Name: Salicia Tynsdale Age: 24 Profession: Master Necromancer Salicia walked into the field with a purposeful stride; the moonlight was of a full moon, her circle already drawn. She'd only need the fresh blood of her sacrifice. The man of her enemy cursed her as she drew nearer to the grave of her summoning. It had taken her months to find the real grave she'd had to use her hellhounds to find it; the man spotted where she was heading and started to squirm in panic his yells and curses becoming more prominent. She looked down at him as she continued to drag him by the rope she'd tied him with. "Silence, your words mean nothing to me you will die this night accept it." He whimpered seeing no remorce in her golden eyes. She reached the circle and threw him down in the center; she pulled out her knife and as she stepped onto the circle's rim she sliced her palm, closing the circle with her spoke words. "Let only magic I rule pass through and work this night, Keep thy prey in site." The lines light uup in a golden shine like thin walls to look through. She watched at the man tried to crawl away only to hit the golden glow and get shocked back to the center; he groaned in pain. She died deeply knowing this death would weigh heavy on her aura but it was something that was needed for her kingdom...she had to... Salicia straightened, walking towards him she grasped his hair firmly and pulled his head to angle it so his spine was straight so she could get his artery on the first slice. With quick persision she slit his throat and let the blood soak the ground, "With blood and flesh I call you," She let the body drop as she walked the circle, "With steal I call you." She felt the ground rumble and she watched at a hand clawed its way out of the liquid like ground and latch onto the now dead body. "With magic I bind you." The skin of the corpse started to freshen becoming more human like as it began eatting at the fresh dead. "Live once more so that you may once again save your people." Eventually, the corpse disappeared altogether, sinking into the clutches of the regenerating body in the ground. As it disappeared, the earth began to bubble and boil, rebelling against the turn of nature's tide, and growing violent as a maelstrom until a person crawled forth, vomited from the volatile earth to fall face forward onto the turf. Long, black hair was tousled and messy, and obscured the fair-skinned face. Rags clothed the rest of the body, free of the scars and marks of a past life, and reborn as new skin. A kickstarted pulse shook through the veins in his neck and wrists, and nerves that had been dormant for centuries tingled back to life, sensitive to every touch and sensation; the chill night wind, the blades of grass and the rough grind of the gravel and earth under his feet and fingernails and arms. What happened? Mech blinked, slowly. The world was a blur of darkness and streaks of light. Streaks of dirt covered his skin, and he felt something wet and thin clinging to him; the mostly-rotted and threadbare remnants of his burial clothes. Grunting with the effort, he realised his head off of the ground, and pushed on the turf with his arms to get a better look around. The movement was more difficult than it should have been; though his flesh and muscles had been reconstructed, it seemed they were still rather atrophied from disuse. It's night... How long was I out for? Where did I go? This plain... His fuzzy vision fell first on the silhouette before him; backlit by the light of the circle that was swiftly fading, until the person was only a blacker spot against the dark sky. Reflexively, he tried to leap back, and found his hand still clenched around the hilt of the famed sword he'd been buried with. The leather had aged away, and the metal on the sheath and scabbard buckle had rusted away, but the blade itself was untouched by time, and he felt strength return to his arm as he gripped it. Is this the person who attacked me? What did they do with Refia? What... He opened his mouth, tasting earth on his lips, and tried to speak, but only a hoarse sound escaped as his weakened body collapsed again. He fell to the earth, and all faded to black. Salica watched at the hero tried his new form, with the spell still trying to knit his body to as it once was before his prime he struggled to look around him, his blind eyes landed on her even if he truely could not look at her as his vision was still trying to correct itself. She tensed ready to leap away as his hand flexed on the hilt of his sword; even if her magic kept her from harm, the first minutes of the dead awaking were tricky times. But the strain of pushing his healing body took it's toll and he collapsed into unconciousness, she sighed in relief and made her way back to him. She knelt and picked him up, being sure to grasp his sword as well. Being a creature of magic had it's perks. She