Dying had not been fun. 

Neil was still fuzzy over his recollection of events, even though he knew exactly what had transpired via dictation, as he was alive now because he had played his role perfectly. Even with such precision, his resurrection had been an extremely dodgy affair. Had he died in any other way, there would have been absolutely no way to cheat death without some unholy ritual, and call him superstitious but he wasn't comfortable going that route, provided he could even get a necromancer to do him a favor. No, it had to be this way, and somehow it had worked, though he still felt pangs of what he called 'death's hangover' days later. The headache made him try and recall what exactly had happened that night...

The tyroxanide had been lethal, or it would have been in any normal circumstance. Normally the poison was ingested unknowingly by the target, and within minutes it began its terrible work, seizing the heart and central nervous system, clotting the blood and sending the victim's vital organs into a slumber where there was normally no return. However, tyroxanide also halted global cerebral ischemia, preventing brain death for a period of twenty two hours, which, coupled with the blood clots that kept Neil from truly bleeding out once he had cut his wrists, had given him the opportunity, however unlikely, to be resuscitated. Had his friends not acted quickly, he would have stayed dead. Luckily, all of his previous information and the catalyst of what revived him was Hargond and his alchemist friend, Elmhir, who was absolutely ecstatic at being given the opportunity to conduct this experiment. 

Hargond had quickly followed to the place they had been preparing to dump Neil's body, knocking out the two gravediggers and taking his limp, technically dead form to Elmhir's sanctum within the Aedis Alchemica that night. Obviously, Neil was only privvy to what he had been told, but he had awoken with a needle in his arm connected to a tube that fed into Hargond's arm, the half-giant's blood bright, ice-y blue as it flowed into him. Neil hadn't thought much of it at the time, having forgotten who he was, much less where he was, for a good ten minutes. His wrists having been bandaged and his body strapped to a table, he had only been allowed to move and get up once he had correctly and calmly told Elmhir his name, age, and why he was there. 

Calliope had been right, he supposed. Dying was not fun. Some might say he cheated death, but really he felt like death kicked his ass and he was mercifully let off the mat after a soul crushing day of regret. Maybe living forever was the way to go, he pondered. Though in his briefest of thoughts in the deepest part of his heart, he had fleeting memories of something. Something bright and warm, and infinitely beyond this world in scope and beauty. He even glimpsed the smiling face of his grandfather, and it had brought him some inner peace he hadn't realized he had needed. Maybe the death part wasn't the problem, but the dying and the revival themselves. He didn't know, and either way, he was glad to be up and about, even if he still felt a bit weird. 

Now he found himself watching the procession of Magister Therman, one of the more loathsome individuals in the vast metropolis of Kalx'Molaris. Neil wasn't the killing type, but he wouldn't really mind if this one got thrown off the parapets of the outer walls. The ne'er-do-well slipped through the crowd like a fox leaping through and over thick brush, trying to follow one of the traders who was making his way past a few of the closed businesses to try and haggle with a city grocer. Neil merely followed quietly, brushing up against the occasional onlooker and snagging a coin purse when he was able. A few times he didn't do it as delicately as he liked, but with how packed the streets were, he need only duck and keep moving to disappear. Unfortunately, one of the times he ducked, he popped back up and turned back to his quarry, only to find the old man having disappeared. Incredulously, he glanced around and realized he couldn't spot him anywhere.

"Great," he complained, and decided to make the executive decision to step up the closest stairway, leading to one of the patios that had a fine vantage point over the crowd. Knights with gleaming swords passed, breastplates polished to shine the sun across the faces of the masses. Just one of their horses was worth a house on the countryside. Too bad Neil wasn't very learned in riding except the basics. He gave a low whistle at all the money that was tramping by, having momentarily forgotten his mark as he just stood, leaning against the iron railings of the patio and watching the small army display its strength to the city. It was hard to imagine the Magister was only one of half a dozen men of such power in the grand sovereignty of Kalx'Molaris. 
 
His eyes swept to his right, seeing if his mark had maybe stepped up onto the patio with him. Instead, he met the gaze of one dark sorceress Calliope, who's eyes were now on his as well. He couldn't recall a more awkward few seconds in his life, even if this could be called his second life. For a moment, he was glad to see her. He wanted that second date, and she had been on his mind more than once since his revival. But as it were, he felt a large sense of self preservation overriding his reckless self, so he merely smiled guiltily to her, and then ostentatiously vaulted over the railing the full dozen feet onto the street below, ducking and dodging through surprised men and women before leaping out of the jungle of human beings and into an alleyway.