Stolen Bones [Alakazam & Grungeknuckle]

[LooseTimber]

Montoumala. A city, on a city, on a city. Built in the middle of a massive swamp, the only structure placed on stable ground was the fortress itself. And when the village that sprouted up around that fortress had finally sunk into the ground, they laid down new roads, and built a bustling town on top of it. And when that sunk into the ground, they built a city on top of that. And when that city sank, they built an even better, bigger city. And gods and devils damn it, that city fucking stayed put!

The closer to the middle you get, the more the streets seem like bridges, running from cluster of buildings to cluster of buildings. In many places, the older cities and towns have been excavated, so you can peer down, and see where the original village melds with the stone beneath. Elsewhere, the old roads have become a series of tunnels, streets beneath streets. And all of it is used. Shops, smithies, merchants, even whole families, living and working and playing beneath the earth, dancing between the shafts of light from above, going up and down and all around the city, brimming with life.
This is Montoumala.

This is my home.

This is where I hide.
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Samuel had not come from a wealthy family, but he had come from a very large one. They had all lived in the same city, not Montoumala, another one, to the south. Five aunts, four Uncles, twenty-three cousins, four sisters, two brothers, and his mother and father, all living in the same place, the same section of the city. It was like they had a small town of their own, within it's walls.

And all of them were gifted with the Light, each in their own way. Priests, paladins, white magic wizards and sages, prophets, and speakers of holy words, these were the ways and walks of Samuel's family, this is how their bloodlines had been blessed.

Except for Samuel.

Try as he might, he had never shown any sign of being gifted, being more than a mortal man in terms of insight, or magic, or supernatural skill. And yet, this mattered not to those around him. He was brought up in a climate of kindness and understanding, taught the importance of accepting others, that the evils of this would need not be combated by steel and blood and hate alone, but could be abated by forgiveness, by fairness, by honesty and morality.
So, he had trained to aid others, in what ways he could. He learned the art of herbalism, and potion-making, to heal the afflicted with natural remedies, to harness the innate magic of the plants around him, and use them to the benefit of others.

Joining his siblings, Samuel had a short stint in the military, learning how to wield a simple weapon, and acting as a healer. It was there he had his first encounter with death.
It was there, he found his true calling.

Somehow, the essence of light and life that ran through the blood of his kinsmen had been... corrupted? No, that's not the right word... Reversed. Yes, for him, it had been reversed. Instead of wielding the light as if it were part of him, Samuel discovered his natural affinity for necromancy. How he could feel the power of the undead, manipulate it, use it for his own purposes. But he was still the same man. The same man who valued kindness, compassion, and peace. He was intent on not following the same bloody, violent path of other necromancers. He would use this dark magic as a tool, prove that it could be used to aid mankind, and not just blight it. But then again...

His family might have understood, and accepted him. They might not have. So afraid of what they might think, Samuel never gave them the chance to decide, and left home, quietly, secretly. He hid himself away, in the darker corners of the world.

His small row house was one of them. A minute, skinny building, in one of the deep alleyways beneath the city, two stories tall, with a cellar. Few buildings had those, Samuel was lucky in that regard.

He had just stepped out of his home, locking the door behind him, and wrapping his old leather coat around him, though the weather was quite comfortable. He'd be gone for the next few hours, wandering the forests and swamps surrounding the village, collecting herbs, looking for caves, and if possible, bringing back something dead.

 

[alakazam]

This city was the kind of place she liked. It was busy and large which made it very fertile ground for theft. Aria had already been in Montoumala for a few months, cozying up the to the thieves guild there and enjoying looting homes and some of the older pieces of town that weren't as densely populated and still had items left from the past. Those were always the best finds. People seemed to love to pay high prices for old things, and Aria had an eye for them and where to find them. Some people thought it was talent, but she just called herself an observant opportunist.

She had established relationships with quite a few eager buyers as well, and today she was aiming to supply one of them. He was a mage, apparently pretty high-ranking, who was always on the look out for expensive or rare ingredients. And she had already had a place in mind when he asked her if she could poke around for some items.

She had seen the guy collecting herbs before, and had followed him back to his house, making a mental note of it's location which was not too far off from where she lived. Whenever she saw him about she had kept an eye on him, looking at what he brought in to his home. He was an herbalist or potion maker or something. Whatever it was she bet he had some good stuff. Plus he appeared to keep to himself, making him an easy target. He probably wouldn't know who to suspect if he came back to a looted home, and she was always careful to not leave a trace and to keep her items in enchanted places. While still young she was no amateur, having adopted thieving fairly early out of necessity.

So when he left that day Aria slipped into his house through a window in the upper story, careful not to break any locks on the window. She had grown up used to climbing trees, so finding herself climbing into a home from up high really just felt natural to her. And leaving no trace of her being there was her specialty.

Her leather boots didn't make a sound as she began to walk through the rooms of his house, carefully placing things that interested her in the satchel that rested on her side. He had a few good things here and there, but nothing to sneeze at. As she made her way downstairs she began to find more things, but still nothing big like she had hoped. This guy had seemed so peculiar she would have bet he would have something weird stashed away. While down stairs she had even taken a moment to pause, something she rarely did since it was generally best to always be moving, and look around. The elf grinned when she spotted what looked like a door to a basement. Brushing short dark brown hair out of her eyes she moved closer to see if she could find a way down, drawing one of her daggers in case anything surprised her down there.

This seemed like the kind of place that would have something of value. Not many houses had basements, so when they did have one it generally meant the inhabitant had wanted it for a reason besides space.

 

[LooseTimber]

In the middle of wandering the swamps, Samuel paused in a shaft of sunlight, raining down between the trees. He stood there, eyes closed, enjoying the glow. Samuel was tall and lanky, with thin features. He'd once been tanned and dark-haired, but his time working indoors, and exposure to the dread magics had made him pale, and faded his hair to a silver sheen. Even his eyes, once brown, were turning, small flecks and slivers of grey in them, more appearing every day. He wore simple clothes, a hood, breeches, and some old, worn boots. His leather coat was so poorly made, it was almost humorous, constructed haphazardly out of mismatched patches, with an odd assortment of spikes running up the back and shoulders. It was a more unusual coat than most people knew.
"I need to get out of the cellar more..." He thought to himself, idly, taking the brief respite to simply breathe.

For the past month, every waking hour that hadn't been spent collecting herbs, or preparing potions, he'd been spending down there, working on his latest creation. A Soul Urn. A collection of undead spirits, concentrated and congealed, all bound together within a small container. If used properly, it could be utilized as a powerful source of magic, a renewable pool of spirit energy, and a unique tool. And they weren't just any souls in there. These were special ones.

Souls of those who had died in the throes of despair and utter hopelessness.

A small village, to the north, named Felthorpe, had been simply wiped off the map. Their crops had failed, their animals struck by blight, and their trade roads washed away. Those who had the means and money to leave had done so, and those that remained... the winter had taken care of them. Cold and starvation was a horrible, slow way to go, but it was the lot of every man, woman, and child in the village.

It was a two week journey, there and back, but Samuel had made it. With the village abandoned, he had the whole place to himself. He'd set up the ritual, and with a great effort, raised and bound the souls of the dead to a single vessel. He'd kept them stable during the trip back with incantations and added energy from his staff. It was exhaustive, and didn't stop, even when he'd returned home.

