[center][h2][color=goldenrod]Terilu[/color][/h2][/center]

"Sorcerer?" Ilyana had asked.

"[color=goldenrod]Oh, is that me[/color]?" responded Terilu. He floated up behind her, his three skellies- intact but banged up- in close ranks around him, watching the spectre. They could feel its power as he could, but they weren't ready to give up without fighting it. His raised dead were just a smidge more resilient under his care than they had been before; having a necromancer pushing you does wonders for an undead's motivation. The mystic whip is at their backs. His will flows through their spirits. Terilu smirks. "[color=goldenrod]Are were you asking Knossos, our more repentant occultist? No matter. I am sorcerer enough...[/color]"

The spectral figure strides down from its throne. Wow, that is a powerful energy. It's a corpse, no doubt about that, but one wreathed in such spiritual excess that it's close to becoming a spirit itself. [i][color=goldenrod]Wrights[/color][/i]. Terilu remembers: a creature like this is called a 'wright' in his studies. What a beautiful thing. He knows it will put up far too much of a fight for this, but the young necromancer wishes he could study it. Too bad.

He mutters something under his breath.

His three skeletal warriors charge forward with a creaking battle cry. At the same moment, Terilu stops flying, hitting the ground with a soft thud, and grips his father's staff closer in his hand. He needs all his focus for this. Already, in those few seconds, the wright has rushed forward at his minions with an otherworldly screeching and, in a blur of motion far too fast for anyone's eyes to follow, it has sliced one of his skeletons to the ground. Terilu keeps channeling his necromantic Will through the other two. He tries to reach out to the wright and touch its spirit with his own.

He's trying to enslave it. It won't work. He realizes that the moment he makes spiritual contact with it. This thing is mad, and it's power is unholy; it lashes back at Terilu in the spirit, and he crumbles down to one knee like a man struck. Spiritual wounds are far deeper than bodily ones. In the next moment a second skeleton warrior has fallen. As it is destroyed, the wright uses the narcae that Terilu shares with it to lash back at him even more. He screams in pain despite his Eratie pride. There is black crowding in at the edges of his vision. As it goes in towards his last minion. 

The other undead in the room, the ones lining the walls, haven't moved. But they're beginning to stomp their feet and thump their weapons loudly in some ritual celebration. Terilu realizes that, for the first time since they entered this crypt, he may be in serious danger. This creature is a monster.