RP:The Assassination of Lady Larewen Dragana

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Part of the In Darkness We Trust Arc

Part of the Agitation Arc

Part of the The Day I Tried To Live Arc

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Summary: Khitti moves back into House Dragana and approaches Larewen to discuss Guild matters when an unexpected knocking on the door interrupts them. Larewen answers, only to be met with an enraged Emrith who is dead set on ending her existence. Things don't go quite so smoothly though, and Larewen pays the ultimate price to protect Vailkrin when Emrith's attempt at killing her frees Corruption. As Khitti and Emrith flee the Abyssal Forest, Larewen gives herself entirely to the Shade.

House Dragana

House Dragana stands silently in the darkness and within her doors, the Lady of the House lounges upon one of the twin sofas. A cigarette hangs loosely in her mouth, a tendril of smoke curling upward was she flips through the pages of a tome. The elf wears upon her left ring finger for perhaps the fifth, maybe even sixth time, the obsidian-banded, emerald engagement ring that Shishi bought her so many years ago. Beside her, upon an end table, sits a glass of red wine. Aside from Larewen, the House seems oddly quiet. Margret, Sigmund, and Aisen are all at the Thorne Estate presently, undoubtedly unpacking some of the necromancer's belongings. The stench of corrupted blood hangs heavy in the air. If one were to touch the cloth of her dress over her chest or belly, they would feel it give way and their hand would be slickened with black ichor.

Emrith approaches the front doors of House Dragana with a steady, even pace. Rather than attempt to push his way through that barricade - which might not be closed to him, in any case - Emrith simply raps his fist on the enormous portals, declaring to all within his intention to enter. He is dressed in his customary white cloak and well-sprung leather boots, Heleg and Nahr crossed on his back. A small and unadorned leather scabbard strapped to his thigh holds another weapon, a slightly curved and heavily enchanted dagger lent to him by Pilar not so very long ago. The runecraft of the sheath in which it rests allows this dagger's enchantments to go undetected even to the spell-blade himself, so he hopes that both the unremarkable nature of the scabbard and the muting effect of his runes upon the dagger therein will serve to keep knowledge of its true intention from the mistress of the house. Despite the almost friendly cast of his green eyes and the not-so-solemn set of his chiselled countenance, Emrith Kohl is here to do one thing: to kill Larewen Dragana, if he can, and in so doing to fulfill the promise he made long ago to the woman herself. He has heard from a source he trusts that Larewen's evil has come to control her, to at the very least slip its prior bounds, and there comes a point in every man's life where he realizes that the spread of such pestilence can no longer be tolerated and must perforce be stopped. So here he is, ready to greet his former lover with a smile, even an embrace, should she allow it. He is long used to the art of subterfuge, and he figures that if he could get into and out of Trist'Oth alive not once but twice, he is likely to be able to gain access to the premises well enough to gain vantage enough to launch a decisive attack. He waits for someone to open the door.

Khitti came down from her room, having only just arrived within the city a few hours prior. She had things to do, magic to research, and cure ingredients to collect. But, first thing was first, her training as a necromancer. It had taken some time, upstairs, to do her unpacking and such as she was creating the means for a portal to the Tranquility, the object connected to such known only to her. Once things were said and done, she retreated to the room where Larewen sat, a sigh uttered as she took a seat on the other couch, eyeing the woman quietly for a moment. Her silence always seemed to unsettle Khitti, though merely because Khitti’d actually come to care for the woman, even if she didn’t think she had. That smell of black ichor concerned her too, but Khitti said nothing; Larewen’s secrets were her own and Khitti knew well enough to not pry. “Everything’s set for me to be here for a little vhile. Ve can start my training vhenever you’d like zhis veek.”

