Private Overwhelming Odds

[Lucia Mierz]

The wilderness around Astorea was well and beyond overgrown. Paths and trails that once were had quickly been reclaimed by the woods and meadows they passed through and the areas that were once well traveled had been again claimed by the monsters that once called them home before the Player city had been properly set up. This type of scene was one adventurers and players would be able to see from most exits around the player city, but not one. It was unique by comparison, with brush pushed aside as if someone had hastily not long after logging in to dodge the crowds. Whether it was because of their experience with the game or another reason their tracks made it clear that they moved with purpose and their destination was settled.

If one followed the trail, it would lead to a peculiar sight. The trail that seemed to have been worn by only a person would gradually open up as if a team had suddenly appeared from nowhere to clear the overgrowth. Trees cut down and carved, logging facilities set up to strip wood and carve large pieces. Though it was clear this wasn't the origin of the work being done, once the bark and branches had been trimmed, it seemed most was moved to another place further out and away from the city a distance away from curious probing eyes or hunters that might be out surveying the exterior. The site wasn't abandoned though, instead, a single creature remained behind. A skeleton featuring leather clothing and burning eye sockets worked slowly, carving away strips of wood from a log gradually working away to ensure that the piece wasn't damaged by any uncontrolled chiseling, it stripped away shaving by shaving creating a long thin board.

Though the skeleton was woodworking as if it were some humble craftsman it wasn't unarmed. With it's wood splitting axe not far from reach it continued it's work with diligence, mechanically trying to finish the piece it was working on and return with it's completed assignment. If one did happen to walk into the clearing it was working in however, it wouldn't simply allow any stranger to trapes through as an ignorant machine might. Instead, lifting it's head to any noise or presence it might sense if able, it would reach for it's axe blade in an effort to arm or prepare itself for a possible attack. Whether it was a gnoll or some other kind of beastly creature, the worker had a better chance of retaliating with heavy blade in hand as opposed to it's shaving tools. Burning eyes scanning the tree and brush line for movement or the source of it's alert status to begin gauging levels of danger.

@Zelrius

 

[Zelrius]

Such a source had come up along the trail while it worked its weary bones upon the task of stripping and cutting the wood. Zelrius had not been stealthy with his approach; unaware that there was any such creature in the area. Even going so far as to do it intentionally, an open approach to be used as an invitation for the local fauna to surge out and make themselves known. To be used as fodder for the man to continue on his personal quest of regaining his old strength. He was used to the Wolves, Rock people, and avoiding the more powerful bears that were peppered around the reclaimed area of Astorea.

But the sight of a sudden, lonely skeleton made him jump back a step, blinking in amazement. Even Undead now haunted the once blooming player kingdom. Which begged the question. "What had happened here?" He asked himself. Sure, the last time he had been here, it was just recovering from a nearly fatal siege of the land at the hands of the old king of Falderen, and its allied lupine forces. Though now it resembled something more like a true wasteland, where every denizen of the land he ran into warned him to stay away from Vintergard, and now even the undead lurked within the foliage.

Someone more observant might have taken a moment to question the fact that the bone-boy in question seemed to be working on some sort of clear task. The golden-haired man was not that kind of person, instead honing in on the fact that there was an enemy there, with a wood splitting axe within reach. This could get quite ugly, if he didn't move now. His hands were quick, reaching in an X over his chest to draw out the blades on each opposing hip. A metallic scrapping against the scabbards ringing out as a tell of how inelegantly he had done so. Quick the charge forward and slash at the lone Skelly with the blade in his left hand, making use of that Dynamism mastery he had picked to replace the Bladerend that was in his kit previously.

 

[Lucia Mierz]

The slash did a number on the creature clearly. The slash carving through rib and bones splaying open a portion of it's chest. The fires in the creatures eyes waned briefly as if struggling to stay alight as it retreated a step. Though it didn't feel pain, the obvious damage to it's functional body was felt enough that it recoiled. It was machine-like when operating on a task, but had enough sentience to understand it's state of being and process the causes and how it might stem or mitigate further damage. While it couldn't weigh it's opponents strength it had understood the choices it had; Fight or Ignore.

Lucia had only had one core rule when she created her undead, it was reflected in the creature's reaction as it griped onto life with determination. If Zel didn't back down immediately, it wouldn't choose the ignore option to be slain in silence. The low tier skeleton had enough pride to at least return one blow for it's creator rather then die a pitiful death as someone's stepping stone. The formerly green eerie flames of it's eyes burned a brighter orange, swallowing it's skull in ethereal flame to represent it's fervor for just one second longer to prove itself as it raised it's axe.

