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Chronicles of Sandroval - Part 1
Topic Started: Dec 4 2010, 04:37 PM (1,541 Views)
Solain ibn Din
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Sandroval stopped midstep to listen quietly to his surroundings. He had already been travelling for days, avoiding any large settlements until his powers were at least somewhat replenished. He didn’t quite understand it, but this.... transportation had somehow not only removed him from his own world, but also diminished his magical stamina. He simply couldn’t draw that much energy anymore. It was frustrating to say the least. Still, he trudged on. He didn’t really have a choice on the matter. It was that or die the Final Death, and Sandroval had avoided it for centuries. Certainly; far too long to die now.

He had begun doing the only thing he knew how to; plot. Plotting his return, however futile it might be. From the second he had realized he was not in his own world anymore, the gears in his centuries-old mind had started working. There were enough obstacles and drawbacks; there was the aforementioned reduction in magical power, then there was the fact that he had no idea where he was and where this place - metaphysically speaking - was in relation to his own world. Then there were the other hindrances; his current lack of contacts and a proper network, the disappearance of his confidantes, and the gnawing suspicion of who had been behind all this.
A spell that could transport several people across the dimensional barriers was not something a mere apprentice could find in any odd tome or grimoire and hope to pull off. That kind of magic required days, if not weeks of preparations, several magicians to account for the massive amount of energy needed, and a very powerful and skilled main magician to conduct the flow in the correct manner to form the actual spell.
In other words; the plot to get him out of the way had been carefully orchestrated by someone with a lot of resources. Quite possibly someone with a great deal more than himself. Which left the question; even if he managed to return, what was it he would return to? His powerbase eroded and contacts lost?

No, he couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Centuries, he reminded himself. Centuries of fighting and plotting and maneuvering in the labyrinthine cobwebs of the necromantic brotherhood. He was not going to let all that go without a fight. Not a chance in whatever hell existed for those such as him.

He wasn’t really tired - not being physically alive and all that - but sat down anyway. Sitting felt good. It allowed him to take in his surroundings and calm down. To say that he wasn’t tired was not entirely correct though. True, there were no mucles there to tire and weaken, but there was a mind, and it had been working five days - or six, he wasn’t entirely sure anymore - straight. Any creature with a mind needed sleep. Sleep allowed the mind to organize everything in its correct order and fashion, sleep allowed the mind its much needed spare time. Deep inside, Sandroval wanted nothing more than to lay down and slumber deeply.
There was however a problem. A big one. Doing so would be lethal.

When becoming a lich, a man sacrifices a lot of his humanity, and changes his nature. Certain drives are enhanced - ambition, self-preservation and such, while other are practically eroded; apetite, both sexual and otherwise, to mention a few simple examples. Not everyone fared the same. There were for example a rumour about a lich living in a secluded tower, that had worked a spell to stimulate the mental receptors for the sense of taste. In essence, he was trying to rediscover the pleasure of feasting. About the only thing Sandroval remembered with melancholy was the sensation of cold water running down the throat, but even that was only a nostalgic notion.
But that was not everything. When a lich is created, the subconscious is changed, and certain features of the mind change. Dreams become more vivid. Nightmares become... lethal. Simply put, a lich is just a mind using the empty vessel that is the lich’s dead body as a medium of manipulating the physical world. And being just a mind, a lich’s imagination can be dangerous to the self. A nightmare about drowning can cause a lich to actually “drown”. There was no small number of liches throughout history that had gone to bed to gather their thoughts, and never woken up. Their undead bodies now vacant and only an animated shell similar to those of the mindless zombies they controlled. It was for this reason that every lich had an “Awakener” on his side at all times. An individual - sentient or otherwise - whose only job was to wake up the lich if there were any signs of an unpleasant dream experience. And without anyone to be his life-insurance, Sandroval was not willing to take that risk.

So he stayed awake. For as long as was needed.

A few miles of trudging through the undergrowth of the woods later, Sandroval picked up the trace he had been seeking for days. A distinct emanation of decay. Human decay.

