RP:A bad night

From HollowWiki

Summary

Who: Draiman and guest starring Bastion playing the part of Tynd.
What: Tynd escapes from his pursuers only to meet a worse fate in the dark forest.
Where: Dark Forest’s Twisted Path
Why:Gaining Necromatic-Preserved ElfSkin Robes

Story

Dark Twisted Path This path leads through the forest's haunting and constricting trees. The smell here is nauseating, almost like something has died and rotted away in the night. Along the ground are more spiders webs, and you see various cocoon like objects hanging from the tree branches. For some reason you feel you are being hunted, and should probably move on == Draiman walks through the forest zig zagging through the various trees until finally coming to an open area. Lifting his hands to his head he removes the hood and looks to the sky. A low annoyance growl escapes his throat. "Might as well..." he reaches into a spell component bag and draws out a handful of glowing stones. Throwing them onto the ground he repeats the maneuver a few times until about a hundred of them are on the ground. He begins a chant speaking in a long forgotten tongue.


Tynd had worked every job conceivable in his time as a mercenary. Nothing was too dirty, nothing was too difficult. A good portion of his ruthlessness came from recklessness, he'd never shied away from the prospect of dying, and it had opened up a world of experiences for him. Experiences... and risks. One risk he'd taken he now truly regretted. He hadn't wound up dead, but that may have been preferable. He'd crossed his own company for a payday, a company that was just too large, too present everywhere. The only place he'd been able to hide was in the deadlands of Vailkrin. What a hellhole... he hated it here. And even here, they'd caught whiff of him, sent hunters. He had to hide in the dark forest, more willing to try his luck against the dangers of the dark woods than against the ruthless bastards sent for him. They knew him, knew his specialties, knew who to send after him. He knew his chances were slim against them. And so he wandered the forest, looking to move camp yet again, hoping the hunters were far, far away, and his supplies would last long enough that he wouldn't run into town while they waited, swords in hand.

Draiman stopped his chanting as his nose caught a new scent. A grin crossed his visage as he realized the source of the smell. "Zandor go say hello to our guest.." he says still looking forward. An undead preklek steps from the trees and nods silently before drawing a pair of scimitars and disappearing back into the trees. A soft word is given followed by a clenching and opening of his fists with little warning a fog rolls down the twisted path removing the moonlight from the already dark forest. A soft rustling of trees behind Tynd would signal before Zandor would spring from the trees rushing toward the new guest swords pointed ready to pierce the elf's chest.

Tynd was paranoid. Aware. He knew he was in an incredibly dangerous place, it was the only reason the hunters didn't follow him here. He knew he was taking huge risks. When that fog rolled in, he felt the adrenaline course through his veins. Something was coming. Something he'd be unlikely to be able to stop. Tynd was very capable... as an archer. A sniper, an assassin. Support in large melee's, such was the pinpoint accuracy of his bow. He was a long ranged sniper, and his melee skills weren't ever quite up to par, but he'd never worried much about them. The companies positioned him well, they valued an elven archer of his caliber. But alone... with something getting the jump on him... he knew he wouldn't likely last. He had his bow drawn, and arrow knocked by the time the large, heavy creature came out from the trees. It was huge, and one arrow from ten paces wasn't going to take it down, not likely. Still, he'd drawn a silver arrow, purified, blessed silver, knowing where he was. It was his only chance, he wouldn't evade such a creature long, not here. Especially not in this fog, his abilities as a tracker were useless. Of course, he would try. He always did. He loosed that arrow at the huge target's face, then moved to dodge, assuming it wouldn't stop, assuming he didn't have time for another shot.


Draiman grinned as he heard the scuffle occurring. A simple glamor spell used he covered the stones to keep them hidden from anyone who'd deem themselves worthy to take such a find. Following the sounds of conflict he moved as softly as possible in the forest murmuring along the way. The great thing about this forest is there is a whole encyclopedia of things that want to kill you naturally.. and nature tends to leave the victims corpses lying around. It is those corpses that heed the necromancers call and begin to wake. The undead all begin to move to the same destination. Meanwhile Zandor moved in using the warrior skills he acquired in life knocking the arrow away with his one of his swords. The preklek kept moving pressing only to attack when movement stopped or to direct the foe in a direction. It was with this moment that Draiman guised as a drow would stumble across the two. With a snap of his fingers the fog fades in just as quickly as it had set. Zandor drops to a knee bowing to his master while the drow stands, surrounded by a small horde of undead. Remaining silent Draiman just looks at the elf waiting for him to assess the situation.