The swing was brutal and savage, without an ounce of cutting technique instead relying on brute crushing power. The flames surged as it swung the axe trying to cleave through the man's body to divide him in half, but his cut was just short of ending in mutual destruction as the damage was clearly showing in it's movements. Despite having failed to fell it's foe, the skeleton still burned brightly, an end no doubt around the corner, but it had at least in it's own mind carved a scar to prove it's loyalty and existence.

 

[Zelrius]

His own hit was particularly straight on, having cut across the length of its radius, to its cracked ribcage, letting those pieces fall away and into the ground around them. A shift in his footwork would cause those chunks to crunch against the grass and the soles of his shoes. It seemed that small shift was not enough, the monster showing its ferocity both visually in the change from those lifeless eyes, and the large swing of its axe that caught him directly in the side.

There was a return of a sensation that Zelrius had long forgotten. A sharpened blade burying itself into his skin, feeling as real as it would back in his own world. The sharp, electrifying spread pain from the point of impact. His heart pumping adrenaline through every vein as a way to placate the feeling through shock. Though, it worked to little avail. The golden haired man shifted again, bringing his left blade up, followed quickly by the other, and then both down in rapid succession. A series of four swift swings aimed at the joints in its shoulders and elbows in hopes of shattering it back to a state of true dead, rather than its current form of undead.

It worked, slashing the creature into two arms separated from a main body made it drop like a log, the axe falling to the side and leaving the man gravely injured out here in the wilderness. That was the only sign the man needed to drop a weapon and grab the wound, running his hand along it and squeezing it to help ease the injury. A thought struck him just then, blue eyes now examining the area. Are skeletons usually alone? No, right? Bodies are usually grouped together throughout time, so undead typically come from Crypts or Graveyards. Maybe this one was just dead alone out here?

There was no visible grave it crawled out from. He reasoned that means someone had to animate it. Something that was certainly possible in this world; his mind conjured vague, watery images of a dark haired woman during the siege at Vintergard. Duchess was the only part of her name he truly remembered. It had been years since he had seen her, and their interactions were brief. Hell, there was half a chance that he might be misremembering and getting details mixed. But what was certain was that he had seen a necromancer before, and the thought that there was one close by was chilling. Zelrius was left with the worry that he'd look like a nice corpse to add to the collection, and was thusly wary of such a person as he followed the trail extending beyond where the skeleton had been idly skinning wood.

 

[Lucia Mierz]

When the creature fell, the lights and flames gradually burning out, winking out with a faint trail like a blown candle. Motionless, lifeless but there was certainly no grave, no indication at least that it seemed to rise from this place. It had been brought here no doubt, ordered here perhaps from somewhere else. Perhaps the direction where the logs were dragged in the distance, or perhaps even from the city, connecting the dots was difficult in a place so worn and heavily traveled even if it seemed to have only been in use until a short time ago.

Just as the smoke began to fade from the skeleton's skull though, the atmosphere would seem to shift briefly. The moment at thin line faded completely as if the temperature dropped significantly as the air even seemed to stagnate briefly with even the wind dying.

"I'm afraid that one was one of our's."

The voice would sound calm and refined but if Zel turned his head he'd see the source came from a bizarre silhouette. Wearing a long gentleman's coat embroidered and fashionable in noble circles perhaps with a porcelain mask on his face that lacked any kind of eye or breathing hole to allow for vision or words. He wore a simple hat but the more peculiar features was the smoke billowing out from behind the mask, as if any skin one might expect to see had been burnt black and was left smoldering. From the waist down he didn't appear to have any legs and instead just levitated above a short area heavily obscured by smoke as if his legs were half invisible.

More odd, was that the skeleton that had been cut down had been moved in that brief transition, resting beside the fashionable wraith as he continued.

"I'd like to know your purpose... Did you come here in hopes of hunting those like us for some kind of-- What was it, 'Experience'? Or was this more of an unfortunate accident."

The figure asked while reaching a hand down to the skull, briefly touching the forehead with a gloved hand, sweeping it over the face as if to shut open eyes before rising back up to half face Zel. Arms behind his back, posture proper and refined as one might expect from a steward but he patiently waited, observing with a business-like demeanor despite the icy atmosphere.

@Zelrius

 

[Zelrius]

Zelrius had taken a more relaxed posture. His back leaned up against the nearby stump, and head tilted back. Holding the injury and looking into the sky, taking rhythmic, forceful breaths to aid in the subsiding of the pain. Both, as a psychological coping mechanism, and to take the physical stress off of the wound. Something that was quickly interrupted by the onset of something more... cold. No, cold wasn't the right way to describe how the air had shifted away. Stale, lifeless. Better words to describe the way the air seemed to seize up, and become more still. An infectious trait, each breath he drew in felt almost paralyzing as the man's heart beat was no longer on track to slowing down. Even the cacophony of forest creatures had faded away, without the experienced adventurer noticing at first. Only coming to note that it had become oddly quiet in this small glade.

