as a messenger.

I dropped my voice lower and nodded to the east wall of the passage as I turned to the west, “Ji udos aglust i'dollen whol natha draeval.”

Ussta inth means “My plan” and the above phrase translates to “So we part ways for a time.”

[Abomination]

The Homunculus briefly considered that the intent of the drow's plan was to get rid of him. If that was the case, it was a pretty good attempt, but it didn't change the fact that an army of zombies was between Drizaghar and the exit, so ditching Homun now wouldn't do a whole lot of good. If Homun's plan succeeded, both of them would be able to leave this cave fairly safely.

So, they parted ways. The smaller tunnels were pitch black, but they eventually converged back into the bigger one. Homun snuck around along the wall, his figure almost invisible in the shadows. It began to feel like the assimilation was wearing off. They had been traveling a while so this was to be expected, but he needed to maintain it long enough to meet up with that general. He was solemnly aware of the advanced thought processes that were occurring within his mind. He somewhat lamented the eventuality of reverting to what he was, but at least he could hope to maintain this plan of his until it was executed.

He saw some light and looked around the corner, knowing that it was the main tunnel. It was a much different scene than the one from the back of the army. Not quite the front, not quite the back, but it was sparsely populated by zombies. There were a few tents, and he saw Shin'dril enter one of them. He could see the man's silhouette due to the lantern inside of it. Perhaps he was looking at war plans? Either way, it presented the perfect opportunity. The problem was that there were still some zombies around. If he could get rid of those zombies without alerting anyone to his presence, he could....

"Drizaghar has reached the other side," came a whisper from behind him.

Homun nearly jumped out of his pants as he turned around to see the barely-tangible form of Fascath.

Homun whispered, "You! I..." He sighed. No point making a fuss now. In broken Common, he instructed Fascath, "Tell Drizaghar: Make distraction! I need closer!"

The shadow made some sort of vague nodding motion and disappeared into the darkness. If the drow could prove his usefulness here, maybe Homun would let him live after all.

[Deus di Eclave]

Shin’dril entered his makeshift headquarters and scanned the message that one of his lycanthropes had delivered. It had been sealed with Xem'zûnd’s crest and the messenger had nearly collapsed from exhaustion when he arrived with it. The necromancer slit open the letter and scanned its contents. The writing was quick and jagged, but it got the point across:


We attack Eluriand tonight. Breach the outer wall and take the city. Send lycanthrope if your attack will be delayed. Do not fail.

Dropping into a collapsible wooden chair, the general sighed. Xem'zûnd had moved the timeframe dangerously forward. If he was to get his horde mobilized in time, they would need to leave before Legion Clades returned. Grimacing as he pounded his ebony staff into the ground, he then stood and stared at the ceiling of the tent for a minute.

