Life, Death and Endless Limitations

[3kul]

Life. Death. The two certainties to which all mortals beings are bound, the definite beginning and ending that makes all mortals equal. No matter how powerful, intelligent or beautiful you are, we are all fated to be born, and eventually, to die.

However, I came to learn that this balance was not equal. People have died, in the past, and in the future, people will be born. A definite amount of people have died, whilst an indefinite amount of people have been born. It is upon this knowledge that I base my art.

Mine is the art of Brephomancy.

-----------------------------

"... With hair pitch black as a moonless night! And eyes redder than the fires of hell! The devil himself walks amongst us, I swear it to be true!"

The town lunatic, whom nobody believes, quite often speaks the truth. We hesitate, no, we choose to totally disbelieve in anything that we cannot understand or see for ourselves. The fact that this man had seen a devil did not matter to anybody else in town, for they could not see the devil. All they saw was another of their kind, and a lunatic who just needed to be ignored.

Forgive me if you feel that I speak arrogantly, I suppose that I have no right to do so considering that I cannot see the devil either. However, unlike the townsfolk whilst I cannot see the devil I do acknowledge his existence, and I have met with his ilk. Although when I say 'devil' I don't mean it literally, I suppose you could consider it to be something like an... essence, of sorts. Those who are gifted like the town lunatic see people for what they are on the inside rather than what they are on the outside, and this often drives them to insanity (or at the very least, to seem insane to others). Fortunately for me, most of them are left to rant and rave in the streets, so I am able to hear their cries.

'Devils' are truly black-hearted individuals, those who have sold their souls in order to perform the most foul and loathsome of magical arts. I do not know nor do I wish to know the rituals involved in becoming such a creature, but they are necromancers. It is hard to describe how I feel about necromancers, as they are a complicated bunch. To put it most bluntly, they're my natural enemy - the stronger they get, the weaker I become. Of course, it's not quite as selfish as that, and I can usually find other ways to justify their eradication, but as a general rule, that's the brutal truth of the matter. I wouldn't describe myself so much as 'good' compared to them, just 'different'. Odds are there's probably people out there who find my own magical arts to be just as grotesque and offensive, perhaps even more so, so I try not to judge too much.

Where was I? Ah yes, the town lunatic. It is difficult to decipher too much from his ramblings, but fortunately for me I don't really need to, as it turns out that the 'devil' he's seen is acting in a most predictable manner. Our lunatic is also grave robber, stealing trinkets from corpses to feed himself, and he encountered the 'devil' at the local graveyard. How very typical of a necromancer, but it just makes my job that much easier. If I were to wait longer I could get paid for this, as the townspeople would surely grow concerned over the increase in murders, but it seemed to me that the resident necromancer has only just realized that their powers increase with the slaughter of others, so I suppose that it'd be better to act quickly rather than to wait it out. I'm not a particularly greedy man anyway, and I'm not that desperate for money.

I make my way to the graveyard, my tools at my belt and in my cloak. Three should be enough, though as always I have more just in case (better to be cautious than overconfident). It seems that this necromancer seems to be in the earliest stages of realization, for they have yet to strike out at a victim who is able to defend themselves. Judging from the list of missing persons I gather from the townsfolk, it seems that they currently have a preference for the young, the old, the weak, the sick and on one occasion, the very drunk. Were they taking down stronger or more specific prey I would be quite concerned, but for now they are simply seeking to expand what must be an initially weak power base.

It is still the early evening, which means that I must wait for a while. Necromancers seem to prefer the night, for it hides their misdeeds like a dark and mysterious cloak, so I spend the hours paying my respects to the dead. I have know way of knowing if they're still in their graves or not, but I'd prefer to think that they are.

-----------------------------

The pale moon rises, it's eerie glow covering the graveyard in shadows. I do not move, for I only need to listen - I will hear the necromancer and his minions long before I see them.