Every muscle in his body seemed to spike into a small jump at the collected, almost aristocratic voice. The suddenness of its appearance was something Zelrius had dreaded briefly. His head turned to meet the source, eyes watching from under his brows with caution. Inspecting the sudden appearance of another being. Certainly, it was what he had suspected it to be. Another undead-like creature, answering the question that had just danced across his mind of 'Where?' just moments ago. The swordsman stood up slowly, reaching for a one of his blades to hold in his left hand, ready to defend himself, however weakly in case this dapper abomination decided to attack.

"I did come for that 'Experience', you speak of." That was his first hint that there was a player behind this. Normally, NPCs of the world just look at you like you're crazy if you try to talk game mechanics with them at all. And no matter how hard you try to explain it, it goes in one ear, and out the other. This was a summon or perhaps a thrall of some kind, there was no doubt about that. "Though admittedly, I didn't come specifically looking for undead. Your friend there was in my way, and alone. I figured 'Why not?'"

That's all Zelrius could offer for an explanation, though he had a question of his own. Primarily as a way to stave off the fact that he was likely going to be brutally murdered here by this clearly stronger entity. He certainly could take a second to admire the 'distinguished' and 'proper' way this thing spoke and carried itself. "What about you? Why is 'your kind' out here on the edges of Astorea, a ruined country?" He likely knew the answer to this question. Because he himself had just attacked a Skeleton onsight, and certainly wasn't the only person to do so. Thousands of Elves, Humans, Beastfolk and Faerin would react the same way, and this was the place they could get away from that sort of violence toward them. Still, perhaps there was another reasoning to this area specifically, for them.

 

[Lucia Mierz]

The Wraith King listened to the man's accounts and purpose patiently to the end. Only after the conclusion was clear would he turn the porcelain mask back down to the Skeleton in question and thought. "I see. And how many numbers is one life worth and how is it extracted I wonder?" He asked turning his gaze back onto Zel as if trying to decipher the reasons players sought to grow through such an unusual method. In the eyes of the Wraith it was a type of growth that was similar to dark magic draining the essence of a being in order to fuel another.

"I would however, like to recommend you return that blade to it's resting place--" The wraith spoke, it's tone still refined but growing more firm and strict as he continued. "--If the limit of your potential is 'swing blade' and 'use skill' it serve you well against the average creature of our world but not me. If you aim to 'wield' a weapon rather then 'swing' one I would recommend refining your technique rather then searching for more 'numbers' to pool as power." The Wraith tried to advise a person who seemed to have a similar style to himself as unpolished as he believed it to be. Of course his advice might be somewhat flawed, he'd heard the speeches Lucia would always tell guests, and tried to offer similar advice to the man in hopes that he might find meaning in it as many did in Lucia's words.

Being asked about his own purpose though, the Wraith King folded his arms once more in thought. It was as if he found the question to be deeper then Zel perhaps intended to say. "What we're doing here-- I find myself wondering this as well from time to time. Surely we would accomplish more conquering a territory or expanding influence, yet we bide our time." It mused, speaking largely because it wondered if Zel might have some insights about what made the area special or useful. With or without any new information though he would continue. "We have always been here. Lurking just beyond the sight of the city, moving from location to location to stay out of the way of your average individual. Perhaps this was merely bad luck, or the consequence of our negligence with the Miss's furniture that our logging efforts have grown so noticeable?" He posed more questions but if Zel didn't have an answer he wouldn't know what to do. The Wraith for as long as he'd been in service had always had teams wandering the outskirts of towns where fires and lights wouldn't reach through brush and trees.

 

[Zelrius]

Zelrius did was he was bid by the Wraith. He didn't seem the type for tricks, in the current atmosphere. Additionally, not so when a stiff breeze could drop the rest of the Adventurer's Health, leaving no real reason for the wraith to do so. His blade came up, sheathing it in the scabbard on his right side, and then bending down to pick up the one that had clattered to the floor, and doing the same with it. Both now unbrandished to show that he meant no harm. "Hah, you sound like some of those back home who protest the existence of games and worlds like this, because it 'promotes killing for personal gain.'" In fairness, the Wraith had a point, specifically here in Terrasphere. Where everything seemed essentially real, the line blurred between 'NPC' and Person.

