66th of Ashan, Arc 718
"AIE BEHNA LOKK," he yelled, his voice booming. It was Haltunga; a command for the undead, one he used to distinguish from words of casual graces to the more particular demands of a Necromancer in earnest. The undead beneath him faltered and waived, groaning, moaning; its jaw moved, nearly falling unhinged. "Creature!" Alistair yelled, eyes focused, enraged. "Do you not hear me? Aie behna lokk; ahf myrgdau fol hau tyrbyr," he whispered into the ear of the husk, as the zombified entity lunged its neck forward to dig into the mage's throat. Alistair quickly reacted with a punch meant to immobilize the entity's skull, but instead he sent the head of the beast rolling to the floor, the body shifting and twitching erratically.
He was attempting to use Protocol, imbuing commands into the raised creatures... by voice, symbol and gesture, as much as by intention. He wanted the Husk to scout out the cave before them, so that he did not have to, and his supposedly precious Revenants did not have to. But, for some peculiar reason... the entity did not answer. It flailed about, before closing its mind forever... the head of the husk rolled and Alistair's ether severed the connection.
"Why did that not work?!" he snarled, furious. "DEOVAN!" the mage yelled, a thunderous roar; the Revenant, scouring the treelines, quickly rushed to his side to the sound of rapidly increasing footsteps, kneeling at the side of the mage, who balanced on his knees as he hovered over the recently-slain corpse... seething. "They took my fucking stopwatch," he cursed to himself. The stopwatch that he was deeply attached to - the one he still hadn't opened. It had been given to him by that man, that mysterious person. The one who had given him those trinkets of his past.
It had always slipped his mind, always... and now it had been taken. Bandits stormed the tavern he'd been resting in, out in the country - and they killed so many. Took it all - the money, the treasures, the young... made to be slaves. Worst of all, he wasn't there when they came. Or he could've stopped them.
"Deovan," he whispered to the undead warrior, drawing the Terrendyte spear from his back. "We'll kill them. That fucking stopwatch is mine," he stated as if the Revenant understood, furious eyes furrowed, as the mage stepped to the fallen corpse of the other bandit whose post had been up front. Alistair placed a spread palm over his skull, before pulling his palm back, an insidious purple-shaded energy seemingly tethering from Alistair's live body to the face of the dead. It was ether, flowing in a small dosage into him, animating him.
"Teohan aie behna lokk," he said, commanding the risen husk to limp steadily through the cave. He did.
Grass and trees surrounded them, and before them sat the quiet entrance to a cave, risen out from the ground as a nub sitting in the center of the wider forest. The tracks of carriages had led him here - and to the doom of the scum within.
"AIE BEHNA LOKK," he yelled, his voice booming. It was Haltunga; a command for the undead, one he used to distinguish from words of casual graces to the more particular demands of a Necromancer in earnest. The undead beneath him faltered and waived, groaning, moaning; its jaw moved, nearly falling unhinged. "Creature!" Alistair yelled, eyes focused, enraged. "Do you not hear me? Aie behna lokk; ahf myrgdau fol hau tyrbyr," he whispered into the ear of the husk, as the zombified entity lunged its neck forward to dig into the mage's throat. Alistair quickly reacted with a punch meant to immobilize the entity's skull, but instead he sent the head of the beast rolling to the floor, the body shifting and twitching erratically.
He was attempting to use Protocol, imbuing commands into the raised creatures... by voice, symbol and gesture, as much as by intention. He wanted the Husk to scout out the cave before them, so that he did not have to, and his supposedly precious Revenants did not have to. But, for some peculiar reason... the entity did not answer. It flailed about, before closing its mind forever... the head of the husk rolled and Alistair's ether severed the connection.
"Why did that not work?!" he snarled, furious. "DEOVAN!" the mage yelled, a thunderous roar; the Revenant, scouring the treelines, quickly rushed to his side to the sound of rapidly increasing footsteps, kneeling at the side of the mage, who balanced on his knees as he hovered over the recently-slain corpse... seething. "They took my fucking stopwatch," he cursed to himself. The stopwatch that he was deeply attached to - the one he still hadn't opened. It had been given to him by that man, that mysterious person. The one who had given him those trinkets of his past.
It had always slipped his mind, always... and now it had been taken. Bandits stormed the tavern he'd been resting in, out in the country - and they killed so many. Took it all - the money, the treasures, the young... made to be slaves. Worst of all, he wasn't there when they came. Or he could've stopped them.
"Deovan," he whispered to the undead warrior, drawing the Terrendyte spear from his back. "We'll kill them. That fucking stopwatch is mine," he stated as if the Revenant understood, furious eyes furrowed, as the mage stepped to the fallen corpse of the other bandit whose post had been up front. Alistair placed a spread palm over his skull, before pulling his palm back, an insidious purple-shaded energy seemingly tethering from Alistair's live body to the face of the dead. It was ether, flowing in a small dosage into him, animating him.
"Teohan aie behna lokk," he said, commanding the risen husk to limp steadily through the cave. He did.
Grass and trees surrounded them, and before them sat the quiet entrance to a cave, risen out from the ground as a nub sitting in the center of the wider forest. The tracks of carriages had led him here - and to the doom of the scum within.