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You force the cryptdoor open and a smell of death and decay hits you in the face. As the door opens torches on seperate sides of the wall flares up, seemingly by some unexplicable magic. When your eyes slowly adjusts to the light you see stairs leading underground. Fearlessly you continue down into the pitch black darkness. The stairs suddenly end and you can sense the presence of another being. But something is not right, the being seems to be motionless - lifeless even.

Silence. A dead silence that can only be described as cold clouds the atmosphere of this place. This dark and foul place.

Suddenly you hear movement and mumbeling.

"Who dares disturb me in my sleep?!"

You do not answer. The motionless being is suddenly not so motionless - you hear some kind of quick movement. The room becomes illuminated with the same kind of magic torches that you met in the entrance and again your eyes needs adjustment to the sudden change of lighting. As your sight grows back you stand face to face with the being, which seems to be alive, but looks as if it died long ago...

((Hello and welcome to my little introduction, glad you could make it. As you might have decerned by know I am the high ranking officer, under Daal, of the LanCraft Horde guild Twilight Fading which is located on the Steamwheedle Cartel EU realm. So if there's any questions about the guild or other issues - feel free to ask me!))

Zarx

Good luck Zarx mate :)

((Thank you Daal :).

Alright everyone, I'm turning this story into RP admission were you, as the applier to Twilight Fading, roleplays your way down into Zarx's crypt and try to sway him of your worthyness to join his cause, be wary though, he can be a bit peckish in the morning...))

Ancient torches that adorn the interior crypt walls flare to life as the General steps into the entrance. Despite several protests from her 'soldiers', Nemesii had declined any opinions on the matter that contrasted with her own on pain of death. The silence thereafter was most profound.

Moist bare feet leave behind bloody prints, remnants of the morning's breakfast. The strong aroma of rotten flesh currently subdued by the scent of Nightelf organs still rotating round the General's innards.

The out of tune clinking of mail echoed down the crypt as Nemesii continued on, nostrils inhaling deep of the rich aroma of stale air and soiled earth. Thick black hair clung to skull, greasy and slick as a criss cross leather bandage covered eye sockets and tightly pressed against cheekbones. Sight was overrated, sense of smell was everything.

Many a time on the battleground others had wondered how the General found her mark every time. It was one thing to be undead, another to love it. When your whole being cried out for blood and the warm, moist wriggling flesh beneath cold teeth and dry tongue, that was true undead. The scent of fear and sound of life's heartbeat which to an undead was like a Cathedral peeling out for mass to begin, how could you not find such a mark in the eternal darkness of Nemesii's world?

Undoubtedly the fresh perfume of digesting breakfast would arouse the male's interest, maybe get a word or two out of him. Magic users. The so called brave ones that stood as far back as their pathetic art allowed whilst the General tasted of the fruits of battle first-hand, allowing the 'back up' to feast upon the leftovers. A wry smirk adorned pale features as a voice spoke atlast.

Greater warmth is felt upon cheeks and the scent of thick oil being burned delights nostrils causing a rumble in throat to reply at first.

"If sleep is what you prefer, you should have remained as food for the maggots...male."

The remains of what used to be fresh facial musculature manages to pull the decaying flesh around the mouth area forming a rancid smirk on the male.

"The maggots left this flesh long ago. It seems to have become even too foul for their morbid taste"

His bones are old and noises that can only be described as cracking echoes along the crypt walls as he forces what is left of his upperbody into a sitting posture with his hands resting on the chiseled stone that has been his resting place since that dreadful day...

He remembers a sharp and piercing pain, his eyelids opening. A blurry figure is standing over him, appearantly trying to communicate with him. He starts to slowly regain his sences and can now hear the sounds of a voice ringing in his ears.

"Azert... Azert! Are ye' alright?! Quick, on your feet lad!"

As if it wore pure instinct he, without regard of his current state, rushes to his feet  immediatly trying to acess the situation. The voice that had been ringing in his head had appearantly come from a dwarven male which was now staring at him and looking incredibly sincere.

"That was a close one lad. Now quick, we need to get goin'. Can ye' walk?" The dwarf asks, seeking a quick response.

