#tormentedamalgamation

Tendrilsθ:…they are afraid of your muse.

Many have said the night and darkness are one and the same. Hand in hand of the same whole.

But in the depth of her own realm, she twitches at shadows, and tenses at shades. Her feet pitter and patter against the stone, rushing to the closest light, its warmth able to ward off the greatest of evils.

But she grew no closer to the light as it dimmed and dimmed and the shadows flickered more and more. Until it danced here and there, mocking her as it knew, it was a true child of the dark.

But it would take her, to show her the path to an end.

Oh how often was it that Maldron had a successful invasion?

Especially one where he didn’t even need to use an orb? He had been stalking the individual for weeks, watching them confusingly leave Majula, with little to no idea where they were going. Over time he had discerned that they were undoubtedly human.

Two undead companions accompanied the undoubtedly human traveler. His cohorts giving their unlives to his cause. He knew not why this person was going where they were, but he knew that the two companions were dressed in the robes of the Archdrakes. Perhaps this person was some cleric or holy priest or priestess?

It mattered not. He waited for them to get to the Cardinal Tower, knowing wholly well that the hollowed soldiers would cause the party to be delayed. He camped out in the room above the bonfire, the Merchant Hag having been paid well enough to keep her lips shut. As the large iron door to the room was heaved open by the bodyguards, Melentia’s voice chimed out in glee.

Perfect. Maldron burst from his vantage point, leaping onto one of the many roots growing from the side of the building, running silently and leaping towards one of their bodyguards. They had been weary from the travel, not having rest since their journey began. His tired, sluggish movements relayed this as his helm turned only to meet Maldron’s form pouncing down upon him. His arm was rigid, the lance running straight through the man’s chest, his body serving to lessen the impact of Maldron’s fall. Rising from the man’s quickly fading body, his fellow bodyguard turned away from the bonfire, unable to rest at it. He charged with his warpick, an overhead strike hitting and cracking the thick stone tile, missing its mark. The assassin had sidestepped, lunging forward and piercing the left shoulder of the man, the electric jolt causing him to spasm. Maldron began to pump the lance in time with his steps, causing a stagger with which he unleashed a flurry of blows in a miniscule amount of time. This stagger allowed him to keep up with the enemy he was consistently pushing back- keeping him just the right distance to pierce his body again and again, all the way up to the stone wall, where the Assassin took his lance in two hands, and with a mighty heave, jammed the weapon clean through the man, and pinned him to the wall.

It was there that their quarry, a maiden in brown clothes, obviously some form of sacred getup, had tried to run. Leaving his lance, he turned after her, intercepting her and tackling her off of the ladder that led to the depths of the ruined fortress. The two landed across the gaping hole, and in picking her head up and slamming it to the floor, she blacked out.

Maldron sighed, having started to calm down from his adrenaline high, he started dragging the priestess’ body across the stone tiles, and hung her over his shoulder. Carrying the limp priestess to the upper room again, Maldron set her down.

Retrieving a small lantern from his pack, Maldron walked down to the bonfire again, lighting the lantern, and quickly bringing it back upstairs, after retrieving his lance. He set it down next to the maiden with the utmost care, unsure whether or not the thing would break.

This was now the third human that Maldron had captured for the Necromancer, and this time, he was starting to doubt when its end of the bargain would be paid.

Come, master of Necromancy. Claim your prize. As I hope to claim my own. I summon thee…

Something is outside his door.

Truth be told, a wiser fellow would have thought the little, thatched hut entirely improper for fending off all but the most impotent of assaults; to the little boy huddling against its thin wooden door, all cracked and scratched from years of abuse, the home is all that's keeping him safe from whatever is outside.

"G-go away!" stammers the boy. He's trying his hardest to make the flame appear--his hands are cradled in his lap, palms up, and he's doing his best to focus on willing fire into existence, but the panic--

He can't concentrate. Thin wisps of smoke snake upwards into the dim shadows of the hut's low ceiling.

Child of the Night

Where were its eyes?

Spindly limbs pokes out of a cloaked abyss yet how can it move when it had no sight?

Where were its eyes?

Three masks, of pain, madness, and lament. Lanterns to guide itself from the treacherous abyss.

Was it too, a creature of the Night?

Or simply humanity's true form, showing itself once more?

She stepped closer, drawn by the monster. Drawn closer to it, its dying light giving it a ghastly form. Her heartbeat went on in pace and speed, the only sound in the moonless night. Yet all she had was one question in mind.