Degorram

Contradictions? Hmm...wasn't really paying attention I guess. Thanks Wyv.

Cornix verecunde irridet in arboribus. Flectunt suus caputis sub suus pedis. Fumos nimbi effundunt lacrimis, et montis complentur cum suus lamentis. Dum est tempus mihi descendere, dimmittato mi benigne et tenebo tu. *translation* The crow laughs coyly in the trees. They bow their heads beneath his feet. Smoky clouds pour out their tears, and the mountains are filled up with laments. When it is time for me to go, send me off kindly and I will remember you. I wrote this as an assignment for my Latin 4 class. With the help of a latin dictionary and a friend who is better at remembering her grammar than I, I bring it before you. Alas. I cannot turn it in because the complicated scansion pattern I was supposed to follow doesn't fit in any form or fasion. But I still thought you all would enjoy it. ~Dego

A bleary eyed Degorram stumbled into the chamber and glanced around slowly. An empty bottle of “Chateau du Bruteweiser Lite” hung from her fingers, dangerously close to dropping to the Parisian floor tiling. The edges of her body were wavery and uncertain and her hair kept flushing colors from teal to bubblegum pink. She hiccuped and sat down heavily, leaning her back against a nearby statue. Her unfocused gaze fell upon the lute and she leaned over slowly to pick it up by the strings, plopping it into her lap. It protested with a poof of dust and a wheezing strum. Almost confused, Degorram placed her fingers on the lute's neck and gave the strings a thoughtful brush. The discordant noise that assaulted her ears obviously surprised her for her head shot back and hit the knee of the statue. Struggling to un-cross her eyes she replaced her fingers on the strings and tried again. A chord erupted from its depths, surprisingly beautiful. Degorram closed her eyes and, her fingers moving by themselves, began to play a song she had heard....somewhere. "Oh Cesario...." she murmurred. "Feste, my lord," she replied in a different voice. "Feste then," she said in the first voice. "If music be the food of love, *hic* play on, give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, the appe-*hic*-tite may sicken and so die..." she paused, frowned, and addressed herself. "That strain, play it *hic* again." Obediently she repeated the chords she had just played, then continued. "It had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the...*hic*....the sweet south, that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving....giving.....mmmmm...." She gave another pitiful hiccup that sent flashes of lime green through her locks and she stood up, dragging the lute behind her as she stumbled away.

Mmmm, creepy.

Degorram stared out the window, watching the trees rustle in the wind. She wished she could open her window for a fresh breath of air, but the healers had forbidden it. Uncomfortably she shifted around under the massive amount of blankets on top of her, moving to a different position. The pillows under her head and supporting her back were deliciously squishy and she sank into them. At her side, Kikuyu sat reading a book, absorbed in the story. Kikuyu herself had been bedridden for two days following the end of the assault, but through sheer energy and will had managed to get the healers' approval of release shortly thereafter. She had demanded to stay at her sister's side, and after the ordeal the healers had been afraid to deny her. However Degorram was tired. Conversation didn't come easily. Many times Kikuyu saw her sister slip away into another world and her eyes would be lit up by invisible stars. Thus, since her patient was a boring one, Kikuyu read a book. Occasionally she would attract Degorram's attention by reading a choice phrase, but otherwise the infirmary was gently silent. Scattered about the room were a few other beds that occupied bodies. Wyvern, sporting many bandages and his right arm in a sling, lay in one of them, flipping through a magazine listlissly. Earlier he had made a great fuss about not being able to read his monthly subscription to "Fantastic Furr". "How am I sssssuposssed to get better without proper entertainment?" he wailed to the unbending and highly unsympathetic healers. "I'll die of boredome before I die of a few broken ssssscalessss!!" They had supplied him with a huge stack of "Outdoorsman Weekly". Wyvern hadn't been pleased. Sir Walnut and Sir Ordolar had been healed days ago, along with others who had only sustained minor damage. Though his body had been badly wrecked from fighting, Sir Walnut had been worried that others with worse injuries would need the healing powers more and had received the least amount of treatment he could get away with. Sir Ordolar would have gone untreated if he had had his way. The powerful orc knight, after much persuasion, had gone along with Sir Walnut in receiving at least rudimentary treatment. Despite great protest, Ozymandias had elected to treat himself with only minor help from the healers. It was probably best that way: none but Ozy knew the source of his mysterious but severe injury. Degorram turned her head as the door to the infirmary opened and Ozymandias walked in, limping slightly and supporting himself with an ornate cane. His face was still pale from the self inflicted injury, but otherwise he seemed to be quickly on the mend. He flashed a small smile as he approached Wyvern. "Greetings Wyvern. How are you mending?" Kikuyu snorted softly and pretended to start sneezing. Everyone knew Wyvern was still in the infirmary not because he was seriously injured but because he was an unprecedented worry wort. Wyvern sighed dramatically and closed the magazine with a flutter of pages. "Ssssslowly. They're killing me in here." Ozy tried very hard to look sympathetic. "I'm sorry about that Wyvern. You know how doctors are." He glanced over at one of the healers, who gave him a death glare which clearly read "You should be in here too." Turning with a regal smile Ozymandias limped over to stand next to Kikuyu. "Greetings ladies." He turned his eyes on Degorram and became solemn. "Feeling better today?" he asked quietly. Degorram smiled faintly. "A little," she murmurred. "I'm still remembering the stars." Ozy put a hand on her shoulder. "Do not fear. It will pass. The otherworlds have a way of capturing our minds for a little while. You'll be back in the real world soon enough." Degorram turned away and watched the wind again. "I want to go outside," she said with a sigh. "I feel fine." "The healers want to keep an eye on you for a few more days," Kikuyu said again, as she had said it many times. "You'll be out soon." She poured over her book, but couldn't concentrate on it. "How is reconstruction coming?" Degorram asked, looking over at Ozymandias. "Very well," the Elder replied. "Not much was damaged to begin with. A few broken windows and the front gate will need to be replaced, but since the creatures never breached our walls there's not really anything to repair. Wyvern's Bat-Ball caused more damage inside than they did." Degorram smiled. "That's good." She lay back on her pillows and held the pendant on her necklace in one hand, sighing wearily, her eyes closed. "I'm glad it's over. I feel so old when I think back on it." Ozymandias smiled and patted her feet. "Time." He fell into silence and leaned back against the wall, clozing his eyes. Silence fell over the infirmary once more. Outside the wind made the trees dance. ~End~

