[IC] One Life, Lived in Death ~ PopeAlessandros x Wernher

[PopeAlessandros]

Faint breathing is the only sign that there is anything living in the desolate waste that is the necromancer's territory. With slow steady steps, Aslon makes his way past the boarder of his lands and into the skeletal forest that marks the edge of the deadwood. The young elf has to swallow hard to keep from coughing as the stagnant air grows thick around him. He steels himself and moves further in, letting the sights and sounds seep into his memory for later analysis. 'I can't believe it, I'm finally here. I'm here in the lands where my parent's killer. . . .' His thoughts trail off as the memory of the day they had gotten word of the demise of the deadwood's former ruler makes his teeth clench. He knows the being responsible for his parent's death has already passed from this world, but Aslon still feels bitter bile at the back of his throat when he thinks of anything so foul and disgusting as a necromancer.

With growing tension he moves slowly past the skeletons of trees and bushes that showed that this land was one ripe with greenery. Here and there, large patches of broken branches and uprooted small trees mark the passage of one horror or another. There were rumors that the evil that ruled over these lands had found the skeletons of ancient dragons and re-animated them to do his bidding. The thought made Aslon's stomach turn. Dragons were very powerful creatures, and the elves once shared their lands with the creatures. They lived in peace with the graceful beasts, until the deadwood crept too close to their lands and the dragons fled the spreading disease. Aslon jumps slightly as a pile of bones come into view off to his right, but after a few moments he relaxes a bit when he realizes it to disjointed to be an actual skeletal beast.

Keeping strict control of his breathing he moves on, pausing now and then as he finds more torn up patches of forest and scattered bones. His nervousness rises the further he goes. 'I should have run across something by now. No elf has ever gone this far in without running across at least and undead squirrel. Something's not right' With that thought prevalent in his mind he pauses again, this time straining his ears hard for any noise, anything at all. A faint breeze rattles a few branches together and he freezes. Underneath the sound of wood on wood, he hears the faint clacking sound that doesn't sound like tree movements. However when the breeze stops, so too does the clacking. Now very much on edge he tenses and in an instant he launches himself up to the lowest branch of the nearest tree.

Just as he manages to pull himself up a horrible growling sound erupts in the bushes beneath a nearby tree, and out from behind it bounds a pack of skeletal and zombified dog creatures. Aslon takes himself up a few more branches before stopping to actually take a more detailed account of the scene bellow. His chest heaves, “Four. . .five. . .six seven. . .oh great, eight of those abominations.” Only three still had a good amount of flesh on them, and the rest only seemed to be able to snap their jaws together to express their eagerness to tear into Aslon's tender flesh. Knowing there is little his arrows can do against the beasts below, Aslon brings up his hand and starts chewing on his thumb as he tries to come up with a way to get out of this situation.

[Wernher]

"How was I not made aware of this?" Gilbert looked down on the dead body of an elf at the back of its cell. A hooded man next to the body began to bow and try to explain himself. "Erm, well my lord, we didn't notice until later. He must have been carrying poison leaves of some sort, you know how the elves are." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Of course I know that, but, why as he been dead for 28 WHOLE HOURS before you bothered to tell me?! Are you so stupid you didn't think a necromancer would notice he's been dead for so long, or are you so useless that you noticed just now?!" The man threw himself on his knees, only making Gilbert and his followers seem more imposing. "I-I b-beg you my lord, I t-thought he was s-sleeping for certain! S-so I didn't bother!" Another man, hooded under black robes, began to speak. "The subject of our vivisection has perished... I suppose it's only fair this fool serves as a replacement..." The man began to tear up at the thought of being the subject of a dissection while still being alive. "So I may learn the mysterious functioning of the brain of an idiot? Bah!" Another spoke, this time a large fellow in full armor, but rather than an helmet his face hidden by a hood also, red eyes however glowing in the darkness. "If I may be so bold my lord, after the vivisection we usually... clean up the leftovers... Perhaps you would consider letting us of the night guard clean up this mess of a minion?" Being food for vampire. "P-please, I... I beg you! Please!" Gilbert shrugged. "Bah, why not. Try and not make a mess, if you do, clean it up, I don't want viscera all over the place this time around, am. I. clear.?" Sparkling white teeth forming smiles from the half of Gilbert's followers who also had red eyes were seen. "Clearer than a full moon, my lord." As the man tried to rise a hand toward Gilbert, he turned around, leaving his back as the last thing this failure of a servant would see. "NO PLEASE!" In an orchestra of sickening, disgusting and nauseous noise Gilbert and his non vampire followers walked away. "Make sure to add preservants to the elf, the dissection will be tomorrow as planed, I want it as fresh as possible."



