Namzu's return to the world of the living was an altogether unpleasant affair. Mostly because it was he himself who was inconvenienced, what with having to emerge from his coffin in a sewer system that was markedly [i]not[/i] the cave he'd hunkered down in. Still, he was here and his weapons did not appear to have been tampered with or stolen. Then again why would they be? The enchantments he'd placed to keep them from wearing down aside, the swords Namzu wielded looked like they belonged in a museum rather than a battlefield.

Or so the kine would declare anyway. In truth, they could kill just as well now as they had back in the time of the Lugals.

But pushing all of that to the side for a moment, there remained the matter of finding out where he was. While he was no stranger to the modern age and its many conveniences, this foul smelling tunnel was, again, nowhere near the place he'd first gone into torpor at. So, doing the sensible thing, he called upon the power of his vitae and expanded his senses into the darkness around him. Probing each and every shadow carefully not only to gather information about where he was, but what was occuring above ground also.

Suffice it to say, what he learned shocked him a little. For not only was there an apparent apocalypse going on, there was also a massive blindspot in his vision. Somewhere smack-dab in the middle of the Arctic by the look of things. Something massive and foreboding resided there that outright prevented any attempt at peering further - and indeed actively harmed him the harder he tried. So, being the long-unlived individual he was, Namzu turned his attention back to the first problem instead. The surface and the hell that was being raised. And the more he watched, the surer he became that the chaos above needed to be brought to heel. If not by the hands of others, than by his alone.

Thus it was that he rose from the confines of his sarcophagus, took his blades in hand, and stepped into the nearest shadow.