“The wardings of that accursed place hold true still. They sap my powers more than imagined I.” A second voice was definitely feminine, a caressing shiver of a voice that spoke of silk and whispers and promises of shadows and touch.
The first figure shrugged with a sinuous wave of its body, “I do not know stay shall I. My freedom is enjoyable.” The figure gestured idly and nearby a man dressed in the uniform of the Larkson Watch drew a knife across his throat, the cut joining many many others on his body. As the last of his life’s blood fountained as a scarlet ribbon in the air he slumped to the ground. Only to rise moments later, dead eyes focused on its master.
The feminine voice changed in a flicker turning into a thing of razors and pain, “Mine husband you shall see free or your usefulness is at an end, know this Phy’el Fleshwalker.”
The corpse white skin of the first split open as the second’s words played over it, bloodless flesh gaping open. With no sign of pain upon its face it smiled slightly and nodded, “An it pleases you my queen.”
The voice, once again silken caresses, “Keep up the pressure on the wards. Use the humans as you can to subvert them. The Accursed One’s guardians seek to undo our release and attend to them I need.” Wings of green fire erupted from the second’s back and the body elongated. The grass for yards around wisped into ash as it rose into the air with a lazy beat of her wings. Hovering for a moment the solid black eyes looked down at him, “And use your command over the dead and flesh to recover Krag’s animus and restore him. I do not wish my beloved to be deprived of his personal guard.”
Phy’el turned his head to follow the figure, using the heat of it to track it while the eyes of his head, boiled and burst in the first instants of the wings coming out and caressing his body, slowly regenerated. “Some day my queen. Some day…”
Ranks of motionless figures jerked in unison minutes later as a single cry of raw anger and rage ripped through the air. With a crook of his finger he summoned one of them to him.
“I hear you’re asking for Shuk.” Dra’kin started as a voice spoke behind him, the staff of wood he was carving slipping out of his hand and rolling across the worktable. He turned to see one of Shuk’s halflings, Keri he was almost sure.
“Yes, I wanted to check on her, it’s been a couple of days since I’ve seen her and I wanted to make sure she’s all right.”
“That’s why she has me. Me and Meri. To make sure she’s alright. She went up stream with Meri to Forge.”
“Oh? Why?” Dra’kin gestured to a nearby chair and sat on the edge of his bed.
Keri shook her head, “Guild business. I’m sure you understand.”
“When’s she coming back?”
“Guild business.” the halfling thief replied.
“Uh, okay. When she gets back could you tell her I’d like to see her.”
“I’ll give her the message.”
“Great. Are you hungry? My treat. The council came through with a little gold to thank us for our ‘efforts’ in looking into the murders and for driving the creature out of the temple.”
She shook her head, “No thanks, I’ve got to look into some things. You can’t give people a chance to get momentum or your place in the order of things becomes at risk.”
There was a tap on the door and moments later it opened revealing Torel standing there, “Hey we’re going to go over to… Well hey there. Meri? Keri?”
“Keri. Meri’s with Shuk who’s…” Dra’kin paused as Keri shook her head slightly, “…busy right now.”
“Mi’lady Keri would you care to join us for the evening meal?” Torel asked with a slight bow.
“Thanks but no, I must be off.” she replied.
“Perhaps next time then.”
“Maybe. Later Dra’kin.” Keri said, flashing him a look, a warning in it. Torel stood aside to let her leave, coming further into the room.
“So what about you? Hungry?”
“Sure, let me get my pouch.”
“So what’s up with Shuk?”
Dra’kin grimaced, “Guild business. Don’t think I’m supposed to talk about it.”
Torel shrugged “Okay, just being polite. We’re going to try some place that Stak found down on the docks. Swears they have a fish stew to die for. Personally I think it’s not the stew but the person bringing it that he thinks is to die for.”
Dra’kin rolled his eyes, “Okay I guess. But if there’s another gods damned drunken brawl this is the last time I’m letting any of you pick a place to eat.”
Torel protested, “Hey those were all Biminey’s fault! Him and that damn hand of his trying to steal drinks from drunks.”
“I’m just saying, your fault, my fault, nobody’s fault. I have to jump through another window to avoid being thrown through it and I’m going to burn someone’s pubes off.” Hellfire flickered to life on the finger he was pointing at Torel. A sympathetic light pulsed in red crystal in a silver mount on his worktable casting a red glow onto the room.
Torel held his hands up with an innocent look, “Hey hey watch that thing!”
Dra’kin closed his fingers into a fist, the action causing the flames to go out, “Just remember what I said. Now let’s go I’m hungry enough to eat even bad food now.”
Torel clapped him on the shoulder, then pulling his hand back as Dra’kin stopped to look at it. “Right right, the warlock that walks alone. Come one.”
Dra’kin’s eyes narrowed as the avenger of Kord walked ahead of him, a thoughtful look on his face for a moment before clearing.
In the shadows across the street two figures stirred, one stepping out to follow the warlock and avenger down the street, the other slipping away down an alley.
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