Degorram opened her eyes and realized there was no earth. All around her was empty, black space, not like the blackness of a moonless night which presses against the eyes, but the blackness of a sea. There was simply nothing. She tried to turn her head but couldn't tell if she had. Her whole body was numb, and the only movement she felt was that of her eyes. She blinked against the blackness, straining for a light or a shade. There was simply nothing. She tried to remember what had brought her here but could not recall. There was nothing before the emptiness. No beginnings or ends, no regrets and no appreciations. She was simply nothing. She wanted to scream, but had no throat. She wanted to cry but her eyes were suddenly gone. She wanted to take one breath, just one whisper of air, but her lungs had vanished. This is the black, a voice rumbled, echoing through the vastness. This is the dark. This is the road that we all must embark. A pale face swam out of the darkness and peered at her, followed by a skinny pair of shoulders and the rest of a thin body clothed in the black. His eyes were green, a shocking, meadow green that sparkled in the nothingness. You are a long way from home, child, the voice continued. Degorram felt it coming from the person in front of her, but his mouth did not move. And you have suffered much... He raised a thin hand and in it swirled a soft, pulsing strand of light. It was slowly fading, flickering at the edges. This belongs to you. Immidiately Degorram became concious of fingers and an arm. She reached out for the light and his hand seemed to suddenly pull away, though she saw he had not moved. She raised her eyes to his and felt the question leave her. She saw it in his eyes. I cannot simply hand it to you, he replied, face still void. You must find the answer to retrieving it yourself. At last he looked down at the light in his hand. I would suggest you hurry. The further away it goes, the harder it will become to save it and yourself. He raised his eyes and looked at her. It is not your time to rest in this place. You will return to whence you came. But if you fail to retrieve this little bit of yourself, you will return uncomplete. It is very easy to lose oneself. Don't lose it. Degorram looked at the light, now small and shivering in the palm of the person's hand. She reached her hand out again, but this time let her fingertips hover directly in front of his own fingers. She stared at the light, feeling it warm her hand, and saw it cast a small glow over her fingers. As if her fingers alone were a key to a complex lock, she began to remember. She saw fields and flowers, a bright sun, and a tiny girl with curly brown locks running after butterflies. She saw the girl climbing a tree in search of a lizard while another girl who looked the same crouched on the ground, coaxing a fox kit with a piece of cake. She saw storms and darkness, the flash of a blade and blood splashed onto a wooden floor. A door was flung open and she saw the two girls running through the rain. The stars fell and time passed. With every recollection she felt herself grow more full, more solid. The light from her fingers traveled up her arm and onto her shoulders until the pale blue-green glow was filling up the space in which she and the person hovered. Slowly, uncertainly, as if recognizing her for the first time, the strand of light reached out and touched her hand. Tentatively it put a questing tendril into her palm, and then all at once it slid forward and rotated like a small galaxy within her grasp. It burst with light, sending the pulse flying through the emptyness and lighting up eternity with gold. The person in front of her looked around at the change. You have such a bright soul my child. He turned his face back to hers. We will meet again. Not soon, but again. And he faded away, his body becoming an emptiness that spread over the glimmer Degorram had caused. She was again surrounded by the nothingness, but this time it sparkled with little points of light. She had never seen anything so soft and peaceful. She looked down at the light in her hand again and watched it swirl. Slowly she raised it up and gently pressed it to her chest. It soaked in and disappeared, leaving her in utter darkness. I want to stay, she whispered in her mind. It's quiet. But you can't love, the voice whispered back. She felt an invisible hand touch her cheek. Your own night sky is much more beautiful. Take a look. The nothingness disappeared and she found herself looking up through a circle of trees at the most beautiful stars she had ever seen. Feeling crept up her body like an army of ants and she realized she was being held by someone. Her feet lay in the grass, and one arm trailed to the ground. Her head was nestled in the person's shoulder. Looking up, she saw a pale, strained face staring up at the same stars. She closed her eyes again, feeling her utter weekness. I didn't even ask your name....