Larewen lifts her head from the tome, her gaze settling on the necromancer as she seats herself. A smile teases the corners of her lips upward, undoubtedly a rare display of pleasure. It even reaches the corners of those mismatched eyes. Her left one, having been lost in battle, replaced with a gray one, is now a brilliant, emerald green. Another new eye, and one more suiting to the woman that has been affectionately named 'Green.' Khitti's eagerness to learn and her return to her room in House Dragana warms the necromancer's heart... Speaking of that heart, as Khitti sits down across from her, she may hear the organ is beating. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. "I'm excited, and I am glad you are willing to learn, Khatja," the elf says, her voice surprisingly sweet. "Do you remember where we raised Damien? I have something there I would like you to see. I trust you enough with the knowledge of what I have come into possession of, and I think you'll agree with me: studying of the creature is vital to the Guild's future." It is at this moment that there comes a rapping upon the front door and Larewen's lips press into a thin line. The Shade's embrace upon her heart does not call out to the visitor that knocks upon the door; it is not her King that has come with tribute or dark caresses. Were it a servant, they would simply enter. And her fiance? Well, he wouldn't knock probably. She closes the book, rising to her feet with a perplexed drag upon her smoke. Emrith wouldn't knock either, so the elf is completely, utterly clueless as to who their visitor may be. Tugging it open, her eyes meet Emrith's and she is surprised. This gives the male the moment he needs to wrap his arms around her in an embrace. A heartbeat later - a literal heartbeat, he'll hear - and the necromancer as moving to disentangle herself from his arms. "Emrith," she greets, but there is no joy in the notes of her voice. He'll find her blood has transferred from the front of her gown to his own clothes. "Why are you knocking? She makes no attempt to hide the engagement ring, nor does she draw attention to it.

Emrith has been waiting eagerly for that door to open, poised to spring the moment he gets a chance. He embraces Larewen, who permits it for a moment. He gets a brief whiff of corruption from her - far more than he had expected - and as she moves to disentangle herself, moonlight plays off a very familiar ring. From embrace to attack in that self-same heartbeat, the spell-blade drives a foot toward Larewen's stomach, directly toward that gaping wound which, at last knowledge, was the source of the woman's stench. Using momentum and his boots for play on the smooth ground, not daring to step through the door itself lest the magics of House Dragana be more deadly to him within the walls and not just on the property itself, Emrith's hands flicker back over his shoulders, drawing both shortswords with preternatural speed. While he is doing this, Emrith is speaking. "You had your chance," he says, voice still calm, "and you lost it. You had a love, and have forsaken it." Something streaks out of Nahr's tip, a tiny fireball which shoots directly skyward. A moment later, Heleg disgorges a single thin spike of ice which, launched free of the sword which gave it birth, arrows straight for Larewen's throat. As Emrith begins to backpedal, giving himself space, the earlier-launched fireball collapses downward toward Larewen from above, meaning to cocoon her in a fiery umbrella. He had assured Pilar that it would be quick. The woman certainly has tricks, and on her home ground may be far more formidable than he expect. Still, with the onslaught begun, Emrith intends to keep his promises.

As things always were with Khitti, something felt off. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but as Larewen answered the door, and Khitti pondered over this mysterious thing Larewen needed to show her, the feeling nagged her in the back of her mind. A thing to show her? Where they’d raised Damien? Interesting. Wait...Emrith? Shouldn’t he be in Frostmaw or something? With the rest of the guild? Khitti rose from her seat, slow steps taken to follow behind the elder vampiress, to greet her fellow warrior, her attention on the floor, “Emrith, vhat are you doing…” She would’ve ended that in a ‘here?’ and likely a friendly smile--despite their ongoing difficulties between the two--but, his words and then his initial attack are greeted with confusion. Khitti knew, by that ring Larewen had on, that things likely ended between the two, but...did it really need to end in violence. There’s a sharp hiss for the male and a shadowstep forward to grab Larewen by the back of her dress to yank her backwards hastily into the house, “Vhat zhe frakking hell are you doing, Emrith?!” Shadow-flames were lit and a warning shot sent to the elf’s feet.