Picking up his pace, the robed necromancer strode down into a shallow valley nestled at the end of a poorly-traveled dirt track, and ultimately to a low-roofed, ancient looking stone building. Its door were of corroded bronze, and it took a significant boost form his already reduced magic powers to move them.
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Solain ibn Din
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Behind ired doors, there was a dark chamber. Sandroval was nearly pulled in along with a gust of air, as if the darkness wanted him to come, and the light outside wanted him gone. Somewhat reluctantly, Sandroval agreed with their sentiment, and stepped inside.

Nothing happened. Not that he had expected it, well, perhaps a part of him had had a perverse idea that the doors would slam shut behind him and an ominious voice would chastise Sandroval for entering its realm, followed by a promise of his demise and an evil laughter. None of this occured. Sandroval forced himself out of idle thoughts and lit a thing, green flame from his hand, to shed some light on the inner parts of the chamber. It wasn’t a very large one, the roof was low, and three stone graves on either side lined up against what appeared to be the entrance to a downwards stairwell. Without hesitating further, the robed necromancer began descending the grey stone steps.

In the lower levels, the emanation of human decay was stronger by far, close to being overwhelming - for anyone other than a necromancer, of course. It wasn’t exactly a smell, although it certainly factored in - but more of a vibrating, pulsing feeling. A feeling of something unsettling, nauseating. As Sandroval walked deeper into the corridor that had revealed itself after the stairwell, he sensed movement, the flicker of eyes, but always in the outskirts of his field of vision, or behind him. Regardless, he kept moving inwards. [/i]Into the bowels of the beast[/i], he thought. This crypt seemed more and more alive the more he thought about it.

Finally he reached the inner chamber. There were furnitures here, a number of tall, many-armed candles, a stone altar covered in red cloth, and a large, stone sarcophagus standing near-upright at the opposite end of the room, facing the entrance. Sandroval noted the circular room had a number of small exits near the floor, as if they had been made for dogs or cats, or something else, he mused.

Suddenly, the stone lid of the sarcophagi began sliding away, revealing a pale-skinned, gaunt corpse, arms folded over its chest. It was a man, a handsome one, with long nails, immaculate looking hair and the clothing of a relatively wealthy nobleman. Sandro was hardly surprised when it opened its eyes.

“Who enters my abode and stirs my sleep? I am Arc-,” the awakened dead began.
“Yes yes, you are some terrible creature of nightmares and yadayada. I’m familiar with vampirism,” Sandroval interjected bluntly. “And I have little time. Would you like to make a deal?”
Clearly put off, the vampire’s face showed his surprise, but to his credit, he quickly recollected himself. The folded arms moved and pushed the vampire of the stone coffin.
“Who are you mortal, who comes to my resting place and speak to me in such a manner?”
Sandroval decided it was time to shed his disguise, and as he pulled down his hood, the illusion he had created of a somewhat handsome, middle-aged man disappeared and Sandroval’s true form remained; a skull covered with a thin crisp of dried skin, and eyesockets where green orbs of eldritch fire burnt.
“I am Sandroval, lich and necromancer. I have come here because this place is filled with energy that is reinvigorating to our kind. I have come to bargain for a piece of it.”
The vampire recoiled at this, then his eyes narrowed and a smile curled his lips.
“I must admit I had hoped for the sensation of a mortal’s warm blood running down my throat - it’s been ever so long. You are right though, this place is reinvigorating, it is how I’ve survived for so long without anyone to feed on. Actually, that is not entirely true...”
He clapped his hands nonchalantly, and after a few moments, the rustling and blinking eyes Sandroval had been sure he had half-seen appeared from the dog-holes in the chamber. Slowly, human-like shapes appeared from them. Hunched, grey-skinned, starved figures hopping about on all fours, crawling near the walls trying to stay in the shadows.

Legend had it that ghouls originated from people who desperately ate their own dead in order to survive in times of hunger and famine. They became cursed, to forever scavenge their food from the dead, and travel in darkness. Forever hungry and bestial. This was not entirely true. Ghouls had once been humans, indeed, but how many generations ago was impossible to say, such things did not take place over a single season as the myth implied. Neither was it the consumption of human flesh that was crucial to the transformation, but rather where. This place was a place teeming with dark energy, deathly energies swirling and staining the land, not much unlike the locations of the most prestigious necromantic guilds in Sandroval’s homeland. These energies would transform living beings, until little of their former selves remained. It would happen to most beasts, though wild animals would for the most avoid such locations, making it hard to verify if they could be corrupted in the same way.