Gilbert finally left this dungeon. He never did like the underground, or any closed space for that matter. How these vampires managed to sleep in a coffin he'd never understand. He looked around for a moment. He wondered where Flavian, his cat, was for a moment. Not in trouble he hopped, although that was doubtful, Flavian being the only thing left from his old mortal life, the only living being other than himself he had bothered to give immortality. Unless you counted rising as a soulless puppet of bones being giving immortality, in that case he had given it to thousands of people. "My lord! My lord!" And back again. Weeks if not months could go by without anything happening in this kingdom, and now two things in one day? "Ugh... What is it?" He turned around to face an extenuated necromancer. "My lord! My minions were patrolling the forest east of here, near that of the elves as you requested. They found something, another scout!" Oh? Well, it seemed the elves were more scarred of him than he thought, how bold. "Kneel." The necromancer executed the order and Gilbert placed his hand on his servant's head. He felt a shiver from him. Suddenly his eyes became of a toxic green, no longer did he see through his own eyes, but he went through his servant's views, his memories, his very soul. He quickly found what he was looking for. Something small, looking at an elf on top of a tree, cornered. Well, this one was smart at least. How many person shot arrows at the undead? Laughable. He quickly went back, leaving the head of his servant alone. "Mmmyes... Get my retinue together and in arms... Order your dogs to leave the elf be, no one can't say I don't have good sportsmanship." The servant got up before bowing again. "Of course my lord, should I also send for you armor?" Gilbert nodded. "Yes, as well as tell the kennel master to get my dogs ready, and get me my Hawk." Yet another bow and the necromancer turned around. He was however interrupted. "Tell me... dogs? Really?" The necromancer turned around. "My lord, no man has ventured here in a long time. Seeing how bodies are lacking, I made due with what I had under hand."

"Alright men, weeee... have an intruder on our territory! Not just an unlucky soul that wandered through the swamps, oh no, an elven scout! I for one have found the last couple of months to be quite boring indeed so here I offer us entertainment, a hunt, but not any hunt, the best of them all, a manhunt! Spread out! Search the forest and leave no stone unturned! Let the manhunt, BEGIN!" With this a thunderous yelling of approval was heard no doubt miles away. On horse or on foot, the undead and necromancers alike began to enter the dead woods. A necromancer approached Gilbert. "My lord... the animals? We are hunting an elf sir." Gilbert had a small laugh. "And what, he'll charm them? Or elude their nose maybe? Please, the elves merely know how to blend in a wood, in nature. This wood is as dead as me and it has the same smell. Out here there is only what's dead and what lives, there is nothing to camouflage this intruder, now leaves to hide from the eyes of my Hawk, no flowers to hide from the nose of my dogs." Or at least it was what Gilbert supposed. Little did he know, the elves indeed had a connection much more special than that with animal life. With this, Gilbert ventured forth in the forest, sending his hawk in the air to spot his target and removing the leash of his dogs, to scout the way and guide him.

[PopeAlessandros]

A wave of unease passes gently over his heart and Aslon stops breathing for a moment. 'I don't know what just happened, but the wood is not happy about it' he thinks, pulling in another lung full of putrid air. Glancing back down at the pack of beasts growling and snapping at him the feeling of uneasy intensifies as he watches them pause. Their ears, those that have them, perk up as if they hear something and much to his chargin they proceed to back away from the tree. 'Oh yes, this can not be good. I didn't hear anything, so what they heard must not be something meant for living ears to hear' Gritting his teeth slightly he fights the urge to just jump down from the tree and start running back to his lands. 'That's what that bastard expects. It’s the most logical action to take. But I'm not going to give up just yet. My people need to know what's going on here. They need me to be successful. And I will be'

With his confidence bolstered by his internal pep talk Aslon closes his eyes, pressing one hand to the trunk of the dead tree. He listens to the wind, the earth, and takes what little he can from the once living flora. After several silent moments his eyes snap open, his mind sharp and focused on his task. Dropping down a couple branches he walks along one of the thicker limbs until he's within jumping distance of the nearest tree. “Time to fly.” he murmurs and in a flash he takes off. With a single leap he lands in the middle of the branch he was aiming for. The dead wood bends dangerously but before it can snap he darts down it to the base and on to another branch. Like a squirrel he rushes through the treetops, never once setting foot on the earth as he moves further and further into the necromancer's territory.

