An Offer You Can't Refuse

[Lord Anglekos]

Solo. All characters are used with the permission of their owners and creators.

Raucous laughter burst through the opening door of The Last Unicorn, one of the many taverns that populated Radasanth, as several members of the famous Ixian Knights exited the building. Most of them belonged to William Arcus's monster hunting team, as could be seen by the insignia of a dragon's skull and two spears decorating the capes on their backs, for that night they were celebrating the success of their newest member's first mission. The subject of their celebration, however, didn't seem to be enjoying himself as much as the others, and Eric's expression could give testament to that as he wore his usual mask of pseudo happiness. They may have been enjoying the fact that he had slain the creature in Dheathain, but all his visit to the country had done was remind him of the fact that he was alone. It didn't help that the creature he had faced was a bullette; the same monster than he and the draconian Eros had faced over a year ago together.

He had slain it, but he hadn't enjoyed the process. He knew it was necessary, for the potential threat the beast made to the general public, but when he had gotten there he had learned that the adolescent creature hadn't consumed anything but livestock. With this new knowledge, he had almost refused to slay it. It had taken the pleas of the villagers and the officials to eventually change his mind, and with both blade and regret in hand he had gone to the monster's lair and decapitated it with cold, cruel efficiency.

Again, that didn't mean he had to enjoy it, and had reluctantly gone with the others when they brought him to the Last Unicorn to celebrate, if nothing but for appearances. Eric still wasn't entirely comfortable with the others, and it had been his decision to go alone on his mission, despite his loneliness. He already knew that he perpetuated his own dark feelings; he didn't need a counselor to tell him of his self-inflicted decadence. But this was something, he felt, that he had to face alone; for as long as he was haunted by her memory, he would always be so. He had a problem, and he would fix it, or he wouldn't. It was as simple as that.

So as the others left the tavern in one big group, he mentally let out a sigh of relief. Tonight was not a night for company. Staying behind, he glanced over at the bartender, who had been kind enough to serve the rowdy group with the usual placating smile, and silently slid him a few gold coins with a brief nod. The other, an older man with a bald head and a few scars decorating it like war scars, gave a nod back, pocketing the gold as the swordsman stepped out into the night.

Eric waited until the others were out of sight before stepping into the streets and turning the other way, letting the cold air caress his flesh beneath the flowing cloth of his cloak and the metal of his armor. His steps upon the cobblestones, shining with the night dew and glimmering with the light of the barely lit torches and the pale moon, were silent, aided by the enchantment upon his greaves, and he briefly thanked his luck that the others had not insisted upon him returning with them to the Ixian headquarters. Tonight, he just wanted to find a cheap place to stay, far far away from anyone.

For a while, his wish was granted, as his only companion was the soft wind and the faint howls in the distance, just beyond the walls of Radasanth. He was deep within his own thoughts, contemplating the usual sad things that plagued him, when a sound abruptly cut off his mind and made his hair stand on end:

The clip-clopping of horses' hooves upon the cobblestones.

He didn't know why this simple sound made every fiber in his body tense; why the hair on his skin was standing on end. After all, it only made common sense that there would be others on the roads besides himself; even at night, Radasanth was a busy place. But as a black carriage turned the corner, revealing the source of the hoofbeats, the tenseness in his body justified itself to him, and he slowly laid one hand upon the hilt of not his mythril blade but his steel sword, fingers brushing over the golden hair for reassurance.

The horses pulling that carriage were naught but skeletons, and they were aflame with a dark, almost violet fire that carried along the cobblestones with their footsteps; undead monstrosities of sick necromancers.

They were Nightmares.

[Lord Anglekos]

As he stared, immobile, at the terrible undead creatures bearing down swiftly upon him, his mind raced. What were such monstrosities doing here? The guards of Radasanth wouldn't dare let such vile things beyond the gates to the city; in fact, knowing that many were turned against the undead now that Xem'Zund was slain, the guards would have probably slain them upon sight. Which left only two real options in the swordsman's head.

Either their owner had managed to somehow sneak them in, or the guards were dead.

Tensing even further, his hand upon the hilt of his blade trembling slightly at the sight of the massive creatures, he jumped as one of them neighed, spewing flame from it's bony jaws. His hand shifted away from Amalia, sliding slowly over to the hilt of his elven blade; for if he had to do battle, it would be with a blade has confident would be able to cut through those bones of theirs. His right foot shifted backwards and his stance shifted sideways in a classic position, ready to draw Pardolaes in an instant. His pale eyes glowing subtly with the stirring magics he would be ready to call forth in a thought. And despite all this prep time, he still wished that he hadn't gone alone; he could really have used moral support, at the very least.

He was surprised when the Nightmares paid no attention to him, pulling the small, utterly black carriage along at an almost pleasant pace. Eric didn't move an inch as they passed him, his eyes traveling over each rut in the wheels, every notch in the transportation's structure, before they finally lifted to see a big, hooded figure clutching the reins to the creatures. That was all fine and dandy, normally, but there was one small detail that the warrior didn't look past:

The reins were made of fire as well.