Screams outside turned his focus back to the present, however, as the human soldiers in his horde began sounding an alarm. What the hell was going on?

~~~

Drizaghar sent Fascath to tell the creature that he had made it back into the main tunnel near Shin’dril’s tents. He hoped the beast wasn’t too far away; he would need the assistance if he hoped to get closer to the general.

<<Our friend would like you to provide a covering distraction for him,>> the ethereal familiar stated as he floated from the other side of the tunnel. <<He has arrived and waits for your signal.>> With a nod, he disappeared into the air, back into the Antifirmament for a time.

Smiling, the dark elf formulated a quick and easy plan in his mind. Summoning a fireball to each hand, he launched them in rapid succession toward the cloth tents serving as a temporary headquarters for the horde. The dry material quickly caught fire and two more fireballs followed the first ones. Aiming at every tent to make sure the destruction took its toll, the drow necromancer chuckled as he saw several soldiers begin trying to douse the flames. Pulling his piwafwi over his body, he ducked back into the shadows and snuck along the wall of the passage.

A division of zombies moved closer in an attempt to stop the fire from spreading. However, when they approached the burning tents, their putrid flesh quickly got caught in the blaze. As burning zombies raced back down the tunnel, Drizaghar saw Shin’dril emerge from his tent. The general’s face was a mask of rage, clearly he did not appreciate his army being attacked before they reached the capital.

“Legion Celer!” he screamed as he moved to the front of the army, “To me!” As the biggest soldiers Drizaghar had ever seen moved in to protect their general, the dark elf saw his last chance to isolate the human necromancer. Summoning a fireball to his palm once again, the drow pulled his arm back, focusing his entire being on the tent just in front of Shin’dril. He launched the ball of flame with all his might, willing it to fly true. The projectile burned through the air, its flames growing stronger as it closed in on its mark.

Just as Legion Celer began to form a protective circle around their leader, the fireball smacked into the tent’s supporting pole. The general jumped back, narrowly avoiding the falling tent. As the canvas hit the ground, the obstacle erupted in flames. Legion Celer stepped back, their keen eyes searching the shadows for their attacker. Drizaghar knew he had given his bestial ally a few precious moments to close in on the general and hoped It would be enough. As the brutish human bodyguards spotted the drow necromancer crouched in the shadows, Drizaghar turned about and raced toward the mouth of the cave.

Time for him to work some magic.

[Abomination]

With one eye around the corner, the scene unfolded amidst the cracking of Homun's mind. He was losing the rationality that came from two hundred years of experience on this planet, but he attempted to hold onto his plan. His skin turned pale, the whites in his eyes returned, and his ears shrunk down to their original size. Remember the plan. Remember the damn plan!

The drow was better than he thought. As the general walked out of the tent, Homun became restless and almost darted out to grab him. Yet, the drow wasn't done yet; he calculated his attacks and forced the general further back. Homun's eyes widened as there were mere feet between him and the general. The Homunculus slowly turned the corner, pressed his palms against Shin'dril's back, and two blades pierced through the man's chest. Shin'dril could only look down as he felt his strength disappearing, seeing the two bloody blades sticking out and smelling the metallic scent of his own fluids. He felt a warm sensation, like his entire body was in a sauna, and he started sweating. Homun dragged him back by the blades jabbed into his chest, back into the darkness of the side tunnel he hid in. Pulling the blades out, the general dropped onto his back, staring up with wandering eyes.

Blood was pouring out of his mouth, as both his lungs had been ruptured. Pain was unknown to this necromancer, but there was a distinct sensation of losing himself. It was like falling into a deep sleep. Blood drained out of his body and formed a small pool of blood on the ground. As he turned pale and his vision faded, he looked up and saw his attacker: Only, it was himself. A mirror image of him was standing above him, looking down. It wasn't smiling, but it looked like it was waiting for something. Waiting for him to die. Why disappoint? He thought, and slipped into the eternal abyss.

Homun couldn't enjoy his victory, for his mind was being flooded with new memories. Shin'dril was a minor general, certainly not worthy of much of his master's attention. The things he knew pertained to his skills, but his history seemed lacking. In Homun's mind, there was a big gap before this war broke out. Exactly what was Shin'dril doing before all this went down? If this void is any indication, it was nothing. That didn't make sense to Homun, however. Still, the experiences of a real necromancer were different from what he felt with the drow. He could feel the flow of life and unlife in the air, like little streams in the air that were disturbed by his breathing.