At least there, he'd been able to place a circle around it in the cellar.

Ah, the cellar. For all the time he'd spent down there, it's very image had been burned into the back of Samuel's retinas.

Simple. Rustic. Dirt floor. Though it never got muddy, the air would get damp when it rained. Small shelf on the back wall. Large chest of herbal supplies under that. A makeshift fireplace for cooking and boiling to the left, and a small work bench under the stairs, where he'd do his chopping, grinding, and mixing. A series of pegs on the right wall, with a knives, or other various tools he'd need, for either of his "Professions." A small collection of bones lying on the floor beneath.

And in the middle, the centerpiece. A circle of bones, sticking up in the earthen floor. Symbols charred into the floor, both inside the circle, and surrounding it. A ring of powdered bone, ash, and glass within that. And in the very center, the Urn. Black glass. Clay stopper, sealed with silver. It's contents as black as night and then some, always moving, always shifting.

Samuel shook his head, drawing his thoughts away from his cellar, and the foul thing that resided within it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off the growing headache. He hadn't been getting enough sleep, and wouldn't be, for at least a few more nights. Not until the Urn was properly sealed, and stabilized. After that, he would rest.

 

[alakazam]

They musty, stale air of the air of the cellar made her cringe, but she continued, determined to continue. She hadn’t encounter any traps so far which concerned her. There could possibly be nothing of worth in the basement, and she was just placing herself in an area with no easy escape. The idea of that worried her more than anything. But when she finally made it down into the depths she was glad to see her risk was worth it.

“Necromancy,” she breathed out, astonished and delighted at the night of the man’s workshop. The bones were a dead giveaway, and the whole place had the feel and dread and death. “Perfect,” she said noticing the urn. Clearly it had worth. She decided to grab the other things of value before she grabbed the urn, wanting to be careful with it once she had retrieved it, especially because of its potential danger. The elf was not gifted with magic but from the looks of it it held great power. Even if she was not proficient in magic she could sense the energy rolling off of it.
The woman worked quickly, judging what was worth her time and what wasn’t as fast as she could. The chest full of herbs was promising, and she grabbed which ones she deemed rarer, not bothering to be to careful with her examinations.

Now that she knew who this man really was she definitely didn’t want to get caught in his lab. An herbologist she could handle. A necromancer was much more dangerous. Once she had found all that she deemed worthy she turned to the urn in the center of the room. Stepping over the barriers placed around it she silently wondered if she should be concerned about what the urn held, but the prospect of wealth was too tempting. Plus she would get rid of it quickly. The sooner it was out of her hands the better.

After another moment of hesitation she grabbed the urn and stepped out of the circles, taking care to not to disturb anything, just in case. Now holding the urn she felt as if she could feel the misery of whatever was inside. Shaking her head she hurried out of the cellar and then back out the upper story of the house. Not wanting to waste anytime she brought the urn and herbs to her buyer. He seemed delighted with the urn, why she did not ask, not really wanting to know. It was easier when you asked less questions.

Ariaurried back to her own home. It was small, but looked lived in. She had a point to always make her homes look like home, so that people would not expect her having a profession that usually made where she lived temporary. She immediately put the rest of what she had taken in a chest that would make magically tracing the items impossible.

Breathing a sigh of relief she shed herself of her weapons, putting them away, and then she changed out of the soft leather armor and black hood and pants she wore when out. The woman was tired, she had not gotten sleep the night before as she had been busy watching the necromancers house and waiting for an opportunity to strike.

She put on a tunic and breeches that looked more appropriate for a young woman to be wearing, much different from the clothes of a thief. But under the clothes tattoos ran over her body, all meant to make her quieter, luckier, and deadlier when need be. The marks of her profession.

Feeling fairly confident that he would not track her she laid down in her bed, letting sleep overcome her. But despite her confidence she still fell asleep with a knife under her pillow and her bow and arrow by her bedside table. She was nothing but careful.

 

[LooseTimber]

It was well past midday before Samuel returned to the city, and later still when he finally entered his house, and slumped into one of his rickety old chairs. Deayojee, the hound spirit bound to his coat, tensed up, and Samuel could sense a growl from it. He rubbed his eyes. "Not now. Down pup, down," he mumbled, weary. It might be dead, but the spirit still acted like a dog, which meant sometimes barking at nothing. Still, it was restless, and needed to move around.

Samuel took off the coat, and as soon as it hit the ground, the spirit took form. The back tails twisted, while the front arms bulked, and the entire coat seemed to wrap around an invisible form, as if becoming it's skin. The spikes stood up, as the shapes of muscles and sinew and bone stood out under the coat, though there was none present. For all the world it looked like some monsterous hybrid between a hedgehog, and a hound, but with no head. The empty coat began to strut around on all fours, it's collar close to the ground. Samuel ignored it, and went upstairs, intent on falling into bed, at least for a few minutes. He'd have to preform the rite on the Urn again soon.

The window was open. Samuel stared at that for a moment. He hadn't left the window open, had he? Pondering, he reached out, and closed it, unsure. He could feel Deayojee's silent snarls from up here. Something wasn't right. Afraid, but unsure what he was afraid of exactly, Samuel quickly began striding through the house, panic building in his head.

When he reached the cellar, Samuel found something to be afraid of. He stared at the empty spot in the middle, mouth hanging open, unable to speak. Someone had taken the Urn, the thing he'd been laboring on for a month. Someone in the city knew he was a necromancer. And the Urn was out there, somewhere, unstable. The power bottled in it... should the seals fail, it could explode, blight the city...
Samuel found himself walking around the circle, trying to think, trying to calm down. "No, no, no, no, no, this can't be happening, I... I..." He'd have to move again. He'd have to pick up everything and skip town. He'd always left when he thought someone was getting wise, but never left any real proof. But this... someone would find out. They'd link him to the Urn going critical, to all those deaths it would cause...

He'd have to find it. He'd have to get it back.

Now that he had a plan, Samuel could think clearly again. It was his work, his craftsmanship, he had a connection to it. He could find it. Samuel stepped into the middle of the circle, and sat down, cross-legged, taking his staff into his hands, concentrating.
His breathing slowed, the air around him seemed to grow colder, the lights, darker, as he drew power from the staff, and reached out with it, seeking that which was his.

Somewhere, out there, he felt it. But that was all. Best he could guess, it was in the city, but something was blocking him. He couldn't narrow it down, and would never be able to find it in time. He couldn't even tell how close it was, or which direction to go, only that it was still in range of his senses.

Samuel closed his eyes. This was it. This was the end.
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"Like all the Hells it is." He opened his eyes. Now wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself. Now was the time for action. Someone had stolen from him. From him. No-one did that. Samuel stood up.

Yes. Rage. It was a powerful force with the dead. It was a powerful force with the living. And he straddled both those realms. Samuel forcibly drove the staff into the earth, let go, and spread his arms out, drawing power.