Slowly, the carriage came to a stop, spiked wheels clacking like bones along the cobblestones, and despite the illumination from not only the moon above but the burning violet flames of the creatures, he couldn't see a thing past the blackened windows on the side of the coach. It was at this point that the fight-or-flight urge came over him, and with a blur of his black-clothed arm he drew forth his silver blade in one expert stroke, a ringing sound emitting from the weapon to testify to it's masterful craftsmanship. Wrapping his other hand around the hilt to quell it's shaking tip, he held the blade defensively before him, the keen edge shining in the moonlight, even as the door to the coach slowly opened.

He was surprised, however, when not some monstrosity walked down the miniature steps to the ground but a woman, her hair held up professionally and a pair of glasses perched upon a pert nose. She stared with inhumanly clear eyes down at the defensive form of Anglekos, and in her left arm she seemed to hold a thick, tattered book. The binding and cover, Anglekos noted with a sick feeling in his gut, was covered in flesh. Quickly, his eyes darted back to the woman, also taking note of her lifeless skin and the small fangs that peeked from beneath her teeth. Most likely a vampire... He thought hastily to himself, panicking. His chance to run was gone; with her advanced speed and strength, if she really wanted to she could catch him before he took two steps. Gritting his teeth, he was about to simply go for it and attack with everything he had, when she startled him by speaking politely.

"My Master wishes to speak with you." Curling one manicured hand underneath her stomach as she bowed to Eric, she stepped to the side and gestured to the open doorway. Briefly looking past the vampiress, he saw a brightly lit interior, well decorated with what looked to be lamps and, if his eyes didn't deceive him, a couch even. Flicking his pale eyes back to her, peering over the edge of his blade, he practically growled his response to her, his voice filled with ice.

"You can tell your Master that I've no interest in talking right now." He shifted his stance once more, and now the tip of the longsword was pointed straight upon her threateningly. "So if you would leave me be, I would greatly appreciate it." Tightening his grip on the sword, his glowing eyes narrowed.

The woman's expression never changed as she straightened, slightly pushing her glasses up with the tip of her finger. "Please." She responded still politely to him, yet he thought he could detect a hint of coldness beneath that facade as she regarded him and his blade cooly. "I insist."

Without warning, a large hand laid itself on his shoulder, and Eric's head snapped back and up, only to see the huge, hooded figure he had observed driving the carriage standing right behind him. The swordsman couldn't see anything of the thing's face, but a sickeningly rotted smile that peeked out hideously from the darkness of the cloth. Even though the creature's touch was light, the warrior sensed that if the thing wanted to, it could crush his shoulder bones within an instant. Staying utterly still, he stared up at the monstrosity, his eyes still glowing with the magecraft he would unleash at a moment's notice, before speaking quietly. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

Before any of the three figures could act, however, a deep voice resonated from within the carriage, carrying all the way out to the cold night beyond. "Now, now..." It chuckled, obviously in amusement, and the sound sent shivers down Eric's spine for the second time that night. "We're all civilized beings; there's no need for threats. Now, if you could please come inside and out of the cold, I promise you that I'll make it worth your while."

The swordsman paused, caught between what seemed to be a rock and a hard place. Every instinct in his body screamed for him not to go in there, but he had no real choice; it was either that, or fight his way out, and he was outnumbered at least three to one. So slowly, he sheathed Pardolaes back within it's oaken scabbard, and without a single word he walked past the vampiress and up the steps into the waiting room beyond the doorway.

[Lord Anglekos]

The room that Eric stepped in was far, far larger than it appeared on the outside; one may have mistaken it for the dining room of a lord's mansion and not the inside of a carriage. Magic. He thought to himself not in disdain but in mild fear, for anyone capable of such an illusion was of course capable of even greater, more destructive feats. Or at least, that had been his experience. Azure eyes traveled over the golden walls that extended far past a large, long dining table, made of some expensive wood that shone in the mild lamplight within. And sitting at the end of that expensive table, the eyes saw, was a man.

At first glance, the man didn't seem imposing. He was a small fellow; broad shouldered and muscled wirily beneath a form-fitting tuxedo, he couldn't have stood any higher than five feet tall. His head was bowed slightly, covering most of his visage with a high-top hat that sat comfortably upon his head, decorated with long, black dreadlocks. What Eric could see was pale skin that stretched taught over high-set bones, and a grim, thin smile. With the vampiric secretary and the cloaked creature following silently in his wake, the swordsman stood at the other end of the table, where an oaken chair sat waiting for an occupant. He glanced down at the chair, before back up at the man with an almost apathetic expression.

The dark stranger broke the silence first, chuckling quietly in that odd, echoing voice that he had emitted before. "Veris, please get our guest a drink. Sam, the door." The man gestured with one thing, long-fingered gloved hand to the side, legs crossed before him.

Before either of the two beings at his back could move, Eric's voice cut like a whip through the air. "That won't be necessary." There was a coldness in his voice that seemed to freeze the very air around himself, as he never moved or averted his gaze from the suited figure. "I won't be staying long."

