[center][h1]Cterian the Greedy[/h1][/center][hr]

	"What's this? An insect?"
	The raspy voice carried from the far end of the room, though it seemed to be but a whisper. Seated at the top of carved onyx stairs, so that he could gaze upon his piles of gold and treasure, was Cterian the Greedy, god to those who knew none other. His skin, blackened from corruption, and twisted by malicious magical symbols, stood out in stark contrast with the gleaming gold of his throne. Having been made by one of the most skilled artisans in the land, the golden throne that Cterian sat upon, with it's woven looking bands of metal and skillfully twisted legs, seemed to only further emphasize the hideous qualities of the being which sat upon it. Tilting his head to the side, light glared off of Cterian's mask, as he seemed to grow thoughtful of the presence within the throne room-- the new one, that was. Plenty of the undead shuffled and weaved about the massive room lethargically though prone to bouts of activity. Over and over again, small groups of the hundreds of undead would fall to their knees in reverence for Cterian or fight over gold coins. 

	A dreadful rhythmic rasp rose from Cterian's chest as he began to laugh. Beside Cterian floated The Soul of the King-- whose horns supported his crown-- and he had just spoke his third spell of command. The hilarity for Cterian came when a lone figure stepped from beyond the boarder wall of the throne room. Did this fool think that alone, as a mortal, they could possibly defy him? No... Cterian decided just then that he would not even waste his time conjuring a spell to destroy this creature-- but they didn't deserve to join even his most lowly followers. Without even a word, Cterian pointed ever so slightly toward Ordam, sentencing him to a more entertaining punishment. The hundreds of undead were immediately roused from whatever had occupied them. Collectively, the undead horde turned it's attention to Ordam and after a beat of pause, they all shouted in a ghastly chorus, then began sprinting toward Ordam with intent to kill.



		[color=a36209][h3]Osana[/h3][/color][sup]Location: Underground Path - Throne Room[/sup][hr]

	Confusion mingled with the pain in Osana's body upon the sight of the far door opening. A warrior of sorts stepped through and Osana nearly feared he was bound to attack her before... well... something was different about this one. Was he not as mindless as the rest? Bright shimmering bands of light suddenly appeared around him and Osana suddenly understood-- there was a spell being cast upon them. The nature of the magic had eluded Osana, which wasn't a good sign at all. There were not many spells that she could not detect or sense at the least but, those of the older era were a well known blind spot for Osana. Already, Osana was a little impressed with the warrior-- he broke free from an old era spell on his own will, it seemed, unless he had some sort of blessing...

	Deciding to push away the momentary wonder at the warrior's abilities, Osana quietly closed her eyes, separated herself from the spell, then left it an arm's length behind herself. A soft fizzle came from the empty space behind Osana, barely noticeable-- especially when the sound of so much activity suddenly started up. Pushing herself to her feet, Osana looked into the room again, then witnessed undead ghouls, in all manner of decay and rot, stumbling over themselves to get toward [i]her[/i]-- they were coming for her?! No-- Osana looked toward the warrior-- they were coming for him. Osana drew the dagger from her belt then pressed herself into the wall once more. Striking from an unseen position, especially when so much attention was on the other person, would make casting spells far easier on her. With a quiet exhale, Osana separated herself from her body only slightly, enough to keep half of herself connected to the realm from which she pulled power, then concentrated on channeling energy.