"Ruhru iz! Rise up! Ruhru! Muhru uhu, nuhru sursuhrph rzuhsuhsr, nuhru zi'assurr a su Ursusphi'asu a su uhsrs suhsssu! Shake thy bones!" The dread tongue of the dead, of black arcana spilled from Samuel's lips, calling forth spirits below. "Si'ahu sil sirsil arur, irsa suu I sanni'ars! Fsan su asri'ahur szuhsuhphs, szuhs suusuhrph rssinnuhrph suhu, i'ars sass, i'asi'ars sui'as, I sanni'ars suu! I sanni'ars suu! Ruhru Uz! Rise Up!"

Five little mounds around the edges of the cellar, grew bigger, the earth cracking, crumbling away. Five skulls rose up out of the earth, like foul weeds, as whirling trails of smoke and shadow flowed from their open jaws and empty eyes. Breathing heavily, Samuel commanded them.
"Some one else has trespassed in my home. Someone else has taken what is mine! MINE!" He pounded his chest, turning to address the spirits behind him. "But no-one moves without a trace. No-one walks, and leaves nothing behind. Search. High and low. Inside and out. Do this..." Samuel pointed his staff, swinging it around at the spirits surrounding him, "And I shall release thee."

That was a big reward. He was going to use these spirits to power his spells, maybe even to create the final bindings on the Urn. This was more important, though. Without their help, there would be no Urn. Samuel sat back down, and waited. The spirits sifted and streamed through the house, flirting through the walls, snaking up it's corners.

And then, one returned, and dropped something into Samuel's waiting hand.

A single strand of hair. Samuel set his teeth grimly. This would work.

 

[alakazam]

Aria’s eyes opened just as the day was starting to wind down. She had slept heavily, blankets still wrapped tightly around her and her dark brown hair fanned out around her. Despite sleeping soundly she now felt restless. Normally she would just stay in bed and probably sleep through the night, but not tonight. Something was nagging at her in the back of her head.

It was the stupid urn. Normally the woman wouldn’t give such things a second thought, but she had felt the power in it. It was the kind of item that could cause problems. That she was sure of. Perhaps it was better that the necromancer no longer had it. Whoever would come to own it now would very possibly do some good with it. Because so many good things came from black urns that made you feel miserable when you picked them up…

The elf huffed and stood up, beginning to pace back and forth in her bedroom. Telling the guild was certainly an option but they didn’t really deal with this sort of thing. If they knew the man was a necromancer it isn’t as if they would kill him. They were thieves, not assassins or mercenaries. If she informed them it was likely they would just take note in case they ever decided to rob the poor fellow again. No, no. Not poor fellow. He dealt with death. Not that her profession was pure, but his…well he was getting right into the muck of the world. Aria just skirted around it, taking bits and bobbles as she went. But telling anyone about him would be stupid. There was no need to draw attention to herself, and as far as she could tell from the contents of his home he had seemed harmless.

Then again her home didn’t really suggest much in the way of what she did either. Most of her weapons were concealed and tucked away. Daggers that she could slip poison into, vials of poison, an assortment of blades and tools, they were all hidden. The only thing sitting out was a dagger from her homeland and her bow and arrow. She posed as a huntress. Her people were known to be proficient with bows so it rarely surprised anyone when she said she was a huntress, and she had the skill to support that statement.

That seemed like a good thing to do. Hunt…or at least practice her aim. At this time of night few creatures would be out, especially if she only went out toward the outskirts of the city, but at least she would have a little distance between her and her deed of the day. She grabbed her leather bracers and boots, slipping them on before sheathing her dagger and sliding her bow and quiver onto her back. As she stepped out of her home she paused, deciding to at least find out is her mage knew what he was going to do with the urn. He had mumbled something about knowing just who could use it, and also something about instability.

After only walking for maybe ten minutes she groaned and stopped. This would do nothing to ease her thoughts. Just pushing it out of her mind was her best bet. Turning on her heel Aria began to walk back to her home, deciding she would swing by to grab some food before heading out of the city. She had a feeling she would be doing target practice for a while, until she was no longer worrying over the urn or the fate of the necromancer.

 

[LooseTimber]

Samuel set to work immediately, collecting the scant tools he had left. A touch of bone powder, a pinch of the earth below, mixed with water, and poured into a tiny wooden vial. Hissing incantations over it, he suspended the hair in the liquid, then pricked his thumb with a small pin, squeezing out a drop of blood. The mixture let out a shrill whine, and Samuel quickly jammed a cork stopper down on it, sealing it shut.

Hair, generally, was out of his domain. It had no spirit directly attached to it that he could raise up, and unlike voodoo, Samuel couldn't use magic on it to directly effect people. However, hair, this hair in particular, belonged to someone. It was once part of her, and however faint, it still had a connection to her.

Most importantly, though, it was dead, which put it, just barely, juuuuuuust barely, in Samuel's range. And with his own blood and necromancy in the mixture, he had a connection to it. Him to the hair. The hair to the owner. Through the realm of unlife, to that of once life, a connection was created. He could find her.

Samuel quickly left the house, bundled in Deayojee again, cleaver at his side, staff in his hand, vial tied around his wrist with a cord, and with a few extra tricks up his coat-tails. Nas and Toth, two poltergeists he had bound and bent to his will, hiding under the coat as well. Samuel was moving out in full force, or at least as close he came to that.

The vial worked like a compass, and as Samuel gripped it, he could feel it pull towards it's owner. Not just that, but with Deayojee along for the ride, he had an extra advantage. Though dead and headless, the once-hound still had it's sense of smell, and had gotten a whiff of the intruder from the house. Samuel could tell where the intruder was, the dog could tell where the intruder had been, and pick up a recent trail. Together, they'd track down this bastard.

The trail pulled him to the marketplace. Samuel did what he could to control his breathing. His temper was still flaring, his heart still pounding, but he had to act as if nothing was up, though the outdoor stalls were closing, there were still plenty of people around. Milling about, heading towards taverns, to home, jumping into the shops last-minute. It reminded him, not only was he doing this to save himself, but to try and prevent others from being killed as well.

He pushed his way through a crowd, and the vial suddenly pulled in a different direction. At the same moment, Samuel could sense Deayojee's hackles raise up. They were close. They could have just passed by the intruder. Samuel turned, and stared hard at the people he had just passed, than began to follow. He had to trust the vial to guide him. He had to trust Deayojee to lead the way.

He had to keep his hands from clenching so tightly.

 

[alakazam]

As she walked back to her home she watched the people around her. For a city built upon ruins it was incredibly lively. So many people shoved into all the spaces available. In moments like these she almost ached for her old life. Though she had been gone for many years she still sometimes missed the company of the trees over the company of people.

You didn’t have to worry about trees stabbing you in the back. In cities she was always looking over her shoulder. And when she glanced over her shoulder when someone bumped into her she felt her entire body tense up.

The necromancer. In his ridiculous coat looking very determined. The woman turned her head back around breathing deeply. Amber eyes glanced over her shoulder one more time, frowning. How would he know how to find her? Aria had been careful…hadn’t she?

Looking forward once more she picked up her pace ever so slightly, hoping to not attract any attention. If she could just get back to her home, she could grab her stuff and split. Aria was as good at hiding as she was at thieving.