If the stranger had been surprised by his words, it didn't show; in fact, the man seemed to only smile wider. "Oh come now. We have so much to discuss."

Eric's grip on his mythril sword tightened audibly, the hilt creaking with the force of his grip. "You said you would make it worth my while. I suggest you do so. Now."

The two at his back tensed, and the swordsman knew that if they wanted to, he would be dead in an instant. He was outclassed, and outnumbered; but still, his violent streak would not be denied. If he had to, he would rebel to the very end. He expected harsh words, perhaps even open threats, but he was still surprised when the man lifted his head, and exposed the rest of his visage.

Eric couldn't help it; he gasped aloud, managing to swallow the end of it down his throat before he betrayed too much of his shock. The creature's eyes were but sockets, filled with a deep, burning violet energy that sent fearful shivers for the third time down Eric's back. There was no doubt about it; from the man's appearance, to the vampiress, to the Nightmares outside, that the creature before him was undead as well. And powerful, from the sheer amount of danger that thrummed through his veins and pounded adrenaline through his body like a drug.

The ghoul before him chuckled, and grinned inhumanly, the flesh stretching with the movement. "Is that anyway to treat a host? Now please." The thing before him gestured carelessly at the seat before Eric. "Sit."

Despite the resounding force of the creature's voice sliding into his mind and body, he resisted it, and simply kept his glare unwavering upon his host's face. "I'd rather not." Eric responded through grit teeth, trying not to let them see the shaking in his legs.

The ghoul shrugged visibly. "Suit yourself. Now... Reaching below the table, Eric automatically tensed, and half-drew Pardolaes from it's sheath. However, all the man drew up was a jar, illuminated by a bright spark of light that floated within the confines of the glass. "...about my making it 'worth your while'."

While the thing unscrewed the top with powerful fingers, Eric growled out cautiously. "...What is that?"

The creature grinned sadistically, as the light floated out of it's container and slowly towards Anglekos. "Why, your reward of course."

Eric could only watch with wide eyes as the light slowly floated closer, and closer, and closer; too afraid to stay, but unable to run at the same time. As it reached his skin, it paused, before slowly sliding into his chest and dousing the light.

At first, he felt nothing. Then, all of a sudden, his body erupted into pain, as he felt flames ignite every single nerve in his body. His legs, already weak from fear, gave way, and he collapsed to the ground in a heap of shaking flesh as his world went black and he lost consciousness.

[Lord Anglekos]

It seemed like hours before the world finally came swimming back into Eric's vision. He had not been moved from his spot upon the floor, nor had he been touched, to his knowledge. Silently, he let his eyes roam his body briefly to account for everything; both swords, his shield, his bow and arrows...even the two daggers at his back were still there, hidden behind the folds of his cloak. Good. As he sat up slowly from the soft carpet beneath him, he expected a shot of pain to go through his body, but he didn't even feel sore; in fact, he felt as if he hadn't gotten a few hour's rest. His body was relaxed, his mind felt calm, and most trouble aspect of it all was that he felt full; but of what, he didn't know. It was as if... some thing had invaded his body and was filling in the empty spaces with power, brimming and rubbing against his bones comfortably like some liquid feline. To accompany the metaphor, when he reached inside and 'touched' his 'power', he could feel it purr almost in complacency, and the feeling of strength that it gave him troubled him.

Quickly, he turned his head, and saw the vampiress and the cloaked man from earlier still standing there. Both stared at him in silence, and he stared right back. From what he saw earlier, they had naught of interest in him, save to end his life should they be given the order. Turning away, he came to his feet, one hand on the hilt of his sword again; but he was humbled by whatever the ghoul had done to him. A quiet sense of weariness accompanied the fact that he was in no control of the situation whatsoever, and as he glanced at the table he saw that a glass filled to the brim with water awaited him. Looking upon the other end, the purple-eyed specter still sat with that terrible smile upon it's face, gloved hands folded before it, and it's now trademark chuckle echoed throughout the carriage before it spoke.

"It is not poisoned, I assure you." The thing nodded towards the water. "After all, why would I want to kill a man who has done me such favorable acts?"

Eric frowned visibly, and took a seat of his own accord. If he was to stay, he may as well make himself comfortable, now at least physically relaxed for the moment. Of all the things his host had spoken, this was the first thing that had simply confused him. "I don't know what you're talking about." He replied simply, and took a sip of the cold water. He almost sighed in relief upon the feeling of the icy liquid upon his scorching throat.

"Ah, yes, of course; pardon me." The creature reached up and took the top hat off it's head momentarily, revealing the mess of dreadlocks that Anglekos had seen peeking out from beneath, before bowing it's head and curling that hat under it's stomach in a mock-bow. "So rude of me. My name is Lorenor V'halkulus. A pleasure to meet you again, Eric Anglekos; this time, in the flesh."

Again, this 'Lorenor's' words only served to confuse the swordsman further. He wasn't surprised that the ghoul knew his identity; he felt that this entire night had been manipulated utterly, like a puppet on strings. The feeling wasn't pleasant, and he felt a spark of anger in his gut. "You obviously know me..." Eric replied coldly as he sat the water down. "...But I can't seem to recall meeting you." Before the creature could reply, however, he lifted one hand and stopped Lorenor short. "And I want to know one more thing; what did you do to me?"