He moves so fast that the wind whips across his face, making him blink rapidly when his footing is secure to keep them from tearing up. 'According to the history books, if I just keep the sun on my back while I travel after mid day, I should keep moving towards the center of the wood. The stories say that that's where the foul thing resides' Pausing at the trunk of a tall tree with thick branches he leans in close against the smooth bark and catches his breath. The thrill of the acrobatics mingled with the danger of the quest mingles together to sap his stamina. His eyes trail upward past the branches and he holds his breath for a moment as his eyes discern a shape moving high above the treetops. 'A bird?' he wonders, but shrugs it off as the beast turns away before coming close enough to spot him. 'It has to work for him. There are no living animals that dare enter this forest any more, and I've never seen one fly over it either'

Just as he exhales his breath is caught again as his sharp ears pick up the sound of hoof beats in the distance. Pressing his palms to the tree trunk he casts his senses out through it's roots and manages discern that it's a single rider alone. A slow smile creeps across his lips as his eyes open and he gets a wicked idea. 'Well at least I can piss the soul sucker off a bit I suppose. That is if he gives a damn about his animals' And with a rather juvenile, but irresistible idea in mind, Aslon pinpoints the horse and rider's location with his keen eyes and ears and takes off through the branches at top speed.

When he comes upon the rider he doesn't slow, instead he launches himself full force at the thing in the saddle, landing a hard kick to it's site that propels it off the horse and into the nearest tree. Aslon feels bones break as his kick connects and shudders. His hand snaps out as he passes over the saddle and with a slightly painful jerk to his shoulder he grabs the edge of the leather and swings himself around in a graceful arc, landing astride the beast gently. Out of the corner of his eye Aslon catches sight of the undead creature trying to get to it's feet with a few broken vertebra. Playing his years of practice, masterful skills, and a bit of magic he manages to keep the horse from bolting and instead it takes off at a steady pace, turning with pressure from the elf's knees to put the sun behind them.

After a few minutes of travel he reaches around to get a hold of the horse's reigns and pulls the beast to a stop. 'Well, I'm a little more mobile now, but if I keep heading in this way, I'm sure to run across more of these guys. I gotta think' Aslon's ears perk up as the sound of running water nearby catches his attention. Turning the horse towards the sound he pushes it into a slow walk and moments later a small stream comes into view. The pitch black steed needs no encouragement and walks right up to the water, dropping it's head to drink. 'Must be safe if she's drinking' he surmises and gets down carefully. Keeping one hand on the reigns he scoops up a few handfuls of the clear liquid. The cool water soothes his throat and when he has his fill he pulls out his wine skin, dipping it in the spring to re-fill it and cool it down. Once it's full he reaches up and rubs his sore shoulder with his damp, chilled hand. The cold feels good.

[Wernher]

Gilbert continued to advance slowly and somewhat aimlessly. This forest was a damn skeleton but yet no sight of the pray yet. Could he have gone back to his territory? No, unlikely, the elves were so arrogant they'd never admit themselves beaten by a few undead dogs. As he heard one of his dogs growl, Gilbert came to a stop and unsheathed his sword, taking his shield from his back. Soon it was all the dogs barking in a single direction and he quickly saw a humanoid from walking toward him. His suspicions that this wasn't the elf were quickly confirmed when the form tripped on a root and painfully got up, holding his side. Gilbert sheathed his sword and got his shield on his back before advancing toward his undead servant, a vampire out of luck it seemed. It hailed Gilbert first.

-Ah, my lord. Good day.

Gilbert smiled and answered.

-Ah, sir Krain was it? You seem to have had a rough time, would you happen to have run in by any elf as luck would have it?

The vampire had a yellow laugh before nodding, leaning on a three for a moment. He answered.

-As a matter of fact, I did, yes. Further down south. I was beginning to think he went back to his accursed forest when I heard something in the trees next to me. Next thing I know I'm out of my saddle, with 4 broken ribs, without counting my spine along with that, and the devil stole my horse!

Gilbert looked critically at the vampire and spoke.

-Aren't you healed yet?

The vampire nodded negatively.

-It's been... some times since I last tasted blood my lord. I'd have feed on my horse as a last resolve, but like I said, it was stolen... I guess I'll just go back to the palace and beg sir Moebius or Stanley to lend me a goat... If you go after that elf, good luck. He's a tricky one.

They saluted each other and the Vampire went on his way. Vampires feeding on goat uh? Although at this point it wasn't really surprising. Just by looking around. This land was dead and while it was a Haven for the undead and the necromancers, it was still a burned out hollow shell of its former self. All that could be brought back to life had been, all that could be killed as well. If it wasn't for Gilbert actually, this land would probably have nothing left. He maintained the gardens of his castle, had a kennel with quite some dogs and a stable with horses, which meant he also kept some minimal ground for crops and live stocks. He remembered hearing some necromancers and undead talk about taking the world by assault, storming them with undead legions. They were fools with no self control, and while they could succeed, fact was the whole continent might just end up like this place: Dead. Without live, unlife is quite hard to sustain, Vampires are the first to find that out. It's probably why he keeps hearing of so many parties forming and going in Elven territories to try and capture prisoners, so they may be drained by vampires and then experimented on by necromancers. Probably why the elves didn't like him actually. That and being an abominations on all that is natural.