Turning the corner onto her street her stomach dropped. Her street was fairly empty eliminating the protection she had had before in the crowd. If he had a way of finding her he would be able to pick her out easily now. The elf cursed under her breath and moved even quicker than before. Slipping into her home she immediately locked the door. Maybe he hadn’t known how to find her, but the sinking feeling in her stomach said otherwise.

At this point she wouldn’t have time to leave. At least not with any amount of ease. Biting her lip she pulled bow off her back and grabbed an arrow out of the quiver. The elf wished she was wearing her armor or really anything more protective than just a tunic and pants. It wasn’t often she felt so vulnerable, and she wasn’t fond of the feeling. Backing away from her door she moved into the shadows of her front room, near the doorway of her bedroom. If he came in through the window of her bedroom or through the front door she would know, and hopefully have at least a moment before his eyes found her to act.

 

[LooseTimber]

Deayojee smelled fear. In a city, that could mean anything, and be coming from anyone, but Samuel's instincts told him otherwise. His once-hound's senses and the locator vial were almost in sync, leading him down the same path at nearly the same time. He turned down one of the mid-level streets, well-lit and mostly clear, to see an elvish woman look back over her shoulder, and enter a house. That had to be it. There could be no mistake.

Sure enough, as he paused in front of the house, Deayojee found that the trail ended at the door, and the vial pulled towards the house. Samuel took a few steps back, looking it over. Simple. Small. Single-story. Too low down on this level for a cellar. To close to other houses for a sewer exit. Except for windows, this door was the only way in and out. He had to be sure, though. Samuel turned his back to the building, and leaned against it, next to the door, trying to look casual. There were still a few stragglers, winding their way around the streets.

"Nas," he whispered, ducking his chin down into the coat, "slip inside. Find the..." he wanted to say intruder, "... the girl. When I command you, hold her. Disarm her, if need be. Do not harm her if you can help it, but keep her from leaving the house at all costs."
"Toth, go around the house. Secure all the windows, break the locks closed if you have to. Then join thy brethren in the house."
Samuel gripped his staff with both hands, glancing up and down the street. One last person in sight, in a minute or so, they'd turn the corner, and he could act.
"Be silent, but above all, be swift. Go."
As he hissed out his final command, two black forms, like liquid smoke, dropped down out of his coat, and slipped into the shadows, silent as a dead man's breath.
Toth, moving with grim, straight-forward efficiency, found only one window that could be used for exit. It slipped inside like a pitch fog, and quickly slammed the window shut and locked it. With a distinct, sharp ping, the latch snapped, jamming the window firmly shut.

Nas took far more glee in it's task. It poured under the door, it's grinning, pinched face appearing momentarily as the rest of it's spectral form writhed it's way through, then melted into the shadows again. A mere cold spot, it slipped in near the girl, ogling her with hungry eyes, dreaming of what it would do to her, had it's will not been tethered to that damned necromancer. Nas hoped there would be screaming. Toth, wavering silently on the other side of the elf, merely regarded her with the cold hatred it regaded all things, living, dead, or undead.

Samuel pressed the butt of his staff against the door, and forced his will upon it. As a soul bled out of the foul tool, the air grew colder, Samuel's breath came out as mist, frost formed on his knuckles. He could have blasted the door down, but chose a more subtle path, instead weakening the veil between the Mortal domain, and the Underworld, bringing a bit of the other side to this one, and letting the door feel the full brunt of the effects. The metal locks and hinges rusted and grew brittle, their unliving nature not immune to the touch of decay. But it was the wood of the door that suffered the most, withering, splintering, creaking and warping, giving audible cracks as the once strong timbers shriveled into dry-rotted boards.

 

[alakazam]

Originally the lack of exits was a good thing. It meant that in an emergency she would have fewer entrances to pay attention to. It would be much harder for a town guard or angry buyer to take her by surprise. Of course she had never expected to stumble upon someone who dealt with the dead. People were one thing. Spirits were another, and they were something she couldn’t even begin to hope to understand.

When she heard the window slam shut she turned around the doorway only to see a sort of black smoke slithering toward her. She pulled back on the string of her bow, considering shooting when she saw movement toward the front of her home. Another black shadowy beast was slipping inside. It disappeared, but not before she caught a glimpse of the wretched things face.

Her grip on her bow lessened as the figures disappeared into the shadows. The dark had been her friend, but she very quickly stepped out of her previous haven, wanting to distance herself from whatever those beings were. Was it possible to feel limp and tense all at once. Because that was how she felt. Her flight or fight reaction was leaning toward flight, but she doubted she could get far at all at this point. Her breathing was heavy now, and her bow, while still notched with an arrow, hung loosely, aimed at the floor.

Hearing her door…crack she turned her back on the beings to look at her door. Normally she would not be so foolish, but she wasn’t even sure how to defend herself at this point. All her usual techniques felt worthless. The elf watched helplessly as the door began to decay. For the first time in a very long while she almost wanted to cry. To curl up and pretend what was happening was not real. It all felt like a nightmare anyways.

Perhaps if she moved quickly enough she could still save herself. Forcing down the lump in her throat and ignoring the sinking in her stomach she lifted her bow, ready to kill. If she did that perhaps his spirits would leave.

However as soon as she did she felt the air grow cold around her again, and she knew one of the shadowy figures was coming upon her, probably due to her threatening his master. Gritting her teeth she dropped the arrow and grabbed her dagger, attempting to slash at the form, though she was almost certain it would do her more harm than good. Even as scared as she was if he killed her Aria intended to go down fighting.

 

[LooseTimber]

Samuel drew his staff back from the door, planted it on the ground, and forced power into his voice. "Now. Take her." Though a little more than a whisper, the words hissed and echoed, seeming to move on their own accord past the door, to be clearly heard by those inside.

With a gibbering shriek of excitement, Nas lunged forward, materializing out of the shadows, crooked skeletal form with dead eyes and ethereal mist draped from it's bones. One cold claw reached out, passing through Aria's, a chilling, untouchable presence on her flesh, and locked onto the handle of the dagger as it came down on it. The other hand shot out, wrapping around the collar of her tunic, pulling her closer. It's own visage drawing closer to the girl's own face, Nas pulled a jagged, leering grin, the black smog of undeath pooling from it's open jaws.

He was shivering with excitement. This was almost like the old days, when he was still alive. Him, a knife, and a cornered, frightened woman, just the way he liked it. Dying hadn't erased any of the pleasure he tasted in the fear of others, nor had it diminished his strength. He strained to pry the blade from Aria's hand, a slow, but painfully inevitable struggle. He would get the knife, just like so many times before.

Toth was more direct. He materialized behind the girl, a larger, translucent abomination of cold smoke and decayed flesh with no face, took hold of a chair, and swung it at her legs, knocking her off her feet.

Samuel did not give her time to recover. As soon as he had spoken, the necromancer had heaved forward, driving his shoulder into the weakened wood and crippled frame. Though the lock did not give, the wood that it was anchored to did, cracking and crumbling away. With thudding, furious strides, he marched forward, towards the sounds of struggle, towards the girl on the floor, until he was just about standing over her.
Raising his staff up, he brought it down upon her, delivering to her a sharp blow to the head, and the blissful black of unconsciousness.