Soon enough I find this to be as true as ever, the familiar sound of the shuffling feet of the recently dead greet me. I face the dead unafraid, for this is not my first meeting with such poor, wretched creatures, and so their master decides to appear before me. Certainly, I must seem like most unusual prey, to not only have wandered in to his lair but to show no fear. Perhaps he suspects me of being a fellow necromancer?

"Are you not afraid? You should be. You aren't dreaming you know, they'll really kill you."

It is a male, he seems middle-aged. I tell him that I am not afraid, for I am not his 'type'. I am not weak, nor old, nor injured, nor sickly and no, not even a little bit drunk.

"That's true, though I've been working my way up to somebody like you. My army could use a bit more muscle, zombies that look like children and old people aren't too intimidating."

I am forced to agree with him, though I am curious as to why he has not dug up the bodies here.

"Too obvious! I'd be caught before daybreak! Besides, they're all just buried in boxes, no effort put into preservation at all. I don't care for rotting corpses that'll break as soon as I move them."

Ah, he is naive. So wasteful, and only just coming to terms with his power. I have overestimated him, and will only need one tool after all. I tell him this, that I am here to defeat him, and he laughs.

"Do not joke with me! I have an army of the dead, and you have nothing!"

That is not true, I tell the necromancer. I am armed and quite dangerous, especially to his kind.

"Ridiculous! There is no greater art than necromancy!"

Oho, quite a bold sentiment. I ask him why he believes this to be so.

"In all of the world, if we were to count up the number of people who'd ever lived the dead would far outnumber the living! A necromancer's power is almost limitless."

'Almost' is the key word here. I tell him that necromancy is an art far more limited than he believes it to be. He laughs at me. I do not care, for he will be dead in a matter of minutes, and his army slaughtered. I ask him to humour me though, and to tell me, if he can, the number of dead people in the world.

"Who can say? Billions, trillions, maybe more."

Now I ask the necromancer if he knows what I am. 'A fool', he responds, though he is merely making a joke at my expense. I ask the necromancer to tell me one final thing, if he can, exactly how many people are yet to be born into the world.

"... What? I don't understand what you're saying."

Your kind never does, I respond, and I remove an egg from my belt and a doll from the inside of my cloak. This is no ordinary egg, it is a medium through which I may channel one of my own minions, called cherubim, and the doll is the temporary body that I give to them. As I do this I explain that his kind, necromancers, draw their power from those who've spent their lives on this world, a finite amount of people, whilst my kind, brephomancers, draw our power from those who've yet to spend their lives on this world, an infinite amount of people. This is not technically correct of course, but he does not need to know this.

"You're bluffing! I've never heard of Brephomancy, you just made it up!"

His words seem strong, but his eyes show doubt, for he fears deep down that I am speaking the truth. I am fortunate that he is so green, for he is too mesmerized by my words to do anything to stop me. Necromancy, I tell him as I prepare my magicks, comes from the Greek words 'nekros', meaning 'dead', and 'manteia', meaning divination. Brephomancy has similar origins, coming from the Greek word 'brephos', meaning 'unborn'.

Having explained all that I care to explain to the necromancer, I shatter the enchanted egg in my left hand over the doll that I hold in my right and release my minion into this world. In a flash of light, his pitiful army lies in ruins, and he falls to his knees. My cherub raises a sword to his neck, and in one swift motion ends his life. I do not listen to his final words, for I do not wish to hear them. There is very little that he could say to move my heart enough to spare him.

My minion, Jinn, shows no emotion, as always, her actions are perfect and precise, as always. She is an unborn descendant of the man currently regarded as the world's greatest swordsman, so I suppose that it was a bit of overkill bringing her here, but she is my favourite cherub, and to watch her in action is almost like seeing poetry in motion. Her tiny child-like frame dances about with no weight at all, as her deadly blade follows after her, moving as though it were an extension of her body rather than some soulless object.