---

The ground rumbled as Gilbert moved with his horse. He had found earlier the site of sir Krain's encounter with the elf, at that point it had been to find the scent on the horse which hadn't been hard for his pack of dogs. Heading East, toward his castle. The vampire had been right, he was bold indeed. The scent was fresh and from the hoof steps he wasn't going full speed ahead. A few minutes later Gilbert came across a stream where the dogs stopped. To lose the scent across such a small thing? No, maybe he walked down the stream, but then that would mean either going north or south, not the direction of the castle at all. Just as he was looking around, he was surprised to see Krain's horse almost right next to him. The horse looked back at him, seeming equally surprised before going back at drinking. Did he left the horse? He had to be close, that was certain. The dogs however didn't seem to smell any immediate thread and thus went to the water to drink a bit. Gilbert was thinking of just continuing moving, but stopped his horse after a few steps. He took his sword and shield in hand.

-How pathetically sloppy! At least the last one managed to get close to the castle before being detected! I'm insulted the elves would send a failure like you to spy on me, Prince... King Gilbert de Beauregard! Or maybe it's imply I keep killing and killing the best you've got and this is what your people are lowered to send?! Hahahaha, HAHAHAHAAAA! Keep hiding weakling! We'll find you, and when we do...

[PopeAlessandros]

As the horse drinks Aslon walks slowly around the area, his eyes taking in the shadows and shifting branches, keen on not being caught unawares. With a sigh his finishes his sweep and stops beside the horse. Reaching out he gives it a firm pat on the neck. “Poor thing. Living in such a place as this. It must be hell.” At his touch the horse looks up at him, but as he speaks it drops it's head back down. He chuckles lightly to himself as he watches. 'I've got to head towards the palace, but I don't think I should take this one with me. If I were to be spotted they may fire at me and hit her. She's provided me a touch of life I did not think to find here, and I would be shamed if I were to put her in harm's way'

With that thought in mind Aslon looks up, seeking out the sun. As soon as he's got his bearings he turns back to the filly and opens his mouth to bid her farewell and freezes. The movement is subtle, but his heart begins to pound as her ear twitches slightly. 'She hears something' he thinks, his heart rate spiking momentarily. 'No, I mustn’t panic' Taking a deep breath he backs into the nearest tree and using it's roots he calls out through the earth to locate the source of the sound. Cursing under his breath as he detects another rider and a pack of dogs heading towards him, the young elf steps away from the tree and quickly makes his way to the edge of the stream. Kneeling beside the softly babbling waters he pulls out a small pouch and opens it.

Scooping up a small handful of mud he murmurs a short incantation and adds the muck to the pouch. Before entering the forest he'd taken a handful of the dirt from the outskirts and placed it inside. The incantation acts as a cloak, spreading the smell of soil across the flesh of the one carrying the pouch so that they can't be tracked by their scent. It had been confirmed that the lord of the lands keeps dogs by one of the previous scouts who’d sent the information back by messenger hawk before vanishing. Using the knowledge Aslon's master had come up with a way to mask the scent of living creatures with just a little dirt and an incantation to the spirits of the land. Since most of the Deadwood it, well, dead, he had a hard time wording the incantation to use the least amount of magic possible, but eventually he was successful. The only thing is the soil needed to be replenished once in a while, and it is best to use the most living soil one can find.

Standing up with a huff Aslon pats the horse one last time before taking to the trees. His heart skips a beat as just as the horse passes out of sight he hears the sounds of dogs and the creak of leather. Stilling as to not draw attention to himself the young elf listens carefully. At the sound of a blade being drawn his muscles tense. A cold chill runs down his spine as the rider begins shouting to the woods after him. Despite the panic that rises in his chest at the nearness of one who wishes to take his life, a white hot flash of anger at the creatures words makes his hands long to take up his bow and fire an arrow strait into the arrogant bastard's mouth. 'No Aslon, you can't attack. Not yet. Only as a last resort. You are a scout, not a soldier' A low growl makes it's way past his lips, too quiet for the dogs to hear and with a deep breath he takes off towards the palace.