He realized that his disappearance would be bothersome if his subordinates found out, so he returned to the main tunnel before anyone noticed he was ever gone. He wore a long, dark cape with a cowl over his head and a mask over his mouth and mouth. There was a cross-shaped scar over his left eye and he had a purple tunic on. He actually had an iron breastplate over it, but Homun's steel swords still pierced through. He had the appearance of a cultist, but also a general with his shin guards and ankle-high boots. Various belts adorned his pants, many with pouches and small weaponry strapped on. On his right side was Homun's short sword's scabbard, but also on the left was a scabbard he had stolen from Shin'dril. He was unaware of the enchanted blade that was within, but his memories told him that it was something deadly.

As he walked out, some of Legion Celer had finished putting out of the fires and almost started looking for their leader. Others had chased off after the drow.

Homun ordered, "Call for their return. Now."

Legion Celer dispersed and retrieved the ones chasing Drizaghar.

"Forget him. I want all our equipment packed up; we're moving now."

It took a few moments for him to consider what to do with the drow now. He couldn't deny that he had helped, but he felt particularly apathetic. Shin'dril's personality certainly wouldn't care for Drizaghar, and neither would Homun's, but Drizaghar's would. So, Homun decided he would make use of the drow some more. How had he come to this conclusion? He was no longer assimilating Drizaghar, right? Perhaps... there was some assimilation permanence after all. Maybe not through combat, but by thinking and acting like Drizaghar, Homun managed to save a piece of the drow inside himself. Either way, he needed a scapegoat for when his assimilation ran out. He could probably maintain it for a while, but not forever. If the drow caught on to what he was about to do, he might do the same for Homun when the time came.

He walked to one of the many messenger birds and spoke to the scribe tending to them, "I want a message to the Legion Clades. Now."

The scribe quickly dropped what he was doing and pulled out a piece of paper and put it upon a clipboard that he carried.

A minute later, the bird took off and flew toward the mouth of the cave. Homun knew that Drizaghar would never make it with those wolf people coming back. Even if they couldn't see him, they could smell him. Back towards the mouth of the cave, the Legion Clades was already returning ahead of schedule. Being the sort of creatures that craved detail, they made sure to check every corner of the tunnel upon entering. They spotted the drow near-instantly, and within moments Drizaghar was surrounded by them. Snarling, growling, wild-eyed and thirsty for blood, they all closed in. Then, the bird arrived and the leader of the Legion Clades read it.

"Wait," he instructed his brethren in his beastly voice. "This one is a special guest of General Shin'dril. We are to treat him with utmost respect and escort him back to the camp."

The letter went on to detail that in case anything happened to Shin'dril, Drizaghar would be the new commander. As of now, he was second-in-command. As the wolf men escorted the drow back to the camp, the zombie horde had already moved out and were about to meet up with them. Shin'dril headed the ranks, walking with dignity and honor.

Muffled by the sound of the marching behind him, Homun said, "Wait for me, Master, for soon I shall be made whole."

[Deus di Eclave]

Taken back to the camp in time to see Shin’dril mobilizing his horde to move out, Drizaghar kept the look of confusion from his face. The human necromancer strode in front of his troops, leading from the cave out into the fields just south of Eluriand. The drow was kept between two huge bestial warriors, for his own protection they had said. Although no harm had come to him, the dark elf couldn’t help but feel he was simply a captive.

And where’s the creature? he thought. Would such an unstable beast attack the entire column of warriors to find his dark elf ally? Surely not, their alliance had been one of convenience. The creature wouldn’t risk its own life to free Drizaghar. No, the drow was on his own.

With Legion Clades surrounding him as they marched on Eluriand, the drow necromancer could do nothing. Any plan he formed would have to wait to be executed until they arrived at the elven capital. Left alone with his thoughts, he tried to piece together why Shin’dril hadn’t just killed him.

Something just didn’t add up.

[Abomination]

Before the marching started, Homun had turned to face the zombie horde and announced, "Attention: As of now, Lieutenant Drizaghar here is my second-in-command. I expect the same respect and discipline you have shown me."

It was a strange gesture, since the undead portions of the army had no choice in the matter. With that, he started off marching and met up with Drizaghar, bringing them to where they were now.

