Northernlands

[Darshendros the Eternal]

"I will tell you what you wish to know, once you've told me why you've come. It's not everyday we get visitors here." He walked down a dark hallway, the only light seeming to come off him, which was a gloomy violet aura, hardly illuminating at all. "You may call me Darshendros."

He rounded a corner and started to ascend a flight of stairs, fishing a key out of his pocket and inserting it into an ornate looking door, which, in contrast to the rest of the infrastructure, looked relatively brand new. He turned the key and there was an audible click, then opened it and stepped into a small study.  

[Bubbles [v3]]

"You are not human, are you?"

It was pretty obvious. Thompson was really hoping to find out what Darshendros was. The poor man had failed the putridology classes at the academy, and just couldn't recognize what undead was what just by looking at them or by their aura. All he could do was guess that with such a pompous name, the guy was probably a lich or a vampire.

Thompson followed in the study. Still silent, he only looked at his surroundings, staying up and standing right past the entrance.  

[Darshendros the Eternal]

The room smelled of exotic herbs and insense. A bookshelf occupied the wall tot he right, filled with dusty, leatherbound tomes, some with writing or runes on their bindings. The opposite wall had a table with an assortment of beakers, tubes, and a small assortment of laboratorical equipment. To the back of the room, where Darshendros was headed, was a great oak desk with a plush leather chair behind it, two smaller ones in front of it, sitting on a fancy, expensive looking rug. The back wall was plastered with disgrams of humanoid bodies, and standing next to the desk was a skeleton.

Darshendros rounded the desk and sat in the plush leather chair, folding his hands on the desktop and gesturing for Mark to take a seat.

"No. Not many in this city are. Despite the vampires' efforts, the human population here is dwindling. It won't be soon before they begin to raid nearby towns to replenish their supplies. They should learn how to take better care of their food. Please, have a seat."  

[Bubbles [v3]]

Gotta jet, I'll be back later. =O

 

[Darshendros the Eternal]

D'oh! Okay.  

[Bubbles [v3]]

Then, Mark took a seat. He removed his beret and put it into his lap before starting. "I see. It's a bit while I came." He took a look at his surroundings and thought of his words for a moment before speaking again.

"The Holy Purge is a pseudo-military organization to protect life from undead influence. Mostly, important natural habitats and human civilization. We deal more with zombies, skeletons, liches and the likes than with vampires, though. There are more than enough hunters already, we don't need to take concerns of those."

"I actually came to take witness of the life to unlife ratio to this city, and to know of it's leaders ambitions. While the Holy Purge avoids conflict and doesn't mind undeads living peacefully, you'll have to understand our worries when we notice a necropolis, considering how people far more ambitious and powerful could take advantage of it."

Thmpson marked a pause. He had talked enough. It was now Darshendros' turn to share what he knew.  

[Darshendros the Eternal]

Darshendros leaned back in his chair and listened to Mark, tapping his fingers together idly. An anti-undead paramilitary force? This wasn't anything new to him, but he was surprised that this particular one was diplomatic enough to send an emissary. Perhaps he was just a decoy. He would entertain the human for now.

"No one is sure what the dead to living ratio here is. As I've said before, the sentients rule over themselves, and the vampires govern over their own kind. You would probably get a more accurate assessment from them, since they depend on the living to survive. I would advise against seeking an audience though, unless you aspire to join their ranks either as food or kindred. Is there anything else you would like to know?"  

[Bubbles [v3]]

"As I said, vampires are of no interest to us." Thompson let out a silent sigh. He hadn't got anything from this man after all. His investigation would have to continue on. "I guess I will keep visiting the city. Before I take my leave though, would you know of any necromancer or lich That would be trying to build up an invasion force in the surroundings, or has any ill-intended plans toward the well-being of life and living creatures? Also, a map of the city would be greatly appreciated to hasten my investigation. As you siad, it is dangerous for a single human to stroll around this city, and as such, I would like to take my leave as soon as possible."

His mission came first, though. Before his own security and life. That is why Thompson had been given the honor of becoming a Voice.  

[Darshendros the Eternal]

The arrogance of this human was beginning to annoy him more than amuse him. Darsh sat back in his chair and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know of any necromancers or liches gathering armies of undead in the caverns underneath the city. Nor do I have any maps available," he said, despite there being a whole rack of maps in one of the other rooms of the clocktower - but Mark didn't need to know that.

"But I can tell you where you can start. The Hangman's Post is the local tavern around here. It's a Green Zone, so you won't have to worry about anything trying to hunt you. It's located in the square, just a few block to the east. Look for the building with the gallows in front of it."

"And one more thing," he added. "Watch out for the Wheelers. They're a ravenous bunch. I apologize that I couldn't be more help."  

[Bubbles [v3]]

"Thank you very much. Please don't apologize, what you did is already greatly appreciated." Thompson got up and put back his hat on before offering his hand out to Darshendros for a shake. Wether it was taken or not, Mark only bowed slightly and smiled before going out, and heading east. He'd head to the tavern first, but something else had piqued his curiosity ...

It'd have to wait, though. He'd need a team. For now, he'd just watch out for the Wheelers.  

[Darshendros the Eternal]

Darsh rose from his seat and took the man's hand, grasping it with a sinister grin. Normally, he had his gloves on, but when he was in his own home, or anywhere else in the city, they were off. As a result, Mark would get a taste of his paralyzing touch, numbing his hand and arm with an unnatural chill, perhaps even weakening him a little. If his protections held, though, he would just feel the chill, but none of the other effects.

"Happy hunting."

A wraith appeared to escort the man to the door.  

[Bubbles [v3]]

It was reluctantly that the man followed the wraith, but he still did. Once out, he immediately headed toward that tavern. It was nice to know there was a safe zone in the city. He could base his operation there. Heck, a protection zone could even be built there eventually. With some time and work, the necropolis could even come back to life, and the undeads would go underground.

"Erh, this city stinks."

Thompson couldn't wait to be done.  

[Darshendros the Eternal]

Perhaps he should hold back on aspiring to revive a dead city for now. The Hangman's Post was a big vampire hangout, and was always packed with them and their "pets". The base floor was a regular tavern - old-fashioned, tables and chairs, ghostly bartender. There was a basement floor, though, which was more or less a vampire nightclub. Since the sun never shown in these parts, the party never ended.

Mark's aura of purity (or whatever it was that protected him) would instantly draw the glares of vampires and other undead in the tavern, like a beacon shining through a thick, black fog. Fortunately for him, the vampires respected the laws passed down by the elders - otherwise they would be thrown up into the sunlight. It didn't stop them from looking hatefully at him though, whenever he does find and enter the tavern.  

[Bubbles [v3]]

It wasn't an aura. It was actually his uniform. Mark was only a normal human being with a lot of conviction. What made him strong against the undead was his holy attire. vampires would have a hard time looking at it, as if the sun was reflected in it's golden parts. Ghosts couldn't go through it, and undead cold barely went through the tissue. Although the ambient cold wasn't stopped, and he felt glad to be back inside.

And people were staring. He answered with a frown.

"What?"  

[Darshendros the Eternal]

Obviously disgrunted that Mark wasn't one of the Hero types, the vampires muttered under their breaths and averted their gazes, going back to whatever business they were doing.

"Don't mind them," came the ghostly echo of a voice from the bartender, whom had floated over to the edge of the bar to greet him. "Holy types don't come around here often, so each time one does, they expect a grand battle or some sort. Apparently you're not here to fight. Are you?"