It was odd to Zelrius - how intelligent this thing seemed. Not just for a monster, but it was sharper than most actual humans. With an inner philosophy included. Reasoning and Logic seemed to come naturally to it, all of that quite strange for a summon. Atleast, in his own experience with other people he had met using similar abilities. "Always?" The man asked, a sort of trick question. That wasn't true, he had been around this area before, it used to belong to nobility. Duchess came back to his mind. Maybe he was right.

The mention of a 'Miss' was exactly what Zelrius was prodding for, and was an instant, full answer to most of the questions bouncing around in his mind. Now replacing them with only a much more manageable few. He was raised with proper manners, however, and wouldn't be so rude as to skip over the Wraith's question with his own. "I wouldn't say so." He mentioned taking a moment to scan around. "It was pure coincidence that I ran into the Lumberjack there on this road." He grinned for a moment, wondering if there was a possibility for some friendliness here between them. "If it is any benefit, I didn't even notice him until I came up the incline and we were nearly face to face." It was the truth, and might offer the Wraith a moment of relief to know that they weren't being that conspicuous.

Now came his part. "You say 'the Miss'. Who might that be, exactly?" Best to ask directly than to try and beat around the bush and get clues.

 

[Lucia Mierz]

The Wraith seemed to chuckle, the very nature of someone hinting that he might oppose killing for personal gain was amusing. For him, a former black hand assassin to oppose killing for gain was a height of comedy he hadn't expected. Still, he did have to rectify the miscommunication. "Not so, in fact I'd advocate killing for one's own gain is perhaps the most often reason many have for killing. However if your goal is to reach greater heights and achieve more with your killing, I'm afraid there is a poor costs to benefits ratio in blindly butchering any that cross your path. For example--" The wraith began, tugging on his sleeves as if to provide evidence, one frame adjusting his sleeves, next frame the same hand now balled up held a fistful of knives.

"If you are killing goblins, you will become a better goblin slayer, learn goblins and fight goblins, but a goblin slayer-- a good Warrior does not make. Likewise if you kill humans, you will learn humans, understand humans, make it your artform, but if you find yourself chased into beast infested territory you will find yourself at a disadvantage." He spoke, that last one seeming more from experience then a genuine example. As he counted down using the blades as he considered many types of professional killers. He mentioned everything from giant slayers to pest control specialists Mortimer was eerily familiar with the pros and cons that came with ending life.

"A different blade for every foe... Wasteful wouldn't you say good sir? And worse if your opponents are diverse as you grow, how then would you refine a blade for killing? It's no more or less bizarre then sharping a knife while changing grind stones with each grind. When shown in this light it's easier to understand my suggestion I hope?" Mortimer offered as eloquently as the noble Wraith King could. A good speaker, though perhaps too philosophical when it came to combat and killing.

When asked always though, the Wraith King was briefly drawn from the lecture he'd been intent on continuing. If it were about killing the Wraith could surely wax and wane for hours about the artform, but information was unfortunately the task he was given. "Always indeed, Stranger. Always. I'm told it was like this even before I was awakened. In fact the first of us was raised from the battle for the city." The Wraith offered. Back when they first attacked the city and liberated it from the elves, Sylvanas had been one of the elven captains Lucia and her squad of players killed. Along the way she was revived and turned into an undead that had since served her as he had.

Being told about how Zel had come across the worker though, the Wraith exhaled a saddened sigh. "I see... An pure coincidence then indeed. How unfortunate." He spoke, briefly removing his hat only for the smoke to billow off of his head more freely when it wasn't restrained by the hat. Reaching down he tried to retrieve the skull before rising back to his full height. The question about his Miss though was to be expected though at the same time somewhat surprising. It had been the Wraith's understanding that his creator was somewhat known among the populous as a necromancer.

"Our Miss... The Saintess who will bring us a future. Our creator who wove us into the Fate's Weave to preserve us. The Shadow Duchess as you folk might know her, Lucia Mierz." Mortimer spoke, a kind reverence and gentle pride for his creator as he introduced. To the Wraith King, Lucia had gone beyond the call of duty one might expect from a master as a summoned ghost from a bygone era. Not only providing certain freedoms, but also a future that need not include her. The Wraith wouldn't be able to say enough about the Priestess he referred to as a Saintess.

 

[Zelrius]

This string of thoughts and philosophies was one that Zelrius had already known. There was an ominous comfort that settled in on his muscles, hearing such a thing from the entity just beyond him. There was good wisdom in his words, specifically in the example of Goblins. The golden haired adventurer was actually quite refined in the art of hunting the fat little greenskins in their own homes. In baiting them from their holes, or intercepting their raids. His months in the plains and fields of Pormont and Brisshal assisting the local populace. A very sharp knife in that regard. Zelrius was a jack of all in the way that the Wraith spoke, spending much of his time going from place to place, and less so in the cities. Staying away from people, and living this second life of his in the peaceful and serene expanses of the wilderness. Though Goblins and Caenis were his primary specialty.