hefted him over her shoulder and silently made her way back to the portal she'd used to travel such a distance. Another reason why she'd done this on a full moon; she could only make one at the peak of it's rise and when it sank to the ground for morning it would disappear if she didnt close it before then. The ripples of the door were barely visible to the normal eye, but as she had made it the pull of her own spell made it easy to make her way back. She stepped through without pause and her magic enveloped her like warm water she kept her slow pace to the other side reappearing in her living room. Salicia kept onward to the guest room and finally stopped at the bed gently laying him down. She covered him with the blanket and set his sword against the wall she paused to stroke his cheek affectionately; she may bring the dead to life for a living but each creation was like her own child. Her hand dropped away, she turned and left, closing the door behind her so she would hear the creak of the hendges when he awoke; as the room had no windows. When his senses returned, Mech didn't know how many hours he had been sleeping; he only knew that he didn't want to wake up. He felt as if he'd run up the mountain and down again, and then killed a mountain boar for dinner on the way home. Rolling onto his side, he shivered and kept his eyes closed, curling his body to try and regain whatever warmth he had lost from ditching covers in his sleep. He knew he couldn't stay in bed all day though; there was wood to be cut, and a garden to be weeded, and dinner to be hunted, and no time for laziness. Sighing heavily, he forced himself to a sitting position and opened his bleary eyes; rubbing them with one hand. Now that he'd gotten his mind awake thinking chores, he may as well get up and do them. Blinking in the strangely dim light, he was hit with a wave of disorientation. This was not his house. Panicking, he reached sideways for his sword, which should have been propped up next to the bed within easy reach, if this were his bed. But it wasn't, and he almost bruised his knuckles on it trying to reach the damn thing, which was beside him on the bed, dropped in his sleep. The night before came back to him in pieces; it had been dark; he was cold, and in pain, and tired, and there was a strange figure standing over him; he felt overcome by submission, and his muscles refused to cooperate. Then he woke up here. Clenching his teeth, he swivelled to the side and found himself barefoot, with his feet resting on a wooden floor as he half-unsheathed his sword. Well, from what was left of the scabbard, anyway. The leather was of no special significance, nor the iron cap or buckle, and they were rotted and rusted almost completely away. The blade, however, was still as chill and menacing as it was the first day he laid eyes on it. Forged of some black metal long used up and erased from the realm, it seemed to have a pulse under his hand, though no physical movement came from the blade, and no visual display of life eminated from it either. The hilt was a shining steel, with the device of a blackspine dragon as the handle, the blade coming from its open jaws and its outstretched wings forming the guard, all streamlined to avoid catching and breaking, or injuring the wielder. A readiness and determination, almost akin to a kind of peace, settled over him as he inspected the blade and grunted in satisfaction, finding it undamaged. He stood up, strength returned to his knees and legs, and noted he was in a room without windows or furnishings, save for a bed with a small chest at the foot - empty, upon inspection - and a closed door. Having taken in the surroundings, Mech stopped, facing the door, and held his breath a moment, listening beyond his heartbeat. Now that he had a vague idea of what kind of place he was in, he wanted to hear who he was sharing it with. Salicia spend the better part of the night hiding all of the dangerous object in the house, for her safety as well as her new guest. Better to not have him break her valubles either, she put those in her room down the hall from his room. She tried to be as quiet as she could but years of a lonely and empty home had her humming to herself. Not long after, her guest was forgotten and she was dancing and singing around the house cleaning and picking up a little as she never really had time to do it until now. Dinner was almost done and she paused in her singing to realize she'd set two plates and remembered her guest. She silently cursed and scolded herself for making so much noise; she still wasnt even sure how he would react when he awoke or if he was even awake now. The thought made her pause and glance down the hallway to the still closed door; curious she slowly made her way back towards it with silent steps. As it turned out, Mech needn't have been quiet at all; whoever shared this place was