He moves at top speed, trees flashing by almost unnoticed as he focuses on keeping his footing. Once or twice he's forced to divert off track because of one undead thing or another in his path. He pauses in the middle branches of a large dead elm as he notices a change in the light. Cursing under his breath he looks this way and that until he realizes the sun is too far down to ascertain it's direction. With a growl he casts his senses out and looks for anywhere safe to wait out the night. Eventually he settles for an outcropping of rock on the side of a large stony structure not too far from his current position. He's forced to drop to the ground, not wanting to try his hand in the twilight at navigating dead branches.

'If it were completely dark I would be able to see just fine, but this twilight messes with my senses. And after the sun completely falls, the abominations roaming this land will be stronger. Yes, it's best if I wait out the night' His brows furrow as an old crumbling building comes into view. It looks like an old human guard house, the kind that was situated in small towns for the local militia. The trees have grown right of the it's walls, some larger branches hanging over the top where the roof and many of the top stones have fallen away to leave the interior open to the stars. Casting about constantly the young elf makes his way inside and steeping over the rubble he makes his way carefully up to the second floor.

Scattered about are broken down beds and barrels of what he's sure must have held mead. Walking over to the stairs to the third floor he looks up to see the dark blue sky of dusk. 'I'll stay here. That way I'm not directly under the sky, and off the ground at the same time' He casts a critical eye over the branches above. 'I can escape through the trees should they find me in the night' he surmises, and with that he finds a clear spot large enough to lay down in and with a soft sigh, he settles down on the hard wood to rest for a short time. Rest, before the real monsters wake for their evening fun.

[Wernher]

No answer. Damn. Gilbert looked at the horse who was drinking from the stream without a care in the world. Could the elf have left go to distract his pursuers? Did he leave so fast Gilbert couldn't even have a look at him? God dammit. Truth be told he was a bad hunter and a horrible tracker, if what his servants had said was true and elves couldn't be tracked? This was a pointless exercise... No, there was simply so much Necromancers and Vampires out there, he couldn't slip by, no one was this good. "Alright, break's over!" He gave out a loud whistle and sheathed his sword and shield before making his horse move forward. He took the horse that had been left there as well. No point in it staying here.

---

Hours later Gilbert galloped through the town bellow his castle and climbed to the castle itself. In front of the gates, a small regroupment had been formed. Vampires and necromancers. Judging from their gear, they were part of his hunt. He came to a halt before them. "What are you doing here?! Why aren't you out there looking for the pointed ear filth?!"

One bowed before him before speaking. "My lord, the horses are tired and the mortals among us need to feed, it's already been hours and we are pass midnight-"

Gilbert slapped his forehead and made his hand go down across his face. "Take out some food and fresh horse and continue then! I want this elf in shackles before tomorrow's sun zenith, he's still out there, he has to! And I won't be humiliated by having subordinates so incompetent that they can't catch an elf with no leaves to hide in! Now go! Go and don't bother me until you are done with this! His blood for the vampire or his body for the necromancer that bring him to me!"

"YES MY LORD!" With this they began to leave the front gate. Gilbert made his way through it and went to the central court yard, leaving his dogs and horse to an undead guard, the Falcon knew his way to its home so he did not care about it. He entered the main building and began to remove his armored gloves. A silhouette emerged from the door, one of his assistants, they didn't mingle much with the others and apparently he didn't feel compelled to answer the call for the hunt. No matter, Gilbert didn't feel like berating him. The assistant began to speak. "How was-"

Gilbert interrupted him by removing his helmet and throwing it on the ground loudly. "HORRIBLE! This little bastard hides better than a needle in a stack of hay and my subordinates are too incompetent to find him!"

The assistant didn't mention that Gilbert had been with them as well as he walked through the main hallway and into the throne room. The assistant continued softly. "Perhaps he already left to go back in the woods my lord."

Gilbert turned around and crashed his rear in the throne. "I know them! Even before I had to take over this excuse of a kingdom they were always so arrogant in their own damn superiority, immortal, knowledgeable of magic, nature's blasted chosen people!" He threw down the gloves he had kept and retracted his elbow on the arm guard and then held his cheek with his fist, pouting.

The assistant bowed respectfully before raising his voice. "Perhaps, but perhaps our latest success has shall we say... tarnished their courage? It is possible that they've realized they are mortal indeed and that capture is possible."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Then it's almost the same!" He let himself slide and sink in his royal seat and began to remove his boots with his feet, pushing the heals and flinging them across the room. "This place... it's boring... and now, that the gods hear my plea and send me something that could at least keep my attention for a whole damn day, I just miss it and let it get away from my grasp! ... " He was silent for a moment and just covered his eyes with the hand he had used to hold his cheek. Eventually he raised a hand to shoo away the robed man before him.