Or were. He had killed Snefrid, and gone off to their homeland. Back when this body was built for such activity. Now, it was an unglorified husk of what it used to be. A dull blade, to use Mortimer's own example. "Time consuming too, especially for us humans." Zelrius answered his question, playing into the metaphor of switching grind stones with each swipe. Something that people could certainly do, but there simply was not enough room in one's lifetime to do such a thing, or to continually sharpen new blades. Each successive one being unused. A balancing act between versatility and effectiveness. Perhaps that's what Mortimer was trying to teach the man now.

The 'Always, indeed' sent a chill down his spine again. There was something cold in those words. Zelrius had probably made the trek to Vintergard a hundred times when Astor ruled there, and it was almost always along this area or path. Meaning, the entire time, he was noticed and spotted by this entourage of undead that lurked somewhere in the treeline. Watching, waiting. But it also meant that the man was never a target, or interest of theirs. Not until he attacked a random little lumberjack.

The introduction and string of titles had began to fill Zelrius with some amount of anticipation. Each word dripping out of the maskless, passionate Wraith's 'mouth'. "Lucia." He responded, fighting the stifling grin. How the thoughts had seem to now come full circle. That's whom he was thinking of, confirmed even more by the title of "Shadow Duchess". Earlier, there was the suspicion that these undead might have been borne from her tendrils. The example of a Necromancer, who he had seen before. And it turns out, that it was her - as opposed to another. "Her reputation proceeds her, it seems. Your Duchess and I have rubbed shoulders once." Maybe twice? he wasn't sure.

"Is she close by? And.. is she open to visitors? I'd like to meet her. If for no other reason than to apologize to you for your friend there." The man lifted his chin to indicate the pile of bones that was once stripping the bark off of a pile of wood. A friendly, communicative gesture, a way of showing good will.

 

[Lucia Mierz]

Seeing Zel was interested in it's philosophy, Mortimer hummed in thought. It was rare for the Wraith King, few truly took to it's Saint's lessons in the world. It made the noble figure puff it's chest only slightly as a feeling of pride in it's creator's dream and philosophy seemed to be acknowledged despite not being the norm among her peers. "Precisely, A poor return on investment. Why you could even say it's criminally inefficient. A fascinating project it is I will admit, as unlike you I have had plenty of time." The Wraith asserted. As he spoke of how much time he had, a different blade appeared in that clenched fist, curved, straightened, serrated, elongated, pronged, twinned, reversed, Mortimer had such a ridiculous amount of varied blades that each seemed well managed and polished it could boggle the mind.

"However... This begs the question; 'How does one refine a blade meant for killing all equally' mm?" He asked, with a casual roll of the last blade that ended up in his hand, the small knife rolling over his fingers and back before tapping it against his porcelain mask. In the end the wraith stopped bringing the blade forward pinching the tip with one hand and the hilt with another. "My conclusion, my process was to study what one requires to be alive, then to deprive them of that life. After life times of observation, ended up being rather simple." He spoke and Zel would be able to hear a sound.

At first it was a gentle ringing, but it grew more and more noticeable. A soft ringing turned into a louder call until it almost seemed like a wordless song. The blade in Mortimer's fingers had begun vibrating, slowly at first, but growing more noticeable and more rapid. As his moved it with one hand, as if admiring, it was slowly joined by a second, then a third until he held in his hand a chorus of singing blades. "In order to craft a blade that could kill everything without question, one needed a blade that could deprive them of form. That can make solid into liquid, and liquid into gas, cutting further and further-- smaller and smaller. True Erasure of Life-- Of Existence." He spoke, for a moment lost in the sounds of the blades, his hand moving briefly like a conductor entranced by the sound. "How lovely...--"

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, before Mortimer could be too invested in his passion though he ended up coughing. Slightly embarrassed by his enthusiasm he would stop the display and return the knives to his coat still coughing despite having no organs that would require him to do so. "My apologies, I do so lose myself in the throes of a passionate discussion of this artform, a thousand pardons please. Instead, back on topic--" He spoke coughing into a closed fist one last time as he tried to return to the topic Zel was inquiring about. When Zel mentioned rubbing shoulders, the Wraith King folded his arms once more. "Have you though? Hm... You do not seem familiar. Peculiar, I had been under the impression I manage a rather tight outfit." He spoke musing about what may have gone wrong and how to prevent it. Looking at Zel, even if he resembled other people Lucia had met, to the NPC undead he was different on an existential level that made it difficult to match him with the one who'd met Lucia before.

