[center][color=goldenrod][h2]Terilu[/h2][/color][/center]

Oh, yes, [i]yes[/i], this is perfect. The others have taken that undead messenger's bait- Galaxor, then Ivraan, then that lass Ilyana, all charging away into the tomb. Now the Ascendent of the Third Caste will have his chance to show them all what he's worth. Reaching out, he snatches his friend Knossos by the arm, and from there he pulls him. "[color=goldenrod]Come on, [i]Illa Diul Qa[/i]*![/color]" he shouts. "[color=goldenrod]You know that these fools will surely need our magic.[/color]" And, Eratie tugging the old human by the elbow, in they go both together. 

The moment he steps into the cool darkness of the barrow, Terilu finds himself strangely anxious to show the rest of them the kind of contribution that he can make. The way he has this secret power, this high and esoteric skill that none of these people have ever mastered because they were not born in the right country for mastering it. He wants them to realize that- the great value Terilu is bringing the Wingless in using necromancy on their behalf. Here he walks amidst giants. All these brutish skinned races, they are terrifying huge in size and their swords are like claymores to him, and watching them fight is like watching mountains go to war. Especially this one called Galaxor. That thing is a force of nature in a fight.

There's a part of Terilu's mind, a little voice of anxiety deep in the back of his head, that keeps screaming "[i]Run out of there, you'll get crushed, you'll get crushed![/i]" Terilu's anxiety, as always, speaks in the voice of his Mother Haula, that most fearful of all old women. She was one of his family members who told him he'd be dead the moment he left Tureiamú. He tells her voice to shut up, and then releasing Knossos, he takes flight.

There'd be too little space to move around in a tomb, one would think. No trees to roost up in; no clouds for poor Terilu to soar up into and rest in their wet embrace. He'd guess there's ten or so feet until he'd just hit cold, stone roof. But for one as small as him, that's still blessed plenty of space to maneuver around in. He beats his wings with all his might three, four, five times and he has lifted himself off the ground, hovering in the form that the Eratie call [i]Ara Eltie ul'Turra**[/i], meaning "Imp-style flying." In the forest, he had soared as a bird does on the wind, his head and feet level with one another. If anyone had looked up, they'd have seen him moving as quick and straight and stiff as the hunter's arrow. Now he does the natural opposite. He hovers slowly with his feet dangling down below him, just the way a human being stands were it not for the fact that he is five feet up into the air. One of the skeletons, he fears, might still grab him by the ankle and yank him down ('[i]Beat you to death[/i]!' cries the voice of Mother Haula in his mind,) but still he feels a thousand times safer up here.

This is how he follows behind the more adventurous adventurers. Galaxor heading up the front and the two maybe-elves charging in with bravery, Terilu floats behind. They may not even know that he's helping them, he realizes with a pinch of shame, though most certainly he is. Whenever one of them is about to approach to fight an undead, Terilu reaches out towards it with his necromantic powers and does all he can to fuddle it. He saps its dark strength. He pulls the Narcae that is within it into himself, making him strong and making the skeleton stumble around weakly. The party is slaying them with ease. He feels like crying out "You're welcome, everybody!" but resists that urge. They are, nonetheless, real fighters with or without him.

Ilyana is the first one to come to the passage leading down.

"[color=goldenrod]Wait![/color]" He calls out to her. "[color=goldenrod]Don't descend alone, let me catch up![/color]" Just for a moment he flies at true speeds to hurry up to her, and there at the mouth of the ramp leading down, he stops himself floating. He holds out a hand for the others to stop, too. Galaxor, Knossos, Ivraan. These skeleton-killing warriors. He doesn't know how they'll react, but it's come to be that time.

"[color=goldenrod]Listen, Wingless,[/color]" he says to them. "[color=goldenrod]I am going to tell you the truth. I'm a necromancer. Yes, yes- a necromancer. I am a student of the dead. Have some of the undead we've faced today seemed slower than they should be to you? Weaker, easier prey? Of course they have. I'm sapping whatever strength I can from them, but...[/color]" He looked down the passageway. There was Something down there.

"[color=goldenrod]I believe things will be harder down lower in this tomb. The people who buried their forsaken here put the grander corpses in the lower halls, not in the higher. Those below us will be better armed and more forceful. I do not know if we will survive if I cannot use my power openly. If you do not call me a devil for what magic I study, stand behind me, and I will raise up for us what help I can...[/color]"

His hands reach out towards the skeletons already slain. The ones that Ilyana and Ivraan took down especially- they're still in decent condition, unlike all the dead that Galaxor has turned into smashed porcelain pottery on the floor. All the Narcae, the necrotic energy, that he sapped from them while they were still his foes, now he pours back in. Raising an undead who's never been an undead before is always a complicated, longwinded ritual, involving lots of eldritch circles and darkly strange incantations. It's easier when they were walking about as skeletons just fifteen seconds ago. A long moment passes, a hollow and white wind seems to come to life and blow itself through the hall- and some of the undead that the party has already put down begin to twitch and stir. The first skeleton rises back up and takes his rusted sword back in hand. The second, then the third soon after- but these are not enemies any longer. They bow to Terilu with a little head tilt that is something of a nod, something of a salute; it was probably how their people showed allegiance in life.

Three skeletal warriors stand risen a second time from the grave.

"[color=goldenrod]Do not harm them,[/color]" Terilu tells the party. "[color=goldenrod]These are on our side. These are [i]mine.[/i][/color]" He relishes the word. "[color=goldenrod]Let them be our honor guard down this hall. If something must die in this fight- it shall be the already dead rather than the living![/color]"

And with that, he turns, and hovers away down the black hall, trying to look as if he doesn't really care if the others are coming. The skeletons hurry to the side of their winged master.


[sub][i][right]*"Old wiseman"[/right][/i][/sub]
[sub][i][right]**Literally "As floats the devil"[/right][/i][/sub]