The scent of life and corruption brought the Black Swordsman to the small village that rested so peacefully on the plains.  It suppressed the urge to devour the life of the people within the village, instead, opting to hear their pleas for warriors to seek out and kill a witch that had been plaguing the area, turning the area into a haunted site where the graves emptied themselves and the dead walked by night through the countryside.  What had been Icarus would have gone to their aid without any worry of life or limb, seeking an end to the torment that plagued them.  Instead, the primal creature that wore his skin like a costume merely found it an ample opportunity to acquire a meal, to find essence of quality to assimilate to itself even as it slew the undead for their essence in the meantime.

This creature, this Black Swordsman, had experienced forced evolutionary changes at an alarming rate in the past week.  When it came face to face with an entity from Icarus' past, it spurred a change within it that forced sentience and the birth of logic through its exposure.  Although certainly dead, it seemed Icarus had some sway over the beast as the memories from the dead warrior, this dead champion of the living and slayer of the damned, could affect it to a degree.  It seemed that in the continuous assimilation of the essence of those around it when it fed, the beast was acquiring more human attributes when it came to blending in, being able to manage simple conversation even.

He… it, sat down in the tavern of the village, unable to drink anything other than water lest it be spurned out of its system.  It knew, it recalled, it had tried.  The continuous evolution that was taking place would likely reactivate the dead organ tissue required to consume alcohol in due time, but for the moment, much of the body was just odorless dead flesh activated by dark magic coursing through it.  It overheard mention of a paltry reward for the witch's cessation, whether by death or less-violent means.  For this beast, there were no other options. A meal was needed and if it fed on the local populace, there was always the chance word may spread and its work would be harder to complete.

Ryail Morrigan Sat in the tavern. He was only passing through when he had heard the rumor about the witch. It had occurred to him that this was an excellent opportunity to practice his craft on a legitimate target so  he had come in.

He did not consume alcohol so he instead sipped slowly on a glass of water, alcohol lowered a person's inhibitions and Ryail needed to keep himself under tight control at all times. He had gotten drunk once in his youth, thankfully the canvas he had decided to work on in his mind numbed state had been nothing of greater importance then his father's favorite dog…the carvings had been sloppy to and he regretted the poor craftsmanship more then the time it took to convince his father the dog had simply run away.

The opening of the door draw his attention and a dead man walked in. There was no obvious signs to alert anyone to the fact but Ryail Morrigan was an artist of dead flesh and he knew what he was looking at. The fact that this…man…Sat and started drinking water indicated that he was not here to murder these people. But why then was he here? 

To kill the witch or perhaps in her employee. No he was to powerfully crafted to have been put together by a witch with the level of power this one was rumored to possess to kill it then was the only explanation. And as that was also why Ryail was here why not spread the load he after all was an artist not a fighter.

Standing up he approached the seated man. "Greetings my name is Ryail am I correct in assuming that you are here to find this witch as well? If so would you care for a companion in the task, or a silent shadow to watch you work if not a companion"

Ryail did not mention his suspicions of the others deathly state he could after all be wrong and either way it could be considered rude. He was a gentleman after all.

Conner crouched in the shadows outside the tavern. His skeletal hands clutched his weapons nervously. Lord Ryail was in the tavern with the creature, being dead himself he knew instantly how dangerous that monster could be, but he had no way to worn him.

He knew how his Lord thought. He would walk right over to investigate the interesting dead thing. And as he had yet to find a disguise his skeletal face prohibited him from going inside the tavern.

Conner had not felt Ryail's will or his voice calling for him so he would wait and watch and be ready.

The creature didn't know what to make of the person that came to its table.  It could sense a hint of magic about it, though its essence was not permeating as fully as it would have liked to consume, making it a pointless human to kill and alert the rest of the village.  It could slay them all, but if word were to spread, it would be harder for the Black Swordsman to continue its path without interference.  Simply being present when a wandering hero had been in the area drew untoward attention to the beast and resulted in a battle with Hiro.  

It only recalled the name based on the broken memories of Icarus, the body it inhabited.  The memories, however, seemed to prevent the beast from turning against him and were the reason the boy still lived.  Had it not been for Icarus' memories interfering, the beast wearing his body as a costume would have devoured Hiro's essence, a quick, brutal end to the Kouen bloodline.  Such power would have been great to taste in greater portions, but every time it tried to assault him, the creature's senses became overwhelmed with pain.