After a few minutes of silence, an undead cat jumped on him, making him jump a little. "Oh Florian... come to join me in another boring night?" He began to pet him absentmindedly.



The next day, Gilbert had recieved no news of the elf. Of-fucking-course. Gilbert had decided to do a little reading on the upper garden of the palace, the history of the Beauregard family (He was that bored). He putted the book on the small table in front of him before letting out a sigh. He looked above. A beautiful day, almost no cloud. He looked on the horizon only to see the grey wasteland his kingdom had become. Necromancy did that to thing, mess with the dead too much and death itself lingers around, in expectation for its next job. Nature was a collateral. He got up and walked to the balustrade to look down. After a few minutes, as the sun was becoming annoying, a group of 4 men in black robes left a tower more sinister than the others to walk through the gardens and toward the main building. They transported some moving table, and Gilbert already knew what was on it. Today was dissection day for the elf. Well, not a completely wasted day at least. Gilbert entered the building and began to climb down the stares.

---

Music

The Operation room was a large white marble room which had probably been a ball or duel room before. On one side, windows closed shut and covered by heavy velvet curtains, on the other, a wall and up it on the second a balustrade lined with seats for an audience to watch, only interrupted by massive columns. A set of double doors opened, 2 men entered, pushing the table with a large white piece of cloth on it, a body being easily identifiable under it. Another 2 came with a smaller table scientific instruments of all kind, a great many knives and a surprising amount of jars filled with a yellowish paste on the plate under the chariot. They removed the cloth to expose the elf, naked and almost seeming alive, no wound, perfect preservation. They took the body and moved it to a sturdier metal table bolted in the ground in the middle of the room, lines were carved and the table was in a slight angle, a bucket under where the lines joined, to get the blood.

A fifth man entered the room, Gilbert with pants and a black shirt, the sleeves pulled back. The others removed their robes to show a similar fashion. "Alright men, no spectators today, most of the castle is in the forest hunting down our other test subject, probably failing at this too. Well we still have this one so let us not waste our chance shall we. Gloves." He raised his hands and two assistants putted a pair of leather gloves on him. As to not have the knife slips but also because it was terribly hard to get blood out from under nails. "Scribe, take notes."

One of the four men took a large book, a quill and a pot of ink, he opened it to one of the early page and awaited the words of Gilbert. "Necromantic Records of Gilbert de Beauregard, King and arch-necromancer of Lotharingia... I the my tomes about humanity have been completed for some times now and I do think the human body has revealed its secrets to me. Recently, an elf was captured by my minions and I have decided to vivisect it. Unfortunately, it killed itself out of fear of the procedure. I will now operate its dead body. As it was killed by poison, damages are minimal. Specimen is male, age unknown as little physical traits of elves change with age and on close inspection, the body is found to be quite... human-like, despite a more svelte and in general, the look of someone which is at the peak of physical condition. The hypothesis of half elves being possible seems indeed plausible, anatomically, but more on that later. I will first examine how similar or how different these creatures are from humans. The first thing I notice is the apparent lack of fat, if this is caused by starvation, constant physical efforts or that they simply do not have any like humans do, I will explore first by cutting and removing the skin before I move on to muscle structure, the study of which will no doubt allow for finer control of reanimated bodies. Scalpel."

Gilbert raised his hand and was handed a small knife and he began to first cut an opening from shoulder to shoulder, down the hips, and then one long in the middle. All in the room were concentrated on this task, observing, writing, cutting.

[PopeAlessandros]

His muscles twitch, clenching and relaxing under his skin. His ears almost tremble as the sounds of something approaching his hiding spot reach them. His breath is slow, and controlled. Aslon's scout training was harsh at times, but they were well worth it. The wood feels almost warm beneath his fingers as he crouches in the little alcove above the source of the noises. 'I can hear is sniffing, but it can't smell me with the spell in place, but I must not let my breath hiss or I risk being heard. These devils can hear almost as well as we elves can, and we've learned that they are especially tuned to signs of life' His eyes shift about the area, taking note of a few routs of swift escape should he need one.

He'd gotten a few hours sleep in the broken down tower, but his awakening had been less then stellar to feeling rested. His dreams had been fitful, full of undead creatures tearing at his flesh. Given his situation, not very surprising, but he'd almost given himself away to a nearby hunting party upon waking. At the end of his dream he saw his parents, or at least what he recalls of them, twisted and mutated into foul undead creatures. They reached for him, their voices hollow and cracked, unrecognizable as voices that once sang their little one to sleep in the treetops with such soothing tones. Above them the looming black shadow that has haunted his dreams for so many years stood arms wide, drawing his horrible creations into himself. The images and their voices harsh in his ear had jolted him awake with a startled gasp, and if he wasn't such a well trained scout, he may have never noticed the sounds of approaching hunters responding to the noise.