Larewen blinks at Emrith. Once, twice, even a third time as she fails to process his words. "What?" the elf begins incredulously, thoroughly confused by his words. Like it had been with Pilar before, the elf sees nothing wrong with the manner in which she had slaughtered two slaves. They were property and nothing more; guilt isn't something to be felt for objects. Whatever else she is going to say is promptly cut off by the sudden movement of the spell blade as his booted foot connects with her stomach. A sickening squelch is heard and the flow of blood from the wound becomes stronger, thicker. Larewen takes a stumbling step back, even as blood rises in her mouth. There are two wounds born upon her torso: the one Emrith is aware of, and a new one just above it. Corrupted ichor dribbles down her chin and suddenly the necromancer is moving. She doesn't understand the reason for Emrith's attack and his ambiguity in those words do not reveal that it is Pilar that has told him what she had seen. In Larewen's mind, Emrith is attacking her without good reason. Khitti's quick movement and the latching of her fingers upon Larewen's gown save the necromancer from the downward falling ball of fire, but not the spike of ice. It tears through her throat and her heart, reanimated by the Shade, pushes corruption out of the wound. Her hand raises, the left one, to cover it in puzzled confusion. Khitti finds the words that Larewen cannot and even as the younger vampire is shooting flame, Larewen is calling upon her own magics, upon the eldritch enchantments of House Dragana - enchantments that she never expected to put to use again a man she had once loved. The shadows of House Dragana come alive, pulling away from their respective owners as they twist and curl toward their mistress. Madness dances at the edge of her vision, guiding her actions. Unlike Khitti, Larewen does not attempt to question his actions: Emrith made his choice when he decided to attack her, and with the boot to her gut, negotiations were eliminated as an option. The writhing darkness encicles its mistress and then suddenly shoots outward, tendrils of thick, ropy shadows seeking to curl around Heleg and Nahr in an attempt to rip the twin blades free of his grasp. "Do not make me kill you this night for your foolishness, Emrith," the elf hisses.

Even as he begins to increase the distance between himself and the open doors of House Dragana, something strange is happening on the ground in front of him. Shadows are rushing down from the ring perched on his right forefinger, covering the ground in what looks like a web of scintillating darkness. It is this web which is struck by the warning shot of shadow-fire, setting it ablaze in an instant. Emrith begins to laugh then, but cuts it off when he realizes that Larewen, and not Khitti, was the source of this fire. "She is tainted, Khitti!" Emrith calls out. "I trusted you once, after you might well have killed the guild. Do me that favour now. Stand aside. I would not harm you lest I had to, but I will not be stayed. Larewen Dragana has allowed evil to completely claim her heart. For that, she must end." The web of shadow has now been entirely encapsulated in flame, and the little constructs springing from it appear to be similarly ablaze. Burning spiders, each no bigger than a thumbnail, rush forward toward the pair in the doorway, meaning to harry them with both the peculiar nature of their shadowy magic and the sheer magnitude of the heat they generate. This much, of course, can only be an annoyance for such as Larewen and Khitti, but Emrith, at least, has been spared any damage from that first salvo. Darkness still pools around the spell-blade's feet even as Larewen's shadowy creations batten on his weapons. Emrith lets Heleg and Nahr shoot free of his hands without resistance, yet perhaps there is some method to this madness as well, for the inky blackness at his feet suddenly extrudes ley-lines of its own which, instead of attempting to yank upon the airborne weapons, strike them with far more force than should be possible, sending both at an alarming speed directly toward the woman who would steal them. If Larewen wants these blades, let her try and catch them when they fly this fast! With his hands momentarily free, the vampiric elf quickly fastens his cloak, sending himself almost entirely invisible to the naked eye. With a brief surge of mana, the man begins to float a few inches above the ground, then charges directly toward the door. Huge mantillas of shadow mark his passage, collecting around him and forming inexorably into the massive form of a spider. Grrya Dama'Ka knows little more than its own blind imperatives, but here, before him, is one who eats. She who eats must herself be devoured...for in the end, there is only one who may partake of such rich delicacies as this world possesses. As the spider rushes toward House Dragana and the two women standing in the doorway, Emrith bears down with all of his magical might, bursts without a sound from the back of the spider construct, then watches as it attempts to ensnare both sources of threat. Khitti it will only immobilize, if it can, but Larewen will, if she isn't quick, be dealt a fate far more dire.