The Black Swordsman cocked its head at the new man, a mage by the looks of him.  Again, it thought of tasting the man's essence, but it had ultimately decided against it after weighing the consequences once more.  Beneath the skin that encased it, all that existed was densely packed darkness and it was a continuous struggle to suppress the emanations the greater that power became.  It struggled to come up with words for a reply, only having a functional capacity in communication while slowly adding more to its vocabulary as it continued to evolve.

"Do as you wish.  Betray me… become me," it said in a hushed tone so only the man sitting across from it could hear. It didn't mind the presence of others, yet it needed to be understood that any hindrance would be dealt with in an absolute manner to prevent a future incident.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon outside, and the time of the dead to bash against the walls attempting to breach the village would come yet again.  Even as it drank the last of its water and left a small coin behind, the Black Swordsman rose from its seat as it heard the village gates closing.  It knew where to find the witch.  It could taste her magic in the air and savored the exposure to the corruption.

It breathed once more of the tainted air and began toward the gate, ignoring entirely if the mage came to join it in the hunt.  All that mattered was the prey, but perhaps if the mage were to show the extent of his magic, the Black Swordsman may attempt to consume a second meal on this evening.  After all, there was always room for more in the darkness.

Ryail suppressed a shiver at the sound of the dead man's voice. Not one of fear but one of excitement, this thing was powerful and he could tell its control hung by a thread. The threat of his own destruction bothered him not at all.

This is going to be fun he thought to himself as, dropping his own coin he rose to follow. He stayed well behind the dark figure as he followed him from the tavern. The sky was darkening but it hadn't yet darkens enough for him to wrap the shadows effectively around himself so he decided to simply follow for now.

Reaching the door he made two small hand motions for Conners benefit. It was comforting having his own skeletal shadow along this night, Conner was fast and fought dirty should the need for a quick escape become necessary he could trust his man to provide the distraction. 

With a smile of anticipation he stepped out into the growing darkness, following a darkness even greater then his own.



Conner watched as the creature exited the tavern, still his Lord had not called for him so all must be well.
No sooner had he had that thought then Ryail stepped from the tavern following the shadow.

He watched as Ryails hands moved to adjust his clothing, in that simple gesture he saw first the sign for "no action" and then the sign to "follow" 

Sighing silently to himself he waited for them to move passed his hiding place, so that he could follow unobserved. At least his movements would be less detectable with the growing darkness, clutching again his weapons he prepared for the worst.

It could almost taste the reanimatory magic in the air, working its corrupt mechanics like a sepulchre opening to show countless lives returning from beyond the limits of time and death.  Death was absolute, and as the Swordsman, it was the beast's duty to ensure such things, to take from them what it could, and end the magic sustaining them.  After all, Obelisk demanded silence, and as the master, it would be granted silence in all things.  The inconsequential life or undeath of a few scattered souls here and there such as the mage or any such beings he had chosen to bind held no impact in the grand scheme of it all.

There would be darkness, endless, blissful, with no suffering, no pain, no life to harm the master.  That was all the motivated this creature behind the mask of a man.  The first howls of night cried out as the sounds of the rising dead filled the air like an orchestra of only strings and woodwinds. It was haunting to some, beautiful to others such as the creature.  Reaching down to its side, it grasped the mask Icarus had worn in life, the mask of Cain, his teacher in the mundane and magical, the greatest foe Obelisk had ever faced and the first to truly defeat him in battle.  It was something akin to mocking Cain, in a way, to bear the very gift of the student that no longer existed and had been converted to an empty shell in servitude to the End of All Life.

It placed the mask over the face of the dead flesh, letting its eyes glow red through the slits in the mask and darkness begin to unfurl around it.  The scant few villagers that saw the seeming transformation were taken aback, others moving quickly away from it as it walked toward the gates. It glanced back over its shoulder, finding the mage had indeed followed it. 

"Join in the feast, child," it beckoned with a voice offset from a mortal's by the seeming presence of something either animalistic or damned in its very being. 

As it crossed the threshold, it could see the first of them still rising from the ground, digging its way to the surface with nary the slightest hint of flesh about it.  Skeletons were often weak, barely held together by magic and propelled slowly by it as well.  It would not find much sustenance in it, but alas, beggers could not be choosers, and it was rather hungry.  Reaching down with its hand, it scooped the skull up like a man lifting water from a stream and drained its essence, letting the darkness swell within its body and become a part of it.  