The blood oozed over Degorram's hands and splashed onto her arms. She felt her claws sinking into the Necromancer's throat and another snarl gurgled up into her throat. The light of life was fading from his eyes as he raised one hand and made a fist. Degorram's heart lurched and she choked, her eyes watering. A thin green line of smokey light was traveling towards his hand. Her whole body shook at the revelation that her soul was escaping. She gave one last roar and ripped her hand away, taking the Necromancer's throat with her. In that moment she fell to the ground. Her eyes, though open, saw no more.

Degorram felt the energy inside her building to a peak. Any minute now she'd have enough to make her attack. Any minute now. Her eyes had narrowed into tunnel vision and now all she saw was the Necromancer and the small area surrounding her. She watched Ozymandias duel him without feeling, saw the Necromancer flick the bat ball away without effort. A zombie's arm flew through the air, collided with the lights that were swimming around her and, in a shower of golden sparks, evaporated. With a terrible scream Degorram shot forward off the tree, arms stretched towards the Necromancer. Ozymandias, noticing her advance, took a step away from the Necromancer, a small smile on his face. The Necromancer turned and followed his gaze just in time to see Degorram about to tackle him. He raised his arms in desperation and the shields he had been using sprang into life to envelop his whole body. Degorram collided with the shield but instead of bouncing off she stuck to it like a fly on glue. She strained against it and forced her head through it, snarling. The Necromancer looked up and smiled into her eyes. "Oh my darling little monster," he hissed. "How you've grown up." Degorram bristled, her breath sizzling hot between her bared teeth. At the peak she had been taken over by the howling in her head and was no longer capable of communication. She strained forward against the shield, muscles stretching with the effort. "You won't get in," the Necromancer said. "You're not strong enough." His face darkened and he glared. "I will not end here tonight," he snarled. "I will not be beaten. I will not lose all I have worked for." He gripped Degorram's chin in one hand. "When this is over your soul will be mine." Fire coursed through her body and she bolted forward. One clawed hand jerked through the shield, slowly followed by her forearm. The Necromancer let go of her chin in shock and watched horrified as she ripped her shoulder through the shield, her other arm following her. She reached out and gripped the Necromancer's neck in one of her own hands and brought his face close to hers. With a terrible effort she managed to grate out one word. "Die....."

The side of the box shattered and from the opening a dark swath of churning smoke poured, bursting forth like water from a dam. From its depths a figure lept into the air, two angular points of white light catching Wyvern's attention as it skyrocketed towards the tree tops. He looked up, mouth gaping open at the sight of Degorram flying upwards, muscular grey wings causing the grass below to bow to the earth under gusts wind. Her skin and hair were pitch black, her very white teeth bared in a feral snarl. Colorless eyes fixed on the dueling Necromancer across the clearing, she landed in a tree, hovering upon the leaves. A barrier of what looked like fireflies seemed to be coursing around her body, moving so fast that their lights drew streaks in the night air; Wyvern could see it where it touched the leaves, causing them to flutter away from it. The sound of the shattering glass caught the Necromancer's attention and he glanced across the clearing just in time to see Degorram leap into the trees, magical energy bouncing off the leaves and showering around her like sparks. Beware the wings that sleep at night..... He felt as if someone had delt him a terrible blow to the chest and he stumbled, his concentration broken. All of a sudden he felt very, very vulnerable.