I thank her for her continuing loyalty to me, she bows her head in response and returns from whence she came, unable to remain in this world for long periods of time. The doll shudders and falls to the ground, once again lifeless, and I carry it out of the graveyard to properly cleanse it. For my cherubim to enter this world, I must always provide them with a body, and it must always be kept in proper conditions. If I fail to do so it becomes very difficult to convince them to come here before it is their time to do so over and over again.

I speak to the lunatic once more, who is huddled under a pile of discarded boxes, and tell him that the devil is dead. He seems a little calmed with this knowledge, though he naturally doesn't trust me. I ask him if he'd seen any more devils, and he tells me that he hasn't.

With nothing else left for me in this town, I make my way to the next one. As I have no particular aim in my journey I do not imagine it to be ending anytime soon.

-----------------------------

An episodic story based around the notion of Brephomancy, an interesting idea that I came up with earlier today (at least, I found it to be interesting ). I felt that I was already busy enough with RPs and such, so I made this into a story rather than create a new character or something.

More details will be revealed as the story continues, but please feel free to leave criticism/comments/questions .

[Cirrial]

I love this idea of brephomancy. Considering necromancy is so cliché and overused to this point, the idea of tapping into pre-life (as opposed to post-life) is a logical extension which no-one really seems to consider.

Kudos to you, 3kul.

Also, I really like the story, too. Sounds like there's a large amount of necromancers and a few/only one brephomancer. I also like how they're described as two sides of the same coin in the basis of the chosen art, rather than morality.

[3kul]

Thanks for the kind words Cirrial

I too feel that necromancy can get to be pretty clichéd, but hopefully as the story goes on I'll be able to come up with a few interesting ideas for it. Whilst the concept of Brephomancy might fascinate people I still think that it still needs to have challenges thrown it's way - the reason that this first fight seemed so uneven was because this was the first 'episode' (of sorts). The main character comes up against an extremely inexperienced necromancer, and easily defeats him. The next chapter will not have him win so easily.

This character is not so much the last of his kind (another cliché that I didn't really want to play out ) as he is the first of his kind, as it's a kind of magic that most would not consider (as you yourself point out). It goes by the basic logic that 'the best is yet to come', though as you'll come to see, most people don't consider or believe that to be true.

[3kul]

It is important to understand that necromancers are not all the same as each other. Their levels of skill differ greatly, and just as I have fought the most ridiculously inexperienced I have also fought tactical masterminds, the likes of which carve themselves a bloody kingdom out of some poor unfortunate town. They are so powerful that they command armies as vast as some small nations, and ensure that they are always well protected from outside attacks.

I know a few of them, for they are famous in most magic circles, and it seems that I'm approaching the territory of one of them now.

Dr. John Smyss. In his younger years, he was a famous medicine man, but not too long ago he turned his skills to the dead, and crafts himself unnatural corpses to do his bidding. He prefers the rather unoriginal alias 'Dr. Death', and is quite popular amongst his peers for his high-quality handiwork. I am told that, should he wish it so, he could change a dog into a cat, or vice-versa.

This does not bode well for me, for I do not deal well with surgeon-types. Surgeon-type necromancers use their intimate knowledge of the human body to alter and enhance the corpses that are available to them to the point that they become inhumanly strong. I suppose I could be called a prehistorian-type brephomancer, for I rely on unborn child prodigies to aide me in my battles. They too could be classed as inhumanly strong, however they do have their limits, limits that only a surgeon-type can surpass.

I stop walking for it seems that a sign is blocking my path. 'Venture forward traveller, Mahakala will greet you kindly', it says. I look up to see only a clocktower in the distance, for the rest of the town has been decimated, and a figure moving about inside. My arm is suddenly on fire as an arrow meets it's mark, and I realize that I should have been on my guard sooner. Indeed, that was an impossible shot for a normal human, but not for the minion of a surgeon-type necromancer.

