Tessera, 33, 81380 So it was... Paushlatt brought his muzzle skyward again, feeling the pale and sickly reddish moonlight on his face. Tonight was a night of death for him, and he intended to satisfy his need for new undying minions. His skeletal cat paced along a ways, then stopped and looked back at him. He smiled at his companion and returned to his swift stride, idly removing a leaf from a nearby tree and watching it die rapidly under the touch of his bare skeletal hand. At his level of mastery, he was a full-fledged necromancer... he could control ten undead with ease enough to still cast other magics. And yet, he was left wanting more. A place to call home, perhaps? Nay, he needed to stay on the move, for his arts were illegal and new bodies didn't come quick enough if he confined himself to a single cemetary. Still, he was growing worried: he knew he was not normal, but his memories of his history became clearer and clearer as he lived on. And while he suddenly knew he was ancient beyond compare, he was also aware of how hollow his memories were without anything coming with them. He remembered everything except his ancient magics. He knew he was following a path he had walked before, as he had for years--searching for the near limitless power he once posessed. Yet, in spite of it all or because of it, he walked a cursed trail in the dark wood that would have been stolen of all color except for the bloody moonlight. <span style='color:purple'>How... photographic.</span> He thought idly, stepping lightly onto a huge rock outcropping and stepping up on the gigan peak of the thing, hanging over the ocean far below. Paushlatt's cloak fell open and he lifted his skeletal hand up to the bleeding sky. A sudden rememberace hit him as it did before, and would continue to do, he realized, until he found what could be called his destiny. He knew what he needed and where to find it, one more step in the puzzle is all it was, was it not? He inwardly scolded himself for such thoughts. He had somewhere to go, and stepped off the rocky outcrop, dropping the height most of the way until he lazily flicked his wrist and a huge wale corpse, alive somehow yet mostly rotten, slid under him and he landed on it with a splurch and spray of disgusting fluids, ending the undead behemoth as quickly as he had raised it. His cat fell to the sand with a clatter as it fell apart and promptly pulled itself back together. Paushlatt began the walk on the shoreline, reanimating what was left of the whale and casting it back into the ocean where it belonged. The ocean was slashed with a red streak, and Paushlatt was easily aware of the supply of corpses nearby--a single mast poked up from the deeper waters, it's ancient wooden constuction hinting at the age of those who lay undisturbed within. One thing yet confused him--he felt something else. Something alive--it seemed. It was an unusual entity to his sixth sense, and he carefully prepared a spell in his mind in the case that he had a bandit or smuggler on his trail.
<span style='color:red'> "Awsome!" </span> Pauril exclaimed as he fumbled with his camera. He aimed it up at the deep red moon and snapped off a few shots, before he scrambled down along the cliff face further.. Rather glad he had found this narrow path down to the almost forgotten beach.. He had been in the area almost all Day, and now late into the night, not caring to much about how the temperature had dropped. One foot finally found soft sand, then the other.. the Boney mass kept up a smooth pace, small camera almost held comically in its large claws. He had dressed lightly, wearing only a light button up short sleeved floral print shirt (which was currently open and flowing around his sides), and a pair of long baggy shorts. This was for two reasons: One was that it Was hot, and Two, his flesh, what little he had of it, Was rather prone to sun burning.
In his mind, Pauril could tell the location of the approaching creature. He turned with a dramatic swish of his cloak to face the way he felt the presence--which seemed to be moving is his general direction--and flicked his skeletal wrist idly. He was thinking of the oddity of the life force. It felt... incomplete. As strong as any, suggesting the creature was alive, but it was also different. Lots different. So different, in fact, that it unnerved the level-headed necromancer--though he wouldn't show it--and he lifted his skeletal hand to his left, bringing from it's watery grave a skeleton to perform his will, which he promptly send along the cliff, making sure it would keep hidden, keep to the rocks, and if discovered--play dead. Assured in this, the necromancer waited for his minions mental report with a silent resolve, his mind focused on it's doings by the rock. As if in the first person, he vividly knew (and actively controlled) it's doings, bringing it to rest limply against a stone and await the passing of the being in question. The sight of a skeleton among rocks was not so suspicious, considering it's tattered shirt and it's loosely belted cutlass--obviously a dead sailor--why wouldn't he have died on this forgotten beach against the rocks rather than in the water? The skeleton turned it's head, then suddenly lay still--expecting the pass of it's quarry.
He padded on, Leaving boney paw prints in the sand. His eye was busy and taken up by the small portable camera in his hand, snapping away up at the red moon, and then at the sights he found on the beach. <span style='color:red'>"Oh.. The Dead Always fetch good place in the papers.."</span> He said with a snicker, just after he took another shot, this one of some skeletal pirate thing.. He always had a problem with keeping his eye out where he was going, so it wasn't a surprise when his foot got caught in a particularly large sand pile, causing him to hiss out loudly and fall forwards with a thud, and toss his camera about five paces ahead of himself. His eyes went wide, and he scrambled forwards, snatching up the device, letting out a sigh of relief when he found it unbroken.