When asked if she was close by though, the Wraith became a touch more guarded. He always was a bit more business like when things came to Lucia. "She is close by." He tried to give minimal amounts of information while still confirming. "I suppose I can bring you in, but I must stress the Miss's camp is not a space for conflict if that might be your intent." The Wraith king spoke firmly, all of her summons were suspicious of the living during first encounters around her. It came with an unease of having their most precious secrets exposed. If Zel did want to visit with her, the Wraith King would consider, head turning up as if communicating with others from a vast distance at lightning speed as he spoke. "Very well then. I shall take you. As for the worker, don't fret, all who are tied to the Fate Weave will return in time." Mortimer explained, approaching Zel slowly. Stretching one gloved hand out, it was firm gentle as he tried placing it on Zel's shoulder.

"Are you ready?" He asked, but if Zel made the mistake of confirming without asking, he'd suddenly see the world around him blur and the immense pressure of wind against his body slam into him all at once as if gravity had suddenly been flipped. Though the sensation lasted only a moment or two it came with the unfortunate side effects of violently shaking the contents of the body like the worst roller coaster imaginable. The chaotic sounds of chopping wood could be heard, but vision might still be incredibly blurry, up and down difficult to find after such a journey.

 

[Zelrius]

It seemed the two were kindred spirits in a way, sharing a philosophy on how 'experience' worked not as a game mechanic, but as a real, genuine concept. One that such game mechanics tried to emulate. The metaphor completed by the display of all his own weaponry. The blades he physically owned, making the adventurer wonder what blades Mortimer held mentally. Zelrius motioned with his hand to dismiss the apology, not wanting to speak to interrupt the being, but letting him know that the conversation was not minded. This was one of the beautiful parts of Terrasphere. Certainly, this was an NPC that was contained within the framework of this world. But, it was fully conscious of the fact that us travelers came from another realm, of sorts. Or rather just some place else.

There was a moment of trepidation as the phantom agreed to bring him into the fold of this "Miss Lucia Mierz". Perhaps he had been mistaken about who it was, it had been four years after all. Yet at the same time, he was almost absolutely sure that Lucia was who he thought it was. There was a way that the name invoked the image of the woman, in her dark clothes and solemn way of talking. He couldn't remember them actually trading such a word, or imagine her voice actually speaking. His memories could hear the sound, though. A conscequence of having let this game take priority over anything else for years.

The anxiety was lost at the reassurance of Mortimer, his hand offering itself in a courteous way. His own hand reached forward, fingers pressing onto the heel of his palm. Having made the mistake, and figuring that this would just be a quick fly, or perhaps fast sprint through the woods. It was neither. Instead being a gut twisting warp through the landscape, watching it blur and blast by in an instant. Upon their arrival, Zelrius immediately took a step away, holding his stomach. Hunched over and dry heaving heavily to avoid the feeling that he was about to vomit. Several moments passing before his heaving just became heavy breathing, and he slowly collected himself. "Jesus christ..." he managed to huff out slowly, having not expected such a quick way to travel. It felt like the world was spinning in on itself.

In time, it settled, though, allowing his back to straighten without feeling like he was going to die. A nod to Mortimer, using the sleeve of his fine cloak to wipe his forehead and lips. Nodding to this... travelling companion, and ready to meet this Mistress of theirs. "Go ahead." He confirmed, no point in complaining about being unprepared for the trip. Even more so now that he was deep within their territory and clutches.

 

[Lucia Mierz]

"My, sorry about that good sir, I do forget sometimes the living have more fragile constitutions when traversing the world." Mortimer spoke as if the problem were Zel's body rather then the G-forces involved in such a abrupt acceleration. The Wraith King naturally moved at break neck paces as he didn't have to fear flesh or blood vessels bursting from the sudden shift. Of course though Mortimer leaned down to try and help Zel back up to his full height when he was ready.

When Zelrius looked up, he'd find a work site, trees cut down and stumps pulled out already re-packed with soil to create an artificial clearing. The taller grasses cut to a nice manicured bed, no doubt by hand, and sickle rather then some type of mower or machine. At the center a large tent built to a size of a small modest apartment, even from the outside through an open flap one could see tables and bookshelves within. Though most of the furniture remained outside, a sheen of resin varnish still drying in the light of the sun, skeletons much like the one Zel killed still pushing chips and splinters of wood from the field into a pile.

