Aboard the Anchor's Bane

Waltz of Shadow

War of Masks: Erdrick

“Seek and Destroy”

The voice rang in it’s mind, filling it with burning, false purpose. Undeniable willpower bent it, rigid like steel and cold like winter; perhaps it soothed it’s own burning hate for this unlife it lived now. The ghostly wraith silently glided through the dark tunnels of the Olgunholdt glaring into the dark winding tunnels as if to feel the quivering fear of the living in this unholy dark hive.

The scenes of toiling thralls chipping away at the underground to make room for expansion, dumping supplies into carts frequents his view. Metal slabs with Necrotechs & Surgeons plying their craft in the unseen shadows as the forces of the nightmare empire only swell in this place. The target remained elusive from its spirit sight as a cold flare of blue green light burned in the eye sockets of the skeletal frame as it hungered to complete its order.

Time was irrelevant to this wraith it’s search would never cease until the heartbeat of it’s prey did. Scouring the depths of the catacombs it at last felt it, the warmth of life a shadow of it’s former passion bleed through the prison that was its very own soul at that moment. Drawing both it’s pistols from underneath coat the creature turned toward the exit of the catacombs… sunlight poured into the mouth as the wraith’s eyes narrowed. It caused the creature no harm… yet brought back aching memories and emotions.

“Seek And Destroy.”

The Wraith twisted as though tortured by unseen tools as it realized it had angered its master. A sigh of hatred echoed from the phantom as it caught a glimpse of a still figure in the light. It was wreathed in black linens and a pecuilar porcelain mask holding no weapons and was small like a child. In a brief flash the ghost saw something other than a mysterious figure. It saw a familiar… unplaceable face of a young tomboyish girl impose itself where it knew the target was. The torterous scraps at it’s essence resumed in it’s deliurim as though to reign in it’s perceptions as it hissed low and pointed it’s pistols at the figure stating in a distorted voice “In the end, May the Ocean take us.”

The words were not it’s own… they spilled freely from it like a compulsion as it waited in a tense silence for it’s prey to make a move. They were under it’s mercy now a twitch the wrong way and everything would be over, it’s original thirst to end its order no longer was present the spirit for this brief moment resumed a semblance of it’s original life once more. The figure didn’t move, not one bit. Like a perfectly still doll the two were in perfect balance of light and dark, life and death. The puppet was the first to break the silence though it didn’t move a voice said as though without a soul “Bring me your master. We have much to discuss.”

The voice was enough for the wraith to pull the trigger, but it was the master’s will which held back it’s minion as the wraith was denied it’s prize. Folding its arms in a traditional Llaellese Duelist stance the phantom slipped below into the catacombs through the soil itself.
-———————————————————————————————————

The deep sound of strained breathing accompanied by Necromechanika operating announced the presence of the Black Necromancer well before he came into view. The thing that once might have been called a man sits upon a throne of iron bones his scythe resting in his hands as he stares down to the mere messenger before him secured deeply within his lair. To him it was a ridiculous mockery of menace, though the painful glare of the Black Necromancer was more than sufficient to invite the conversation to begin, and quickly.

“Speak. The Eye of Toruk is upon you.”

The puppet forces a laugh out of its diaphragm like a slow and broken toy as it twists backward with a snap looking at Edrick from behind. The necromancer is not amused as runes of magic form around his iron’t arm. The puppets head snaps a full half rotation and the body lowers onto all fours and crawls toward him whispering now in a dying voice.

“The Black Needle is upon the Anchor’s Bane.”

The eyes of the Necromancer widen as he rises from his seat and points at his scythe attempting to reave the soul of the messenger as he finds it slithering from his grasp a feat never before felt by him. With a blast of his spell from his hand even the reach of Dark Fire couldn’t snare the soul of the minion though it blew apart most of the mask and surface level of the poor creature’s face. The brief silence was filled by a rasping sentence followed by dry unnatural laughter that isn’t organic it is more like a forced sound from it’s mouth.

“And I … know… where… it is, come find me.”

Erdrick lowers himself down the stairs of his seat as he examines the creature at his feet. Beneath the mask was engraved a thrall rune upon living flesh all the way into the skull. This final mockery was planned this person had taunted him. A snickering laugh in the corner turned into a ‘hmm’ of curiosity as a sickly form clatters out from the shadows

“Most intriguing wouldn’t you agree? A bait that tells you it’s a hook; a peculiar method indeed m’lord. How shall you respond.”

Erdrick’s eyes narrow at the thrall beneath him attempting to laugh despite its own writhing form now. With a raised butt of the Scythe the blunted point of it crunched through the skull splattering it’s brains upon the floor. Erdrick looked to Vileknot with a commanding presence and lets Cryxlight dance upon his fingertips.

“Gather my army…”

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