The old necromancer was interested now, making pace toward the weird creature. He knew he had done this before, as well, but it was't exactly the same. He remembered last time was different, somehow. He pushed the thoughts aside, bringing his thick cloak around him more fully and flicking his boney wrist as a humanoid figure came into view. Paushlatt's heart skipped a beat as he saw what had been following him. It looked undead, but it was very much alive. It also seemed bery concerned with the camera it was holding, and Paushlatt summoned his undead minion to his side with a thought. He stepped forward, his skeleton in tow, and waited patiently to be adressed, looking over what was left of Pauril's broken flesh. <span style='color:purple'>"So tell me, then... What is it that brings you along my path?"</span> He intoned, motioning to the trail he had left only a few short minutes before. <span style='color:purple'>"I somehow doubt all you come here for is taking pretty pictures."</span> he said in a sagelike manner, observing the camera and quirky clothing of the apparent mutant. Something else continued to nag at Paushlatt's mind--he was forgetting something important about this meeting. Something was not correct, now like last time he had been in this place. A slowly dawning realization that he stood on the wrong side of the conversation was even slightly amusing to him, in that he had done this not once before, but twice. He mused for a moment on the fact, but disregarded it as something to think about later, after he followed his predetermined course. <span style='color:purple'>"You, of all people, would not be here on a hunt for a dark mage, would you? You hardly seem the lawful type, yourself, considering you look like you had crawled out of a grave as much as I..."</span>
He blinked once, and his camera went off, ending up with what would later be a bad picture of a foot, and sand. In any case, he stood quickly... He took a few steps back, and studied this new adition to his Sights seen.. <span style='color:red'>And Who the Hell are You? </span>
<span style='color:purple'>"Just a curious old man."</span> He mentioned sidelong, dropping his cloak open on his left side to reveal the bone arm, which he promptly leveled at Pauril's chest. <span style='color:purple'>"An old man who knows a great deal, and does not enjoy being followed."</span> he accused harshly, narrowing his eyes.
<span style='color:red'>Followed? Excuse me, but this beach, and this time of night Is hardly the time to follow Anyone... let alone.. </span> He eyed both the skeliton, and the apperence of his accuser.. <span style='color:red'>...Necromancer. </span> He was even More wary now...still slowly backing up.
Paushlatt gave him a look like daggers, waving a hand to tell his skeleton to circle Pauril and block his escape, which it did without question. <span style='color:purple'>"If you consider that I am in control here, bearing a number of deadly spells and a loyal, fearless, undying minion... against a camera... you would be far more willing to simply speak. Do you understand?"</span> He said liquidly, pacing forward to look at Pauril closer. <span style='color:purple'>"Though to say 'Necromancer' like a curse is rather... ironic, considering you've more exposed bone than I."</span>
<span style='color:red'> Mutations are funny like that...</span> He was Not likeing this situation now.. he had this strange magic user before him, an undead minnion behind him, and a cliff or the ocean to ether side.. The odds Were not in his favor. With a silent mumble, he looked about for a ledge, or somethign apon which he could escape... <span style='color:red'> ....Of All the beachs to go photographing on... </span>[/COLOR]
Paushlatt merely smiled and spread his arms wide to the sides, in an exaggerated gesture. <span style='color:purple'>"Well, mutant... You see, the legality of my practices are very clear, in that my obsession is something considered evil by the greater populace..."</span> he took a deep breath and continued, <span style='color:purple'>"So you see, I have two choices at this moment... I can kill you, and make you serve me. Or, second, I can teach you, and you can learn a power greater than the majority of magics in the world."</span> he dramatically swept an arm, bringing a set of four more skeletons from the water--one at either of his flanks, and two at Pauril's. The situation for Pauril was getting worse all the time, and his chances of fighting five undead and a skilled Necromancer were slim. He could always try to escape, but Necromancers were not known for being forgiving...
<span style='color:red'> ..And Since when did necromancers give such charity out as to offer training to Random persons that stumble apon them on beachs? </span> He wasent likeing this one bit.. but.. his Silver tongue had a way with getting him out of situations <span style='color:red'> Not to mention, Why would someone, such as myself.. be considered "necromancer" Material? I mean, you seem to think that just becuase im rather.. Inside Out, That i would also have talents bearing apon the study of the occult and...rather dead. </span>
<span style='color:purple'>"I will answer bolth of your questions at once."</span> He said, stepping forward and motioning for Pauril to sit and doing so himself. <span style='color:purple'>"It is quite a long tale... I will tell you the relevant piece of information only, for now... You see, once, long ago, I was in this conversation before... However, this time I am not the prospective student. All evidence thusfar in my... journey to rediscover my past... has been accurate to what I can remember... And as such, I will follow the course that the fates have lain for me, and in doing so, you must help me as I will help you. Are there any questions about this?"</span>
