Death. It filled the room like a dense fog, so thick that you could easily choke upon it. This dark aura was anything but natural. It was much more than just a smell, though that was more than easily detected by anyone who had a nose. No, it was its own influence, with its own ability to bear its own weight against someone’s soul. At least, that was more or less the case for a normal person. As for the cultists, most had performed such dark deeds that this dark aura was adding strength to their corrupted souls, especially when it came to Thoburas. This elf of darkness was covered in the same black robes as all the other cultists, which made them more or less impossible to tell apart at first glance. However, Thoburas wielded the dark blade, and from that it was easy to see who truly wielded the power within the cult.

The chamber itself was large. It was almost something that was taken straight from someone’s imagination, based entirely on the sheer size of the room itself. The massive arched ceiling would make you strain your neck if you desired to see the very top, assuming you were here to appreciate the architecture. It was only further highlighted by the various decorations and statues that were all dedicated to Malachar the Dread Lord. Since this room was dedicated to the worship of Malachar, perhaps it wasn’t all too strange that it was hidden so far underground with its great doors sealed. Still, there were clear indications that the cultists weren’t the first people to venture into this room in the last thousand years. The secrets that this room held were quite simply unknowable. 

Then, the next captive was dragged before Thoburas. There was no struggle to bring her before the mad elf, since it was resoundingly clear that she still remained under the magical influence of Thoburas. With a simple wave of his hand, the woman’s glazed over eyes disappeared and she promptly returned back to reality. It took an extended period for the woman to realize where she was and the situation that she now found herself in, but when she did, her entire composure completely broke down. She began to sob uncontrollably, all the while begging Thoburas to let her go. It was quite the display, but unfortunately for the woman who stood before him, Thoburas was a sadist. If he had been merciful, he would have been content to leave the woman in her stupor, but where was the fun in that? With a flick of his wrist, the dark blade opened up the woman’s throat, yet not a single drop of blood reached the floor.

The dark portal had already reformed itself into an amorphous sphere of black smoke. Tendrils, arms, legs, and other limbs seemed to shift throughout the entire sphere, growing and then disappearing just as quickly as they had appeared. Faces could be seen from within the smoke, likely of those who had already been sacrificed. It drew in the blood from the open wound on the woman’s neck until she was nothing but an empty husk. Her corpse was then moved with the others by the same cultists that had dragged her to her doom. Looking closely, you could now see her face within the smoke, screaming in agony. For a moment, the dark blade emitted a strange glow, the same as the carved symbol in the floor below him. To a bystander, this was indication that this entire room was built from the beginning to hold this dark ritual.

Dark energy and magic encompassed Thoburas’ entire being. However, it radiated much farther than just within his own vicinity. Part of the magic that obfuscated the minds of men, it was spread throughout the fortress like a spider web. He could feel every heartbeat. [i]Badump, Badump.[/i] Every heartbeat would reverberate throughout him, especially when they picked up in pace. And that included every heartbeat that had been stopped by him prematurely. Of course, that was always the most enjoyable part. Ultimately, that meant that no one could ever hope to escape Thoburas’ notice; not even a rat.

Thoburas was already walking down the steps from the heightened stone platform when the rat turned into a cyradan. A Vokurian, though Thoburas had already known that much. The cyradan tossed a hapless cultist at Thoburas’ feet. Barely still alive, but that was all that mattered. He raised his dark blade and pierced through the chest of his fellow follower of Malachar, and his blood was quickly consumed like all the others. Another was sent flying, crashing through a statue of Malachar before landing against the wall, killing the cultist instantly. A waste of both a statue and a sacrifice. Corpse’s blood was of no use to him, especially if the soul had already passed from the body. It was much the same for the poor fools who were set aflame. Then the cyradan cast a jet of flames at him, and without hesitation, Thoburas jumped through the flames.

On the other side, Thoburas cast aside his inflamed cloak as it burned away into ash, yet not an inch of his body seemed to have been touched by the flames. He was shirtless, with the dark blade safely placed within its sheath. His skin had a grayish hue, which was rather unnatural for an elf. He was tall and lithe, yet he was far more muscular than most elves. What was more noticeable was the Dark Speech carved directly into his skin all over his body. Each symbol likely represented a different ward or curse, though only a fool would ever attempt to read any of it aloud. Without proper training, it was more or less guaranteed death to the speaker. Thoburas’ head was shaved… and his eyes gave a fair impression of his mental instability. He grinned with teeth that were far sharper than they had any right to be.