I manage to get behind some rubble for cover before two more arrows can hit me, and I use my other arm to call a cherub into this world. The arm with the arrow lodged in it has seized up, and it's very obvious that I've been poisoned. Fortunately for me, I have quite an accomplished doctor to call, and he arrives in this world not a moment too soon. Iatrosoles, distant relative to Smyss, wastes no time with formalities, and attempts to diagnose me as he goes through my medical supplies.

"You have been poisoned, yes? What does it feel like?"

Like hellfire, I tell him. My arm is on fire yet I cannot move it, and it feels like it's spreading to my chest.

"Sounds like Fangs of Hades, made from Immolates Root. One of Smyss' favourite poisons."

I do not ask him how he knows that, for I know that he will not answer me. Iatrosoles is happy enough to aid me when it comes to healing, but he will not give away his family secrets. Considering that his very existance depends on his family surviving long enough to allow him to be born into this world though, I don't find this to be too unreasonable of him.

"Here, see the bruising around the arrow that looks like bite marks? That is the Fangs of Hades."

The marks of infection around the arrow indeed make it look like I've been bitten, and Iatrosoles begins to treat me. His body is tiny, but he still works quickly, grinding up a variety of herbs in his mortar and pestle. Unfortunately for me the treatment is delivered in the same manner as the poison - Iatrosoles coats several needles with the pale green liquid and sticks them into my arm with firm surgical precision.

"Do you have any servants who can take on an archer like that?"

Iatrosoles is as business-like as ever, and as soon as his treatment is over he is asking me how I plan on advancing. He knows that there is little point in retreating for me, I'll either fight this necromancer or another, it doesn't make too much of a difference as I bear them no personal grudge.

I tell him that, unfortunately, I do not have any cherubim who would be able to handle an archer like that.

"What of Jinn?"

She is a skilled swordswoman, but ill-suited to long-ranged combat. I do not believe that the body I've constructed for her would get her to the clock tower in one piece.

"Indeed, it is a shame that you are not a better craftsman."

As much as we may lament my own shortcomings as an artisan, it does not help me out of my current predicament.

"True enough... What of Szalonka?"

The sniper? She would be an excellent choice, except that I do not have a high-powered rifle with which she may shoot. The only firearm I have on me is of quite poor quality, and I cannot imagine that she could take down such a powerful undead creature with a measly peashooter, not before it could shoot her tiny frame to pieces.

"I am a doctor with or without my preferred tools of practice, Brephomancer. Szalonka is the same."

It seems that I have little other choice. Iatrosoles has convinced me, and I summon Szalonka into the world. She looks at me from her tiny body but does not speak - Iatrosoles is the only one of my cherubim to possess such a gift, and it signifies the fact that he will be not remain unborn for many more years. I hand her the only gun I have on me, and she regards it with curiosity. I tell her of my predicament, of her foe and she nods.

She steps out from behind the rubble and takes aim. Three shots, then three crunches of splintering wood. I look over to see that she has been shot through the middle three times, and cannot move from the spot where she is for the arrows have partially buried themselves into the ground. Is it safe to go out, or has she failed me? I cannot tell, and to check for myself seems quite suicidal.

"You may as well. I will attempt to heal you should you be shot again."

Iatrosoles does not fill me with confidence, but I heed his advice and step out into the open. I am not shot immediately, which is a very good sign. I look to Szalonka, who's face expresses discomfort - her wooden body does not allow her to feel pain, but it is still unpleasant for her to be unable to move. She taps her hand to her eye three times, as though she is trying to tell me something. Am I to keep my eyes peeled? No, that would not make any sense.

A distant moan of pain causes me to realize what she means - she has shot the watchman in the eyes. As it's undead it will still be wandering around, but without eyes it is quite useless, and too far away to do us any more damage. Why she shot it three times makes little sense to me, but I am quite impressed. The sniper prodigy lives up to her name, as even with such a pitiful weapon she manages to hit her mark. I thank her for her efforts and release her from her body, removing the arrows and placing it inside my coat. I will have to repair it sometime soon, I'll check the clock tower for usable materials.

