Cadavers walk the halls

ooc: sorry for the forever wait. still excited for this 'un c:

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The touch of the wooden pipes was unlike that of the bells. Tapping against her chest, they did not surprise her with their sharp, metallic cool. They did not weight her body as heavily as the bandoleer did, nor did they threaten to rattle under sharp, misguided steps. The pipes were neutral, they were complacent. They were... not what Nyymbata was used to. Pulling her jacket tighter to her frame, she moved along the icy paths of campus cussing the name of Mia. It felt like death's cold and hungry grip, and while that was something she was all to familiar with, she could hardly say she had gotten accustomed to it. Mittens, patterned red hounds-tooth, finally wrapped themselves around the metal handle of her residence's side-entrance door and, with all the force her winter-numbed body could muster, clawed open the floodgates of warmth.

Cool white light lit the monochromatic stairway and caused the grunge and neglect to surface on the scene. Although the walls had been painted le-mort white and the floors business gray the corners still looked seedy, the railings still looked a couple shades too brown, and the air still smelt rank with urine. But such an ignored entrance-way was required... Nyym had been up to no-good, and needed a likewise no-good path back to her room. Any other route would've likely led to some awkward conversation, a good deal of lying, and, at the worst, a pinch of violence. And she'd partaken in too much bloodshed already that eve.

Sacrificial offerings and bloodshed were debatable practices within necromancy... And Nyym, well, she was always on the side of the debate.

While a night's bountiful foray would've usually left the young thill in good spirits, she climbed the stairs with an evident frown of displeasure. 'What a waste of time. I should've chosen a better location... or a better friggin' set'a'pipes.' A failed experiment with costs that pinnacled higher than the resulting benefits, if there had been any at all? Hm, certainly seemed that way. Step after worn-out step, the thoughts worsened and threatened on thunderstorm. Just as she was ready to belt out a more vocal chorus of self-punishments, the door a few flights up flung open and the Anubi regarded a sight more ghastly than a corpse.

It was the corpse of a teacher.

The animated corpse of a teacher.

The animate corpse of a teacher that she had summoned.

"Vaak."

 

Had she been in the right frame of mind, thinking as opposed to merely reacting, she would've recognized that this zombie-of-a-professor could not be, by any means, a product of her unearthing. For one, the thill's 'orchestra' had been quiet and had hardly disturbed even the flies that rested on the still stones of the graveyard. More importantly, however, the her playing had been fumbled and awkward. Had she been situated betwixt fresher graves, she would've probably caused a bone or two to twitch. She might've even caused some newly dead to recall the final moments of their lives. But she'd played in one of the Watani's oldest graveyards. And that was far enough from the university to avoid any unexpected arrivals... like she thought Kazul to be.

Yet, as a young and ever precautious necromancer trying her own on a set of borrowed pipes, Nyym was unfortunately not at any advantage to think that oh, perchance this fella's asleep. The arden moved sluggishly down the staircase with the same bumbling awkwardness common to the deceased -- plopping mindlessly along the cold, hard stairs without so much as a wince or retort of pain. What pain did the dead feel? At the stage of death she'd summoned from this fellow, he likely felt none. It sure as Fronna seemed so.

A gust of wind of seemingly no origin blasted through the stairwell and prompted Nyym to concentrate. If it was a product of a soon-arriving-student then she could waste no further time. Worse, it could be another professor. Clasping the pipes in one hand, Nyym brought the set up to her lips and let the ebony pair rest on the third smallest of the seven, Kibeth. With her eyes closed she blew a shaky note forward. In her defence, she was nervous. Although, really, with such bloodlines such as her's, the mistake was inexcusable. Trying again, she blew, and this time the sound was smooth and pierced the air with a resonance that could only be of magic. Known as the "Walker", Kibeth controlled the movements of the death according to the will of the possessing necromancer. So when the Anubi yielded her hand, left palm upward with thumb and fingers signalling 'come hither' Kazul should've moved in her direction. The arcane markings, really runes, tattooed into the flesh of her wrists underside should've glowed like neon blood beneath the skin. Only the alabaster arden did not seem to break immediately in her direction and nor did the runes break out in star-mocking scintillation. She screwed her face up in an expression typical of her age: 'What gives?'

 

A profanity of Ramathian descent was exhaled in the wake of useless incantations. Nyym was not only upset at being shoved aside by the dead-walker, she was pissed at having been unable to retain him with her skill. While she was not the most adept of necromancers, she was still one of the most talented thills of her trade, and controlling a spirit as simple as a dead-walker should've been one hell of an easy task. There were a couple freak scenarios that she could think of that would've resulted in her failure:

1. The professor had somehow slipped through a portal under her nose. This was unlikely unless the portal belonged to someone else. But Nyym had been in the area all evening and had not felt any sort of uneasy interruption in power. Even the most high-ranking of necromancers would have a hard time concealing their work with a subject that powerful.

2. The professor had been called in at a time or a place in which she was not present. In that case, this was someone else's mess to clean up.