Sandroval dropped a few hard glances at the ghouls, making sure they understood he was not a meal - and not one to attack for any other reason either. If they touched him - his stare said - they would suffer. It was the only way to keep them under check.
“So, I see you’ve lived on a poor vampire’s diet. Must’ve been horrible,” Sandroval replied dryly.
“Indeed. And not much of company either. None of them enjoy literature or chess, or can sing worth a copper coin. Very boring. You however, seem entertaining,” the Vampire said, equally dry in his tone.
“Oh? Howso?” Sandroval said, quizzically.
“I’ll give you a deal. Give me your staff, and all your garments, and I will let you stay here and replenish your strength all you want,” the Vampire answered in a merry tune, if the homocidal intent behind it hadn’t been so obvious.
“And then you would leave the crypt protected by my items, while I would be locked behind?”
“That is an unfortunate part of it, yes,” this time, the Vampire feigned sadness. It was melodramatic, which suited the situation perfectly.
“Regrettably, I must decline the offer, as it is highly counter-productive, given the circumstances,” Sandroval retorted, giving an extravagant bow, sweeping his robes with him.
“Then I have one last offer.”
“I see.”
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(Forgive my reposting some of Sandroval's and the vampires conversation, I thought it might be interesting to see her thoughts on the conversation)
The young man leaning on the counter was staring at her, she could feel his eyes on her and every time she glanced out of the tail of her eye at him she saw his eyes on her. It was silly to her, all she wanted was a book and here she was looking with an impressively pimpmled youth watching her every move.
"I'd like to borrow this."
She said tapping the book on the desk trying to make him realise she was talking to him again, the boy blushed and straitened taking the book from her.
"Jules Jerne, A Journey to the Center of the Earth, a very good choice miss, a very interesting book."
She smiled kindly as he wrote the name on a sheet of paper and tried very hard not to look at her, he stamped the back of the book and handed it back to her.
"Thank you youngling."
She said gently taking the book and leaving the shop chuckling when the door shut, are all children in these times such nervous things, she wondered to herself.

Only a few pages into the book she was enraptured, this man had a style of writing that fascinated her, but alas she had the take her eyes off the yellowed pages and watch where she was going, she had already stumbled over a dog, a child and was saved from walking into a building by an elderly gentalman gently grabbing her arm and making her look up by saying only; "Young Miss, perhaps you should not walk while you read." and smiling warmly at her before moving on, so she sighed and closed the book. Hadn't her grandfather long ago said something of the danger of books? She could not recall.

It wasn't long before she was in a familiar place, an under used dirt path and a valley with a stone building she had never dared enter, but today something was different about it and she found herself unable to resist entering, it was dark and she moved silently her many years allowing her to be entirely soundless. This place didn't smell right, it was like a crypt with the stench of rotting human flesh all around her, but something inside her said go on, and she did.

Exotica stopped, she could hear the voices clearly and did not want her presence known to the ones talking although she felt they would know soon that she was there. Quietly she listened wondering if it would be better to leave, but she could smell the one that was of her kind, she held no love for her own kind in fact she despised the impure breed that had destroyed the majority of the elders in the half-blood uprising. But like the silly child she must still be she listened;
"-Sandroval, lich and necromancer. I have come here because this place is filled with energy that is reinvigorating to our kind. I have come to bargain for a piece of it.”
“I must admit I had hoped for the sensation of a mortal’s warm blood running down my throat - it’s been ever so long. You are right though, this place is reinvigorating, it is how I’ve survived for so long without anyone to feed on. Actually, that is not entirely true...”
“So, I see you’ve lived on a poor vampire’s diet. Must’ve been horrible,”
The man....or she supposed she must call him what he called himself, the lich calling himself Sandroval said to the vampire in a dry voice
“Indeed. And not much of company either. None of them enjoy literature or chess, or can sing worth a copper coin. Very boring. You however, seem entertaining,” the Vampire said, equally dry in his tone.
“Oh? Howso?” Sandroval said, quizzically.
“I’ll give you a deal. Give me your staff, and all your garments, and I will let you stay here and replenish your strength all you want,” the Vampire's reply was a merry tune, with obvious homocidal intent,
she didn't like this creature already.
“And then you would leave the crypt protected by my items, while I would be locked behind?”
“That is an unfortunate part of it, yes,” this time, the Vampire feigned sadness. A melodramatic vampire, how fitting, she thought, keeping her mind closed to anyone, or thing, that might be able to listen.
“Regrettably, I must decline the offer, as it is highly counter-productive, given the circumstances,” The lichs retort made her smile and she heard a rustling of fabric before they spoke again.
“Then I have one last offer.”
“I see.”