"I-i-i think so, I just need to catch by breath"

"There's no time lad! get movin' come on!" The dwarf appearantly has already made up his mind and starts to move off in another direction. As he gains a small distance the sound of a racing arrow fills Azert's ears. At the blink of an eye he then witnesses the dwarf getting hit by an arrow in the back and then falling like a cut tree to the ground...

The undead male's eyesockets suddenly flames up granting him sight once more.

"Foldrim..." the undead male whispers.

Bane stretched out a weary hand... something was wrong.. the noise of battle had died down and almost immediately, here he was laid down resting.  Had the battle been a dream?  Had he just imagined the whole affair.

Before Bane had time to compose himself, he sensed danger.  He rolled instinctively to the side of his resting place, reaching down for his trusty blade but finding nothing as he spanned the dimly lit room he opted for an unarmed strike.  As he neared the undead female that had clearly come to take his Elven soul, he slipped silently into the shadows and emerging struck her clean across the face.

The strike had clearly caught her off guard and as she faltered backwards, blood flowing from her mouth, Bane noticed that he had struck her with a fleshless, lifeless hand.  Bane stared at his hand in terror, feeling the life force eb from his body.  He had completely lost sight of his quarry and was frozen with fear as the female struck back with a heavy strike to the chest.

As Bane fell, he felt darkness approach.  Before he passed out, he could make out the face of the female and another dark figure.  He recalled the face as he descended to darkness… perfect.

It was no wonder maggots did not feast upon the magic user's body, clearly the male had not feasted in days. Perhaps that was why he now seemed to be wasting the General's precious time. Cold and emotionless was the voice that exited black lips stained here and there with aged cruor.

"The only name you need whisper with trepidation or want is my own male, Nemesii..."

The General was cut short as an unexpected blow hit her jaw causing it to dislocate. With a palm to her own face it snapped back into position yet moisture left its' mark upon her hand. Blood had been spilled. Nostrils inhaled deep and suddenly caught the scent of rising fear to her left. Immediately left leg rose, twisted sideways and struck out with the heel to hit him squarely in the chest.
Leg remained in the air as tongue licked the blood from own palm and finally descended to floor with a light pat of wet flesh.

Lowering at the waist, elongated arm of right hand reached out toward him (Bane) and knuckles cracked as they grapsed him by the throat and brought him close to the General's face. Head roamed slowly over his face and inhaled every inch of him, the fear still sticky sweet upon his brow, flesh still decaying in perfect aroma.

"Newly awoken, no wonder I missed him."

Face turned toward Zarx and voice purred with the hope that the Priest had been stupid enough to try and trap the General.

"Tell me, magic user...Is this male...One of yours?"

((Btw Wuwu, Zarx is actually an undead priest, but hey, mage - priest, potatoe potato right?))

Still grasping the stone and deep in thought he does not answer at first. After gathering his sences he faces the General and decides to dignify her with an answer.

"He is young and still fears the transition into darkness. I try to do my best in guiding him in on his way but it seems he was taken abruptly."

Sliding down from the chiseled stone and onto the ground he now faces the General. He stares at her and with a breif moment of concentration he senses her suspiciousness of him and also, her blindness.

"But you, Nemesii, seem to have adapted quite well to your own, personal darkness."

(has been modified, I took it from your post about Battlemage..sigh..Silly Wu)

As the evening mists drifted across the lake Bane entered it’s edge and started out towards the settlement where his quandary lie.  He knew not the reason, but he knew his employer wouldn’t accept failure.  Bane’s reputation preceded him and when the Cenarion Circle needed to do the unthinkable whilst keeping their hands clean a private contractor was perfect.

Bane silently made his way across the still lake, making less noise than the nature surrounding him.  As he approached the small dock he could see guards patrolling the shore.  As much as Bane loved to dance, he never underestimated his enemy and knew that in a job like this the highest probability of success lay with a silent kill – his speciality.

Bane passed the guards without effort and crossed the dimly lit courtyard unnoticed.  The principal was in the main building, within the east wing and would die in it’s sleep.  Bane scaled the outside wall and slowly moved onto the balcony.  He moved through the half open door and into position beside the sleeping figure.  Bane removed Nightstrike - one half of his most deadly dagger set from it’s sheath and with less noise than the mist outside moved it to the principals throat.