The skin above one glowing eye socket stretched with intrigue, and the swordsman realized the ghoul was raising an eyebrow, in it's own fashion. "Both things can be explained with ease, but yet, I am surprised you don't...'remember' me." Lorenor laughed eerily once more at his own words, while leaving Eric to stew in them. "After all...last time we 'did', you cut me down and I ripped your chest out."

All of a sudden, the creature before him looked all-too familiar to the swordsman, and Eric stood up with such swift intent that the two at his back even seemed surprise. His hand on his blade, he heard the other two move behind him, but he didn't care. His eyes, pale and wide, focused on the creature. Now he knew where he had seen the ghoul before; not long before joining the Ixian Knights, he had come to the Citadel only to see it being destroyed, along with a good part of Radasanth itself, but by a single creature made out of blood. He had fought alongside other warriors to finally cut down the monstrosity, but had died once or twice during the battle, only to be resurrected by the Ai'Bron monks there. Still, it had not been a pleasant experience, and one of the forms the blood beast had taken was of a ghoul-like creature that, while being cut down by Anglekos himself, had manage to puncture his breastplate with merely claws and rip his chest out simultaneously. Beyond the mysterious light that he had suffered just minutes ago, that had been the worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life.

And now, it seemed both experiences had been at the hand of the same monster. As he growled warningly, like a dog, at this 'Lorenor', the ghoul chuckled lightly. "Such flair, such dramatics. Come now, all of you; this is not the place, nor the time for such hostilities. And Eric, you have naught to fear from me tonight; it was not truly I that tore you asunder, but my doppleganger." Lorenor smiled simply as it spoke. "And for slaying the imitator, you have my gratitude."

"That was your idea of gratitude?" Anglekos snarled out, as he felt that earlier spark slowly rise into an inferno. His anger threatened to grow out of control; he couldn't just cut if off like before. It built up through his veins, and his body felt superheated, like molten lava had been poured into his body and he had to let it out. The air crackled about him as his voice grew louder, and without consciously being aware of it, his entire body was illuminated with a soft azure aura that snapped and cracked here and there with the force of the magics he was instinctively holding back. "Giving me more pain?!" And with an enraged snarl, he drew forth his mythril blade and swung it directly at the table.

[Lord Anglekos]

Somewhere between his swing and the eventual impact with the table, his blade erupted into lightning. Normally, this would not have come as a surprise to anyone; Eric was well known, even amongst his comrades, as a wielder of electricity. It was the sheer viciousness of the magic, however, that was cause for alarm upon later inspection by the swordsman when he would be alone in his room. Normally, his magic was calm and strong, coming to hand only when he wished it to, and manifested itself subtly in the material world; the electricity crackling about the blade to augment his striking power, the slight aura about his body when applied to himself, small things like that. But even Eric, caught up in his whirlwind of illogical rage, was shocked by the immensity of blue aura that poured forth from his blade. It wasn't calm at all; in fact, it reflected his emotions, like a flickering mirror of his soul. Viciously it tore at the air, rending the space with snarling, vulgarian teeth-like claws of lightning, and as the magic-imbued sword met the table, thunder echoed throughout the relatively small room with resounding force, causing the splinters of wood that immediately rose into the air to fly away with the force of the sound.

Even normally, without the use of his magic, the masterfully-crafted mythril blade would have cut through the wood like a butter-knife through, well, butter; Eric had used the sword on flesh, bone, and sinew with little difference, and knew full well the capabilities of the elven sword. Augmented by the warrior's magecraft, the expensive table never stood a chance, and the sword sliced through the wood with explosive power that sent a crack straight down the entire length. There was a comical second as the table creaked and groaned, trying to hold up the split halves of the furniture with only two legs on each side, before the table collapsed inwards on itself with a crash.

Breathing heavily, the force of both his boundless rage and the magic pouring through his body, Eric glared furiously at the ghoul. Despite the intense expression, he was, on the inside, shocked. Now that he had released his rage in one heavy-handed blow, he could think through the haze of rage...and found himself angered at his anger. He had always prided himself on the one thing he could control, which was his temper; and somehow, he had lost that single thing in one blazing instant. Problem was, it had felt good; had he not had so much practice in controlling it, and had been a lesser man, he could have been swept up in the whirlpool of rage and just let the power of it flow through him.

That thought frightened him, and that fear tempered his rage until it was finally quelled enough for him to snuff the raging lightning around his sword and sheath the sword back within it's scabbard, steam rising from the insides of the table and from around his blade from the heat of the electricity. Still breathing heavily, the pale eyes lifted to the destruction before him, and the ghoul smiling complacently still on the chair at the other end, gloved fingers intercrossed upon his lap.

"That..." Lorenor finally spoke, breaking the silence with his voice; calm, collected, and powerful. "...is my gratitude, Eric Anglekos. That is your reward."