The Necromancer's face was lit up in golden light as a huge explosion tore through the trees not far from their clearing. The resulting shockwave made the earth shudder. A hot wind thrust itself through the forest and tossed the trees about, extinguishing the torches with an invisible fist. Robes and long hair rippling in the torrent of air, he gazed up at the thick clouds of black smoke unfurling and dissapating, throwing themselves across the moon and plunging the glade in blackness. Through the inky dark Degorram heard a musical muttering and then a pale green light fizzled like a sparkler into existance. The Necromancer turned about, holding the tiny illuminating flame in his palm. The light cast flickering shadows on the rocks and trees; every blade of grass had two dancing shadows. All was silence. The Necromancer stood frozen, his eyes searching the forest for any movement, any glimmer of armor or blade. Degorram watched him, entranced by the silence: she dared not breathe. * * * * "No, Wyvern," Kikuyu said softly, "that's not the moonlight." She felt the cold metal of the necklace around her neck. It refused to glean her body heat, as if reminding her that it was on the wrong body. "Devilry," Ozymandias muttered. "Necromancer?" Walnut whispered, glancing around at his companions. Kikuyu nodded and stepped towards the clearing, eyes hard. "Necromancer." * * * * The trees rustled and the Necromancer's thin lips curled into a smile as the branches were pushed aside. The group - wet, filthy, bedraggled - emerged from the forest's grip into the circle of the clearing. "Welcome," the Necromancer said, narrowing his eyes at them and bowing from the waist. "I'm sure you've had a devil of a time getting here." He grinned again and slid his eyes over the group. "Dear dear....you look like death." "Where's--" Kikuyu began fiercly, but cut herself off as her eyes fell upon the box. "Dego...." she whispered. The Necromancer turned slightly and glanced at Degorram. "Ah yes," he said, connecting his eyes with Kikuyu's. "There she is, nicely bundled up." Kikuyu drew her katana and leveled it at the Necromancer, finding it difficult to breathe in her anger. "Release her," she said icily. She felt the firm grip of Ozymandias' hand on her shoulder. The Necromancer sighed. "A request I will simply have to ignore," he said. "Though, by all means, you can attempt it yourself. That is," he added nastily, "if you have time." He raised a hand and clenched it into a fist. Behind him, the box began to steadily contract. "No!" Kikuyu yelled, her face paling. She took a step towards the box, but felt Ozy's hand on her shoulder again. "We kill the Necromancer," Ozymandias whispered into her ear. "Let another take care of the box." Behind her she heard an eager hiss. "I'll do it," Wyvern snarled, eyes blazing. Ozymandias glanced around the clearing at the dozen zombies that had begun to move forward. "Sir Walnut, can you try to keep those off of us for the time being?" Sir Walnut grinned wolfishly and crouched down. "My pleasure," he growled. Degorram braced her feet and hands against the box's sides, grunting with the exertion of keeping it open. If she wasn't able to shift into something smaller soon, something would break. Already her shoulders ached with the cramped spaces. The Necromancer frowned as the large wolf charged into the ranks of the zombie elite, tearing at their chests and faces with its teeth. He jumped back as a spell of some sort charred the place where he had been standing. Looking up quickly he saw the elder and Kikuyu leaping towards him. The Necromancer laughed and tossed the little green flame into the trees beside him where it spread like wildfire from leaf to leaf until the whole clearing was lit with the green blaze. Kikuyu gave a yell as she brought her katana down towards the Necromancer's head. He swept one of his arms upwards and a pale green glowing shield appeared where his arm had gone, causing her blade to glance off sharply. With a curse she tried another blindingly fast attack and received the same magical rebuttle. The clearing flashed with Ozymandias' spells and the sparks from her blades as they dueled, the Necromancer seemingly never touching the ground. "Degorram!" Wyvern cried as he slid to a halt near the box. "Hey Wyv," Deogrram grunted, now curled into a ball. "Little help?" Wyvern felt the whole box over with his claws, frantically searching for a clue. "Can you ssssshift into sssssomething sssssmaller to give ussss more time?" Degorram glanced at the Necromancer. "He might be distracted enough.....let me try." She took as deep a breath as the space would allow and shut her eyes. Wyvern grinned with relief as the black mouse stared beadily up at him. "Great," he said. "Now how doesssss thisssss thing work?" "It's magic," Degorram squeaked. "Try everything!" She scuttled around the box, searching ever nook and cranny as it continued to collapse.

The Necromancer lurched from his throne, his teeth bared in fury. He could feel his hands trembling with energy, power he had not used and power that needed to be used soon. His anger pulsed through his veins venemously. "You've got a throbbing vein," the muffled voice of his prisoner called out behind him. He turned, eyes blazing. She raised a long, pale finger and pressed it against her own forehead. "Right there." A thin, shuddering laugh that bordered on mania escaped through the Necromancer's lips and he crossed the clearing in a few steps to crouch in front of the box, placing his hands on two sides. "Even when I could crush you," he hissed, "you still have the gall to mock me. Tell me, shifter," -- he spat the word like a curse and, though unoffended, Degorram flinched -- "are you so brave that you do not fear death?" Degorram pressed her own hands against the glass where the Necromancer touched it and leaned forward as much as she could to stare into his pale eyes. "I do not fear you or the death that you offer, Necromancer. I have endured pain beyond your experience. You cannot frighten me." The Necromancer seemed to calm at her words and smiled sadly at her, shaking his head. "Pain beyond experience....do you really believe that?" He laughed and stood up to pace the clearing slowly. "You do not understand the ways of the Necromancer, changeling child. We study as mages, to begin with. Those fools who believe that power from the darkness is a corruption....they only fear what might be possible! They do not know what might be conceived from the black pits of the universe." He paused and clenched a fist in the air, staring at it fervently. "Do you know, changeling, what it feels like to have souls pass through your own?" His voice had dropped to a murmur and he raised his other hand to clasp his fist. "Do you know what unendurable pain can be created when you dabble in the spirit world?" He smiled, his eyes distant. "I was only fifteen when a creature twenty four centuries old gripped the fabric of my soul and proceeded to sift it like sand." He looked back into Degorram's eyes. "Damaged beyond repair, they said. Permanently weakened. For those last thirty four hours as I lay on my supposed death bed I read the chronicles of those who had suffered as I had. And I came upon an interesting little chapter of a man who stole the soul of another man to complete his own shredded copy." Degorram stared, oddly fascinated by the Necromancer's story, and at the same time repelled by his proficiency at monologuing. "It's an easy little proceedure, once you get the hang of it," the Necromancer said. "And once I took my first soul, I had just enough time to keep practicing until I had a veritable collection of souls whisping around inside me." He strolled over to her box again. "There's something poetic," he said, holding a bony hand over the box, "about the screams of the freshly detatched." A thin, silver vapor that shimmered in the moonlight poured from his fingers and floated down like mist to encase the box. Degorram could still see through it and shivered at the calm, subtle smile on the Necromancer's face. A single tendril of the mist, sharper in color and thicker, passed through the front of the box and hovered in front of Degorram's chest. Her heart tightened as she stared at it. The Necromancer crouched and once again stared into her eyes with the ferocious anger he had felt before. "You don't fear death. Now do you fear your soul being ripped from your essence?" Degorram didn't answer. Fear had paralyzed her and she stared up into the grey eyes, ever limb trembling. The Necromancer stood and walked to the center of the clearing. He pressed his fingers to his lips and drew them away, bringing with them a cloud of the silver mist. With a harsh sigh he blew the cloud in front of him where it quivered and grew, taking shape. A terrible popping and cracking filled the air as the shroud of mist roiled, growing taller and taller. Branches of the cloud separated into limbs. With an otherworldy sigh the cloud disappated to reveal a towering creature crafted of skeletons. It cracked it's huge jaw and fixed the Necromancer with a pitiless stare. Its eyes were black pits out of which shined two pinpoints of flame: memoirs of a fiery home. The Necromancer raised an arm and pointed into the forest. "Hinder them," he said coldly. Without a word the monster lumbered into the forest, following the Necromancer's direction. All the way its bones clacked and groaned like dry tree limbs. Hinder.... Degorram thought, breathing heavily in fright. That's a completely different word with a completley different meaning than 'stop'. Raising his face to the night sky, the Necromancer closed his eyes and sent a sharp mental stab towards the Keep. Keep that for your dream world you little peeping tom.....

