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~1446 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE
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The necromancer stood by as he watched the aloof reaper fall on his back in a way-too-neat fashion. Was that out of practice or was that the instinct of those model types? Like how a cat is always supposed to land on their feet.

Nonetheless, monkeys? Seemed there was still more creatures to dispatch of before the day was over. 


Retrieving another written spell tag from his person, he began to chant an unnecessary but dramatic incantation. Both of his skeletons moved to accompany him at either side as he spoke.

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“I weave the marks of death, strike true a terrible curse with their blades.” 
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He’d tear the tag twice to make three torn tickets, each burned up with arcane fire. The embers of which moved into three direction, to a hand of each skeleton and to the necromancer’s own spare hand. Spectral swords formed from each gathering ghastly ember, necrotic magic running up through their spectral form. 

He’d do a small flourish with the sword as both skeletons began to move forward and spread out, though he didn’t let them go too far without first getting a direction.

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“Just give us the directions and you can rest your pretty head here.” [/color] Edward sneered.