The swordsman still didn't truly understand, but he got the gist of it; whatever the ghoul had done to him, it had affected two things. His power, and his emotions. Still glaring furiously at Lorenor, Eric walked away in silence, his enchanted armor rendering him so upon the thin carpet. This time, when he headed for the door, neither the vampiress nor the hooded one made any move to stop him.

"I have an offer for you." Lorenor's voice floated after him.

"I refuse." Came Anglekos's immediate, short answer, as he managed to get one foot out the open doorway.

"I promise you, you will--"

"No." He stepped back outside onto the cobblestones, about to shut the door behind him, and noted briefly that the carriage hadn't moved an inch; in fact, had he not been in there for what seemed to be hours, he would have thought that time hadn't moved at all.

"Don't you want to see your beloved Amalia again?"

This stopped him cold. Silence invaded the space between him and doorway for several seconds, as only the breeze of the night and the subtle flames of the Nightmares standing outside could be heard. Then, slowly, the swordsman turned around and walked back up the small steps and into the open doorway, slowly shutting the black door behind him.

[Lord Anglekos]

"How do you know that name." Eric's voice cut through the silence with terrible, efficient anger resonating in his vocal cords. His eyes, glowing with the effects of his emotions playing along with his magic, stared intently at Lorenor, and the hand that had found itself once more on the hilt of his steel blade Amalia was clenched so hard around the leather that blue veins popped up against the walls of skin. Walking right past the ghoul's two minions, Eric delivered a sharp kick to the chair he'd been previously sitting, sending the furniture rolling until it crashed against the golden wall of the room.

The vampiress spoke up for the first time since she had invited the swordsman inside, clearing her throat in an officious way. "Master, should I--"

"Quiet, Veris." The creature spoke quietly, purple "eyes" locked with Eric's glowing orbs, and she nodded reluctantly, stepping backwards, even while the other clenched it's great fist, knuckles popping through the air, as the warrior drew forth his steel namesake with slow, dramatic flair.

Slowly, the point of the weapon came under Lorenor's chin, and flickers of lightning emitted from the point as Eric's magic became visible. "Tell me." The warrior spoke softly, beyond the line of rage at this point, for this creature, this stranger, had just spoken the one word that was forbidden to any lips but his own. He was barely aware of anything, anyone, than the single suited thing before him. He knew he was outmatched, outclassed, however one would put it; he simply didn't care.

Although Lorenor didn't move from his spot, his relaxed posture and easy, inhuman smile proved he was unimpressed with Eric's little display, and found even the bright blade before his throat of little consequence as he spoke. "I know everything about you, Eric Anglekos. I know that you have come here from a land beyond Althanas; a land where magic rules with the efficiency of steel. I know you had a lover, and you failed her." The point of the blade twitched suddenly, but Lorenor carried on with little care. "Yes, you failed her, and now you spend your days slipping away into despair, searching desperately for something, anything just to push that failure from your mind."

"That's untrue--" Anglekos started, the quiet rage starting to fade away as he listened, but the ghoul cut him off, the thing's voice harsh now.

"Oh? If that's so untrue, then why is it that every night, you cry yourself to sleep? You go to the Citadel to forget her and fight and fight and fight until your bones can't handle it any longer and you collapse where you are, only to wake up to a brand new day and you're forced to face the facts once more."

A moment's silence greeted this, and no one moved. Not Eric, not the pair at his back, not Lorenor; no one. It was broken by the ghoul once again, and this time, his voice was soft.

"Wouldn't you like to see her again Eric? To see her living, breathing, walking?" He paused, and for the first time a hint of sympathy entered the creature's voice. "Smiling?"

A couple more of those silent seconds echoed this, before the tip of the blade left Lorenor's chin and slid itself back within the leather sheath. Behind Eric, the vampiress let out a sigh of relief, and heavy thumps from the cloaked man indicated that he was trying to at least somewhat fix the mess that their "guest" had caused. Meanwhile, Eric had continued to speak; the rage sealed away...mostly.

"What did you have in mind?"

[Lord Anglekos]

"Well..." Lorenor began, comfortable now in the realm of dialogue, even as he gestured for Eric to sit in the chair that the creature known as "Sam" had just replaced. "...You may be unaware of this, but I am a necromancer of some power."

The swordsman was aware; it wasn't too hard to guess, judging by the undead creatures the ghoul surrounded himself with. Eric didn't like such abominations; in fact, he'd been a soldier in the war against Xem'Zund himself. While not truly performing any real extraordinary deeds in the war, he had slain his fair amount of the undead to know the true horrors of what lay beyond death. When his "host" confirmed his initial suspicions about his occupation, Eric stopped him before he could speak again.

"I'm not having her raised from death as one of your aberrations." The warrior stated sharply, glaring with equally cold eyes, even as he took a seat back in the chair he'd so easily kicked to the side. "So if that's what you're suggesting, you can stop right there."

"No, no..." The ghoul waved one finely gloved into the air, the black silk sparkling in the dim light, as it chuckled with a careless ease that set Eric's already frayed nerves on edge. "I would not dishonor her memory with such an act; after all, you want your Amalia to live, not exist."