They just like me, I guess. I have to catch up with them first though. They're always evading me, little unruly children that they are. Glad you guys like it. I do to. *NOTE: This Poem is being published in an anthology and is therefore copywritten!*

I must say this is a new style for you. You pulled it off. Tis well done.

What a cool job that would be! If I was on my own I'd jump for it, I really would. That concept just fascinates me. I'll have to tell my friend about that (he's a major WWC player).

A tide swells and lurches against toes and seaweed that has coated the sands and waits for fish to feed. Horses circle in confusion under moons of dual complexion as flowers pull at their ankles waiting for breath of the sun. Breezes move through locks of hair and pull at gauzy garments though nothing tempts them with the finders keepers scents. A single drip disturbs acres of water as the rush towards the ocean continues; imitation of life circling again and again and again. The clouds boil and rush in then die with a fainted threat of rain and chaos. Glass deserts gasp for the stolen promise of wet. Third apartment from the left. Nothing to see here.

Degorram gasped and shook herself as he head hit her knees for the third time. She was exhausted. Her body ached literally all over and her head was pounding. With a sigh she rested her forehead on her knees and looked at the Necromancer from the corner of her eye. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful. The control he held over his soldiers had not encountered any major conflict yet, which meant they hadn't reached the Keep. There did seem to be some minor interferance, however....every now and then the corner of his mouth twitched. Perhaps they were just getting tangled up in the woods. Degorram doubted it. So the fighting, in a way, has already begun, she thought. She closed her eyes and prepared to sleep, just for a little while. The Necromancer moved. Degorram snapped her head up and looked intently at his face. He had opened his eyes and was frowning at the surrounding forests, as if puzzled. Then a slow smile spread across his face and he looked down at Degorram. "How precious," he said softly. "It seems they've sent a rescue party." Rescue party? Degorram thought. Surely Kikuyu wouldn't draw from the Keeps forces to come after me. Unless... A slow smile spread across her face as she realized the two sides to the plan. "Beware the wings that sleep at night," she growled, wondering even as she said it what it could mean. The riddle had leapt unbidden to her tongue. The Necromancer frowned, a chill running down his spine. The words were familiar....he'd heard them long ago in a dream. No, it hadn't been a dream, but a vision. A vision........ This is no longer a game, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the shadow of the forest. It is time to stop playing with my food and simply kill it. He again glanced down at Degorram. Degorram stared back into his eyes and shivered. Something had changed in his eyes.

