Kyzafi

Tesso always wore on him. The social nuances and lack of security held dual strains over him at each visit. He did enjoy meeting the Alkeemon people, their story was fascinating. He lit another candle in his room. The Captain had given him one of the towers along the keep wall and he was grateful for it. The library was not secure or private enough. Incense filled the room now and soft light danced many shadows on the walls. His books, scrolls, artifacts, and other items were still askance in this place. He reached for the brew from the agave cactus that his master taught him to make. This particular brew was used to inspect one’s visions.

(These are stories from Kyzafi's formative years, these were originally posted on the Invicta forums)

(Continued from WAR: Neverlin's Terms.  http://aoc.rp-haven.com/story/neverlin/war_neverlin039_s_terms)

Neverlin paid no attention to the warm blood threatening to spill over the tops of his fashionable single-strap sandals.

 Instead, the Necromancer devoted his focus on the heavy leather tome he clutched in both hands.  Immersing himself in the monotonous text, he scrutinized every word, silently searching for a single name.  Torches lining the stone walls of the Mitran temple sputtered in protest as a gust of wind swept through the cold chamber.  The shift in light momentarily illuminated a corpse sprawled face down before him on the white marble steps.  Her visage was a mask of desperation; her stiff hands still clinging to Neverlin’s calf.  As the evening wore on, the dead Mitran Priestess’s brilliant azure robe slowly turned a shade of dark plum as a currant of blood seeped from the slash across her throat.