Khitti let out a snarl at Emrith as shadow-ice was summoned up, thick crystals of grey-ish frost seeking to snuff out the fiery spiders that plagued the two necromancer, “Zhat vasn’t even me, you son of a bitch! Don’t put Amarrah’s actions on me. Zhat horrid woman’s dead and her sins have gone vith her.” Good job, Emrith. You’ve pissed her off -again-. She didn’t know -what- Larewen did, but that wasn’t any of Khitti’s concern. “Ve’re all tainted, Emrith. Even you. Just LOOK at vhat you’re frakkin’ doing. Zhat’s not normal. Zhat’s just as evil, you moron.” Ice was traded for fire again, somatic gestures made only moments before two wide arcs of purple and black flames erupted from Khitti’s palms, both hands brought together to combine the arcs into one. “Larewen, get out of here! Now!” She didn’t know how well the flames would work to deter the spider, but Emrith himself certainly wouldn’t get through without himself setting alit. A shadow spider was easy to deal with--it’s not like she hadn’t dealt with Grrya Dama’Ka before.

The scene is almost a rehash of the other night, in the shadow of Vailkrin's Castle. There, in the abandoned slave market, Larewen's magic pulled on the basilisk blade and as a result, the blade found its mark in her chest, piercing her sternum and narrowly missing her heart. This time, Heleg and Nahr are the ones spiraling toward her, propelled by more than her own magic. In that moment, as Emrith calls to Khitti for aid, beseeching her to step aside, Larewen succumbs willfully and fully to the call of the Shade, to a preternatural need to survive so that she can mete out His Will with her King at her side. The House stills as its mistress fixes Emrith with a cold, empty stare. Heleg and Nahr fly past her, burying themselves into and cracking the obsidian staircaise beyond the necromancer. A verdant glow sets fire to the necromantic litany carved into her flesh. Khitti's words draw the necromancer's dual-colored eyes toward her and she gives a singular shake of her head. "A true Queen will fight to protect Her people. This is my city. Find Shishi at the Thorne Estate, tell him that Emrith has gone mad, and prepare him. Emrith is a fool and will yet live to suffer the consequences of this. Corruption lurks north of here," she says, watching the lurking creature's approach. A low hum begins to flow through the House, crescendoing as magic is drawn from throughout the forest. Larewen is siphoning from all of her creatures that wonder the forest. All except for one, which must be left undisturbed. "And if I fall, you must tell Lionel. He, Kasyr, Shishi, and I were not strong enough to end Corruption." With those words, Larewen's magic reaches out toward Khitti's, seeking to rip that energy away from her as well and then she is stepping out to the forest, to meet Grrya Dama'Ka and the fate that awaits her. The thrum of necromantiic energies is deafening and foul as it culiminates around Larewen, swirling beneath the twitching of her fingers as she raises scarred hands upward. The hair on the back of Larewen's neck stands on edge as she waits only a few moments for Khitti to begin moving and then, she is casting. A stifling, unholy torrent of magic seeps from House Dragana, its rotting grasp a malaise of siphoning, draining magics as it spreads outward in front of here and toward Grrya Dama'Ka, toward Emrith. It is an invisible leech, reaching outward to stifle the shadow construct's own energy, to smother it with otherworldly darkness, to negate it. A final pulsating rush of magic follows after, sending a shudder through the immediate vicinity.