It took the moment to do so several more times before it became apparent that several of the undead had fully risen and were clambering forth, the fresher of the undead beginning in a hobbled run toward it.  The creature was unhappy it did not have the time to savor the taste of the corruption, but it still had a job to do.  Drawing the katana and longsword at its hips, it stepped forth, cutting down the first and absorbing its essence as it remained down, streams of darkness joining the creature's frame and coalescing like a mist about it.  Indeed, this night would yield a bountiful harvest.

Ryail Morrigan giggled in pure delight at the sight, as the dead man dawned the mask and became a beast in full. He watched as it tore into the first few skeletons, pitiful things really no artistry in their creation at all.

Join the feast, it had said. In normal polite company Ryail would never dream of using his magic but as he never intended to return to this village anyway and in the company of this monster there was little chance anyone would remember his face.

Drawing in his will he stepped closer to the gate, he wanted the shadows it provided to draw around himself should it prove necessary. Looking back at the scene he saw that the monster had drawn two weapons from it's sides and was now laying into the foe with a will absorbing the neuromantic energy that had been used to summon them back from beyond the grave.

That can't be much of a meal he thought, then his head turned to where Conner hide not to far away the magic Ryail had used to animate his companion had taken much of his strength and hours of his time. Much more power was there then in any hand full of these weaklings this thing will like as not eat mine and Conners energy if we get to close. The thought was not a pleasing one but it couldn't be helped now.

Turning his head he to Conner and away from the beast he mouthed silently "stay away from it" like as not the warning was unnecessary the brain behind the tangled beard and sunken eye sockets was as sharp as the blades he now wielded.

That done Ryail reached for his will pulling more of it to his purpose then he had in some time. Then he sent the shadowy tentacles of his power out to wrap themselves around the body of an incoming zombie. He ignored the weakest ones Conner' s blades would find any who came too near.

This creature did not breath so it could not be suffocated by this spell alone but that had not been his purpose he meant only to immobilized the dead man, no he thought whimsical this is a woman. And on the heels of that thought he drove his will into her corpse and began to pull the animators magic from the corpse. It didint take long this feature though stronger then some of the fleshless ones was still weak. And as he siphoned the last of the power from the body it crumpled to the ground. He gathered the newly gotten power and used it to snare the next creature in line.



Conner watched the scene unfolding dread creeping across his bones as he watched the beast devower the animating force that kept these weaker and most like as not brainless versions of himself moving. He hardly needed the warning when his Lord told him to remain at a distance from this unholy monster, but is was nice to know that his master feared for his safety.

Not that it made a difference, should this beast attack Ryail he would stop it regardless of the cost to his own undeath.

Pushing the unpleasant thoughts from him he refocused on the foe, he was glad in a way for the monsters presents it would not have been easy to fight all of these creatures without it's aid. As Ryail drained the first monster ans snared another Conner swept his eye sockets over the battlefield. His role was to protect his Lord so he waited until one of the creatures shambles to close to be allowed and then he surged forward. Bringing his blade down in a graceful yet powerful swing that severed the unprotected spine of the offending attacker and followed up the initial swing with another cut from his dagger to a second skeletons knee precisely splitting the joint and toppling the clumsy animation.

A third stroke finished that one off and he came back on point checking on his master, who by this time had moved to his third victim, and the beast who had devoured many times that amount and moved to intersect the next wave.




Ryail giggled again as they worked. He loved the animated dead, watching them move with renewed unlife but he also loved ending those unlives. It was almost a necessity for him to end these sad creatures there was no artistry to their creation at all. It was an insult to his craft and he began to think ahead to the ways he could show her the proper way to use their shared craft, on her flesh.

The Black Swordsman continued its path of destruction, diving headlong into the fray and digging weapons through the slower prey, only obtaining miniscule amounts of essence from them as he continued.  They were not complex, no great workings of magic maintaining the sort of functionality one would expect of true undead.  It recalled one of the memories from Icarus' life where the man had been among a small group of warriors that assaulted an ancient crypt, facing a small legion of the undead animated by the necromantic remains of a dead king, freshly risen and in command of the horrors.  Those had been a challenge, functioning as an intelligent unit with phalanx tactics and increasing speed as more dark magic poured into their beings.

