[center][h3][color=0076a3]GOST[/color][/h3][/center]

The blazing sun overhead bathed Zar Vogul in its bleaching white light, painting all below it in its sanctifying rays. However, an anomaly marched through the streets of the desert bastion, a revenant of black and grey, its very existence humming with the lost power of a forgotten age. Gost, as he preferred to be known, stamped through the city streets, his black robes trailing behind him like a spectre of grim death. His presence was startling and ominous among the commoners in the streets, who scrambled over themselves to clear from his path. A tech-cultist of the Necrodomii was seen as cursed figure among many, and even the less superstitious found their ways alien and their existence heretical.

Gost paid the fearful masses no heed; they were like worms to be trod beneath his boots. Ignorant and powerless creatures that would do nothing but die as blindly and pitifully as they had lived. He had business with a more interesting sort of creature. Peering up past the glare of sunlight, Gost eyed the mage-tower that loomed over the city. Visible from all corners of the settlement, a true monument to Drathan vanity. He continued on, shaking his head disapprovingly. Even with the sorcerous power they wielded, they were still blind to the true power and glory of the Old Ones.

Arriving at the tower's gate soon enough, Gost presented himself to one of the attendant guards. The two men stood eye to eye, though Gost's gaze was replaced by the unblinking glow of his survival masque, burning from within the shadows of his dark hood. "[color=0076a3]I have come to parlay with your master.[/color]" He said, his voice modulated into a metallic growl by his masque. "[color=0076a3]I am Therion of Clan Domitian, he should be expecting me.[/color]" He had sent a missive some weeks ago, though he had been assured by the messenger that hit was delivered, he had not received a reply. Regardless, he had come to bargain all the same.