------------------------------------------------------

Getting the girl back to his house, his cellar, was no easy task. Though the good citizens no longer walked the streets at this late hour, there were still the occasional straggler and drunk, lost or wandering aimlessly. There was also the town guard, and their usual rounds to be made. Eventually, Samuel chose the method that was easiest, and least suspicious. He pulled the girl's hood down over her eyes, draped his coat over her, and swung her arm around his neck, then proceeded to traipse back home. To all who saw them from a distance, it looked like two drunks, or one drunk being helped along by their much taller friend. If it would be any consolation to the thief, bending over like that while supporting her made Samuel's back ache.

Once home, Samuel removed his coat, her hood, and dragged the elf girl down into the cellar, closing the heavy doors behind him. They kept in the screams of the undead, and his own shouted incantations, they'd silence this girl's cry to the world as well. He bound her hands together, and lashed the bindings to one of the thick beams supporting the structure above. She was left crouching on her knees, and wouldn't be able to stand, but could lean back against the beam if she needed to rest. Samuel wasn't yet comfortable with his monstrosity.

Having secured the girl, he gave her a swift slap across the face. "Wake up!" he shouted, and slapped her again. He didn't have the time to wait for her to awaken properly. Haste was of utmost importance here.

 

[alakazam]

She had heard the words, but had not known what they meant until she heard the shriek of one of his minions. Coming face to face with the skeletal creature she gasped and tried to move away, but it was fast too, faster than her. A shiver ran through her body when he reached out for her dagger and passed through her. How could she fight something she couldn’t even touch? Desperate, Aria swung at it still hoping to save herself, but her punch merely went through it, and another cold feeling passed through her body. Then she was face to face with it, the terrible being pulling itself close to her. The joy it seemed to take in attacking her almost scared her more than being attacked. A panicked noise escaped her throat, and before she could even consider giving up her dagger in
exchange for freedom from it a chair smashed into her legs.

Her grip loosened on the dagger in order to catch herself, which she barely succeeded in doing. Staring up she saw the other creature, faceless and decaying. Panicked and fear were rolling off of her in waves. This was bad. Very bad. Before she could get up she saw the necromancer arrive, standing above her. She was disoriented from the fall and how quickly everything was happening. Aria saw him bring up his staff, and in the back of her mind something told her to move. But she didn’t, she couldn’t. The elf was frozen in shock and fear. Then it was black. All black.

----------------

When she came to her head throbbed and her cheeks stung. She was alive, but relief didn’t wash over her because as she opened her eyes she immediately knew where she was. The cellar. Exactly where her crime had taken place. It was almost ironic.

Aria expected her hands to be tied, but even so by instinct she tried to move her arms, body straining against the ties. He was good. The last time she had been in a situation like this Aria had been much younger and had been captured by a man with much poorer knot skills. He had also just been a stupid banker, not a necromancer with untouchable underlings though. That certainly helped.

Her hair had become disorderly on her trip to his home. Brown strands partly obscured her field of vision, and she shook her head, attempting to clear both her mind and her hair away from her face. Some of it did slip to the side and when it did she focused in on the man crouching before her.

Angry eyes glared at him. If he was going to kill her she wanted him to see every moment of her death in her eyes. She wanted it to be burned in his brain forever. The almost eerie coloring of her eyes helped to intensify the stare. An amber coloring encircled by a dark brown ring made them stand out and almost glow. She often joked they made her see better in the dark, and though that wasn’t true the unsettling look of her glare was often enough of a defense for her at bars and the like.

The elf laughed, a sort of strangled desperate sound before leaning forward as far as she could and spitting at him. She then said something in an older elvish tongue, something to the effect of “Go fuck yourself, you ass.” Perhaps antagonizing him wasn’t the best idea, but she was quickly becoming resigned to the idea that he was going to kill her. He was a necromancer after all. He was probably delighted at the opportunity to have a new ward. Especially one he though deserved it.

The least she could do was make his life difficult.

 

[LooseTimber]

Samuel clenched his jaw. The woman had said something to him in elvish, and he'd only caught one word, and it wasn't a very nice one. He stood, and stepped back from her, taking a more comfortable seat on the stairs across from her. The circle, the stone, the runes had been cleared away, there was no room for both it and her in the cramped cellar. He pointed at the empty place on the floor.

"Where is it? It wasn't in your house, and it wasn't in that special little chest of yours with the other things. I know it's still in the city, though."

He could have killed her. In the long run, it would have been easier. Slit her throat, bleed her dry, then raise her up. All her secrets, her will, it would have been his to command. Maybe.

In truth, it wasn't that simple. There was never a guarantee that the mind would survive death, and even if it did, it might just be an impression, the person's general temperament, their last moments, a powerful memory.
And then there was the danger posed to Samuel himself. As a necromancer, he was more in tune with death than others. Causing it, killing someone... it could taint his mind, make him addicted to it. That was why so many necromancers turned out so bad, why so many followed a path of violence and death, driven mad by their own power. Samuel had a strong, disciplined mind, and he knew that. But he also knew, overconfidence could be his downfall. He wasn't willing to take the risk, not yet.

He couldn't let her know that, though.

Samuel pointed the staff at the girl, resting the end of it just under her chin, raising her head up a tad with it. "Answer me. This is the last time I ask nicely."

 

[alakazam]

As he moved back her gaze stayed steady, watching him carefully for any signs of violence. Her eyes followed his and she stared at the empty space on the floor. Aria closed her eyes for a moment when he asked where the urn was. He had been through her things. She had to wonder what state her house had been left in. She probably wouldn’t return and the idea of all her things being looted made her sad. Especially her bow and dagger. They were the only things she had really kept of her old life. The bow was crafted with wood from the forests of her home and was carved delicately. Her heart ached for it at this moment. For the comfort it brought.

She was drawn out of her thoughts when she felt his staff on her chin. Opening her eyes again she mustered a smirk. This was the last time he was going to be nice? “Because this has all been so pleasant and cordial thus far? Ruining my door, having your spirits attack me in my home, dragging me back to this place…”

The elf moved her chin away from his staff, grimacing at it and him. Aria and every other thief knew that it was best not to burn contacts, especially ones that were buyers. She didn’t want to ruin her reputation. Plus this man didn’t exactly scream trustworthy to her. He would probably kill her buyer and her, then take the urn and do something nefarious with it.

“I don’t make it a habit to sell out my buyers,” she stated, leaning back against the beam now, bracing herself for what was to come from him. He wouldn't be pleased with her response. “If I told every desperate bloke who I pawned his things to I wouldn’t have anyone left buying…not that I usually find myself caught. I generally make it a habit to avoid that.”

 

[LooseTimber]

Samuel's silver-tinged eyebrows went up. "So," he said, standing, the knuckles on his right hand white as he tightly gripped his staff, "You've already sold it." He wasn't sure if that was better, or worse. Probably worse. It meant one more person to go through to get the Urn back. It meant someone else in the city knew he was a necromancer. And if the buyer had selected him, if they had told this thief to hit his house in particular, that meant Samuel had less time to act than previously thought.

If he had any qualms or reservations about torture, they were quickly evaporating. The urgency of the matter was not the only thing driving his rage, this woman, this bitch's aloof attitude towards him was grinding at Samuel's nerves. She had robbed him, she had started this mess, and she had brought this on herself. And yet the thief still looked at Samuel like he was something she'd found on the bottom of her boot.