making an outright racket; he heard snatches of song, the pounding of feet up and down what he assumed must be a hall, things being moved, a kettle, whistling. It sounded as if he was in a house; a regular house with a kitchen and apparently a bedroom. Whoever was here with him was either unaware of his presence - unlikely, or didn't care if he knew he wasn't alone, or else was just really really careless. And if he was prisoner, his captor was doing a rather shoddy job, for the door was unlocked, and turned easily under his hand, although the hinges squeaked. With one hand on the hilt of his sword, he stepped from the dark, windowless room into the hallway, and was assailed by warm firelight. He was, as he had guessed, in a corridor; there was another door further down, and the firelight was coming from the other end of the hall. The aroma of food being prepared came toward him down the hall as well. He ignored it. A figure was standing down the hall, on the approach. He tensed, one hand still hovering above his sword's hilt. "You will tell me who you are" he said, calmly. "You will then tell me the date, where I am, and why I am here. And then" he paused, giving the other person a quick look-over, "You will give me something to wear" The clothes he had been buried in were not subject to any kind of regenerative magic, and had deteriorated to ragged, dirty threads. He was decently clothed, of course, but his clothes were filthy, threadbare, and ragged. Also about two centuries out of date, though the last defect went unknown to him for the moment. Salica paused eyeing him, she knew that he couldnt hurt her but one could never be too catious. He seemed to be remembering snatches of last night which was a good sign. She straightened, squaring her shoulders, and slowly made her way closer after he'd threw questions her way; but she'd have to go past him to get him some new clothes. "Salica, my name is Salica. You've been dead for about 200 years....I brought you back to life; I am a Necromancer and we need your help...again." She paused only feet away unsure as to how he would react if she walked by, "I have clothes for you but they are back there, in my room." She pointed to the door at the end of the hall; she knew he wouldnt be able to open it as she had cast a baracade spell on it but she'd always had it incase of robbers. Salica dropped her hand to her side and looked at him with a calm smile. "Can you tell me your name?" Mech was silent as she explained, his brows pulling closer together with each word until there were deep furrows between his eyes. Dead for two hundred years? And now in the presence of a Necromancer; the most despised kind of witch in the world; spat upon in the cities and driven from cemetaries, they disturbed the rest of those who had escaped into death, and twisted their forms to the enchanter's will. Many of them served the dark lord, turning the fallen soldiers of the realm against their living brethren. But this one was dressed in clean robes, and seemed from lack of all other sound to be the sole presence in a relatively comfortable house of wood and stone. Still, he didn't remember dying. He remembered hearing something behind him, but after that only waking up disoriented and reeling under strange stars and the flickering glow of an enchantment circle. Why would someone bring him back after two hundred years? Ah, right. Everybody loves a hero. Well clearly she was familiar with who he was; apparently the world needed help yet again. Mech gave an inward sigh; this shit was getting really old. But then she asked his name, and his expression changed from annoyance to puzzlement. "How can you be ignorant of that?" he asked, genuinely confused. Clearly she knew who he was and what he had done, how could she not also know his name? Probably history had gotten lazy and merely recorded him by deed and title. "Never mind. It's Mech Haelos; get me some clothes and then explain everything fully, I pray you." Scalicia nodded and skirted past him quickly down the hall to her room, she paused to glance back from her door before ducking in the candle lit room and snatching the neatly folded clothes from her dresser and the new boots off the ground and dashed back out of her room closing it quickly. She didnt like people in her room, as a Necromancer she had a certain image to uphold but in her room; it was her sanctuary. She walked back to Mech and handed him the clothes, "Here, I'm not sure if the boots will fit but I can always have more made later if not. When you're done changing I'll be in the living room there's tea and coffee." She walked silently back to the living room and sat down smoothing her robe and tucking a stray hair behind her ear nervously. Mech accepted the clothes with a nod, turning to re-enter the room he had woken up in. He shut the creaky hinge behind him, and dropped the garments on