"You no longer require my services. Farewell for now, Brephomancer."

Iatrosoles signals that he too wishes to leave the body that I've bound him to, and so I oblige him. He does not enjoy spending too much time in this world so close to his birth, I suspect he feels that it may spoil the magic.

I have summoned Jinn to accompany me to the clock tower, for somebody will need to finish it's guard off.

[3kul]

((A double-dose of Brephomancy, for I am in the mood to write a story tonight ))

I would wager that the original Mahakala was a mythical beast of some sort, for the creature atop the clock tower seemed barely human at all, a testament to the abilities of Dr. John Smyss. Six arms holding three bows, the creature was still attempting to figure out how it had suddenly gone blind when Jinn finished it off. Upon closer observation, I learned that it had once had three eyes, which explained why Szalonka fired three shots.

I decided to take a short break in the tower now that it's guard was taken care of, and I used a bit of wood from a stair banister to patch up Szalonka's body. Jinn seemed uneasy about something, though as she was unable to express herself in the conventional sense she set about carving a message for me in the wall.

TOO EASY.

I nodded, this had been far too easy, it was unbelievable that Smyss would leave his borders guarded by a single minion. It was good, but not that good. Perhaps somebody had been here before us?

MOST LIKELY.

This was somewhat unsettling, but not too big a concern. The fact that they'd utterly destroyed whatever undead had infested this town to the point that there were no remains told me that they were very skilled, perhaps moreso than myself, in fighting necromancers and the company that they keep. I am, however, comforted by the fact that they seem intent on eliminating the undead in this region - my enemy's enemy is my friend, as the saying goes.

The question that did entice me was who - who had done this, no, who could have done this? All I know is that they'd have to have arrived here after I left the last town I was in, otherwise I'd have most certainly heard of this.

Jinn suddenly catches my attention with a small tapping on my leg, pointing to a creature that is flying towards us. Were I a more romantic or religious man I might have shed a tear, for Smyss' creation was a disgusting desecration of one of the holiest of mythical creatures. His undead angel hung landed a little below us in the clock tower, in a place that now seemed like an obvious perch for it.

"Intruders in my territory, state your business!"

The winged zombie had a radio for a mouth, and stared at us with it's hollow eyes as it reached into it's loincloth and procured a microphone of some variety. It hands me the microphone which I hesitantly accept, though I can't help feeling repulsed by this creature. Smyss was talking with us through what is undoubtedly the most hideous telecommunications device that I've ever seen.

I tell him that I am the Brephomancer, and that is all he needs to know.

"... Brephomancer? I've never heard of you." The grotesque angel shifts uncomfortably, it's crude wings flapping a little as it moves about. "Tell me though Brephomancer, what grudge do you bear against me? Why do you still linger here when you destroyed this place yesterday? Are you planning on taking over my territory?"

I tell him that I arrived here today, and that my only intentions are to wipe out my natural enemies. I do not need to tell him that I intend to kill him, though I see no harm in telling him that I do not know anything about the person here before me.

"... That is most concerning. Tell me Brephomancer, what do you see?"

He does not seem so worried about my presence here, perhaps because he is more fearful of his unknown enemy. I tell him that his town lies in ruins, the only building that stands is this clock tower that I am standing in. The only minion of his that I've found is the archer guarding it, which now lies in a crumpled heap at my feet. There is no need to tell him that I am responsible for sending it back to the grave.

"You lie! Two days ago that was a heavily fortified town, swarming with my undead creations! And Makahala! The unbeatable archer - three eyes to see in all directions, six arms to shoot three times as quickly! Nobody has reached the border of that town in a decade, and now you tell me that he is no more?!"

I tell him that I have no reason to lie, and that I do not care if he believes me or not. I do, however, point out that I would not be able to speak to him like this if his minions were still undead and walking, though I am already certain that he knows this.