He was a master of puppets without strings, a hive mind without thought, a master with more-than-willing slaves. Controlling the hordes of zombies behind him, Homun felt the power of his abilities flowing not only through his own body, but the air around him. Legion Gelucius was the specific name given to the zombie horde behind him, and he felt like he was connected to them in some way. He felt invigorated, and in his head were many incantations, rituals, spells, and other bits of information related to his craft. It seems that necromancers must do many things at once, as his thoughts were in many places at once. Is this how necromancers always felt? Homun knew it to be true, and on that note he thought about the biggest and baddest necromancer of all: Xem'zûnd. Shin'dril's memories about his master were vivid, and one thing was clear: Homun was no match for him. In fact, he felt that the Xem'zûnd would see through his ruse immediately. Whereas before his plan was hapless and straightforward, he now had to consider how to get close to his target. If he couldn't get close to him as Shin'dril, then the only option was his natural form. It was unlikely that Xem'zûnd would know what he was, so all that was left was to involve himself as part of the army.

That is where the drow came in. Although, since he started this march he has noticed that Drizaghar seemed more like a prisoner than... Wait. Perhaps he didn't catch on? That would explain a lot. They were halfway to Eluriand from the cave when Shin'dril motioned for the zombies to continue on and walked over to the drow, casually pulling him out of the formation and off to the side. The drow looked terrified, which annoyed Homun, so he knew he had to show him some form of identification of his previous form.

He pointed at his palm and told Drizaghar to look at it. Within a moment, a cut formed in the gauntlet and a blade slowly inched out of his hand. Homun felt that Drizaghar understood, but he was still very confused.

In his new dignified yet low voice, Homun whispered, "Lieutenant Drizaghar, that sort of expression is unbecoming of a leader. How are you ever going to replace me if you continue acting such as you have?"

Homun pulled the blade back into his hand and continued to make sure no secret ears were listening in to their conversation.

"As far as I know, your necromancy skills are pathetic," said Homun, unaware that in his previous assimilation he considered Drizaghar highly skilled in this art. "Once I run out of time, you need to take over the army. I can only hold this for about thirty-six hours. Then, you shall introduce 'me' in a similar manner that I have introduced you. Understand?"

He spoke in a very disciplined way, a glaring contrast to the emotional and broken speech of his previous form. He still remembered that the drow had some sort of necromancy book, but Drizaghar had likely never made heads or tails of it. With his precise expertise, could he teach the drow what he needed to know before it was too late?

[Deus di Eclave]

When the general pulled him off to the side and showed him that the form was just a ruse, Drizaghar hid his confusion. Though what he felt now was a different sort of disorientation. The creature he had been traveling with earlier had somehow become Shin’dril; powers and all. The dark elf could make neither heads nor tails of it, but he decided it would be best if he played along.

The drow understood his ally’s plans, but had no clue how the beast thought he would be able to execute them. I’ll leave the thinking to him, he concluded. Obviously the creature was in a much better position to be planning things out that Drizaghar was. As they returned to the line, the necromancer moved away from the members of Legion Clades and moved toward the back of the column.

Rows of zombies marched in front of him and he took the time to practice bits of knowledge that he had picked up in the Tome of Necromancy that his ancestor had left him. The book had always proved useful, but the dark elf couldn’t use many of the abilities detailed there. Perhaps this is just the time to begin learning through experience, he reasoned.

As he pushed a small tendril of power into the undead directly in front of him, he thought on his new position within the army. Lieutenant, he rolled the word over in his mind. What does this all mean? The day had moved so fast since they found the zombie horde, Drizaghar hardly had time to sort it all out. And next we attack the elves, he smiled wickedly.

He slammed into the zombie in front of him for the creature had stopped moving. Stumbling back from the impact, Drizaghar looked to see the rest of the horde still marching ever onward toward the capital. What… then the dark elf realized his small tendril of power had entered the simple being’s mind; he controlled the zombie warrior.

His grin widened as he sent commands across the tentative connection, Will this work? As he contemplated the outcome, the zombie turned and began marching toward a nearby tree; just as Drizaghar had commanded. The drow’s incredulity at how easy it was to use his necromancy bordered on amazement with himself; best not to get too cocky though. Turning the zombie back toward the rest of the patrol, he ran alongside it as they slipped back into their formation.

Shaking his head in wonderment, the drow walked back to the front of the line next to Shin’dril, content to contemplate his position and wait for the general to give the next order. Their march to Eluriand would be finished within the next hour or so… then the real fun began.

[Abomination]

The smell of smoke permeated soon permeated the air during the long march. The field of green they were marching across withered the undead trample. It was dark, with a clear sky slowly turning to a clouded one. The captain of Legion Clades reported that hostilities had already begun on the front, and our contingent was expected as a part of the reinforcements.