These… these were no more than ragged puppets operated by one unskilled in such craft and less potent than the ancient bindings which had woven the former undead into effectual warriors.  The Harbinger of the End could find little nurishment in these weaklings, though they were great in number.  It was akin to a full-grown man eating breadcrumbs.  No matter the number, they were simply scraps unfit to feed even a child.  It would not find much pleasure nor gain much strength in this horde that had been risen and this frustrated it, pressing it to ascend to greater heights of its wrath.

It lashed out, grasping one of the creatures with a black whip of its essence protruding from its back like a tail.  It swung the undead wildly, thrashing the zombified remains like a club at more of its brethren, pulverizing bone and releasing trails of essence into the air that it hungrily devoured. The beast in a man's flesh glanced back to the mage that had foolowed, watching the similar way he formed his darkness like tentacles.  Following his eyes, he at last saw it; the mage communed with an undead of his own design and of seeming delicious construction, meticulous and sentient in its own right.  The amount of time necessary for such craftsmanship and the dedication of essence as well!

For the moment, at least, the undead commanded by the mage was no more than a distraction, a good meal, to be certain, but unimportant.  If the Black Swordsman found its meal unsatisfactory, it may be tempted to feast upon the undead and its master, though it would not entirely drain either of their essences.  The mage seemed to have a healthy pool to draw from and it would be a shame to end the life of a caster with an eye for craftsmanship.  The undead under his command, however, could be drained to the extent all the reanimatory magic was removed, but its form and soul could remain intact.  Certainly, it would be traumatic, even for an undead, but it could at least be revived with the very same magic its master had created it with.

Eyes glowing, it turned back toward the undead allegedly risen by the witch.  It looked as though those that were not immediately rising from the ground were walking from a location far off in the distance, a small forest by the looks of it.  That would be the location they would eventually find the witch if the creature's instincts served it properly, or at least, the nexus of their existence, some power of some sort that caused the reanimation. 

"Get to the forest," it called out, signalling its intent to the mage to press the offensive in that direction.  Teleporting through the air, the beast began to move toward the forest, hacking heads from shoulders as it went and draining the little essence it could as it went along.

The bodies were growing thick upon the ground. It was amazing to Ryail that a village this small could hold so many bodies. But it hardy mattered they were so weak that a factor as unimportant as numbers was of no real concern, especially with the monster ravaging them.

Ryail had to tear his eyes away again as he watched the beast work in order to snag another corpse of his own. He looked again and froze, the beast had at last caught sight of Conner.

It froze for the barest of instances and for a moment Ryail thought the fight was going to change from swatting flies to a struggle for survival. Then the moment passed and the beast called for them to make for the forest.

Before vanishing from sight and reappearing some way off. Following that path in a line outward Ryail saw what the beast must be making for. The forest and even more dead making their way towards the town.

Had I been left to do this alone with Conner he thought I would probably just stood behind the gates and drained them all while they hammered upon it, unable to reach me. A lot less mess and risk of injury.

He shrugged, oh well he had given up that option when he followed the dead man from the tavern. Turning to Conner he called "it appears the party will be moving" with a wave of his had he indicated the path the beast had taken. "You know what to do"

Without waiting for a response, none had been needed after all, he gathered his will about himself and pulled at the shadows. He draw them to himself and wrapped them around his shoulders like a Mantle of the night. Melding his form with theirs. He wasn't invisible exactly nor was he invulnerable but is was much easier to move. And move he did around over under and through the shambling dead. They were mindless creations and with his shift in form he may as well have been invisible.

He did not bother killing them as he went, the force that animated them was up ahead and they would most likely fall when it did. He smiled this was a Memory he intended to keep with him for all times carved into the flesh of the witch.



Conner also saw the monster freeze as its eyes locked onto him and he had tensed ready for the charge he knew was coming, before the moment passed. He knew better then to think the temporary respite would last or that the creature had forgotten about him but for the moment he was moving away. And Conner breathed a sigh of relief, or would have had he any need for breath anyway.

With his master's words he watched as Ryail pulled at the night and began to follow the dark swordsman. Conner could not merge with the shadows or teleport but he had been an agile man and was even more agile now. Taking a stride forward he vaulted over the nearest shambling shape and began to weave his way after the two magic users, only using his blades when a path could not be found and had to be made.

They were catching up to the black swordsman be it only because he kept pausing to feed from the host of lesser undead and closer, Conner fervently hoped to an end of this madness.