She froze for a moment, thinking, perhaps now would be a good time to bow out, she wasn't sure she wanted to know any more.
Edited by Star, Feb 3 2011, 08:20 PM.
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Solain ibn Din
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It all happened within the span of a moment; the lights of the candles went out, as if commanded by an unholy wind. Simultanously, the vampire leapt forward, the open mouth revealing a pair of long fangs. His clawed hands outstretched, seeking to rip the lich's limps from his skeletal torso.
Sandroval, on his side, did not wait to act, he grabbed his long staff by both hands, and spread his legs out to provide better balance. His mind recounted half a dozen quickly casted spells he could use when the vampire inevitably slammed into his body.
By the time the light from the candles died, the room saw a tense, readied lich, and a furious vampire in mid-leap. Then there was utter darkness.
Sandroval clenched his jaw tightly, scanning the pitch black room for any sign of movement. The impact never came.
"Your kind... lich... you believe yourself to be masters of death, don't you?"
The voice was everywhere and nowhere at once in the darkness. Sandroval refused to turn around, but he shifted his weight to the front of his feet, ready to pivot and slam the staff onto any attacker.
"Masters... hah, really? You are nothing but glorified zombies... rotten and disgusting. You seek power and in the turn cast away all your humanity," the voice taunted again.
Does he think me for a dungeon-crawling youngster with too much hair on his chest, Sandroval thought.
"Vampires however.... we are beyond humanity... We are perfection in every way.... swift, intelligent, beautiful. Oh, but could you experience the Embrace of Eternal Night, lich. It is a sense of bliss and pleasure. You suddenly understand your place in creation. We, Children of the Night, we are the true master race. You are filth! FILTH!"
With a roar that melted into the taunts, a form threw itself on Sandroval's back. He quickly spun around, stabbing his skeletal fingers into the frame's body, while using its momentum to toss it over his shoulder. There was a thud and a crack from the sound of a broken spine, and then the sound of Sandroval's staff smashing through the skull. Then there was silence of a moment.
He decided to use the breather - figuratively speaking - to channel energy into the staff's orb, and soon a pale, sickly green light bathed the room tenderly. Sandroval looked at the body splayed by his feet - it was the broken form of a Ghoul.
With a curse from between his teeth, the necromancer quickly turned his head up again, grabbed the silver knife from his belt, and uttered the spell Varyn's Binding. Runes on the embalment strips of cloth that covered his limbs shone up for a second. There, that should grant him some extra strength and longevity, he thought satisfied.
"Hahaha! You really thought it was I coming at you, didn't you, lich?" This time, the voice was no different. Hollow, impossible to place. From the corners of his vision, he saw shining eyes stare at him, creeping closer. Sandroval turned around, flashing his knife and making the staff shine brighter. A few recoiled, chittering like apes, averting their eyes, and taking hopping steps sideways as they gurgled vaguely humanoid sounds... but the majority did not budge. They were driven forward by a force unseen.
"It will be a pleasure to see my minions rip you to pieces of dried bone and parchment-dry flesh, lich. But do not worry, perhaps I'll save you form the Final Death by pulling your soul from the brink of the abyss and use you as a mindless servant for all eternity... How does that sound?" The voice menaced again.
Sandroval shot a green flame towards one ghoul that had gotten too close, and as it desperately clawed away on its own face to extinguish the unholy fire, Sandroval traversed the thick fog that now covered the floor.
Fog? He suddenly asked himself. And then it hit him. What a fool he had been! He raced towards the inner room, beating off clawing and biting ghouls, or even those who just tried to weigh him down with their entire bodies in the process. He took long steps, not caring if parts of his robes were torn off.
Finally, he reached the coffin. With some effort, he pushed the stone coffin to the side, tipping it over, and smashing it in the process. And - as he had feared - the ground below was covered in mystical glyphs.
"Ah. I see. You have indeed claimed the place as your own, vampire. These glyphs were made with your own blood saved from when you were still alive, weren't they? To claim this place as your eternal sanctuary... No wonder you control the ghouls and your form as efficiently as you do," he said, partially cursing himself for lapsing into a monologuous tirade at such a moment.
There was no reply this time, just a aggressive hissing from the ghouls who moved with a forced boldness. The vampire was obviously not pleased with the way things were going.
I can do it, he thought. I can nullify the binding, making his grip over this place easier. Then I'll only have him to contend with - and not the entire damn cry- He was abruptly stopped by three ghouls jumping on him, hammering and clawing and biting and tearing at him, with all their feral strength. He threw off one, launched his skeletal hand into another to seize its heart and silence it, but two more jumped on him. The pounding began weakening the magical synapses that connected his body and spirit together. Furiously he put as much focus into his bindings as he could, cursing his new, weakened form. Then, things began to go black.