Homun asked, "What is the situation over there?"

The captain responded, "Our preliminary scouts report that they are currently fighting outside of the city."

Homun considered the implications of their arrival. Currently, it looked like an even fight over there. Who would be winning when they got there? He let the captain go and looked at Drizaghar, who seemed to be practicing necromancy. In an instant, he felt a strange twinge, like one of his mental puppet strings had been snapped. It was Drizaghar taking over one of his zombies. For how little time they had, he was doing somewhat well. However, when his time was up Drizaghar would need to control an entire army- and have them fight as skillfully as the elves themselves.

That wasn't all. The drow would also need to learn the customs of this army, and know various things that is expected of all lieutenants. Shin'dril was a lieutenant himself, but Homun remembered where he became a general. He received his promotion in Valinatal, fighting against the elven defenders that were managing to hold him off. Shin'dril must've sensed that he did not win honorably, because Homun felt a great regret in that battle. However, the tunnel he came from was in the direction of Valinatal, so this story made some sense to the Homunculus. He walked to Drizaghar and interrupted his practice.

"Listen carefully, for I am going to explain everything you need to know while I still know it."

He spent the next hour detailing proper procedure and the history of the war. He could only cover the history starting from his master's reemergence and the victory at Carnelost, but it should be enough.

"It seems we are part of major reinforcements for the current battle at Eluriand. By the time we arrive, attrition will have taken its toll on the living elven defenders, and it should be a clean sweep. However, if things are going sour for us, our arrival shall turn the tide."

Homun had no vested interest in this battle, but talking about it made him feel enthusiastic. His mind quarreled with the thought of Xem'zûnd as his master and his target. Putting off these thoughts until the battle was over would be best for him, as it won't matter anymore by then.

Soon, they reached a tall hill and when they reached the top, they could see Eluriand in the distance. Long, dark plumes of smoke were emerging from inside the walls, rising high up into the sky. Bodies were strewn across the once-green fields and there seemed to be thousands of creatures fighting outside the walls. No, tens of thousands.

Homun raised his cursed sword into the air and yelled, "Prepare yourselves! Our moment of triumph has come! For Xem'zûnd! For glory!"

All of Legion Gelucius pumped their weapons into the air, the Legion Clades howled, and the Legion Celes roared through their bulky human frames. Homun had only thirty hours left before he reverted back to his previous self. Could Drizaghar learn all that he needed to before this battle was over? Could he find and assimilate Xem'zûnd without getting himself annihilated? Only time would tell.

Spoils:
--New Ability-- Night vision: Gained through the assimilation of the drow Drizaghar, Homun can now see as well in the dark as he can in light (this can be augmented, toned down, whatever).

[Deus di Eclave]

As Shin’dril explained the history of the war and the tactics he would need to command the zombie forces, Drizagar paid careful attention. Much of the information matched up with the knowledge contained in the Tome of Necromancy, only the general explained them in much simpler language. The drow found himself flooded with new skills to try out when they reached their position just south of Eluriand. “For Xem'zûnd!” came the warcry from their troops and suddenly everyone was rushing toward the elven capital.

Experience is sometime the best teacher and as the zombie horde closed in on the elven defenders, Drizaghar took a deep breath and plunged in after them. This was the moment where he would either sink or swim; how he commanded his undead warriors could very well decide the course of his future. Choking now would spell peril.

The dark elf reached into the one tendril of connection he had with a zombie and vicariously swung the creature’s blade. From what Shin’dril had said, this was an inefficient method, but one he would have to master. Would the attack on Eluriand be his defining moment?

Spoils:
Deferred to the next quest with an eye toward a larger item.
If not, then just extra gold.
Thanks!

[Raelyse]

Story

Continuity – 6 – Just a note, no moderator is expected to read a thread just because you mention it is a prelude to this one. That said, I wasn't terribly lost by the events that were happening. That's not a compliment though, because I didn't get much more to tell me besides the bare bones about what was happening. What were your characters feeling about the current events? Homunculus did it well by describing his singleminded search for Xem'Zund but Drizaghar didn't give me very much at all regarding his character. I liked the little introduction with Shin'dril rallying his forces in the first post, but I felt it jumped too fast into Drizaghar which was a bit annoying. More on that in Pacing.