*I can't take credit for this post. the idea was Wyv's* The black screen blips back on and the image of a dark clearing shows up. Torches all around the perimeter provide a dim lighting to the scene. In the center of the clearing sits a clear box, in which Degorram is stuffed quite unceremoniously. A tall man in a robe steps into the image and smiles evilly. With a foot he shoves the box out of the picture, Degorram yelling from within some foreign and probably deadly obscenity. The Necromancer lifts a pinky to the side of his mouth and grins. "I have your friend captive. If you want her back, you will have to comply with my demands!" He raises a long fignered hand dramatically. "First! The Pen Keep will surrender and all pennites will become my slaves. Second! My spirits will be given full rule of the forest. And third, you will provide me with a ransom of...." he begins to chuckle darkly "....one....MILLION dollars!!!" he cries, and breaks into a loud, 'evil' laugh. A shadowy minion steps into the picture and coughs nervously. "Um, sir...." it hisses. The Necromancer breaks off laughing and sighs heavily, looking at the soldier. "Yes, WHAT is it now?!?" "One million dollars isn't a lot of money anymore," the minion says, shuffling its rotted feet. "Yeah, you IDIOT!" a muffled voice comes from where the box lies out of sight. "Silence!!" the Necromancer shrieks. "Alright then." He sighes and straightens his robes, again facing the screen with a dramatic, evil stare. "You will provide me a ransom of.....ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS!!!!" He again breaks into the evil laugh, as does the minion at his side. Over the laughter, a muffled voice screams: "YOU'RE STILL AN IDIOT!!!!"

ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT!!!! A very important question has been posed to me, and here is the answer I gave. I think all should know this information. Q: What exactly can we do with the Necromancer and his minions? A: Well, as it's going, the minions are heading towards the Pen keep at an alarming rate and will be at the door soon. A major battle will be breaking out soon, and members can fight them in any manner they choose, so long as no one character takes out most or all of them at once: this is a war and must take as long as is realistic. The Necromancer himself is a bit trickier. He and his little dozen of denizens stay behind the lines. The Necro controls the creatures from that distance while his minions guard him and his prisoner. While a good bit of his power is diverted to controlling the horde, I'm afraid our Necro will still be an extremely formidable foe (perhaps a bit of a god moder, but that's the way bad guys tend to go and that's how he has grown). It will take a large force to take him down, different powers and techniques, etc. (for that is true: no one can defeat him by themselves, as Dego has found out already). You can do whatever you want with that; just remember that the Necro is a stinky butt poop head and we're all going to be saying very soon "wait, can he do that? he can't DO that!!"

At first, Degorram didn't know where she was. She opened her eyes slowly and saw the ground passing beneath her. The sound of tramping feet, of a horse's jingling tack, the squelch of mud beneath the feet of countless troops, all in turn visited her ears. Everything swam and faded in a sea sick tumult. A flash of pain hit her whole body and she retched, spitting up bile. They had her firmly by each arm. Strong, dark hands had wrapped around her biseps and shoulders and were bodily dragging her through the forest, letting her feet bump along the ground behind. She could feel her boots wearing thinner with every rock she hit. Just in front of them a horse, if it could be called a horse, trotted restlessly, the rotted flesh tearing with every step to show tendon, muscle and bone beneath. Seated in the saddle, cool and quiet, was the man. He heard her vomit and turned slightly, looking at her from the corner of his eye. His lips twitched and without a word he turned back to the front. Degorram refused to watch him as he sat there, smug and triumphant, his first trophy already won. I am not finished, she thought grimly. He can't keep me from shifting forever. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, and all passed her by with nauseating laziness. She began to count the footsteps of the army behind her. After a while she grew bored and began naming the rocks and ferns that passed before her eyes. Her neck ached from hanging limp, her shoulders from supporting her entire weight. Without caring what was to come next, she begged for an end to the ceaseless march, if only it would allow her to rest. They came to a small clearing. Boulders, a man and a half tall, towered around it, placed to rest by some unknown people in some unknown time. Runes had been carved into their skins, long rubbed into obscurity by wind and rain. The trees also were impressive: their branches sprouted high above the ground, leaving the thick trunks bare except for the occasional rope-braided charm that had been tied there. The caravan stopped as the Necromancer gazed at the area, a small smile on his face. "This will do nicely," he said to himself. "Come." One of the creatures holding Degorram let her go and lifelessly walked to stand at the man's side. The other who held her wrapped one of his arms around her torso. Even if she had had the strength to move, the grip of the dead would have prevented her from twitching. The Necromancer turned to the creature at his side. Some unspoken command was passed, and the creature turned and marched out of the clearing. The army filed past and followed, filling the empty forest with the noise of its many feet. Degorram cracked her eyes open and watched, feeling sick again as the creatures walked...and walked...and walked....and no end of the army seemed to exist. Finally the last of them had gone; only a dozen stayed with their master. With a sigh the Necromancer dismounted and led the hellish steed over to a tree where, without being tied, it stayed, wild eyes burning with the fires of a very hot place. He turned back and clapped his hands, a business like air hovering around him. "Let's get to work, shall we?" he asked Degorram, eyes bright with excitement. "Go ---- yourself," Degorram muttered without looking at him. The Necromancer let out a hearty laugh and grinned. "You never cease to amuse me. You will make an excellant pet." He turned and marked an area with his hands, humming softly. Degorram lifted her eyes and stared at him, disturbed by the sudden appearance of what she could swear was cheerfulness. With a whistle a tiny glass box appeared on the ground. The man stretched his arms up and the box grew until it was taller than him. Tapping its surface, an empty space, perhaps a door, appeared. He turned and beckoned to the creature holding her. Degorram's muscles tingled unpleasantly as the soldier pulled her closer to the box. Weakly she pushed her feet under her and tried to resist, but her captor walked on, unphased. The dirt piled up around her boots, the only sign of her struggle. "Your weakness really is adorable," the Necromancer said. The creature stopped and held her in front of the box, awaiting further orders, which the Necromancer seemed happy to delay. He stared at Degorram and leaned over her, smelling her hair. Degorram's skin crawled and she tried to kick him. He was conveniently too far away. The Necromancer straightened again and smiled into her face. "Put her in the box." Degorram cried out as the creature shoved her through the opening. She landed heavily on the glass floor and quickly turned over, watching the opening vanish completely. The Necromancer stretched his arms again and slowly brought them together. The box began to shrink. Degorram watched in horror as it compressed further and further, past the standing point, the crouching point, until she could barely turn about. Her shoulders pressed against one side as her feet pressed against the other, the top pushing down on her head. She banged on its surface: unbreakable. Unbreakable and very cramped. The Necromancer crouched down and tapped the glass. "This is your home now," he said, his voice muffled by the glass. "Until I feel the need to be amused. Now I don't have to spend so much energy holding you in place." He chuckled and walked away to another side of the clearing where he began to give silent orders to set up camp. The creatures moved without question and without expression, turning the simple druid's temple into a sinister hall of the dead. Degorram twisted around until she was sitting with her legs and arms more comfortably situated. So this was how he planned to keep her subdued. She didn't even want to think what might happen if she attempted to shift into anything bigger than she was. If she tried to become smaller, the consequences might be just as dire. However, she was curious. She fixed her eyes on her hand and tried to make her fingernail purple. Pain lanced through her head and down into her whole body. She screamed, tears springing to her eyes. The Necromancer, now seated upon an elaborate throne, framed by torches that lit his ghostly face with fire, laughed. The creatures moved towards her and picked the box up to place it next to the man's feet.