Furious, he grabbed her by the collar with one hand and wrenched back, ripping her tunic open, baring her chest. With the other, he jammed the butt of his staff, hard, into her stomach, just below her rib cage.

It would hurt. But Samuel was not done.

"Belm Saa!" The Under Tongue of the dead, words like spoken vitriol, burned his lips as he spake them. Undeath leaked from the staff, into the girl, mixing with her own life energy to hateful effect. The flesh around the staff convulsed and turned grey, thick black veins wormed and ripped through the skin.

"Give me their name! Who are they? Who did you give my Urn to?" Samuel roared, before pulling the staff away. The blight faded away, leaving but a small, pale, bloodless circle on her flesh. The utter cold, and the pain to her soul, would linger.

 

[alakazam]

She hadn’t actually told her buyer where she got the urn. In fact she rarely told anyone the houses she hit unless it would benefit her. If Aria ever wanted to return and thieve a place twice she didn’t want to have competition. Even if she rarely returned to places it was better to not reveal things. At least for her. Now she was kind of wishing she had told someone. Then they might have known where to look for her body. She supposed in the long run it didn’t matter.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have let him known she sold it. That information seemed to anger him more than her lack of cooperation.

Amber eyes followed him as he moved toward her, and as he grabbed for her collar she frowned. Her bare chest hardly concerned her. Not when he had his staff in hand. The pain from the jab to her stomach made her gasp, but what he did next was really the kicker.

The woman gritted her teeth, trying to stifle her pain, but she lost. The feeling was too potent and too new. Nothing like the bite of a knife or the throb of a punch. Hell, getting shot in her shoulder was favorable to this. Spreading out from her stomach she felt cold and almost numb…not numb. It really did feel like death, like nothing. But with that came an even greater pain when whatever force kept her living collided with his magic. Aria cried out, struggling against her bonds despite how futile the effort. She barely even heard his questions.

When he took the staff away she was left shaking. Now she felt truly vulnerable. Every bit of her body was screaming at her to escape, and her muscles strained against the ropes. Now she was more aware of the fact that her body was on display, but he didn’t seem interested. His eyes were not greedy, not in that sense. And that was the smallest of comforts. Even still she didn’t like it. Besides the obvious draw her tattoos and scars were visible as well, and those had always felt personal too. Above her right breast was a geometric design in brown ink. It looked older than the others, and also more a part of her, less striking than the blank ink that ran up the left side of her torso and stopped just below her chest. The brown ink was a remnant of her home, markings meant to improve her skills as a hunter, and the black tattoo was newer, the swirling design meant to help her as a thief (some good that was doing her now). And then there were her scars, a few cuts and scrapes on her stomach and sides, as well as a shoulder wound on the left where she had been hit by an arrow in her youth.

Her eyes moved up to meet his, this time looking more fearful than before. “I don’t help men with bones in their cellar and urns full of misery,” she said, but after she did so she winced, wishing she had said something cleverer. Aria should have said something that would keep his staff away from her a bit longer, but her mind was muddled with pain and fear.

 

[LooseTimber]

"Oh you don't, do you?" Samuel leaned in close, grasping the thief by the neck with his free hand, forcing her to look into his pale, ice-grey eyes. She was already meeting his gaze, he wanted to ensure she kept doing so.
"Remember, dear, of what I am. You think I can't sense the death on you? You reek of it. You're drenched in it! You're up to your neck in blood!"

Impertinent bitch. He let go of her neck, gave her another swift slap across the face, and stood up. She was lucky he wasn't using the back of his hand. Then again, she was in this situation, so perhaps not so lucky. "Don't you dare take that tone with me again. You think you're better than me? People like you fill graveyards for me. You sow the seeds of my harvest." For once, a brief smile crossed his lips, but it was sour, full of hate. He was beginning to despise her, almost as much as she despised him. "You and yours have helped me plenty. And you'll help me again. You just need the proper motivation."

As he spoke, Samuel reached out with the tip of his staff, idly tracing a circle around the girl's right nipple. She'd reacted badly to the first strike. It'd be worse in a more sensitive place. He looked up at her face, seeing her fear, her pain, and felt a twinge of guilt. This wasn't him. This wasn't who he wanted to be. And for all she'd done, this thief probably didn't deserve this. Samuel looked away, staring fiercely at her chest, his mouth drawn thin and tight.

"Who did you sell the Urn to?" He said, emphasizing each word, before uttering the incantation again. More vile, shrieking power shot down the staff, into her, the muscle beneath her breast seizing up as if reacting to a jolt of electricity.

 

[alakazam]

Her frown deepened when he grabbed her by the neck, but her gaze didn’t waver. It wasn’t the first time she had had an angry maen to close for comfort…but it might be her last. That was a bitter thought, but it didn’t make her any less brave. It only made her grimace more, staring into his eyes. Gray, like the rest of him. Death had marked his body just as much as it had marked hers.

He was right…about the death anyways. She certainly wasn’t righteous, and she couldn’t play the innocent victim. However she had come to terms with that long ago. It had been either this or starve, and while she enjoyed her work more, it was because it was what she was good at. And she thrived on success. So while his words were true in a sense anger flared up inside her. He viewed her as lesser, but he was the one with the choice. And he chose death. He chose a dank cellar. This man was just as far into the muck of the world as she was as far as she was concerned.

The woman flinched when she felt the staff on her breast, keenly aware of its position even as her eyes stayed trained on him. At least until he spoke the incantation again. The feeling hit her harder than before and the woman struggled violently against her bonds, ignoring the pain in her wrists as she did so. Tears sprung to her eyes this time, and Aria let out a cry of pain, not even trying to mask it this time.

After a few moments her eyes returned to his as best as they could and she shook her head. “Why?” she asked, but then she noticed his eyes were avoiding hers, staring at her chest. In frustration and desperation she kicked out at him, though in her kneeling position it looked rather pathetic and even if she did hit him the kick would be weak. “So you can do more of this, hurt more people?” It was clear she was struggling to speak, and her last words were spit out after another scream. “Death allows me to survive….you thrive off of it.”

 

[LooseTimber]

Her kick was wild, and from her position, she couldn't get much strength behind it. However, the move, while not hurting Samuel, still knocked him off-balance, and he fell back from his crouch onto his ass. Furious, he stood, threw down his staff and ripped off his coat, then lunged at the girl. He grabbed her leg, forced it back under her, and with a struggle, pulled her breeches down around her ankles. She wouldn't be able to kick at him again unless she did so with both legs, a move so awkward, the girl would just end up sitting on her ass.

After stepping back and retrieving his staff again, Samuel saw, in the struggle, he'd yanked her underwear down as well. They were now bundled down by her ankles with her pants. Surprised, part by her total exposure, part by his own brutality, Samuel paused, staring down at her, his jaw clenched tight.

For a moment, he just stood there, his glancing back and forth between her face, and her uncovered nethers. She'd yet to give him the information he needed. He'd have to blight her again, someplace even more sensitive. He could only think of one place.