There were only a handful of people in the world Bane had vowed never to take and unluckily for him, he now found one of them before him.  Something was wrong – Bane had been trapped.

He instinctively lept to the side as the first guard attacked from the shadows and skilfully took him down with a single strike to the back of the neck.  Bane rolled but before he could reposition himself for the next strike he felt the impact of a crossbow bolt hit him square in the shoulder and the force pinned him to the wooden support beam he’d moved to.  The guards descended for the kill but Bane would not accept his fate.  He ripped himself clear of the bolt and dodged between the attackers, unsheathing Daystrike as he moved twisting the blades as they struck true.

Bane knelt as the blood dripped from both blades the sound supported by the noise of two bodies slumping to the floor.  Bane waited for the next wave but it didn’t come.  The sound of guards, battle ringing around him broke out in the courtyard – the situation was worsening, someone else was here.  Bane moved to a window, staying out of the moonlight.

He turned his attention back to the bed where Doliah, his one true love lay sleeping.  Why had he been brought here, why her?  He had never turned down the option to take a life but here he was, faltering.  He woke her quietly and placed his hand over her mouth.  As her dark brown Elven eyes looked up into his, no words were necessary.  She trusted him completely.  He helped her out of the bed and they moved out of the window and down into the courtyard where the battle had broken out.  Without time to think and understand the situation, Bane just grasped Doliah’s hand and ran for the lakeside.  As they ran through the mist, the moonlight bathing them Bane took a second to behold the beauty running by his side, without question, without reason. 

As they neared the boat Bane’s vision blurred.  When the first spasm hit him from the poison the bolt had carried he fell to one knee.  Dol stopped and tried to help him to his feet, the sound of battle drawing near.  He struggled to his feet and helped her into the boat.  He pushed the boat off the shore and as he tried to pull himself in the second spasm wracked his body and he fell.

As he drifted into darkness, the sound of battle raging, his arms and legs refusing to keep him afloat, he could see Dol drifting off into the night - safe.

“Awaken fool!”

Bane’s eyes opened slowly and as his focus returned he saw the Forsaken female looking down at him.

Ever suspicious, trusting no one that was the way of the Forsaken in Nemesii's eyes. So, the Priestling had decided against pursuing his failed notion of smiting the General. {In her view}

"Try to do your best...How very disappointing, perhaps you need a moment to...reflect."

The General was not about to entertain the Priestling with a personal tete a tete of her encounter with eternal night, for all Nemesii knew, he wished to know the secret and nothing more. Truth be told there was no secret, except for one simple rule. Embrace yourself , count on yourself.

Nemesii now straightened and consequently as right hand still clutched the newly awoken's neck, his form rose also, toes dragging on the ground. Features turned 90 degrees to face his own as nostrils inhaled once more. You just could not create a better balance than decayed flesh hungering for blood mixed with the smoky smothering of burning aged oil that hung in the crypt. Nemesii's tongue was truly gleaming with moisture at this point.

"So...The brave fool has returned. You will tell me your name..."

Nemesii's body still pumped the last consumed living vessel's purities within her, the effects would last up to four hours or so, soon it would be time to feed again. Tongue danced along twin canines, the only two which had been filed down and was thus pierced.

"Time for the former fleshling to know of his true awakening, painful though it may be...for him. All the better for me." Nemesii thought to herself.

Two droplets of crimson fell upon (Bane) his mouth as Nemesii shuddered with the delightful memory of her first hunger. This brave fool would not waste away down here with the sleeping Priestling. Her ranks could do with a wake up call. Sometimes, too much fear stunted instinct. A balance was needed, with any luck, this one could be rudely awoken to his destiny.

((Woah, I have nothing on you guys and gals :) I have to take a bow before we continue))

"Release him Nemesii, or I will be forced to contain you" The priest says with determination in his voice.

They are all the same, the devourers. Living on the thrill of feasting upon flesh, consuming anothers life force and then having no regard whatsoever as to the urges that comes with it. He knew the urges, all to well.