"Don't say her name." The swordsman snapped, and Lorenor inclined his head, still wearing that gruesome smile.

"As you wish, Eric Anglekos."

He didn't like the mocking tone in Lorenor's voice, but merely frowned and said nothing, working on quieting his mounted anger once again; trying to rebuild the walls that he had put up originally to do so. However, it was like trying to stack cards on a shaking table, and his mental partitions kept falling before the flickering flames of rage that burned quietly in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like what Lorenor had done to him, but that was an issue that could be confronted on later.

"So what did you have in mind, then?" Eric spoke quietly, never blinking, even while his fingers caressed the strands of hair that hung as a tassel from his steel blade, the digits sliding through the soft strands for comfort. "Just how in the Thaynes' name do you expect to resurrect her? You say you know me, so thus you must know that her body lies beyond this world." His eyes narrowed; he was still both irritated and frightened that he'd obviously been researched, without even knowing. The ghoul's resources must be extensive, he thought to himself.

Lorenor gave the swordsman one of his thin, almost grimacing smiles, and Eric instinctively recoiled in disgust. "Not all of her body." The ghoul spoke softly, and the bright purple energy in the thing's eye-sockets slowly lowered down to the warrior's hand. Eric looked down as well, and saw that the creature's focus was drawn to the strands of hair dangling from his blade, and immediately his hand once again clenched around the hilt.

"What can you do with but a few pieces of hair?" He asked carefully, for those strands were his personal treasure; he valued them far more than any metal or treasure or gold.

Lorenor leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers together. "You may despise the art of Necromancy, Anglekos, but even you must testify to the power given by it." Eric realized with a sharp shock of horror that this new tone that the creature had taken was almost one of affection; he spoke of this 'power' the same way a lover might speak of their husband or wife. "Necromancy isn't just the power of death; it is the art of revoking death, of bending the laws of the afterlife to the wielder's will." The ghoul spread his well-dressed arms almost in exultation. "The power of life and death; it is the power of a Thayne."

At this blasphemous proclamation, Eric said nothing; merely stared at the mancer in a mix of rage and disgust. Chuckling lightly at the expression on his guest's visage, the ghoul continued, lowering his arms. "It is with this power that I shall bring your...love back from the land of the dead, and into the land of the living." The purple orbs slowly fell back upon the strands of hair, and Lorenor smiled slowly. "All I need is one of those little strands there."

[Lord Anglekos]

A quiet fell over the small room, even as Veris and "Sam" shuffled back into their traditional places by the door. Eric, holding onto his little treasures hanging from his blade, stared blankly at Lorenor, lost within contemplation. Slowly, his gaze fell to the carpet beneath them, and he bowed his head slightly. One hair; what did he really have to lose from this proposition? The necromancer already knew everything about him, it seemed, so secrets were out of the question, as was his privacy. One hair, and everything would be set right again. He could have his Amalia back; he would have something to live for once again. However, a thought nagged at the back of his head, and as he slowly lifted his head a burning accusation lingered in his eyes as they glared at Lorenor. That accusation was given voice as he finally spoke. "You're not doing this for free." It was less of a question than an actual statement, solid within it's finality. "You want something from me, something beyond her hair."

The flesh above the ghoul's right eye rose in a comical mockery of a raised eyebrow, and the skin stretched as it smiled like the devil. "My my, what a clever little pawn you are." When Eric didn't flinch or move at the insult, but merely continued to stare accusingly, Lorenor continued with a chuckle. "But of course there is. After all, this world is run on favors."

"What is it that you want?" The swordsman asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer. He would sell his soul if he had to in order to regain Amalia back in his life, but it wouldn't mean he would enjoy it.

Deep within the eye sockets of the undead's visage, the violet light grew in intensity as Lorenor's deep, powerful voice took on an almost reverent quality. "I am in search of a powerful artifact, of sorts." Slowly he leaned forward, gloved fingers pressed against one another. "Long ago, there was a warrior of great demonic power. His might was only matched by his ambition, for he longed to unite Althanas under one banner; and, with his legion of devilish supporters and soldiers behind him, sought out to do so with force."

Eric frowned as his host began to tell this story, but chose not to interrupt, despite his urgency to simply find out what the damned monster needed. Every second was a second longer than he wanted to be here. "In his lust for power, the demon sought to conquer a place of reputable power; to convert those who could return the living back from death." Lorenor continued, oblivious to Eric's impatience. "For they practiced not the art of Necromancy, but a form of magic that was unique to Althanas." The purple orbs of light fell upon Eric, and the ghoul smiled with anticipation. "He advanced upon the Citadel."

Slowly, Eric could see where his host was getting at, and tensed. The Citadel was a dangerous place. Not only did warriors of all different sizes and might go there, but it was only safe to assume that the monks themselves were dangerous; he had witnessed their power firsthand during the battle with the beast of blood. Before he could speak, however, Lorenor continued. "As you can imagine, the demon underestimated his foes, and his army was laid waste to the many..." The ghoul paused, before spitting out the next word in disgust. "...heroes of the land. But the demon himself would not fall, and instead of surrendering to their blades he poured forth all his power and sentience into his helmet. When the warriors got there, the demon's body was gone...and the helm, brimming with his strength, was all that remained."