"Impossible! Inconceivable! I am Dr. Death, one of the greatest necromancers of our time! How could my defenses be breached so easily?"

I tell him not to be too concerned, for surely he is well fortified in his interior town. Jinn gives me an odd look, wondering why I am comforting Smyss, but I have realized that this is an excellent way for me to gather information. Smyss seems quite out of sorts, and he may accidentally let slip of some secrets to his defences.

"That's just it Brephomancer! These attacks, they are not random! Somebody, somebody is after me! They are destroying my towns, one by one! And my creations! My beautiful creations! None could make better!"

"Good afternoon Doctor. I'm here for my afternoon check-up."

"What the devil!? Who are you? How did you get in here?!"

"Don't bother calling for help, your men are already dead... I mean, re-dead."

"It's you! You're the one who's been doing this! You're the one who's been hunting me down!"

"For someone who's supposed to be so smart, you sure are slow."

A horrific sound, of metal cleaving flesh, and the receiver on the other end is dropped.

"A...tt...ma..."

Both the line and Smyss are now dead, and I'm left hanging on to the microphone of the masterless zombie. Jinn moves to clip it's wings, but I stop her. I suspect that this undead angel is also designed to carry away intruders, as it's sporting a rather large pair of talons instead of feet, and could most likely support our weight. Now that the call is over it's preparing to take off once more, no doubt back to it's master. This would be a very good (and quick) way of seeing just what exactly had happened.

At the very least, if this were some kind of trap, we'd be able to catch Smyss off-guard.

((Brief indication of a continuing cameo of sorts, you'll probably guess who it is by the next post.))

[3kul]

((A third post, with a bit more info on the unique cameo of sorts. Try to guess who it is ))

It was not long before we could see Smyss' capital, for it was now covered in flames. This was no trick of Smyss, which meant that he was truly dead.

Once our ride drifts low enough to the ground, Jinn slices it's feet off, releasing us from it's talons. The grotesque angel, unable to feel the pain, flew onwards, stumbling into a blazing building where it doomed itself to be burnt to ashes.

Jinn and I gaze upwards, looking to Smyss' fortress, his grand citadel that surveyed all that he had conquered. Atop it stands a lone figure, laughing his head off like a maniac. I have no idea who this is, all I can see against the bright blaze is a silhouette covered in long hair. He suddenly stops, and I am certain that he's spotted us, for he drops something and disappears into the flames.

The 'something' falls down the Smyss' grand citadel, finally hitting the ground by our feet with a dull thud. It is Smyss' severed head. I am certain it is him because his face, though horrible burned and beaten, is still recognizable, and I have seen pictures of the famous 'Dr. Death' a few times before.

Jinn shrugs, and we decide to move on. It was not we who killed Smyss, but so long as he is dead it doesn't really matter who was responsible. As I have said before, I bear no personal grudge against necromancers, and thus if somebody else wishes to kill them I have no problem with it.

It is a few days before I reach another town, but when I do it is buzzing with activity. Dustudus, a town known for it's secret connections with Smyss, is now crawling with necromancers all on their way to collect the remains of their famous Dr. Death's army. They will be sorely disappointed to find that his works have been ravaged by fire, the necromancer's oldest foe, for without corpses, a necromancer has no servants.

Unfortunately for me, there is no lunatic in this town. In a town so friendly towards necromancers, there will always be somebody who realizes the lunatic's gift and will quickly ensure that he is silenced. I do not murder frivolously, and if I do not know who is and who isn't a necromancer then I cannot know who to kill, and thus I must simply keep a low profile for now.

I enter a bar well-known in the right circles for being a necromancer sympathizer hot-spot and ask for a drink. 'Cold as death' is the password here, remarkably easy to guess, and I am invited to a table.

"So friend, did you hear the news?"

I most certainly did not, for I have been traveling.

"Dr. Death! The most powerful necromancer in these parts! He's dead!"