Unlike prior engagements against beings that should not exist due to corruption of magical essence, the Black Swordsman was not growing vastly in power and the undead were simply proving to be worth little to no effort.  This was demonstrated as the revenant took them down so quickly, it eventually began to quit altogether.  They were far too slow to pose a threat, even to a non-magical entity simply jogging along.

The forest arrived quickly, and now, at last, it seemed the undead rising were fresher, with more skin attached, and quite a bit more nimble in their nature.  These that came forth could run and judging on the size of the village it had come from, the creature wondered simply where the witch's collection had originated from and just how many people had actually fallen prey to her magic.  These faster, tougher undead were infused with more magic, or perhaps it was simply that they were more easily animated due to the presence of sinew and muscle that permitted mobility rather than simple bone and string. 

It swung its longsword into the first, driving the blade deep to no effect as arms reached out to claw at it.  Swinging its katana at the neck of the undead, it decapitated it, ceasing its functions.  The beast drained the essence from it, finding the meal much more enjoyable as it felt a surge in its own essence from the consumption of the undead.  It hoped there were many more such as this one.  It may be the reason the mage and its minion had no issue from the Swordsman once this affair was sorted out.

The creature continued, becoming a veritable weapon of untold death and chaos as it returned the dead to their rest and consumed the magic which reanimated them greedily.  It lost track of the mage's location, though it could see the man's minion running in the creature's direction, likely in pursuit of the unseen mage.  Such use of magic was piquing the creature's interest even further, again causing it to think on the consequences of having another meal, as though it could not decide despite the continued demonstrations of magical affinity.

looking ahead Ryail watched as the devourer reached the tree line and encountered his first new foe. the others had fallen like so much wheat to a scythe. but this was different, the beast needed to bring its second weapon to bear on the same target. the shambling dead had just become harder to kill and more effective opponents and the game had changed. 

as they reached the forest the necromancer slowed down and came alongside his companion. "looks as though this could prove to be a challenge after all" his voice emanating from the shadowy form that he now wore. "yes but our earlier tactics would still work well enough on these creatures as well" Conner's voice rasped out dry and whispering as the turning of century's old parchment pages ruffled by the wind. "perhaps you are correct but I don't wish to take chances this night. this way" together they circled around a few yards to be well clear of the devourer before stepping into the trees themselves.

"we will coordinate our attacks and reserve our energy who knows what we have yet to face" with that he pressed his back firmly against a tree trunk and let the shadows slip away from him. he could have kept the concealing shadows in place but the use of so many spells simultaneously would have quickly drained his magical well and he did not wish to tire himself unnecessarily.

"I understand lord" came the whispery rasp in reply. he did understand too, Ryail was not weak in magic or lacking in skill in its use but he was conservative at the best of times and in this case Conner really could not disagree anyway, there were a lot of the damned coming there way. as Ryail materialized behind his back against a tree for support Conner took up his rightful place before his master crouched like a tiger ready to spring in any direction and waited weapon in each hand.

gathering in his will Ryail lashed out with the shadowy tentacles of his power and lashed them about the closest enemy corpse. it struggled against the bonds and the necromancer had to increase the power he had used somewhat and started to sap the life giving magic from the body weakening it's struggles and strengthening his stranglehold still more.

Conner watched and waited. he saw the tentacles of power lash about the nearest enemy combatant and its initial struggles subside as its energy was sapped. then he leaped forward rapier coming down in as arch to slide between the vertebrae and sever its skull. the rapier was not primarily a slashing weapon but once his master had weakened the ties of magic that bound the corpse together it was a matter of ease to remove the creatures head.

the move complete Conner leaped backwards coming back to point and watching as Ryail's power lashed out again to encircle another of the more lively foes. once more Conner leaped forward as the magic ebbed slightly form the corpse and severed this ones head as well.

the pair long familiar with one another continued in this dance of catch and kill moving slowly around the tree truck as to not be caught unawares from behind as they ended the unlife of each corpse in turn. they knew each other well so when there was a slight lull in the action Conner did not leap forward to decapitate this trapped foe instead allowing his master the time to drain the creatures essence to replenish some of his spent power before leaping in to finish it off. the dance continued.

every so often the pair would glance in the direction of the devouring swordsmen watching for his next move. ready to follow him further into the forest or to defend themselves against him. depending on what way the creature moved.