The necromancer took a breath, even though Eric doubted he needed one and assumed that he only did so for dramatic flair. Gazing intently, he continued his story, the air hushed with the importance of it. "The monks could not drive the warrior's essence from the metal, so they instead split the armor into four pieces using a blade of icemold, and buried the four pieces across Althanas."

"And so you want me to go retrieve them, is that it?" Eric spoke sharply, interrupting for the first time.

"Again, you are clever." The creature smiled at his guest's words.

Gritting his teeth slightly at the mocking tone, he frowned inwardly. Obviously, to gather these pieces together would bestow some kind of power to the wearer of this helmet; it was only common sense. And to give that power to an enemy of the Ixian Knights...would definitely be a moral struggle. But, he knew, that his want for Amalia would overcome those morals, and so he didn't bother with the morals of the situation for right now. There was one thing he was cautious about, however. "Couldn't you get these pieces yourself? Why do you need me?"

Lorenor folded his fingers together as he continued to give Eric that same cruel, manipulative smile that told him that everything had been thought out; everything was according to plan. "As you can see, myself and my retainers all have a certain condition, and due to that condition we are prevented from entering...certain places."

"Holy places, you mean." Eric replied dryly. He knew that the "condition" Lorenor spoke of was their undead status.

The ghoul chuckled. "Yes, but not only those; the monks made sure to place the pieces in places where either we cannot enter...or are guarded by powerful creatures that despise us." A slow smile pulled from ear to ear upon the dead flesh. "My retainer is in-expendable; however, you are not. So this is my offer; if you succeed in gathering the four pieces of the helm and bringing them to me, I shall revive your precious...lover."

[Lord Anglekos]

"Do you accept this offer, Eric Anglekos of the Ixian Knights?"

Silence flooded the closed cabin once more. Eric briefly wondered if any observers outside were panicking at the sight of the Nightmares, or if this ghoul had taken care of that little detail as well. Like a puppet on a string he was, guided by this mysterious puppeteer, who managed to know everything about the swordsman when Eric himself had done every he could to tie up loose ends. His mask of anonymity was broken, his identity a facade for this creature to parade around him like a taunting dog's treat. Every instinct in his body, every rational thought told him to say no to Lorenor's offer, and with one swift sweep of his sword sever the monster's head from it's shoulders before it's two cronies could sever his own. He would be sacrificing his own life, but it would be for the greater good; no longer would the monster be a threat to innocent lives, no longer would the Ixian Knights have one more thing to worry about. He would truly be living up to the title of Monster Hunter, and he would die with honor.

Honor, however, did not come before memories, and that rational thinking went out the metaphorical window as Eric's cold gaze slowly lifted from the floor and into the darkness of the monstrosity's glowing eye sockets. Lorenor knew exactly which buttons to push, exactly which memories to pull to the forefront of Anglekos's mind. And Lorenor knew what the words would be as soon as Eric's dried, cracked lips opened and they slithered out from along his vocal cords to infect the air.

"I accept."

Lorenor chuckled lightly, and folded his fingers. "Very well. I--"

Before the ghoul could finish however, Eric cut him off sharply. "I am not done, Lorenor V'halkulus."

The necromancer paused, before smiling and gesturing slightly for the swordsman to continue. Eric did just that.

"You seem to know all about me. Except, one thing." The eyes narrowed, and slowly they began to glow with an intensity that had only been previously matched by the flash of anger when he'd broken the table. Subtly, the air just above his hair cracked. "When they killed Amalia, I decided then and there I would fight not for myself, nor for my country; I fought for vengeance. When the prince of my land came forth to me for my assistance and from my allies, I did assist him; but not for his sake. And when I slew the king with my own two hands, I did so out of vengeance." Hissing the word with almost familiar, serpentine grace, Eric's fists clenched, and the crackling in the air became more palpable, a sizzling that could be smelled in the contained area. "All my life, I have been nothing more than an empty shell, driven only by humanity's base instinct to survive and my need to fulfill that vengeance. And now, you come here to me with an offer to return my life to me."

Eric leaned forward, feet on the ground, as suddenly lightning became visible around his body, unconsciously activated. There was the audible sound of a blade being unsheathed and seconds later a massive titanium sword had it's edge placed against his throat, the hilt being held by thick fingers covered in scars, the black cloaked "Sam" standing at his side growling. The swordsman paid no attention to the minion, eyes only for Lorenor.

"If you ever even think of going back on your offer, Lorenor V'halkulus, there is no place on any dimension or any realm that you will be safe. I will track you down. If I fail the first time, I shall grow stronger. If I am slain, I shall be the first in line to be a necromancer's puppet to be returned to the world of the living. I shall kill whoever I need to, use whatever means I need to, but make no mistake, Lorenor, I shall eradicate you from existence." Reaching up with one hand, he gripped the great butchering blade at his throat, and pushed it away from his body as he slowly stood, eyes burning with his words. "I am no stranger to vengeance, ghoul. And should you betray me, I shall embrace it once again. Have I made myself clear enough?"