Astounding. I'm flabbergasted, whoever would have guessed that such a thing could happen?

"Tell me about it. He always bragged about being the Doctor of Death, unkillable with his perfect zombies. I never liked him much, but damn, that man could make an undead like no other."

I tell them, with a knowing smile on my face, that Mahakala is my personal favourite of his creations.

"Oho! I've only heard stories of Mahakala, is it true what they say about him? That he's got three working eyes?"

"I heard that he had six arms, uses 'em to fire three bows at once!"

Oh, I couldn't possibly know something like that. I've just heard of it and thought that it's quite the ingenious way to keep intruders out.

"Ah, well, it's true that Dr. Death was always a creative one. Came up with some real clever ways to sort out our enemies, pity that the rest of his family don't take up our art."

A crying shame indeed. And yet I am most curious, do these people have any idea who could have killed our esteemed Dr. Death?

"I've got no idea, I always thought that it was impossible myself."

"Word is that a young necromancer is going on up, fancies himself as a bit of a historian, and so he's naturally gotta hate anybody like Dr. Death. 'Any corpse is a good corpse in my hands', the Doctor used to say, and the kid couldn't disagree more."

"Come to think of it, they had a lot of arguments at some of the bigger meets, didn't they?"

"Ah, you mean the Timekeeper? That's not his style, he always wanted to prove that he was better than the Doctor. He's going to be real torn up about this, now he'll never get the chance to."

I tell the men that I have heard rumours. Of Attma.

"A... Attma?!"

"You can't be serious. Tell me that you're joking!"

"I thought that Attma'd never left the western continent, there's no way we wouldn't have heard something if he had."

This is annoying. They all know of Attma, but I can't ask about him without arousing suspicion.

"Wait, Attma? Who's that?"

It seems that one person at the table is less-informed than me, which causes the rest of the table to focus their scrutinizing gaze on him. Things seem to be going unusually well for me this time.

"Are you kidding me? Attma the Ageless? You've never heard of him?"

"Well, I only just started practicing not long ago, I'm not too familiar with the history of our arts..."

This person seems kind of suspicious, but not in a way that concerns me. The others sitting at the table however, do have reason to be concerned, as he seems like an undercover agent of some sort. Finally somebody decides to break the silence and tell us about Attma.

"Attma is one of our most feared enemies. No necromancer has lived to see him, though tales are often told of him. He's a real problem over in the western continent, last I heard of him he was terrorizing..."

Much to my annoyance, the man can't seem to think of the name of the place, and so another cuts him off to continue the conversation.

"He's a zombie created with a mind that could think for itself, his master broke the rules pretty badly in making him."

"We don't know how it happened but it seems like the idiot pissed Attma off pretty badly somehow, because for some reason the undead guy decides to kill him along with every other necromancer he can ever find."

I decide to chip in with a relatively uncommitted and ambiguous statement about Attma's hatred for 'our' kind being never-ending.

"Too right! And because he's a zombie he's almost impossible to kill!"

"He's supposed to be totally crazy too, ties a blue ribbon to himself for everything he kills, or re-kills as the case may be."

The questioner is a terrible actor, and he's not acting nearly as terrified as he should be. I'm beginning to doubt that I'll see him again tomorrow, not unless somebody here decides to turn him into their minion.

"How many has he killed?"

"Hundreds! Thousands! They say he ties a ribbon on for each one, but he's covered in the damn things! Looks like a blue hairy beast with just his eyes poking out!"

So it seems that I have indeed seen Attma, how interesting. He seems to fit the description, and though I can't be 100% sure, I figure that it's time for a change of subject. Something more pleasant, well, pleasant for these people, to talk about, something that the odd-one-out might know a little more on. Just because he didn't know how to act with necromancers didn't mean that I wanted to see him dead.