“Oh joy! Oh wondrous joy!” Thoburas hugged himself as he swayed side to side, filling the entire room with his maniacal laughter. “Malachar whispers to me. Oh yes he does! All the time! He teaches me so much…” Thoburas trailed off as he turned to look upon the amorphous smoke, mesmerized by all its glory.

“Do you know what he told me? Do you? Of course you don’t! How could you?” As Thoburas turned to face Rohaan he was so consumed by laughter that it was as if he had told the funniest joke in the world. “He told me that old Karl Valdemar sent someone to kill me! Is that supposed to be you?” He continued to laugh as his head cocked to the side.

“I’ve killed Vokurians before.” Thoburas spoke matter-of-factly - as if such actions were so mundane that they were barely even worth mentioning. “I’ve never eaten a Vokurian though… I wonder what you taste like?” He licked his lips, flashing his teeth while he did so. He then reached for the dark blade, but he suddenly stopped.

Thoburas felt cold steel pressed up against the side of his neck. It was enough to draw blood. Impossible. His magic guaranteed that it was impossible for anyone to sneak up on him. Besides, he had never sensed that the Vokurian had a companion, nor did Malachar ever say that Karl Valdemar had sent more than one assassin against him. There was no way that he’d ever be lied to by his beloved dark god. An actual lump formed in his throat, but he couldn’t turn his head to see the assassin that had seemingly materialized out of nowhere. The blade on his neck assured that impossibility.

“I’ll give you one chance. Get on your knees.” Ash’s words were full of venom and vengeance, all the while keeping significant pressure with her blade. Thoburas only gave his usual grin and his right hand twitched towards the dark blade. A mistake. Within a fluid motion, Ash locked in Thoburas’ left arm, ensuring that she now had the leverage to use the elf’s own weight to bring him off balance. In moments, the elf was on his stomach, with Ash’s right knee pressed in between his shoulder blades. At the same time, she held the elf’s left arm in such a way that he’d have to willingly break his own arm to break the hold.

“I warned you. Now you die.” Ash held up her dagger and then promptly went in for the killing blow. Before she managed to find her mark, a sickening pop could be heard. Thoburas had dislocated his own arm without a single moment of hesitation. She had completely lost her leverage and before she could react in time, a fist connected with the underneath of her jaw. She went flying, losing her dagger in the process.

Thoburas moved faster than even an elf had any right to, and he was on top of her before she even knew what had happened. With his right hand, he clamped down on her throat, squeezing the life out of her. “DIE! DIE!! DIE!!!” Thoburas screamed and laughed at the top of his lungs, clearly gaining pleasure by causing pain to his opponent. Ash didn’t have the positioning to easily get Thoburas off of her. The longer that she struggled without success, the more spotty her vision became. What was more an act of desperation than anything else, her arm reached out, with her thumb managing to connect with Thoburas’ left eye.

Thoburas reeled back with pain, releasing his grasp of Ash. She coughed and spat some of the blood out of her mouth. She was now lightheaded, but still had her wits about her to get to her feet and pull out her other dagger. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted an incoming cultist with a mace, and she successfully managed to sidestep him. With her dagger, she opened up his unprotected belly, causing his guts to fall to the stone floor. The cultist attempted to scoop up his intestines back inside of him for a moment, but it wasn’t long before he crumpled over lifeless. In a quick motion, Ash discarded her hood and cloak, revealing her raven black hair that was braided down the length of her back, and her well-maintained leather under-armor.

Thoburas himself was no longer stunned either. His left eye was now closed and bleeding, but it didn’t seem to hinder his new grin. With a quick pop, he placed his left shoulder back into its socket. “Ha… two against one? That’s not fair!” The elf was entirely disregarding the few cultists that were still left alive. At least he was being truthful for once. At that, he raised the dark blade and it glowed ominously. Every corpse that it had touched rose back to life. Necromancy.

“Well, fuck.” Ash managed to growl out of her damaged throat as she resumed a combat stance against Thoburas. It certainly wasn't being lost upon her that she was slowly being surrounded by zombies. The only thing that Thoburas resumed was his own ceaseless laughter.