The Grinning Man.

[wolfroad]

Rismar did not like his newest employer. He had served many strange folk in his life. From sorcerers to demon-worshippers and not once did he have any misgivings about them beyond the usual, except for this one. It was not his eyes, which were the color of black and red. He had served a variety of creatures with many different colored eyes or even none at all. His lanky, pale frame was normal for a human. It was not even the fact he never talked much. Rismar had served people who had never talked.

No, what put Rismar off was the man’s scent or more accurately, his lack of it. Rismar had never met a creature without one. Farmers had the scent of dirt and the animals they worked with. Warriors always had the scent of blood on them and even the wealthy had the smell of perfume, but not him. He had nothing at all, just an emptiness surrounding him, but thankfully it was a solvable problem.

This was why Rismar was glad to be on the plains of Raiaera. The dirt, grass, and even the Marē nahīṁṁ helped him forget the strangeness of his employer. However, there could have been less Marē nahīṁṁ.

They walked through the sea of grass. Horses had been out of the option. Rismar’s fangs and claws were too much for the beast of burden. Rismar led them, his eyes constantly scanning the landscape. His ears pricked up, checking for any sound that did not match the ones he already weeded out or expected. His noise and mouth searching for any differences in what the wind brought. His whiskers acting as sentinels for changes in the air. Every sense was active, giving him as much information as he could get to ensure his employer’s safety.

As they walked, a sour, familiar scent hit him as well as a newer, but equally sour scent. He drew up his left hand. His employer’s footsteps stopped.

“Marē nahīṁṁ, sir and something new. I will go deal with them.” He said, drawing his sword. A straight, double-edged blade, but this was no stabbing weapon. The tip was useless, instead the wielder relied on the broad blade to cut and hack their enemies to death. Perfect for Marē nahīṁṁ or anything else that required decapitation to kill.

Rismar ran, following the scent to its source. As he drew closer, the smell made his eyes water. Dear Yōd'dhā santōṁ, the group must have been larger than he thought!

Rismar continued to run when his whiskers twitched. Immediately he dropped, dodging a black-fletched arrow. He turned towards the arrow‘s origin, to see a horde of Marē nahīṁṁ charging at him.

His instincts took hold. He met the first attacker with a swing of his sword, slicing off the top of its skull. His Pradāna did the rest. Translucent arms came out of his sides, holding copies of Rismar’s sword. Each arm began striking out at the surrounding crowd, cutting off any body part too close. The horde continued to push in as Rismar fought back. Each arm moving fast, cutting down one after the other, littering the ground with heads and bodies. Still the horde pushed in, their numbers taking a toll on Rismar who felt his arms becoming heavy with exhaustion. He would have to end this quickly or leave his employer defenseless against the attackers. He raised his senses, ignoring the rotten stench of the Marē nahīṁṁ and found the new one. He drew his strength and charged.

"Mahimā kē li'ē!” Rismar roared, carving his way through the crowd to the new scent. His anger rushed forward like a mighty wind, giving him the lift to fight again. He tore his way passed the Marē nahīṁṁ to see the source of the new smell. A figure holding a bow, an arrow heading at him. He jumped, dodging the arrow and raised his sword. He landed, but something was wrong. Rismar was strong. He could easily decapitate most mortal races, but even then there was some resistance. This was too easy. It was too smooth. He looked up and saw a pale, gaunt face staring at him with empty eyes before raising its boot and slamming into his face.

[wolfroad]

Rismar awoke with his hands and legs to an altar made of bones, which was not something new to the veteran. He remembered the many times his previous employers had tried to use him as a sacrifice for their dark rituals, but the crowd surrounding him had to be the strangest. A group of Bhūtōṁ, slightly transparent and looking rather annoyed at being forced to be a part of whatever was happening. In the center of the group was a floating ball of green fire, moving up and down like a child excited or desperately trying to not pee on his parent's newly bought carpet. A few feet away was his employer lying on the stone floor with his hands tied to a nearby pillar. Where was the one who knocked him out though? Rismar didn't see the pale, empty face anywhere.

“Today is the Day of my Ascension! All will see who is the true inheritor of the title Archlich! My enemies will cower and all of the world shall Bow before Me! For I am the Greatest of The Necromancers. Me, Ainsley!” Shouted the floating ball of green fire in an incredibly, unnecessarily loud voice.

Ainsley? What type of name was that? Rismar had heard some of the strangest names ever made, but Ainsley had to take the kalakand. Rismar would have laughed if it wouldn't have attracted the attention of the Bhūtōṁ.

“Place the Marks upon his brow and ready the sacrificial knives!” Shouted Ainsley, again in an incredibly, unnecessarily loud voice.

“None of us can do that.” Said one of the Bhūtōṁ. A tall elf wearing what looked like the steel and gold armor of the Tel Aglarim with an exasperated look on his face, like he was stating something for the tenth time.

“What do you mean, you can't do that?!”

“Because we're still new to being ghosts, you idiot!” The elf replied back.

“You will not speak to your Lord in a such tone!”

“And you don't need to keep yelling! We can all hear you fine and it doesn't make you sound more commanding, just really stupid!”

The rest of the conversation was obviously going to be yelling and bickering, so Rismar took advantage of it. Thankfully, Ainsley used normal rope. Drawing on his Pradāna, he focused a copy of his sword to come up from his wrist. The translucent blade cut through the rope easily, freeing his hand. He grabbed it once it was completely out. Cutting through the rest of his binds, he dropped behind the altar and snuck around the pillars to where his master was tied to. Luckily, Ainsley was bad at controlling his group of ghosts who were now complaining about things that really didn't apply to ghosts like pay or proper treatment of one's belongings.

“Hold on, sir. We'll be out of here in a little bit.” He whispered to his boss.

Rismar was about to cut through the ties when something sharp prodded him in his back. He sighed as the sword dissipated as he stopped drawing on his Pradāna. He rose up slowly as the spear, he could tell from the change from metal to wood, pushed him out from behind the pillar in front Ainsley and his group of Bhūtōṁ.

“Lord Elkar, what are you doing here?” asked Ainsley, his voice not incredibly, unnecessarily loud for the first time in, what Rismar guessed, years.

“Stopping your sacrifices from escaping or do you not see the giant cat-man standing before me?” Said the new voice as it pushed him into the crowd of Bhūtōṁ.

“Lord Elkar, I wasn't going to sacrifice them. I was just going to keep them for you and Lord--”

“Don't lie, Ainsley. Ambition is a useful trait, but here's a lesson for you.” The voice said, walking into Rismar's vision. A figure in black plate armor. Motifs of smiling skulls and demons covered it. The only spot empty was its helm which was a simple black close helmet. It held a spear in both hands. One that must have been ten feet long with a leaf shaped spearhead.

“Learn to whisper.” It said and stuck the spear right through Ainsley. The floating ball of green fire turned purple and rose in height before dissipating into smoke and ash. The Bhūtōṁ also disappeared with Ainsley, leaving behind dust in their place.

Rismar watched the warrior walk back to his employer, pulling out a knife and bent down, slicing through the ropes tyeing him to the wall. He rose up, rubbing his wrists.

“Start moving.” Said the warrior, pushing Rismar's employer and Rismar forward, through the exit.