We discuss a few other things, who's famous in what towns, who's heading on up and who's falling from the top. Nothing too interesting really, it seems that very little has changed aside from Smyss' untimely death. I tell my 'companions' that I should probably get going, for I have a long road ahead of me. I really have no intention of going anywhere, but this kind of thing usually starts up a whole new round of conversation.

"Heh, trying to get a head-start on the rush to Dr. Death's, eh?"

I tell them that they couldn't be more wrong, for I've heard that there's a few ruthless necromancers heading there, and that I wouldn't stand a chance against them.

"Oh really? What's your style?"

I blink a few times, slightly taken aback by this man's very bold request for me to confess to practicing necromancy. Even in towns like these, people tend to keep that sort of thing secret, just in case the wrong sort of people are listening. It was no crime to associate with necromancers, but in some parts of the world necromancy was an art that the governments had decided needed to be stomped out.

Of course, this is the kind of thing that I was waiting for, and I decide that as I am not a necromancer there is no harm in admitting that I am. I tell him that my minions must be seen to be believed, smiling smugly at him.

"Ha! Not to brag, but I'm a bit the same. Reckon I might try to take the title of 'Dr. Death' myself now that he's gone."

Unlikely, I think to myself. This man is a nobody, though he has just unwittingly confessed to his natural enemy that he is a necromancer. Odds are that there are plenty more necromancers here in this bar, but as I mentioned earlier I'm not a frivolous killer. I'm only interested in killing necromancers.

"Not me, I'm with the Timekeeper - if you ask me, legendary fighters are the only way to go."

The man sitting next to the loudmouth sounds like a historian-type necromancer, as does this 'Timekeeper'. Historian-types are the opposite of surgeon-types, for they believe that perfect bodies are found, not created. They study to learn of famous and skilled people from the past, then dig them up to use them as minions. Powerful warriors, skilled athletes, even ancient beasts, I have seen them all used by historian-types.

After a bit of a debate on which is better, I have a good idea of who's who on this table. To my left sits the clueless unknown agent, though he seems to have redeemed himself a bit in the eyes of everybody else thanks to a little help from myself. To his left sits to man convinced that he's the next Dr. Death, and to his left sits the historian-type necromancer. Next to them sits a necromancer sympathizer, who reluctantly admits that he's never had talent for the art himself. Two out of four isn't so bad, and I excuse myself to use the facilities.

Once there, I summon Szalonka along with Bibliouvre, the two cherubim that have the best eyesight out of all of my minions. Bibliouvre is to be born into a famous family of scholars and carry on in his father's footsteps, and has proven to be a most intelligent ally to me during his time as my cherub. Considering his brilliant lineage, he is not technically a prodigy, but I have yet to find another as clever as he is.

For him I made a very strong pair of lenses, to allow him to see long distances from afar. Szalonka has such lenses built into her own eyes, and whilst I could have done the same for Bibliouvre he requested that I give him spectacles instead. Beneath them he requested that he have lines painted down his face, and they give the impression that he is weeping. Perhaps he knows that he will be born into terrible times, or perhaps he simply feels that the world is a terrible place, I am not entirely sure about this as he will not tell me why.

I instruct them both to keep an eye on each of the necromancers - Szalonka is to follow the surgeon-type whilst Bibliouvre is to follow the historian-type. The two silently obey, and I leave them to climb along the rafters. With their small size they remain unnoticed, and I am able to return to the table moments later without anybody suspecting a thing.

I have agreed to meet up with my cherubim later on tonight to discuss the locations of their necromancers, for I plan to leave this town before sunrise. I would like to eliminate more necromancers, but unfortunately for me when they are so closely clustered together I cannot act as freely as I'd like to.

This does not trouble me too deeply though, for I have decided to pursue a side-quest of sorts for now. Hearing of Attma has me quite intrigued, but I have a feeling that I'm not getting the full story. I think that if I travel to the western continent I may learn more, and if fortune smiles upon me I may be able to gain an ally in the ageless blue-ribboned warrior.