Heavy hooves made no sound as they tread along the sulfur and limestone laced earth underfoot. Every now and then a burst of steam erupts from the burning yellow ground, whistling hotly as hot air touches lower temperatures. The thick and foul smell of the peculiar ground below was enough to make the Necromancer wince. Regardless of his profession and abilities, he was never fond of the certain odors of the netherworlds.

His black and white pelt, marked with the pattern work of a deer’s skeletal system, appears faded and gray in the steam and smog the ground produces. Six crimson eyes stare straight ahead as he walks, looking with determination for the soul of one he had dealt with over a year ago. Whether it’s still intact or not is questionable to him. Every now and then he shakes his head from one side to the other, using his massive red antlers to thin and fan away the hot smog. If the humidity became too much for him, he could also fan the steam away with his long, fluffy tail. In doing so, he would also often brush away a stray soul or two.

Once the smog became almost entirely unbearable, Archelius finally found his man of interest. A smile appears on the necromancer’s long mouth, flashing his shark-like teeth briefly. ”Illic vos es. Illic est postulo sciscitor quispiam vestrum.”

A deer sits in the heart of the smog. Bright, lime green eyes flicker in the darkness. Slowly he raises to a stand, having previously been sitting with his nose to the ground… as though breathing in the extreme bursts of heat in a manner one would take in air from an underwater position. As he comes close to the necromancer, it becomes clear that the deer is naught by a skeleton himself. He wears a black cloak over his bones, and in his mouth he carries a long rapier. His horns, bleached white with age, are grand in size and designed like six mighty rapiers, much like the one in his mouth. When he speaks, it’s a miracle the blade remains unmoving in his mouth.

“Quis vadum fio vobis hodie, Archelius.”

Archelius bows slightly, showing respect to the ancient stag.

” Operor vos memor Monasteriense nos iuguolo permaneo annus? Is unus postulo animus.”

He does not mince words much. To simply state his need in desire would be enough. The deer turns his head, and the fog begins to part enough to reveal a deep black soul. A high laugh begins to ripple through the heavy air from the corrupted enigma. Archelius nods his head once.

“I must ask you, what purpose removing this one from eternal punishment is there?”
The necromancer closes a set of eyes, and laughs softly.

”A trade. A soul for a life. You shall see soon enough, old friend.” Archelius bows again before turning around. The corrupted soul, dripping in black ink and swirling with toxic black clouds of what could only be thought to be madness, follows after the necromancer. It soon shoots forward, diving into the necromancer’s body. Archelius shudders from the feeling, before whispering into the mist.

“Protect me, brother, sister. I can’t handle this one long… not without losing my own mind.” He prays before disappearing back into the world of the living. Remaining where he had last stood, Death watches Archelius make his leave.

He knew where that soul would soon be taken…
And he was glad it would be in good hands.

Not that he’d have been happier if it were in tormentor’s hands instead.


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Yep, shore plot-related story is plot related. Some of you might want to crack out some latin to english translators to understand the first half of dialogue.