Setting – 4 – It's a cave. Oh and the cave stinks because there are a lot of zombies here. That was about all that the two of you gave me. What about stalactites and stalagmites? Don't let the cave be boring, spice it up a little! Little details here and there will make your arena come to life and make your writing more interesting. It was very boring and you guys constantly ignored it, never really mentioning it at all.
Pacing – 5 – This was mostly okay. The thread moved along well with a obvious climax when Homunculus absorbed Shin'dril but I found that you guys rushed into this very much, and you did this with a few other events. I think this could easily have been spread over a few posts which would have made for more suspense. Like I've said before, I liked the little interludes with Shin'dril and his army, but I found that you moved too fast from writing him to writing Drizaghar. Maybe next time, try writing a whole post as an antagonist so you can give him more life? You didn't really do these scenes very well, so it brought down your pacing score.

Character

Dialogue – 5 – Homunculus seems to have a good feel for his character, but the conflicted nature of the character means that you have to work hard to make it believable and I didn't feel as if you did that with much success here. The main thing I was peeved about was that he was so eager to meet Xem'Zund at the beginning and end and I would have thought he'd be more excited at the first mention of Xem'Zund but he was rather muted. Other than that, I enjoyed reading about his inner thoughts. Drizaghar seems to be very neutral and doesn't think about things very often, which is annoying because he isn't a robot! Try to integrate his inner feelings and thoughts in everything he does and he will be infinitely more interesting. In this thread, you dragged down this score because your character's spoken dialogue wasn't particularly eye catching and your inner thoughts, feelings and opinions were almost non-existent.
Action – 4 – This wasn't too bad, but there is room for improvement. Like I've said before, Homunculus has a good grip on his character and writes him very well. Drizaghar didn't really do anything that was out of character either, but I didn't like how quickly you two managed to kill Shin'dril, which was where you really lost points. He's a general with forces, yet you wrote as if all his underlings were bumbling fools who didn't notice their master getting dragged away into a cave. And then during the march, how could his ex-second in command or anyone sentient not sense something fishy about appointing a complete stranger as a second in command? Maybe if you two had sold it better, it would have been more believable, but you didn't and I was left confused.
Persona – 6 – Both of you did well here. I like Homunculus' constant shifts in personalities as he assimilates and also how Drizaghar was generally afraid and meek throughout, and then finally gaining some confidence at the end. You didn't score higher here because I didn't feel that you delved deeply into your character's emotions. I felt you should have been more afraid of the zombie horde, or nervous during the march of being found out but you only briefly touched on these. Go deeper into your characters and write of their feelings and you'll get better scores here.

Writing Style

Technique – 5 – There were a few literary techniques used here and there but none that wowed me with their originality and ingenuity. I know going out of your mind to describe something with a flowery metaphor can make it seem out of place but after a while as your writing style develops, you'll be able to develop seamless literary devices that slide into your writing and really enhance it. I also felt that you guys constantly jumped the gun plot wise. A little foreshadowing here is as old a writing technique as you can get, but it is always exciting for the reader if you drop us tidbits and let us follow the bread crumbs. Giving us the climax too quickly without any foreshadowing really hurt this thread's ability to get me excited for what was happening next.
Mechanics – 6 – Both of you had minor flaws but nothing staggeringly bad. A few spelling errors here and there and a few issues with sentence construction, but these can all be improved if you read through your posts before you post them to eliminate mistakes.
Clarity – 5 – Homunculus did well here but Drizaghar has a few issues, especially early on. You suddenly mention Fascath and I had no idea what he was. Take a few sentences here and there to really flesh out your character and the world around him. If both of you had done this, you'd have scored higher in almost all the catergories. That said, your writing did flow well for the most part.

Wild Card – 5 – A distinctly average thread and this is reflected here. Both of you can do better with practice and I hope you continue this storyline because it is an exciting one. Just remember not to do anything ground breaking, since this is the FQ. If you want to really make an impact, make sure it is approved by a moderator.

Total Score – 51

Deus di Eclave gains 535 EXP
Homunculus gains 1020 EXP and 50 GP

All spoils granted!

Homunculus, I feel that you didn't describe the ability in enough detail so I ask that you do so when you post your Level 2 update to get it approved. For now, I'll allow it because even at its most powerful, it's really nothing significant.

[Zook Murnig]

EXP/GP ADDED!

DEUS DI ECLAVE LEVELS UP!