Other skeletons that seemed more intimidating with black armor and helmets leaving only burning eyes underneath the helmet revealing their natures as undead. The more militant variety of Lucia's summons moved in pairs to patrol and watch the outskirts of the woods to create a safe zone even out in the middle of the wilderness. The most threatening of which was unfortunately one who still had flesh but seemed to be passed out laying in the center of the clearing, matching Mortimer's asthetic but in a much more worn out and weathered state featuring an an absurd amount of bracelets and necklaces.

Of course, not far from the unconscious zombie pirate Lucia sat elegantly in a nicely carved chair. It seemed to be among the first crafts made and carved, while the small end table beside her was likely the second. She seemed to be cocktail before noticing Zel and Mortimer. "Is this the one who was at the logging camp?" She asked before finishing her sip and setting her glass down. Her smile as charming as ever as she rose to her feet. Naturally Mortimer nodded his head in deference before gesturing for Zel to introduce himself.

 

[Zelrius]

The sight of the camp would explain the question of why a skeleton was so far out there, alone and finding wood for their purposes. It seems most of the trees here were reduced to stumps, the clattering of all the work going around the camp was similar to that of a developing village. Which... this seemed to be of sorts, although less permanent in nature. Mortimer's description of it being a 'camp' was accurate, it was reminiscent of those on the march, and what they used for house.

Were these undead amassing an army? The thought crossed the man's mind as he stepped in, looking around. They seemed peaceful enough, given that the wraith hadn't cut Zelrius down with his array of claws and blades on sight, even after he attacked one of their own. He certainly had the speed to do it. He moved forward with Mortimer, taking in the surroundings, and careful not to step on the being who lay at the center of the clearing, 'face' peering up at the sky above.

And then blue eyes found Lucia. Her face more familiar than her description or name. They had seen each other before, and likely would again. Was she in this game the whole time? Or was she logged out for the four years, same as him? If the latter, the woman was certainly one hell of a roleplayer, getting back into character so quickly. The gesture was enough to carry the conversation forward.

"My name here is Zelrius. You must be the Miss. Or, Duchess Lucia, of Astorea." He thought for a second. Did that title still apply? "Or rather, Ms. Mierz, now that Astor dismantled the aristocracy before running away." Or so he had been told by some of the others on his way here. There was mixed reactions to that political move, and the country seemed to still be reeling from it overall. "Your friend here seems to like me, and you haven't ordered me killed. I have to ask; why not? Why build a camp here, and allow me to just come in freely?" Certainly there was no fear that he'd attack any of her servants or kin. Their numbers alone were enough to stave off that outcome. Still, it begged the question of this woman's overall intentions. With this camp, with him, and with their location.

 

[Lucia Mierz]

Lucia nodded along, the titles given by her summons making her smile briefly but she shook her head at the talk of being a duchess. "Mah, those fancy titles weren't ever really for me from the start. I originally took the role just to help Astor out. There were a lot of odd people at the time trying to think they could become king just by down voting him after all." She couldn't help sighing heavily thinking back to that little rebellion stunt. It was a drag on her spirit that forced her to get involved with things she hadn't really wanted to invest in. Even now she was still hesitant to invest too much into the limiting and traumatizing events until the game's rules changed.

When Zel mentioned Mortimer though, Lucia glanced towards the Wraith King who gave a small nod in answer. The question of why though made her chuckle, it seemed the man wasn't particularly familiar with her or her style at the very least despite already being friends with her subordinate. "I know the dangers of dying in this game better then most at least, so I won't have my subordinates going around killing random players. That said they'll definitely try to defend themselves, but they aren't going to just murder flippantly." Lucia spoke shaking her head. With Ezra having died, there was no way she'd want to dirty her hands killing other players personally. "As for the camp and why you're here, this place's been my camp for a long time. Ever since Astorea became the player city I've used a few points in these woods as a camp so as to not disturb the town with undead. I've always had an open door policy for people who want to visit, the undead can recognize players, so there's no reason to be aggressive right?" Lucia asked with a charming smile.

Her intentions were just not to bother the normal people or the citizens of the game with her undead. Whether their appearances being a bit off putting or just clogging up streets or walkways with her undead, it was all unnecessary if she could live comfortably outside of town. "I like to teach people about the game, about masteries, the importance of finding an origin point and cultivating one's masteries with more then just MP points. So I tend to help people who find me in this beginning area." Lucia added with a small nod

@Zelrius

 

[Zelrius]

Zelrius listened, eyes scanning around the camp, laying eyes on the various undead. And noting that the Wraith King Mortimer wasn't the only one who was out of place. There were others here who could be counted amongst the ranks of 'Greater Undead', and that only served to make his attention more focused on Lucia, when it was his blue eyes drifted back to seeing her. "People like power, and will push others down to get it." He couldn't help but laugh off the statement, hoping to find some common ground in a mutual distate for 'odd people'.

