The being of rage and instinct known once known as Kurtz held on to the corpse of the assassin, refusing to give up it’s meal until every last shred of life had been taken. The being of morals and reason had been discarded, replaced by an animal who’s only goal was blind obedience to the void inside itself, and fullfilment of its base desires.

Minutes passed, the monster slowly giving ground to the boy, allowing the mind to take control over instinct with glacial speed. The hardest part was Kurtz having to deal with the simple fact that being a monster felt good, there were no were no worries or concerns and the feeling of power and dominance felt safe. Having to carry the burdens of intellect and reason, conscious and consciousness, the stable boy overtook the lich, pushing the monster back into the void.
Waking up to the scene of holding white knuckled hands, fingertips deep in the arm of a dead man, the intense feeling of grief overtook him. Killing a man was one thing, especially in self-defense, but to steal the very soul of one was a completely abominable act. What scared Kurtz even more was a sense of satisfaction from somewhere with in himself. For neither the first or the last time, Kurtz felt utterly alien to the world in which he lived.
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Shekah sat on her throne, the crimson light of her gem pulsating along with the runes she cast. Her assassin had failed her, choosing to fight instead of scout. Her eyes burned dark with rage at having been disobeyed. She cast her eyes towards the runes with a deep scowl, the divinations proving too general to be used to determine his opponent.

Dredging Quassek’s soul would be the best source of information in this situation, but his body was a continent away, and calling a ghost without a piece of its body was a monumental task, even for her. She sat on her throne, her dark claws clicking on the bone as she mentally went through the preparations for such a ritual, the energy it would take, and various other factors that would need to be taken into account. The hardest part was trying to conceal it so her rivals couldn’t feel the magic being performed, she didn’t want them being able to fight her for the traitor’s identity and then beat her to them.

She called to her servants, commanding them to clean the floor of the cavern, freeing the space she would need in order perform her brand of necromancy. She stood from her throne of bone and silk, striding to the cleared floor. She snapped her fingers sharply, mentally compelling a slave to come forth. The frail old man walked towards her, trembling the entire way. He laid on the floor, his mouth moving in silent prayer as the Necromancer pulled a wicked kris from her belt. Closing her eyes and chanting, the red gem at her throat began to glow.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and drove the blade into the man, his screams echoing through the cave. She began to parse through various organs, stopping every once and a while to examine on particular or another before moving on. The ritual she sought to perform would take many special ingredients she did not possess, but the act of keeping it secret could only be done with a very special gem that would have to be sought out by her personally.
The augury told her that the gem was in the trove of a large griffon, nesting in the deserts. She was the only one who could take such a beast out, and if she was being honest, would likely tax even one such as her. Still, such a hunt would be invigorating.

She stood up, giving numerous orders to her followers. amid the gore and offal of the augury, she began to undress, the black silk robe falling from her pale shoulders as she unhitched the belt keep it closed. Her long, slender form began to grow in the darkness of the cave, enlarging as parts stretched and malformed. After mere moments, a gigantic spider stood where a pale woman once had, its black and white carapace shining in the dim torchlight.