The spider rears up on four of its eight legs, crashing into the arc of flame and seeming to bathe in the eerie radiance. Emrith's voice comes out of that hellish maelstrom, even though the man himself, all but invisible behind Grrya Dama'Ka, stands well clear of it. "We are all tainted. This one worst than most. I will take the sin of her death on myself to spare those she will likely slaughter. I trusted you before I knew the truth of Amarrah. You were the vessel she used, just as Larewen is likely now the vessel of something greater. Very well. Amarrah is gone, and so I have no quarrel with you. Whatever animates Larewen Dragana, though, is beyond my ken, and dangerous, and must be stopped. Talking is done. Get free of this place, and we can speak of this later. Remain, and I cannot be blamed for what happens. You have had warnings already; take them and flee, Khitti! Take them and flee!" Emrith punctuates the last word with a sweep of his unseen right hand, and the Everspider slams back to the ground again, now attempting to quite literally eat any shadows that come near it. In light of Larewen's gruesome counterstroke, it is perhaps the spider's only chance of remaining whole long enough to suit its purpose this night. The nature of this beast is that it can eat its own essence - shadows, in this case - to cause itself to grow stronger, and for the moment at least, there is a great deal to feed upon. The fire which accompanies some of this desperate meal is troublesome, showing through its shadowy bulk in fitful bursts of light, but it is swelling quickly. Emrith cares little for the spider now; if it is large enough to blot out any possible sight of him for the moment, then it is serving its purpose. As Grrya Dama'Ka begins to shake, Emrith's right hand dips to the holster on his thigh, loosing the enchanted dagger from its previous confines. Since the Everspider is not currently trying to subsume him personally - and is, in truth, on the verge of exploding after all the shadows it has eaten in so short a time and all the dark magic which threatens to unmake it - the spell-blade charges directly through it, trusting that it has consumed enough of that protective arc of shadow-fire that Emrith will not be too badly burned. As he bursts out the other side, miraculously unburned and still protected by the ensorcellment of his cloak, Emrith begins a wild, flame-stance-inspired series of slashes not toward Khitti, but toward Larewen Dragana, who has helpfully come beyond the easy escape afforded by her house. The attack is hellishly fast, none too accurate but motivated by months of anger and heartbreak, set in motion by a torrent of pent-up rage that has never known an equal in this man's heart. He does not scream his outrage nor repeat his recriminations; this magic-draining blade makes all further speech meaningless. His own mana reserves have been drained dry by Larewen, but magic is not necessary to provide him the speed and ferocity he needs in order to grant Larewen a painful death of a hundred small, magic-siphoning cuts. Behind him, the Everspider explodes and is gone. Around him, the cloak he wears gives off one feeble burst of light and then fades to its normal colour, rendering him visible. He is a madman, in one sense of the word, a madman with a weapon who knows how to use it...the very worst kind.

All of this talk was pointless. Emrith was clearly unhinged and Larewen was hurt. This was a conundrum indeed. Khitti had no idea about the darkness that tainted Larewen--well, she knew of it, just not what it truly was--and no clue that it’d keep her safe at all costs. Her fire was proving worthless, and while she didn’t -see- Emrith, she could certainly smell that other vampire as he approached to take his flurried swings at the elder vampiress. Many of those cuts that Emrith sought to give the elder would likely hit their mark before Khitti could react, but...Khitti didn’t leave. Khitti didn’t abandon Larewen as she once would have. Instead, as the spider disappeared and her flames died away, she turned and shadow-stepped around Emrith, appearing again, this time in front of Larewen, taking the second half of the elf’s attacks. All at once, the enchantment on the blade took its hold, Khitti letting out a gasp as the her blood began to spill from various places along her body and the aether pool within her form--the magic that was once Amarrah’s was now her own, you see--began to quickly deplete and leave her weakened. “Emrith… one day… I’m going to kill you.” Her words were sluggish and pained, tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to stay upright, fighting off the state that was quickly overcoming her, determined to protect the Dragana woman that she’d only just reunited with a few short months ago. Larewen could cast as she may, Khitti wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet anyway.