He followed her gaze, breath tense until Mortimer gave his nod of approval. Relief washing over a body that the man had no idea had contracted back so harshly. This situation had turned unusually strange and dangerous for Zel, and he wasn't exactly sure how he had let it happen so easily. There was no doubt that Mortimer, or Lucia herself, were fully capable of defending themselves against someone lower tier like himself. And there was no chance now that he was surrounded in the camp. Not that he had any intentions of starting a fight with people who had been nothing but accepting and kind to him so far. "So, this isn't the only camp? You move around before things become too permanent, and you're forced to venture too close to 'civilization'?" Curious as he was, The adventurer inquired about the camp, letting loose one of his million other questions about their motives, methods and way of life. His hands moved up, palms open to get them away from the fine swords that were tied to each hip by sheath and belt. "No aggression from me. As fun as Mortimer here is, being undead and all, I think I'll wait a bit longer before joining your ranks in that manner." Trying to jest, to keep the air lighter between them - to possibly make a friend, if she appreciated the way the answer was given behind a joke.

Though he stifled a laugh at the sort of pretentiousness that poked through her last statement. Sure, she seemed on the stronger side, but to just assume that you can think out of the box where no one else had rubbed the blonde the wrong way slightly, though not enough to be anything more than a huff of air. Though, Mortimer had mentioned something similar. Getting stronger outside of the stats of the game. Sharpening your blade. He had called it. So again, his curiosity was piqued, and he couldn't help himself. "Cultivate how?" He blurted out, looking between them, and feeling the urge to explain. "I mean - I am hardly new to the game. I played back before the firewall.." His voice trailed off, eyes scanning Lucia's to gauge if she even knew what he was talking about. "But, like I - struggled even then with ghosts and undead of the sort. And with bigger living beings. So... if you have any ideas, I guess I could hear them." Realizing the absurdity of stumbling into her camp and asking to be taught, his hand sheepishly went to rub the back of his neck.

"If you're not busy otherwise. Or if you don't want to, that's cool too."

 

[Lucia Mierz]

Lucia couldn't help rolling her eyes. It was a naive goal in her mind, particularly when one's goal was to become a king of players. Her own goal to create a kingdom was grand and overly ambitious as well, but she didn't deign to be a queen, she merely wanted to be a saint or moral figure at their back to watch them develop. Lucia knew better then to try and take leadership roles personally. "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. It takes Ambition and Determination to rise to that point, but it takes a message, a morality to truly achieve something like that. Those people who just want to sit on a fancy chair and tell people what to do... they won't achieve much more then oppressing the weak." Lucia couldn't help sighing heavily at the thought of it.

When he asked about the camp though she shook her head considering him half right. "This one camp moves to different sites around the city. Depending on the week, we could be here, or on the other side of the woods, or on the other side of Astorea. We move here and there to make sure we're not draining too many local resources." She explained the longer they stayed the more her undead hunted, the more trees got felled, the more herbs and plant matter was dug up. To prevent themselves from overdeveloping they moved to new areas to give the land time to heal. The joke though, made her a touch bitter, though she smiled in understanding his comment, it had unfortunately hit a sore spot. If Zel seemed confused about why, the answer would come from the Wraith King who patted his shoulder reassuringly. "The Saintess has a companion, someone she loves dearly who ended up becoming one of us after an unfortunate accident you see. It was our only means of ensuring she could survive." The Wraith clarified unaware of the details of how horrible it was to be UI locked, but unable to articulate it any other way then losing their status as a player and becoming like them.

Though when he laughed at her, she maintained her smile unphased. Many people laughed at her, many scoffed, but in the end, those same players kept using the same tired abilities 'fire ball', 'sword swing', 'move fast'. "How many of your masteries can you use simultaneously? How many of them can you pair?" She asked, tilting her head, the smile on her face neutral, knowing, even if he had an answer, she would continue to question. "Where does your magic come from? Why does it regenerate when you rest? Where does it rest in your body? How does your sword carve through a tree or a stone when your arm in reality couldn't? How are you stronger now with the muscle mass you have-- where does that power come from?" She asked this time giving him time to think it over. "Do you know?... Because I know." She asked, smiling still. Ever since she started the game, she'd neglected the UI, learning to cast on her own, exploring her virtual body to understand it, understanding the origins of her magic in herself, creating a system through which it can be used.

@Zelrius