the bed, finding his way out of the decayed rags he was currently wearing; ideally he'd want a wash with all the filth of the grave still clinging to him, but that would have to wait until he knew precisely where he was and why he was there. The clothes were different from those he had - apparently - died in so many years ago. To be expected, he chastised himself as he pulled the trousers on. Fashions shifted, after all. The trousers were about the same, though the fabric business seemed to have refined itself, the material no longer scratched at his skin; some kind of treated hide or else more finely woven materials. That or this necromancer had the coin for a more expensive tailor. It seemed the weather was growing cooler, the shirt had long sleeves and was of a thick grey wool, though the tunic was shorter than those he had worn, stopping at his knees and growing looser towards the waist, as opposed to the calf-length garments that had been in style in his time, with a split at each hip to allow movement. It was a nondescript grey-green colour, and the belt was of a plain leather with a brass buckle. He fastened his cursed sword behind his shoulders, fastening the baldric across his chest slantwise, and felt himself relax a little with the familiar weight. Pausing, he reached up quickly and half-unsheathed it, just for the familiar feeling. Letting it slide back in, he let his breath out and raked two hands through his messy, dirt-streaked hair. This was going to be a lot to get his head around. But it wasn't going to be any easier to understand just sitting there; he turned, took a breath, squared his shoulders, and headed after the necromancer to the sitting area. Salcica moved the cups around so he could sit across from her knowing that even though he would feel her pull of magic to his soul the suspicion would keep him at a distance. She poured herself some tea and milk, the warm liquid settled her nervousness. As he walkd into the room she looked at him blinking. He seemed to feel better with the sword at his back, something she understood; neededing her crystals around her neck as a defense, he need his sword. She set down her cup and motioned to the table, "Coffee? Tea? Sugar? Milk?" The scent of food had her cursing as she stood up and dashed to the kitchen, having forgotten about dinner. She grasped the pot from each side and pulled it out of the fire taking care to keep her hands safe with thick cloth. She looked back at him from the kitchen sheepishly, "Hungry?" "For answers only." Mech replied, watching her movements without interest, and ignoring both the cups and the seat before him. She blinked at him like an owl at sunrise when he entered, and then immediately began a flurry of motion as he stood still. Folding his hands behind his back, he decided to wait for her to stand still and quiet down before extracting answers to the rest of his questions; he had but a skeleton of information, and required still sinews and flesh before he could understand fully the form of the situation. While he waited for her to settle down, he took in what he could from the area; the home they were in seemed to be an upper-class dwelling, clean and spacious, with a room for dining and sitting separate from the kitchen, and two seperate sleeping chambers. He heard and saw no one else, nor evidence of any other persons within, which meant she had either taken over this abode or else it was hers by inheritance. Salica turned hiding the disappointment that travel across her face as she set the pot down to cool. This had once been her parents' home but when she'd turned 16 they'd moved on leaving her here to care for their home. It was a tradition for the children to live in their birth home until they found their partners then the parents would move back into the home and the children would build their own home stead or move into on of the older Necromancer's homes. Salica came back to the living room and sat down with a sigh. "Well, where should I begin?" She hesitated for a second before deciding to tell him the whole of what had gone on in the past 200 years; it was best he didnt freak out when seeing something from a different species like a Fae or a Were creature. She told him about the magic beings and the growth of their capital; the spread of religion and the change in laws. She told him about the truce between Other and Human; when she finished she was sure that dawn would be breaking the sky soon, she could feel it in her bones. She sat back and look curously at Mech who had been oddly silent through the whole story. (((I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG D= I've basically been packing, top-to-bottom cleaning, and arranging a moving day for a two-person apartment by myself while working full time >.