During this montage, Lorenor had not moved once, and that smile never disappeared from his face; in fact, a sick light had infected the energy in his "eyes", that would cause a normal man to perhaps shiver in fright. "Very clear, Knight. Very clear."

[Lord Anglekos]

Slowly, Eric unwrapped one single blonde strand from the steel blade at his side, the thin and fragile hair flowing with the movement as he silently extended it to Lorenor with obvious reluctance. The latter then opened a small plastic bottle he'd managed to pull from wherever when the swordsman hadn't been looking, and carefully took the hair with obvious care before opening the bottle and sliding it within. As the ghoul screwed the cap back on, Eric spoke softly as the lightning faded from about him. He still felt he had plenty of energy to spare; despite his tired body, the power did not fade upon use. In fact, it only seemed to rub up against his skin and bones more, as if pleased upon the fact of it's usage.

"Be careful with it." Eric spoke quietly, even as the huge cloaked creature that guarded Lorenor re-sheathed the huge titanium weapon in it's hand upon it's back. "If you lose it, I won't forgive you."

"It seems there are quite a few things you won't forgive me for." Lorenor spoke with humor in those dead vocal cords, waving one silken-coated hand as the ghoul slipped the bottle into the inside of it's tuxedo. "I suppose I will learn to tread lightly."

The swordsman turned away in disgust at being mocked and headed for the closed door of the cabin, even as Veris, the vampiress, inclined her head to him and opened it for him into the moonlit night. "I suppose you even know where I'm stay--" Eric began, before he looked outside and saw that, oddly enough, they had moved.

The Nightmares had pulled the carriage in front of a small inn, barely used it seemed and it's condition was nothing to "write home" about. Like the surrounding area about it, it was average; in quality, in luster, in appearance. A flame flickered in the downstairs and top right window, but that was all the signs of life that Eric could see. Behind him, a dry chuckle echoed along the golden walls and into the chill air, giving him goosebumps when combined with the night breeze.

"I shall give you the location of the first piece in the morning, Eric Anglekos."
Lorenor's voice carried to his ears, even as the swordsman stepped out into a small puddle. Eric looked behind him, and saw the vampiress already closing the carriage's door, the flaming undead horses restless and "pawing" the ground with clickity-clacks of the bones striking the cobblestones. "Until then...sleep well."

And the door shut, abruptly. In an instant, the carriage was off, the Nightmares dragging it along the streets of Radasanth until they turned a corner and Eric could no longer see their flickering violet flames. Slowly, he turned, his visage a mask of dispassion, and pushed open the door with numb fingertips.

When he got inside and shut the wooden door behind him, creaking on it's hinges, a dark and somewhat filthy room greeted him. A man stood behind the bar of the room, cleaning the dishes with a dirty rag, and eyed the swordsman with his one good idea as Eric approached him, sliding a single stool backwards before sitting upon it.

"Your finest." The youth's voice came out dead, his emotions sucked away into a whirlpool of exhaustion. Reaching into his purse, he drew out two silver coins and slid them onto the ebony table before him, covered in scratches and residue of some kind. "Please."

The barman turned away without a word, already preparing a glass for the warrior. He'd seen these types all the time; they came, and they went, drowning their sorrows in alcohol before finally passing out. At least there's no one here to rob the poor fellow. The server thought to himself with an inward laugh, before finally sliding the glass filled to the brim into the warrior's waiting hands. Exchanging a brief nod, Eric lifted it and downed a third in one gulp, wiping away the foamy residue with the back of his hand before setting down the glass with a thump.

One eyebrow raised at this, and for the first time the barman spoke. "Y'keep doin' that, and I'm gonna 'ave to charge ya f'room service, if y'know what I mean."

Eric waved one hand, as he looked to his side, through the filthy pane to the outside world, his eyes darkened with thoughts. "No need." He told his server quietly in that same, dead voice. "I doubt I'll be getting much sleep tonight."

Spoils requested.

Lorenor's Blessing: Eric has received a small gift from the ghoul, in the form of magical energy. All it has done is two things; he now can perform double the amount of magic he normally could in the space of a day, at the cost of losing his self control over his rage.
This is a passive ability.

[MetalDrago]

STORY ~

Continuity (6/10) ~

Setting (7/10) ~

Pacing (7/10) ~

CHARACTER ~

Dialogue (7/10) ~

Action (6/10) ~

Persona (7/10) ~

WRITING STYLE ~

Mechanics (6/10) ~

Technique (6/10) ~

Clarity (7/10) ~

Wild Card (7/10) ~

Overall Score - 66/100

Lord Anglekos receives 1500 EXP and 200 GP

Spoils approved pending RoG review

Lorenor's Blessing: Eric has received a small gift from the ghoul, in the form of magical energy. All it has done is two things; he now can perform double the amount of magic he normally could in the space of a day, at the cost of losing his self control over his rage.
This is a passive ability

[Silence Sei]

exp-gp added.