Slowly, decisively, he moved towards her, kneeling down in front of her. Again he knelt before her and took hold of her neck. The tip of the staff was gradually moved upwards until it touched the lips of her pussy, parted them, and pressed against her clit. This was done gradually, with obvious intent, so the thief would clearly know where he was going with this. Samuel opened his mouth to utter the incantation right then and there, but the words caught in his throat. This was monstrous, utterly and totally abhorrent. It didn't matter what she'd done, or what she deserved, he shouldn't be doing this. But he could see no other option. The hand holding the staff shook violently, before Samuel could regain control of his nerves.

"You haven't answered my question." He whispered quietly. Internally, he was screaming, praying. Tell me. Please, just tell me. Don't make me keep hurting you. Samuel closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He was delaying. "I-I wasn't finished with it. I was going to use it to explore the underworld, try and see how far past the first Gate I could go, you need a subtle power source like despair for that. But right now its unstable, and if the bonds deteriorate while It's still in the city... There's enough power in there to obliterate the entire fortress, and blight the rest of the Montoumala for the next hundred years. And I don't know how long till the bonds break. It could be a day, it could be hours. It could already be too late. Please," for the first time, he didn't sound angry. He just sounded desperate, and scared. "For the gods sakes, just tell me who has it."

The end of the staff was still tightly pressed against her clit. He would visit that horror and pain upon her if he had to, even if it meant losing himself.

 

[alakazam]

Aria looked surprised when the pain stopped. He had fallen…something she had not expected to happen. A sort of hazy smile spread across her features, but then he collected himself and collided with her. For someone as lanky as him she hadn’t expected him to be all that strong, but then again he did have the upper hand. And she currently had none. She screamed and cried and kicked, but he won in the end, yanking down her pants to keep her from moving.

At first she didn’t realize he had also yanked down her underwear, not until she felt the air against her skin and saw his own reaction. Whatever was left of her composure seemed to crumble the moment he started moving toward her. The elf had been wrong. Now she felt at her most vulnerable. Still, she was stubborn, and as his hand clasped around her throat she maintained eye contact.

Her whole body was shaking, and when she felt the end of his staff being dragged along her exposed flesh as sob escaped her lips. Tears were forming in her eyes once more, and when he finally pressed it against her clit she whimpered and sobbed again, the tears beginning to flow. Aria was proud but she was not dumb and she knew exactly how inevitable this pain was.

But then the incantation didn’t come, and she noticed his hand was shaking. He looked different to, less angry perhaps? Then he spoke. At first she flinched, expecting pain, but instead she got reason. He was explaining himself, and though she was inclined not to trust him her fear was getting the better of her. Plus he looked and sounded desperate enough. Scared too. If he was being truthful and the urn did hold that much power she did need to tell him. This all renewed her hope that she might make it out of this alive.

Feeling the staff press more tightly against her clit she nodded, now resolved to tell him. Though she doubted he would like this answer either. The man she had sold it to was a fairly powerful mage who ran a shop selling enchanted items. It would be difficult to gain access to his stock, and even if he could there was a chance her had already sold it. The man had told her he had a buyer in mind.

“Briar…Peter Briar…”

 

[LooseTimber]

Samuel's brow contracted, vexed. He knew that name... how did he-
His face falling, Samuel realized with a groan, who the thief was talking about. A second realization came to him, and he withdrew the staff and stepped back from her, retreating to his workbench under the stairs. He'd been unconsciously staring at her soft breasts, watching them heave with her breathing and sobs, and had suddenly felt far too close to her, far to warm. Even from the work bench, he would glance back at her, through the slats between stairs.

Pondering the situation, Samuel put his staff aside, letting his mind work on the problem, while his hands grabbed at tools and herbs. Paul Briar was much more experienced and powerful than he was, had a lot more money, and had connections in the community, including in the criminal underworld apparently. And as Briar was a specialist in illusions and, more importantly, wards anything ranging from a subtle break-in to an full-frontal assault would most likely end up with Samuel getting a face full of fireballs. And reporting the stolen item was out of the question, as was trying to extort Briar for it.
However, the man was smart and well-learned, he'd know what he had, and how to keep it stable, or at least in stasis, for the time being. That gave Samuel some much needed breathing room. He'd have time to come up with a solution, or at least keep his eye on it until the Urn was out in the open again.

One thing was clear to Samuel, however. He wasn't going to be getting the Urn back. As hard as it had been to create and fill it, at it's current state, it was too much of a risk to try and grab it, and have a fight start, just to end with the thing breaking and exploding. There were other ways of removing it from the playing field, though.

He came back to the thief, holding a small wooden tray, three prepared concoctions on it. A small cup, which he set aside near the fireplace to warm. A bandage, soaked in a healing agent, for the welt on her head. And a thick, fizzling mixture, to dull the pain and warm the blighted flesh. Pushing her mussed brown hair back, he wrapped the bandage around her head, knotting it into place.

Next, he poured the bubbling oil into his hands, working it into a lather, then kneading it into the woman's flesh where he had struck her. His own palms were already tingling from it as he finished up her stomach. Samuel didn't dare look the woman in the eye as worked the mixture into her right breast, his large hand carefully cupping and rubbing her, his thumb going over the point of contact on her nipple. His tense jaw and errant, averted eyes spoke volumes. The thickened oil was like a fire on a winter night, it wouldn't dispel the chill in her bones, but would provide some comfort, and give her something to fight against it.

He was so distracted by his own thoughts, Samuel had placed his hand on her womanhood, already massaging the mixture into her lips, before he remembered he'd never spelled her there. Threatened, perhaps, but never let the dark power flow. He drew his hand back, reminded, quite clearly, that he had a more-or-less naked, vulnerable, and attractive woman tied up in his cellar.

Reaching between her thighs, Samuel fumbled around in her wadded up breaches trying to retrieve, and pull up, her panties. He was uncomfortably aware of his bare arm brushing against her pussy, as he extracted her undergarments from her ankles, sliding them back up to her hips.

Wiping what was left of the mixture off on a rag, Samuel moved to stand over by the fireplace. His palms were still tingling from where it had soaked into his skin.

 

[alakazam]

When his face fell she flinched, expecting to strike out of anger or frustration, but he retreated instead. The moment he pulled the staff away from her she sighed in relief, and as he moved to his work bench she felt her entire body relaxing. The woman was still tied up and still as vulnerable as ever, but the damn staff was away from her.

However the pain and cold still lingered on her body, even as she slumped back against the beam, exhausted from what had occurred her body continued to shiver. Head against the beam and eyes closed, Aria took a few moments to compose herself, to the best of her ability. She tried to push back the fear she had felt, and eventually she felt at least somewhat better. Opening her eyes she watched him work to the best of her ability. She couldn’t imagine what he was doing or planning, but she hoped he didn’t expect her to have much more information because she didn’t have much else to give, and the staff was still there, still threatening her.

As he walked back to her she felt the fear return and she desperately tried to swallow the feeling. Her entire body tensed again as he knelt before her, expecting the worst. So when he instead bandaged her head to help the welt a look of shock came over her face. At least if he was taking the time to bandage her that meant he probably wouldn’t kill her. Unless he needed her in a better condition for raising when he did actually kill her. That thought was pushed to the back of her head, and she hoped that was unlikely.