She lay before him, her dress torn off, a sweaty, vile man laying on top of her. She screamed with all her voice. Looking at Sandroval with begging eyes. She called out his name again and again, calling him for help. Sandroval screamed back, but a violent kick in the face sent his head spinning. He tried to loosen the ropes that tied him, but he only succeeded in making them gnaw deeper into his arms. Warm blood ran along his arms. He looked over to the entrance.

There he saw Iacub and Ysabel, their little bodies lying lifeless in the doorway. He panicked- not knowing what to do, so he screamed. A worldess, primal scream that he poured every shred of his being into.

And the bastards laughed... they
Edited by Solain ibn Din, Feb 4 2011, 02:34 PM.
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Things were bad now and Exotica could not bring herself to allow the half-blood to win, he had the upper hand controlling the land but for some reason it did not concern her as it should have.

Everything happened fast and the lich was pinned before she could move, gouls everywhere, how had she not been noticed? Too much distraction, she answered her own question almost before she had finished it. Carefully Exotica stepped out into the open, casual in her manner and completely relaxed, like nothing was wrong.
"'Perfection in every way', 'the true master race'" She quoted in a clear loud tone "How cute, another half-blood who thinks himself perfection incarnate because some other halfling gave him blood. How is it such a silly vain creature such as you has managed to survive these years, but of course, you have not left your little hiding place in some time, you are too weak to be antagonising something that could well be stronger than yourself with simple rest."
She looked at nothing as she spoke, ignoring the gouls whos attention she now had, until one lept. Her hand plunged into the creatures chest and she simply removed the heart uttering a soft prayer for it's soul.
"What have you done to these poor souls...."
She muttered softly as she stared at the corpse. A sudden rage took hold of her and she began destroying the gouls that were coming towards her, fighting her way to the lich.

The rage was short lived however ending the moment she reached the lich's side and had the gouls off, not dead though, simply flung across the chamber away from the now dying lich.
Ensuring her voice was gentle and clear she spoke and hoped he could understand her.
"Can you fight?" She questioned, "If not, can you at least hold to your senses?"
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Solain ibn Din
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While drifting in a darkness in which there was no up or down, Sandro felt a tug of something unfamiliar. A woman's voice.

At first he couldn't comprehend, but then the darkness receded and found himself staring into the eyes of a dark-skinned female. His vision as still blurred, making her white locks of hair seem almost angelic like.

"Can you fight?" She questioned, "If not, can you at least hold to your senses?"
Without any warning, Sandroval's empty eyesockets suddenly began glowing again. He opened his skeletal jaw, and a bodiless voice rasped forth.

"W-what? Did I-?" he suddenly understood his folishness, his behaviour being that of a mortal hero or somesuch nonsense having been saved and not having a clue. Sandroval knew better. He quickly scanned his surroundings, calculated what he knew, and then he turned to her. His eyes glowing as strong, but more concentrated, as if he had narrowed his eyelids.

"I am fine. You keep the Ghouls at bay while I'll untie the spell," he said, somehow certain that this woman knew what he was talking about. If not - there was a distinct possibility they'd both die, and the lich had not come this far. Liches were creatures who had stared into the abyss and said "No, not me, not yet." And Sandroval very much still stood by that.