Quieter than a mouse he'd immediately taken to the branches above and for the past several hours he played a game of hide and seek with the below troops. The hunting party comes into view again and using the slight curve of the half destroyed chimney he's hiding inside Aslon sinks his body further out of sight. His high vantage point, the second story of a desiccated building, lets the elf get a good look at his pursuers. 'I can identify most of them, but that creature at the front. . . It looks almost alive. I can't understand how any living being would serve the dark lord of these lands willingly. It's . . . . . From the reports, I know others seek to learn from the creature, but' He mentally shakes himself out of his thoughts, needing all of his wits to stay several steps ahead of the unholy creatures stalking him. His eyes narrow as the entire group passes behind a large nearly intact building, a gathering place of some sort with a pointed roof. 'Now's my chance'

Turing towards the far end of the house he doesn’t hesitate. Dodging debris and leaping over the last remnants of wall he launches himself away from the building at full speed. His body arches slightly and with a single hand he reaches out to grasp the base of a thick branch of the nearest tree. His other limbs soften the blow of his body landing against the trunk. Pausing for only a moment to cast out his senses Aslon begins moving towards where the castle should be. 'If I travel all night, I should be able to get a little rest before sunrise and be at the demon's gates by the time the sun clears the horizon' His movements are masked by a faint wind as he travels top speed through the trees, pausing every so often to check for hunters.

____*____

It had taken all his skill to clear the wall without being seen. Despite the sparsity of guards, the clear grounds around the last five yards outside the first wall offered no cover, and no chance of an easy egress. He'd ended up picking a corner of wall more craggy than the others and climbing at top speed up the broken stones. Had his hands not grown a thick callous over the years of training the sharp edges would have shredded his fingers in a minute. As it was he made it inside the castle town without incident. The air around him is thick, heavy, and the smell of decay almost makes the elf gag. However his eyes remain sharp and his breathing steady as he moves from house to house in a slow progression towards the castle. The high stone turrets and dull walls of the castle loom like a beast waiting to pounce. Aslon surmises that when this had been a human habitation the castle looked more like a protector of the land, and less like some horrid thing from a realm of death waiting to consume the lands below.

'It almost feels like it's looking down at me, licking it's chops' The thought of a giant tongue sticking out of the main gate to lick the outer wall helps Aslon relax, his target a little less intimidating now. As he reaches the edge of the castle's defensive wall the elf's brows furrow. 'There has to be guards around here somewhere. He can't be so foolish as to have no one guarding the castle proper, can he?' His body remains wired as he walks slowly up to the front gate unchallenged. His head whips around, eyes locking on anything that moves even slightly. He can feel his stomach drop as he passes under the arch. Pressing his body against one side of the arch, he examines the grounds carefully. The amount of dark magic in the air makes it impossible to send out his senses, but even without the dark magic, nothing lives in this land, even deep down. There would be nothing to conduct his senses along.

On instinct however he flexes his magic and a hard shock goes through his body. His breath catches in his throat and a tear springs to his eye. 'Oh spirits, I can feel him. The scout who came before me. He's here, but, oh beloved spirits, he's dead. . .' The loss of life resonates deeply inside the young elf. As if he was the one laying dead somewhere on the grounds, Aslon feels cold and limp. A wash of pain, hatred, and fear following the hard blow of loss keeps him on his feet. It takes several seconds to get his breathing back under control, but as soon as his heart rate returns to normal his face transforms into a mask of calm control and determination.

He locks on to the source of his comrade's faint magical trace still lingering around his body and begins crossing towards the building. As soon as he passes through a small window not too far above the ground he begins moving through the wide halls like a shadow. He spots someone down at the end of a long stone hall and freezes until it passes once again out of sight. His mind is set, and his skills now are active on instinct only. He manages to go down a few levels, away from the sounds of moving bodies, without being spotted. However as he travels lower and lower the smells emanating from the darkness below fills the young elf with an ever growing sense of dread. 'I can smell so much death down there. Not like the living death of the undead roaming the castle and forest, but real and true cessation of life. So much. . . . .' His mouth goes dry as his stomach turns over and over his dry rations from earlier in the day. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, but it's like rubbing two bits of sandpaper together.