Tynd couldn't believe what he saw when he leaped to the side. A giant, undead reptile was fast enough to swat away his arrow mid air, from a longbow. He was truly buggered. He dodged sideways, barely delaying the inevitable, pulling a silver dagger that was woefully inadequate for the task at hand. It had been all he could afford at the time, and he knew it would still be more effective than a steel sword. Not that it mattered, not against this foe. He wouldn't even nick the thing, he knew. He was a hell of an acrobat, lithe and elven. It didn't matter. Then, the thing was bowing. He stopped, and looked around. A shambling horde, waiting, staring. A drow. The one thing he couldn't stand dying to, a thrice bedamned drow. He grit his teeth. He wished he'd prepared some way to die in a fire, and take everything out with him. He'd come across a magical trinket like that, once. Sold it for whiskey. A lot of whiskey. He wished he'd kept the trinket, now. He gripped the dagger tight, measuring his odds. Maye he could bury it between that smug buggerers eyes before the horde tore him limb from limb. He relaxed his grip, aimed his throw mentally. "These abominations are yours, I assume, dark elf?" Get him to talk. The minute the drow opened his mouth to speak, he'd take the opening, throw the dagger. He could hit a rabbit at thirty paces. Only one shot... that was all he needed.

Draiman simply grinned a quick tilt of his head to the side solicited a soft popping sound. Zandor kept kneeling awaiting a command. Holding a single finger to his lips he signals for quiet. With finger still in place he opens to speak “He is mine. I've just borrowed the rest.” he eyes the dagger nodding at the male. “I'd suggest you take a look around first before throwing that. I know you think killing me will drop them, and it's a smart thought, however As I've only borrowed them killing me will only drop the control I have over them. They'll be on you ripping you to shreds before I hit the ground.” he drops his finger. “but if you'd rather be food rather than eat food, by all means attack.

Tynd hesitated. He shouldn't, he knew. You couldn't deal with necromancers, you were more valuable to them dead than alive. You couldn't deal with drow... you were at best a slave to them, at worst, a body to loot or a dead thrall. They used a lot of necromancy, on the whole, from what he knew. Still. He wanted to live... and he wasn't going to accomplish much if he did throw his life away, anyway. The necromancer controlled a creature as formidable as that preklek, who was fast enough to deflect his shot, point blank, despite being undead. The likelihood of that dagger doing more than annoying him was... slim. "If you want something, then talk, dark elf. Otherwise, just get it over with already." He belted his dagger, ready to quickly draw it, for all the good it would do, in favor of taking out his pipe, stuffing it from a pouch, and lighting it with with a cantrip. Only magic he knew, best spell in the world, in his opinion, 'cept that one that turned lead into gold. He was sure that was a real thing.

Draiman ponders a moment. Time was not on his side, the full moon wouldn't last forever so with a nod back to camp he sent the preklek back to camp. “Get it over with? As you wish. Cease him…” four of the bigger undead; a human missing his jaw a dwarf with an arrowhead pointing out of his eye socket, and a set of orcs that have chunks of their meat and flesh removed step forward two would attempt to subdue the target while the other two would defend any attack. Each of the four even in mid counter attack would attempt to capture and hold the man. Each, upon grabbing him (if successful) would turn and face Draiman with the elf arms stretched to the side.

Tynd grit his teeth, and drew that dagger again, dropping his pipe to the dirt. He slashed at them, and the silver burned their flesh, but the four managed to wrangle him down anyway. He should've thrown the damn dagger. He was forced to his knees, arms held wide, face full of defiance, and fury, and of course, fear. He knew what was coming. At least his daughter was safe. Really, that's all he cared about anymore. It was the only satisfaction he was allowed to have at this point, and he clung to it, with a father's desperation. He held his mouth shut, didn't bother spewing curses or spitting at the drow's feet. Would all be a waste anyway.

Draiman grinned as he approached the elf looking him over. “yes… yes you'll do fine.” A hand reaches down and grabs the dagger from the elfs grip. “You'll not be needing this any more” he takes a step back admiring the weapon. “I think Zandor will enjoy this. When I'm finished with it.” he eyes the dagger eyeing his own reflection. “So Before we get started I feel I should tell you… this is going to hurt. And I mean alot. Are there any final words youd like to share before you lose your voice to screaming?”

Tynd snarls. "Get buggered, you filth. The Gods have a special place waiting just for you, after this life. I'll meet you there." They could take his body... but he knew his soul was protected. He might suffer, but he had that.

Draiman laughs “not for a very long time…” he allows his eyes to reform to their natural reptilian state. After he nods “Then let's begin shall we?” the drow guised necro walks up to Tynd and begins to speak softly. A magical hum surrounds the two bringing his spell to life. First Draiman grabs at the elf hair pulling it taut. Taking the blade of Tynds life he begins to saw at the skin. Cutting a gap between scalp and skull. With the precision of a surgeon he continues to skin the elf alive. Each time the assassin would black out or near death; Draiman would alter his spell either waking the man instantly or bring him back from the gates of death. All the while the main spell keeps the elf skin wet and easy to cut while being resistant to tearing that dry skin would cause. The undead Preklek slave returned to the sight and placed the glowing stones under the operation allowing the elf blood to flow over the gems making sure to coat each of the hundred in Tynds life force.

Draiman steps back after the task of skinning the elf is completed he looks at the man with a sadistic grin. Reaching down he grabs hold of the glowing stones and pockets them. Taking the flawless skin and propping it over his shoulder he heads back to his home dismissing the horde of undead with a wave of his hand he prepares for yet another night.