Larewen is too focused on the spider to be aware of Emrith's approach. Though her right eye can see beyond the enchantment of the cloak, it is not enough. As Grrya Dma'Ka explodes, the first of the blade's bites cut her scarred flesh and... her mouth falls open as she feels a draw of magic taken from her. Then there is a second, a third, several more before Khitti's in front of her, taking the blows instead. Larewen's body begins to tremble as magic seeps from it, but she has not yet been depleted. Not as Khitti has, as the younger woman becomes sluggish. If the elf were truly so heartless as all might believe her to be, then Larewen would take this opportunity to flee for her own life, to let Khitti fall in her stead. But no, just like the delusions that haunted her in those Haathian Ruins, the dark ranger's sudden placement of herself betwixt the mad necromancer and the spell blade gives birth to another burst of will. Suddenly, Larewen reaches out with a hand that is burning with dark flames and snares the other woman by the shoulder. Her fingers dig inward, nails biting at Khitti's flesh as she draws upon the last remnants of unholy essence within her body. "Go. Now. Tell Shishi. Inform Lionel. GO!" The final word leaves her mouth on the rush of a low growl as a surge of magic flows through her. Where nails bite into flesh, Khitti will feel a sudden infusion of a magic too dark to wield: enough for her recollect herself as Larewen shoves her toward the south. "GO!" Panting breaths follow the word, even as the necromancer's legs give out beneath her. She crumbles to her knees, mismatched eyes staring upward at Emrith and there is the faintest flicker of pain in the depths of that stare, tainted by madness as one hand falls to the ground. Her nails dig into the rotted soil. "You will regret this, Emrith," she whispers coolly. "I loved you fiercely and I tried for you, yet you abandoned me. You always have, always will, because of your damned heroism. Shishi..." she pauses, drawing in a ragged breath even as her reanimated heart pumps corruption from her open wounds. "Shishi is right about you." On the last syllable, something otherwordly snaps to the north of them and the ground begins to tremble. The golem, undoubtedly forgotten in Emrith's rage, is left only with the spell blade's magic to keep it bound now, for it feels Larewen's fade entirely from its prison. A deep, throaty cackle rumbles from its throat and it stretches its energies, tearing through the reinforcements that no longer have anything to supplement. Corruption stirs again, free at last to seek a vessel of its own desire. Larewen's lips twist into a grim expression. "I cannot keep it bound any longer, you fool," she hisses harshly to herself.

Madman though he may be, Emrith Kohl is never the sort to lose his mind entirely to the fever of combat; to do so is an excellent way to cut down an ally, to make a tactical mistake, to get killed. When the first part of his onslaught seems to hit his target, he continues, pouring even more of his unleashed fury into the assault. When Khitti moves to intercept, Emrith shrieks a single word over and over. "No no no no no no no!" He tries everything he can to step past the vampiress, to shove her aside, to minimize the damage he does to her; despite his words, Emrith has no particular desire to harm Khitti who, despite Emrith's mistrust of her, has proven herself a loyal member of the guild of warriors and someone to whom he would trust his back. Emrith does not wish to hurt her, but when she continues to interpose herself between the spell-blade and his target, Emrith has little choice. He grits his teeth. Tears stream down his face, more for the harm he is dealing Khitti than for love lost or for the tainted Lady Dragana he is attempting to kill. His fury cannot keep pace with his growing fatigue. His attacks grow sloppier, if no less frenzied. In a sword-fight, he might well be outmatched by a journeyman now...but thankfully, this is not a typical duel of blades. In close-quarters combat, Emrith possesses a great advantage, and he intends to use it to murderous effect as long as he can. Then, suddenly, Larewen is doing everything she can to throw Khitti clear, and Emrith seizes his chance. Darting forward once more, he raises the dagger, intending to end this with one decisive overhand chop to the juncture of neck and shoulder. The necromancer is already weakened, and one final blow should end this, once and for all. Let the guilt come, as surely it will. Let the doubts rush in, as they, too, surely will. And then Larewen is speaking, and Emrith's mouth falls open. "I didn't abandon you," he replies, gasping. "Didn't abandon you. You abandoned yourself. If I'd known where I was, who I was, I'd have come back for you. I didn't. Now I return, and this husk is all that's--" And then, suddenly, the import of Larewen's words hits all the way home. He looks past the insult, past the hurt, past the fury, and his mind freezes in utter shock. "No!" he says again, but instead of a mindless shriek, as before, the word comes out in a strengthless little whisper. "Oh dear gods, no." Then he is turning and fleeing, Pilar's dagger still clutched tightly in his fist; he had promised to return it, and one way or another, tonight's work is done. If Larewen is not simply slain by the golem here and now, on the grounds of House Dragana, then she is likely to die at the hands of whoever can be raised against her in the coming weeks. Emrith has no desire to be anywhere near that monstrosity. The path to freedom lies southeastward, and he flees that way, heedless of whatever may happen behind him. He is bone-weary, but sheer mindless terror turns his legs to pistons, drives him forward and away from this place. He must reach civilization. He must warn. He must protect those who live against those who would make mockery of life. He must endure. He must right his mistakes, once and for all. He tried to do it by killing Lady Dragana. Another day, another attempt, he thinks.