When at last lights come into view he stops cold, eyes darting about to see if he's been spotted, or if something lurks at the bottom of the stairs just out of sight. Hearing movement a ways from his location Aslon continues down the stairs and pauses at the very bottom to look around before charging strait in. What he sees makes the bile rise in his throat. A dozen paces away near the end of a dimly lit hall is a man standing beside a table on wheels. The figure on the table draws all of the elf's attention and the rational part of his mind is swiftly pushed aside as he realizes what has been done to his comrade. A voice barely filters through the haze in his mind, and it takes several seconds for it to register. “Thank you my lord, this is truly a unique opportunity. I know many a necromancer who would give up their left leg to have the chance to experiment on one of these filthy elven folk.” The low rating voice is thick with sick delight and for Aslon it's the last straw. Pulling down his bow he takes aim and lets loose an arrow. The shaft flies true and the necromancer who'd spoken lets out an unearthly howl as it sinks strait through his eye and into his skull. Whipping out another arrow, Aslon draws a bead on the second figure, his heart pounding in his ears.

[Wernher]

Gilbert merely looked at his assistant fall. He had known him for 5 years and really he felt nothing for him, even now. He sighed and looked at the elf, annoyance with a slight amount of anger could be seen on his face. No fear, no confusion. "And they say I'm the evil one, as they intrude in my home and kill my people. Ridiculous." Gilbert crossed his arms and stared at Aslon.

"There are two reasons you should surrender now before you make me really angry, elf. First, as you have now the misfortune and privilege to encounter this castle's master necromancer, I command all the undead in it by sheer will and as I will it, they are now coming this way and you, fool that you are, cornered yourself by coming down here. I'm almost insulted that you trapped yourself and I didn't have to execute some kind of plan. Anyways, apparently the long ears you creatures sport have some use, you should hear them coming even now."

He smirked and snapped a finger. The necromancer began to arise from the dead but rather than getting up stayed on its knees and hand. "Second, if you do not know I am Gilbert the Immortal, undying, unkillable impaler. Three of those nicknames refer to how I cannot die and so the intimidation power of the arrow you point at me loses quite its effects. Then again, maybe you think I'm a vampire of some kind, a wooden shaft in the heart to immobilize me and then cut my head?"

Gilbert took a few step back to the table and raised the cloth slightly on the body to show the face of the dead elf on the table, he seemed almost at peace. "One in the head, one in the heart and my head sliced out of my body later I still stood. Always underestimating your enemies, even now it is what caused your downfall elf... Note that I speak in the past tense, for you have already been doomed the moment you step in this castle. Surrender to me now and I shall be merciful... Maybe."

Gilbert got in front of the undead necromancer and sat on his back, using his once apprentice as a stool. "But I don't expect you to do that, so what's it going to be? You trying desperately to run away and being mowed down by a hundred swords or going through me, doing little more than making a mess of my clothes and then pushing downward to find an exit which doesn't exist only to delay the inevitable?" He had a small fit of arrogant and self confident laughter.

[PopeAlessandros]

Some part of him knew when he loosed his first arrow that he was sealing his own fate. However even as the foul beast speaks, spelling out his pitiful situation with relish, and in near complete accuracy he feels no fear. 'What I did was foolish, and in the end, pointless. It is true that I will spend the rest of what very well is almost guarantied to be a hopelessly short life kicking myself for doing it, but for some reason, that doesn't seem to bother me' His bow lowers ever so slowly as the beast goes on, the obvious pleasure he's taking in his self serving monolog making the elf's stomach turn, but he says not a word. He doesn't curse the necromancer's name, nor spew profanities in some sad attempt to make himself feel better. He doesn't have to.

He does indeed hear the mindless beasts approaching, but he feels no panic, no terror at the thought of so many undead racing to their master's aid. Instead a calm settles upon him and as the beast, Gilbert he calls himself, finishes his foul ego stroking. His hands move smoothly to unstrung his arrow and replace it in his quiver. He takes a single step to the side so he can set his bow out of the way, and in another smooth motion he removes his daggers. Placing them next to his bow he steps away from them. The mob is only a few seconds away now, but still, he remains in a state of calm he never knew one could reach before this very moment. 'I imagined I'd be much more angry at this point. True, deep inside I knew I would never leave these lands should I actually see this creature's face, but I guess I had the hope. Or more likely, the rage, to mask this knowledge' His eyes trail over to the elf and he says a silent prayer for his soul, though it is long gone from this world.

His eyes glide over to the man using his now undead servant as a set and just before the door flies open letting in a stream of undead he give the man a smile of victory. An instant later several undead take hold of him, twisting his arms behind his back and forcing him to his knees. He closes his eyes, smile still in place though it flickers when one pulls on his hair, forcing his head back. He feels cold steel on his exposed throat but instead of it slicing into him, ending his life, the one holding it speaks. “Master, what shall we do with him?” His smile widens ever so slightly. Indeed, what is to be done with him?