3. The professor was not dead at all. Nyym was either experiencing a lapse in conscious, rational thought or he was.

It was more the desire to know what was happening than the desire to act as a good civilian that drove the thill to do what she did next. She had little care as to whether or not the dead-walker did harm unto innocents that night. It happened all the time. She wanted to know what this body was up to and how she could tame it. Mayhaps it would lead her to its creator! With the pipes quickly returned to their case, the thill chased after the escapee professor. Being rather athletic, she had confidence that the chase would not last long. But who knew?

 

Nyym's face contorted into a contemptuous expression as she watched the possessed teacher move, cumbersomely, through the deserted hallway. As if the thought of his disgrace was bile to her mouth, she kept up that disgruntled smirk as she tread ever-so-carefully in his direction, careful not to make too much noise or to walk at a pace and weight that suggested a hunt, a search. Still, she was dressed for the weather and thus her heavily-booted feet eliminated all chances of predatory silence. Clop, clop, clop… Her eyes grazed the scene, back and forth, their bright glow like little search-lights on a cold night. They crept into the dark crannies and nooks until eventually they landed themselves, with delight, on the crumpled form of Kazul, the crazy.

‘What the hell is he doing?’

It then came upon her that this being was not any sort of reanimated dead, possessed by another’s will. His actions were too independent, too undirected, too ridiculous to point to any sort of other party’s devilish intentions. Instead, they were product of his own will. He was possessed by none other than himself. What a fool.

Prompted by this realization, and also forgetting the probable threat Kazul could still pose to her, Nyym advanced upon his retreating form without the slightest inkling of hesitation. No longer was he mysterious and worthy of stalking, his status had quickly eroded to become something of a fool in her mind. She had to wake him out of his stupor regardless of what effort it might take – looking into the face of shame wasn’t Nyym’s favourite activity (even if the shame wasn’t even her own), and this arden was likely going to bring himself to full-fledged embarrassment if he didn’t wake up soon enough. Kneeling down carefully, the thill extended one nimble hand and struck the teacher across the cheek. Just in case, though, he chose to retaliate, she stepped back.

 

OUTOFCHARACTER:
[blockquote]I'm in if you're in (: Sorry if this is a little short. Short = faster though, nu?[/blockquote]

INCHARACTER:
[blockquote]Nyym's eyes followed the teacher closely, glimmering with amusement and fascination. By the way he conducted himself she assumed that he'd undergone this sort of experience quite often. But what was less clear was whether he had complete recollection of the event. In the seat of her thought played a number of little schemes meant for her benefit. Smirking faintly, the Anubi extended a lithe hand. "Would you like to go for a bite to eat?" While it was phrased as a request, Nyym spoke those words with a sharp undercurrent of demand.

To cushion her sharp words she offered a soft smile as an afterthought. That's what she thought most students would do. She curled a finger from her other hand around her pipe's sling. For a second she'd forgotten they'd existed. But at least now she had some faint lie to work off of. Now only if she could change her appearance without the old kook noticing...[/blockquote]

 

INCHARACTER:
[blockquote]The silence that lingered in the wake of his words was both comical and disconcerting. Was he so burnt out that she'd need to drag his sorry ass to the clinic? No, her moral compass was not acting up. She was more concerned about getting a legal jumble. Not that justice had ever been up the Grader's alley.

When Kazul finally spoke he brought up a rather valid point. At first she didn't care, being a student surrounded by all-night joints, but going to one of them with a teacher in a nightie... Well, it was likely to gain attention by the few creepers hanging around at this hour of the night. Her eyes leered down the hallway of the Tstumjet residence. Up ahead she saw many doors to students' rooms, some ajar but the most of them shut. It was too late in the evening to be caring about anyone else's business unless you were one sneaky vaak. Those long ears crooning forward, she surveyed the scene with all senses until she was satisfied that no one would bare witness. Then she swung her focus back onto Kazul.

"Alright. We can speak in my room." Before he could protest she grabbed his hand, led him back to the stairwell, up another flight of stairs, and down a long hall of mostly closed doors until they arrived at her room. Her door, unlike most of the student body, was bare of photos or other decoration. Keeping his hand in her's (unless he otherwise protested) she unlocked the door with her spare and then walked in triumphantly. After that final step, she freed him.

The Tstumjet residence was once a hospital that had long been converted into a residence but all of its rustic splendor had been maintained. Students often complained that its steel frame beds had also been kept. At the head of the Nyym's bed there was a threadbare wooden table and chair, and to the right long wooden bench sat against a wall-to-wall storage cabinet. On the wall opposite to the door was a grand window (which she'd pulled the covers over) with an excessively large sill, upon which she'd placed a number of tiny houseplants and jewelry. Fitted directly beneath the sill was a small, black fridge. She pulled away the chair from the table and motioned for Kazul to sit on the bench. "My name is Nyymbatta, you are..." She searched her brain. "Reatuf'ba?"[/blockquote]