Degorram crouched on an old tree limb, soaked through, her hair hanging in long, wet strings and sending even more cold water trickling down her cheeks and the back of her neck. The sun had set long ago and the darkness that had fallen in the forest was complete: with her own eyes, she could see the leaf dangling in front of her nose and nothing else. She closed her eyes and twitched. When she opened them again, her pupils were large and round. The whole forest seemed afire to her. Including the leaf dangling in front of her nose. Irately she batted it away and knocked a whole new shower of wet upon her head. The rain had been mostly stopped by the heavy tree cover and now just dripped or trickled in steady streams off of the leaves above. Usually she hated being soaked, but her mind had left behind the thought. She wasn't aware that she was shivering with the cold. She wasn't aware that she hadn't eaten in two days. She sat on the tree branch and stared into the forest, silent. There! Without a sound she had disappeared from the branch and was leaping from tree to tree, eyes fixed on a single moving shadow. When the shadow stopped, she stopped. When it sped up she matched its speed. Degorram noticed from the corner of her eye a difference in the forest. She glanced up and saw that the shadow was heading for a clearing. Just another part of the forest, or was this the Necromancer's meeting place? That's what she was after: how close had the monster gotten to her home without her sensing it? Had his power grown since then? Had his forces grown since then? She turned her eyes back to the shadow and practically missed the branch she was supposed to land on. It was gone. The bark was slippery and she had to throw herself from tree to tree just to stay above ground. Finally she was able to scramble onto a single branch and flattened herself on it. The clearing was right in front of her; there were no other trees to guard her from prying eyes, and she dared not move now. The only way she wouldn't be caught was if the Necromancer was either distracted or very tired. She hoped he was distracted. There was silence in the forest. Once again she was enveloped by the sound of rain and her own breathing, except now her breath was heavy with following the shadow...and also fear. She knew no technique to watch her back. Suddenly out of the darkness two large arms wrapped around her torso and ripped her bodily from the limb she was clinging to. Degorram cried out in shock and tried to twist around to slash at whatever it was holding her in the air, but its grip was firm and she could do nothing but struggle. She attempted to shift away, but her head blasted with pain and she was forced back into the shape she was. She screamed as her head pounded and the creature's grip grew tighter and tighter. Just before she could feel her ribs about to crack the creature threw her away from itself into the clearing. Degorram hit the ground with a smack and slid through the mud, but couldn't force herself to her feet. She pushed herself onto her knees and gingerly gripped her torso, wincing as she was able to breathe again. "This is how I like things," a cold, sinister voice said from the darkness of the forest. Degorram whirled around, pulling one of her swords from its sheath and leveling it at the voice. A tall man was walking slowly towards her, his hands clasped calmly in front of him, a quirky smile on his face. "You....on your knees. Helpless and weak. Oh yes, I do think I'm going to enjoy the turnout of this encounter much more." "Go back to Hell!" Degorram spat, trying not to pass out from the exploding pain in her head. Her arm was shaking: she barely had the strength to keep the blade pointing at the approaching Necromancer's belly. The Necromancer laughed softly. "You see, I wasn't intending to go back for a little while yet," he said with a smile. The smile was quickly replaced by a terrifying scowl and he reached down, wrenching the sword from her faltering grasp. Degorram was practically pulled over with the force of his strength, but she caught herself on one arm. The Necromancer leaned down and gripped her chin in his icy hand. "But you, dear changeling, you seem to want very badly to take me with you whenever we meet. And I'm growing tired of your games." Degorram jerked her face away from his, snarling. "Oh, still the feisty one are we?" he laughed, straightening again. "You are not worth my time at the moment. Too much energy. I prefer to play with my souls after they've been properly..." he paused for the right word and relished it as it passed across his tongue, "...subdued." He chuckled and snapped his fingers. All around the clearing a horde of shadows appeared, constantly moving, their empty, orb eyes piercing the darkness, fixed on Degorram. "Bring her to me once you're finished," the Necromancer addressed them, eyes still fixed on Degorram. "And please, do take your time." He turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder. "I'm in no hurry." Degorram watched as the shadows drew closer, her brain speeding through options of what she was to do. She only had the one sword left, and it wouldn't do any good against the shadows. She couldn't shift, and she didn't have the energy to try running away. But she did know that the Necromancer would wait to rip her soul from her body until Kikuyu could watch, which, by a twisted stroke of evil fortune, bought her time. You're a fool Degorram, she thought as the creature's hands drew closer. ----- this is going to hurt.