Khitti stumbled as she’s pushed, but that flow of corrupted magic from Larewen gave her just enough of a temporary boost to push herself to her feet. It felt odd, that magic, as it tingled and ebbed its way throughout her body. A brief glance was given to the scene behind her, that blade held high above the vampiress. That was the last she saw as she fled from the house, and into the forest, heading towards the Thorne Estate. There was no shadow-stepping; she didn’t even really have the energy to use that vampiric speed of hers. So unused to a lack of magic was she that it was all she could do to not crumple to the ground much like Larewen was most likely going to do. She needed to get to Shishi...and then she needed to return to Brand. Even if it was just for the night. So few times had Khitti felt truly vulnerable like this, and he was the only one she trusted the most to shield her from the world.

The necromancer's other hand meets with the dirt beneath her as Emrith drives the blade downward into the flesh of her neck. Her magic is slipping away and the creature is free and she knows this and hears this. Her mismatched gaze is on Emrith, even as he realizes the extent of what he has done. "You. Abandoned. Me. Always," she reiterates her condemnation. "I should let you die, you fool. Get out of here." Blood seeps from the wound even as he pulls the blade free of her flesh and turns away. She does not cry and surprisingly, her heart does not ache. The elf doesn't question this small mercy, even as her head turns toward the north, to where the golem begins its rumbling approach. Closing her eyes, the necromancer draws upon the final drops of magic that linger within her. Tendrils of unholy energy reach into the corrupted soil of the abyssal forest, calling to the necrotic magic that has so horribly twisted it. Simultaneously, the elf's focus turns toward the curse emblazoned on her flesh and this time, she triggers it intentionally. A spell forms upon her lips, teasing the confines of the deadly litany upon her flesh and driving it deeper into her body. The eldritch runes dig into her flesh, intensifying the magic held within them as they etch themselves upon her bones. That willing self-damnation, coupled with what she is able to draw from the cursed foliage, is enough. Blood and corruption seeps from her wounds, from her mouth and ears and nose and eyes, as she turns her skeleton into a ward of stolen magic; as she releases every last bit of herself to the Shade's Will. The air crackles around her as a barrier forms, shooting outward from her person. She becomes the apex of a wall that rises around her and the golem, entrapping it. The cost? Larewen becomes unable to move, unable to tap into her own magics, and forced to remain kneeling upon the forest floor. Her eyes stare northward as the creature approaches: she is all that remains between it and freedom, and for the moment it is the bones now playing host to the Shade's Curse upon her that protects her City; that protects her Throne from being destroyed. For she has become the Shade's Key; just like Trajek, Larewen is a weapon for that infernal creature to wield.