The Eth had given her a choice. Death, or join their ranks and serve. Nyllian had obviously chosen the latter, not willing to turn down a gift and a chance. Once her collar came off she had enacted her revenge after enquiring what would be done with the guards. While her condition was weak she had managed to lay siege to the prison, massacuring and severing those ties. Or so she had believed. She had spent the next several weeks recovering, learning alongside other recruits, but advancing swiftly into a position granting more freedom.
It was not quite a reward in some eyes. It was a necessity in some cases, else she accidentally brushed against someone's skin with her own and killed them outright. Unbound, the mages shield of necrotic force took full effect, and most wished to maintain a comfortable distance, their lives intact.
Nyllian preferred it this way, solitude granted a lack of distracting babbling while she played with the weave. Almost completely healed and at full strength, the necromancer had decided on taking a solo patrol stopping along the way to practise and raise the dead to cause plight on the living. Since the battle hadn’t ended in victory, maintaining a presence was crucial, just because they had faced a setback did not mean they were no longer a threat.
Voices, the ting of metal against metal and the beat of boots hitting earth swelled from the backdrop to the forefront as one voice rang clear. Fingers paused in their manipulations, irritations falling as a huffed sigh at being interrupted, called by her name no less. Were these men from the Chantry? No. But hired, certainly. Had she missed someone back at the prison?
Nyllian’s expression remained coldly indifferent, eyes tracking the position of every one of the band before she answered. [color=#ff56ff]“Everyone who calls me that is dead. Does that mean you’ve come to die?”[/color] A brow arched in question.
[color=#ff56ff]“Who are you and what do you want? Speak quickly because I have little patience for pest control.” [/color]
It was not quite a reward in some eyes. It was a necessity in some cases, else she accidentally brushed against someone's skin with her own and killed them outright. Unbound, the mages shield of necrotic force took full effect, and most wished to maintain a comfortable distance, their lives intact.
Nyllian preferred it this way, solitude granted a lack of distracting babbling while she played with the weave. Almost completely healed and at full strength, the necromancer had decided on taking a solo patrol stopping along the way to practise and raise the dead to cause plight on the living. Since the battle hadn’t ended in victory, maintaining a presence was crucial, just because they had faced a setback did not mean they were no longer a threat.
Voices, the ting of metal against metal and the beat of boots hitting earth swelled from the backdrop to the forefront as one voice rang clear. Fingers paused in their manipulations, irritations falling as a huffed sigh at being interrupted, called by her name no less. Were these men from the Chantry? No. But hired, certainly. Had she missed someone back at the prison?
Nyllian’s expression remained coldly indifferent, eyes tracking the position of every one of the band before she answered. [color=#ff56ff]“Everyone who calls me that is dead. Does that mean you’ve come to die?”[/color] A brow arched in question.
[color=#ff56ff]“Who are you and what do you want? Speak quickly because I have little patience for pest control.” [/color]
01-22-2024, 03:25 PM