<))) Mech took a seat only when she did, sitting opposite her and resting his elbows on his knees, chin on his folded hands. He kept silent while she spoke, only nodding to convey understanding when it was required. The more she spoke, the more his head felt light; when she began to speak of the new races that had emerged as the use of magic spread, stars appeared before his eyes for a second before he blinked them away and regained his composure. It felt like he was dreaming; everywhere he hoped to hear or see familiarity he saw only a warped reflection of the life he remembered. When she finished speaking, he straightened, and shook his head quickly as if shaking out of a trance. looking up, he considered the situation. There was something familiar in this world after all; people being conceited, power-hungry beings who would without conscience use wanton destruction to achieve greater power. The gullible and power-hungry would be swayed to the cause, the valiant but stupid would die fighting it, and the peacekeepers would die hiding in fear unless somebody extraordinary stepped in. "Not this time." Salica cocked her head to the side at his words in confusion at the same time a flare of dread started in the pit of her stomach, "What do you mean by those words?" She was a Master Necromancer but if the spirit of the dead was strong enough they could still oppose her Word something that she was sure Mech could do if pushed to the point. Shifting to tuck her feet under her on the couch. She could almost see the dark clouds of a storm in his eyes. "Exactly what I said, Mech replied, folding his arms across his chest. "No. I'm not saving you again. Go find someone else. I'm done. Really I don't know how else to say it; send me back to whatever afterlife you stole me from and get your own hero." He released one hand to hold it up as if directing a stop "And before you start, no amount of sob stories will change my mind. People died last time, too, and the time before that, and the time before that." Salica sighed dropping her head in her hands feeling utter defeat well up in her chest, she bit her lip to keep herself from crying. She'd broken her code to herself to bring this man back to life and now...now he would not help her. she stood and walked to the kitchen and stopped at the table grasping her elbows tightly. "If you wont help me that's fine but I will not release you from this world for if I must suffer then so shall you." She voice held an edge of power binding them in a way, her anger slipping out of her voice, "I thought you could help so I brought you back against my promise to myself and it was for nothing. I will not have you awoken for not; if you wont help for this thing then there are plenty other uses for you." "Uses?" Mech raised one eyebrow, leaning back on the couch, raising his arms to rest on the back of it. "You speak of me as though I would be your bond-slave, which is strange considering I only informed you a moment ago that I refuse to help you." He stood, and began walking toward what could only be the door to outside. "If you refuse to return me to the peace you stole me from, then I will leave, and find a way without you. He turned his head to regard her breifly as his longer strides moved him toward the exit "Consider it a mercy. I could always just kill you instead." As if to illustrate, his hand drifted to rest on the hilt of the sword on his back. It seemed to tremble under his fingers. She glanced back at him her eyes glowing with the power that welled benieth her skin; a bitter smile slipping onto her face. "In a way you are worse off than a blood-slave as you are bound by magic. But if you wish to leave then help yourself....if you can...." She turned back staring hard out the kitchen window wishing to her Goddess that she had the skills of persuasion that one of her friends had. Though he was more of an aquaintance than a friend, Mech raised one eyebrow quizzically, scoffing at the threat. He couldn't think of anything that could be more dangerous out there than perhaps some wolves. But, if hundreds of years had truly passed he couldn't really rely on his knowledge of the lay of the land anymore. He hesitated, thinking what manner of unnatural creatures this witch may have summoned to guard her domain, not to mention how the natural life in this area may have changed as well; especially if what she had said about magical creatures coming out of the proverbial woodwork was true. Frowning, he straightened, a hand reaching up to rest on the hilt of his sword as he pulled the door open to allow the chill night breeze inside. "I would thank you for the caution, but I am not used to thanking filth" he replied, stepping outside. It was a calm night; hardly any clouds, and the stars shone in strange constellations from the murky heavens. Feeling reassured, he began striding forward, his long steps carrying him at an impressive pace toward... well, toward whatever happened to be South from the witch's house.