Degorram's jaw dropped and her already little-lapdog-buggy eyes bugged out even further. With a yelp she ducked her head down into the purse, the tips of her huge ears sticking out above the pink fur-lined top. "Jussst gimme a minute Cheer! Thissss isssn't what it lookssss like!!!" Wyvern cried. "Like, I can't imagine what you're doing..." Cheer said, sounding uncertain and a lot less cheerful. "I hope the explanation is at least entertaining." "Forget the explanation!" Degorram shrieked as she sprang from the purse, swiftly elongating into her original form. "My virgin eyes are suffering!" She brandished her arm and a dark cloud of smoke blanketed itself over the goblin's body. The creature blinked and looked at itself. "There!" Degorram said, still shaking like the tiny dog she had just been and taking deep breaths. "Can we please move on??" Without another word she shrank back into the shape of a chihuahua. She wagged her tail and barked. "Ohhhhhh, you're, like, so cuuuute that way Dego!!' Cheer squealed as she picked the dog up and cuddled it close. Dego bared her teeth in a slightly macabre grin and fixed her eyes on Wyvern in what she hoped was a warning. I will NOT be saving your almost dragonic butt again, will I Wyvy DEAR?

As the gold clad almost-dragon hobbled out of the room, Degorram paused in thought, a glazed look filling her eyes. "Dego mini plushies...." she thought dreamily. "A Dego in every home." She chuckled and turned away, heading towards her bedroom to fetch a quill and piece of paper, passing the book she had left and leaving it where it lay. She didn't need a book to tell her how to be cheerful now.

Degorram looked up from the book she had been reading, How to be Cheerful, as her door shook under a large knock. Sighing she put the book on her table and stood, walking over to the door as it trembled under another pounding. She counted a few seconds, then pulled the door open sharply and stepped to the side. The momentum of his fist pulled Wyvern into the room with a loud "Yipessss!" and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Degorram raised an eyebrow. "Hi Wyvern," she said. "Nice of you to drop in." Wyvern groaned, but whether his pain was caused by the fall or her bad joke, Degorram couldn't really tell. "Is there something I can help you with?" Wyvern stood and brushed his scales off. "Yesss," he said. "Cheer and I have decided that you'd make an excellent minion." He looked up for Degorram's reaction and received a slow blink. "We haven't ssssorted out all the detailssss yet, of coursssse," he said hastily, "but I've written up thissss little document concerning the pay you'll receive for cosssstumessss." He handed her a slip of paper that was shaped like a heart and still had traces of sparkles from the notepad. Degorram took the paper and smiled quirkily. "Your own personal stationary, Wyvern?" She scanned the words quickly, then handed the paper back to the almost dragon. "I don't have a problem with it," she said. "I just have a few requests...nay, conditions, of my own." "And what would thosssse be?" Wyvern asked. Degorram leaned in closer to Wyvern's face, frowning. "I will wear no pink, no sparkles, no pompoms, and no frills unless I am directly impersonating Cheer herself. I will be fully covered and I will pick out my own outfits," she thundered. "I do hope that's not too harsh." "N-n-no..." Wyvern gulped. "Perfectly fine." Degorram leaned back and nodded, smiling a little. Then she cocked her head and stared at Wyvern. "What are you wearing?"

The following questions have been asked of me, so I'm posting them and the responses here for anyone who is wondering the same. Q:Is the intro an open rp? A:Alas the intro is not an open rp. Kikuyu and I are still awaiting the time that summer brings and only wished for the intro to give you guys ideas, to create inspiration and all that. Q:Is the QQ going to be an open rp? A: Yes, the QQ itself will be an open rp (joy!). Thanks for the interest guys!

You'd like Lord Amnex, Wyvern. He pretends to be a mean and commandeering overlord....but most of the time fails to be any sort of bullying force on anyone.