Watching him work in the next mixture onto his hands she frowned, whimpering slightly when he reached out to her stomach. As he rubbed the mixture into her skin she was relieved to find the feeling pleasant. As the warmth began to spread through her body color seemed to return to her face, made especially obvious when he rubbed the mixture into the next place he had blighted. The woman’s face flushed, and judging by his avoidance of her eyes he felt equally embarrassed. The warmth was welcome, but the tingling sensation that came with the mixture felt oddly pleasurable against her skin, especially on the sensitive skin on her breast.

Aria had expected him to move away after that, but then his hand moved down, and a surprised gasp came from the woman as her rubbed the mixture onto her womanhood. That was a different feeling altogether, and the fact that he hadn’t blighted that area made the tingling and warmth she felt there all the stronger. Her face flushed a deeper shade of red, but before she could say anything he seemed to realize his mistake.
The touch of his arm against her exposed skin made the woman sigh, though it was stifled and quiet, it was definitely a sigh of pleasure. She wasn’t some virtuous maiden, and certainly wasn’t a stranger to pleasure, but she had never felt something quite like this. If it hadn’t been applied to her by the man who had just harmed her while she was tied up in his cellar she would have even ventured to say it was enjoyable.

Still, she was relieved when he pulled up her underwear and stepped away. The woman shifted, glad to have something covering her body, especially now as the mixture aroused her.

Now that any immediate threat of pain seemed to have disappeared she was able to find her voice again. “Nobody knows where I got the urn from…I didn’t even know what you were until I found it. I just wanted to get some rare ingredients. But anyways, Briar wanted to know and I didn’t tell him. I keep my sources a secret. Generally it makes things simpler.”

 

[LooseTimber]

Samuel had crossed his arms whilst standing in front of the fireplace. He briefly turned to look at the thief, returning his attention to the fire once she had finished speaking.

"That's a cold kindness," he replied. Whatever measure of mercy was fading away from him, the irritation returning as the girl, through trying to explain herself, simply reminded Samuel that she had robbed him. "He still knows there's a necromancer in the city. And while he might not come searching for me, others will. In the hands of even a mediocre diviner, the Urn could still be used to track me down. I can't let anybody know what I am."

Looking over his shoulder at the thief, he said firmly, coldly "Nobody." That included her. He didn't know how to make any potions that would wipe her mind. Posession was an option, but he'd need to find the right type of spirit, bind it to the girl, wait for it to invade her mind... but that could take months, and always ended in the same way, both would eventually be driven mad by the fusion. There were... places he could put her, in the underworld, but in the end, it always came to the same resolution, trapped in a place between mortal and under worlds, the girl would suffer a slow, languishing death. If he wanted to protect himself, he'd have to kill her, as quickly and mercifully as possible. Samuel got that icy, strained look in his eyes, the one that came over him when he first started torturing the girl. The face he made when he needed to do something horrible, because there was no other way.

"There's no other choice," he said grimly, looking back into the fire, his brows pulled down fiercely, "I need to destroy all evidence that I was here, then move on. Again." Samuel had already worked out how to get the Urn out of Briar's hands, and he wasn't happy about it.

 

[alakazam]

Her face fell when he spoke. If she had thought he would kill her she wouldn't have given up the information. Or at least she would have made him kill her for it. Especially after he dressed her wound and placed the medicine on the blighted parts of her body. What was the point of wasting his time and ingredients on her if he was just going to kill her?

As his expression changed her stomach dropped and she shook her head. Fuck him. He had a choice. But then again she was just a thief to him. Aria had no value. No reason to show her any more mercy. The elf was at a loss. How could she appeal to him? Make him change his mind? She didn't know. What could she offer him?

If he had said these words before she would have handled them better. Back when she was resolved to die. Now that she had felt the hope of life, if only briefly, she couldn't maintain her composure. Her body began to shake again, but not from the cold. No his mixture still played over her skin. This was just fear and exhaustion. And despair. A lot of that. Tears came again and she bit her lip. She might have been upset but she didn't want to completely lose it. Not now.

The woman took a deep breath and looked up at him. "I'm aware that I don't have a leg to stand on...so to speak. But I'll do anything. I'm good at what I do. I can get you things, items, I don't know whatever you want. I'll be your damn grunt. I'll help you get the urn back. I can see you aren't cruel. You wouldn't have bandaged me. It would have to be useful to have a living thing to help you." Her voice was even but from the look on her face she was panicked. And she had started squirming again, trying to loosen the ropes binding her. Her wrists stung bitterly, and she wondered how raw she had rubbed them at this point.

 

[LooseTimber]

"I-" Samuel opened his mouth, then stopped. He was going to say that he was sorry. That he shouldn't have implied he was going to kill her. He'd only just realized his mistake, that his silence would have served the same purpose as the bandages, as the balms. It would have kept her from suffering needlessly. His pride and anger had gotten the best of him.

"I'm not getting the Urn back. It's... it's become apparent to me that I can't let such a thing exist, not right now, at least, not till I can find a way of protecting it. And even with your help," Samuel turned, giving the thief a sideways look, "I doubt we'd be able to retrieve it. No, I've got to destroy it."

Still, her pleas for life did not go unheard. He could see the panic, the desperation in her eyes, the same desperation that he himself was still privy to. He couldn't do this to her. Not while there was still a chance that she could get out of this alive. And as he watched her struggle, Samuel noticed how her breasts, still bared, jostled as she squirmed. Sex was an equally powerful motivator as pity, and helped to tip the scales in Aria's favor. He walked over to her, and squatted down before her.

He simply looked at her, trying to find the words, trying to explain. "Try to understand, you're asking me to trust you, when I don't even know you. I don't even know you're name." He reached forward, holding the side of her face, thumb brushing against her cheek, trying, awkwardly, to comfort her. "This isn't something I want, far from it. But I don't know how else to ensure my own safety. I..." Samuel looked away, grimacing. He took a deep breath, hardly able to believe he was about to propose this option. His paranoia and utter distrust of other had kept him alive, but now, her humanity was getting the better of him. "There may be something you could do for me."

Taking his hand away from her cheek, Samuel slouched down in front of her again. "For my plan to work, I'm going to have to make a trip to the underworld, reach up and grab the Urn out of Briar's shop, and pull it down. Sort of. In layman's terms. When it explodes there, no-one will be killed, no-one will be hurt, and the souls will be harmlessly released. If I am to return, however, I'm going to need a... a living anchor, attaching me to the mortal world," he nodded at the thief, indicating that she would be filling that role. After that point, he became more and more uncomfortable, and was avoiding looking at her altogether.
"For, ah, for that to work however, I'd need a connection to the, ah, anchor. Usually an enchanted chain or cord would do that trick, but I don't have anything like that, and there's no time to make one. There is however, a more..." He coughed uncomfortably, "Well, that is, if two souls were to have a connection of sorts... a very direct connection, that is, you wouldn't need the cord... And, and though it's not necromancy, there is a way of..." Samuel had intertwined the fingers on his two hands, as if trying to demonstrate the point he was belaboring, "A way of... a very, very, rudimentary way to, er, co-mingle souls."

Samuel gave the thief a very uncomfortable look, well aware that he was explaining the situation very poorly, and hoping she'd get the gist of it.