How
incongruous.
The necromancer's plan of action had seemingly evaporated without much explanation. Were things different, the necromancer was going to bargain Alexander's freedom against the other intruder.
A sham of a deal to have his enemies fight each other, while the infection within Alexander grew in a such a time that whether or not he could expel the other the bard himself wasn't going to be able to leave of his own accord.
Which was different means to an end. As it stood he was surrounded by zombies, infected with a mind-altering parasitic fungus, facing down the dancing ward of the Keep and a necromancer of apparent distinction. The bard wasn't going anywhere.
04 Spriggan
"...You're still here, and fully functional. One of these should change immediately." An imperceptible shift. Visible or otherwise; something was suddenly different about the necromancer. The man's posture straightened like any would-be back problems were little more than an act of imagination and likewise no longer needed to lean his weight onto the shovel; the tool simply held in his right hand parallel to the ground.
"Actually, he's decided to stay." Here, too; that raspy voice belonged to somebody else. Not this man. Even though the voice wasn't distinct or otherwise notable, it was different.
So what was the bard going to do? Fight? Sure. He had three zombies within arm's reach that have no other purpose than to eat the living. Even if he could fight them off quickly, there was still the woman ready to dance open a can of whoop-a**.
That was just one path the necromancer was planning for. Fight and the man's body would do all it could to survive. The fight or flight response would jack up Alexander's bodily functions and accelerate the parasite through his bloodstream.
Or he could stand there and let the spores course through him at a slightly slower rate.
The necromancer had plans, but Alexander being dead didn't have anything to do with them.
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