Thread: Flirting with Death (w/ Kyrth)

How dare she?! A young woman with long violet hair and dark eyes stomped angrily through the tangled undergrowth of the darkening woods. Her willowy frame shook with caged fury and she stopped to kick a rock with her laced black boot. Then, turning sharply on her heel, shouted at the top of her lungs towards the shadowy abode that lay behind her. YOU'LL BE SORRY! JUST YOU WAIT! Rhiannon had traveled for days, weeks to reach this place- the keep of one of the greatest necromancers in the land. It had been her deepest desire to apprentice under the fearful enchantress. She was more than qualified to train under her, she thought to herself. As a child, she had been gifted with extraordinary senses, being able to detect the grey line between the world of the living and the dead. With focus, she could peer into the afterland and toy with that fine boundary that held the world in balance. Even without instruction, she learned to manipulate the lifeforce of lesser creatures such as spiders, insects, and small fish. It had been a favorite trick of hers to make the dead, roasted trout in the marketplace spring to life and frighten customers. In her village, she had been feared as a strange and cursed child, her abilities both to be revered and mistrusted. When she came of age, she left home to further her talents. Having a sharp mind, she had quickly absorbed the knowledge of the simple runescrafters and mediums of the many villages she traveled to. It had been childsplay to her, barely a challenge. She wanted more. She wanted to train under a real master. To truly embrace her power, to become feared and mighty, she needed to train under a necromancer. When she heard of this woman, she felt certain she was the perfect one and set out immediately. However, the woman had not only turned her down, she had insulted and mocked her. Without even giving Rhiannon a second to prove herself, she had booted her out. It wasn't fair! How could that bitch not see how talented and special she was? Well, she was going to regret that mistake, the girl thought. Maybe she wasn't all done up in skulls and walking around with a demon army, but she could certainly raise hell if she needed. And that was EXACTLY what she was going to do. On her way here, she had seen many gravemarkers lining the side of the road. The only remains of less fortunate travelers - a grim testament to the many perils of the wood. One in particular had caught her eye. It was fresh, no more than a day or two old and was within sight of the necromancer's lair. It was perfect. When she reached the grave site, she pulled out a small, black leather book. It was tattered and worn and some of the pages were missing, but it was the only spellbook she had been able to acquire. Even for this little thing she'd had to do quite a bit of bargaining and a little bloodshed. Still, it had proven quite useful, and she had mastered one or two of its more interesting spells. Peering into the book, she stooped over the grave and made a circle of chalk dust around it. Then, with her thumb, made several runes and markings in the dirt. When she was done, she checked her work, and pulled a small knife at her side from its sheath. She held her hand above the grave and began to chant, slowly and softly at first, then with increasing volume and intensity. When she reached the apex of the spell, she drew the knife sharply and swiftly across the palm of her hand, wincing a little at the pain. Blood sprang from the wound and dropped beads of scarlet onto the runes in the dirt. Arise! she cried, heart fluttering with excitement. Free yourself from the shackles of death and serve me, ghoul! Those words weren't so much necessary to the spell, so much as they sounded cool. With breathless anticipation, she stared down at the grave and waited.