(ooc: no, it's not long, but I don't think it was time for a long reply here; I won't godmod your character. :P )
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Comprehension, finally, he's all right then, she breathed a soft sigh of releif, she hadn't been too late. She noticed his eyes, glowing erily in his skull and began to wonder what exactly he was, but she shook off the thought and spoke.
"Good." she was rather curt but it wasn't a moment for gentle words "I'll take care of the gouls, just try not to take too long I don't want to see what happens when the half-blood gets his way."
She managed a smile before returning her complete attention to the gouls, allowing her mind to fall into a zen state and allowing her body to react to the danger.

A quick and fluid movement brought out a dagger, from some unknown place, that she held poised. Exotica was ready when the first goul was forced forward and a blood tear crept down her cheek as she killed it. More came and she kept them at bay recieving scratches from ones that got too close while she was distracted by others, how many are there? she wondered.

(I don't mind, at one point she had a 'big brother' who was fond of pushing her off rooftops lol)
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As quickly as possible, Sandroval turned to the intricate patterns of glyphs arranged on the stone floor and walls behind where once the heavy casket had rested. He desperately browsed it, index finger pointing around while he mumbled to himself.

"Insh'zereh... hmn... nono, not... khyal... No? Damn-" he continued his search, never looking back. He had his job to do, and if he didn't make it, he could be aware of all the ghouls behind him in the world; it wouldn't help squat.
"Har-, no; Hal-zethin!" Suddenly, upon finding a specific phrase in the glyph, cleverly hidden behind cyphers and codes, he instinctively knew where the center of the embedding lay, and moved his finger there. Upon seeing the blood red glyph - no more special than any of the others - he opened the heavy book at his side, looked through the first page he opened, seemingly at random, muttered a curse, slammed the book shut, and pulled out his knife.

"This is going to hurt," he said with a shut jaw.
Stabbing the silvery blade of the curved knife, a great gasp was heard in the room, the fog quickly receding to form a central mass back in the crypt partially hidden by the shadows. Sandroval was in turn blown away from the wall by a burst of energy as he had broken the course of massive amounts of energy bound by the spell. He flew past the altar, landing on his back with a loud thud.
"Fixed it!" he said in his rasping lich's voice, only too late realizing that the comment sounded like it had been taken out from a human comedy. Unsteadily, he started getting up.
Edited by Solain ibn Din, Feb 6 2011, 08:06 PM.
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Exotica could hear him muttering and cursing behind her and she had to take a step back towards him, almost stepping into him, to avoid taking a blow to the midsection from a goul but a startled cry escaped her lips as one caught her left arm. In getting her arm free she killed the goul and gained four scratches around her upper arm as well as one across her cheek from another goul.
She muttered to herself in her quietest tones as she kicked a goul back, flinching at the sound of it's body hitting the wall, and then the cave floor. How many more? The number of gouls seemed endless but maybe it was just how close they were.

A scratchey voice penatrated her mind and Exotica found herself pushed forward, she didn't manage to catch herself as she stumbled and she fell landing with a thud and a soft grunt.
"Fixed it!" came the rasping voice of the lich and she couldn't help but laugh as she pushed herself up on her elbows and then to her feet, scanning the chamber she found the mass in the back of the crypt and focused on it.
"Are you all right?"
She asked the Lich side stepping slowly, cautiously, over to him although she never took her eyes from the mass, she wasn't worried about the gouls, the spell breaking knocked them down as it had her, beyond that she didn't know what happened to them, they no longer worried her.
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"Are you all right?" The woman asked, while cautiously stepping over to him while keeping a firm gaze upon the mass of fog and shadows that formed in the opposite end of the crypt. Sandroval nodded energetically.
"He's lost the supremacy of this place. The ghouls are already dispersing..." he felt a surge of dark energy that hadn't been available to him before. As if a dam had burst and a wall of water bore down on him, but Sandroval took pleasure in this deluge. He let it surge through him, reaffirming his bindings, replenishing his magical reserves... and allowing him to gather focus.

"Do you believe in true love, Sandro?" She asked, putting the garland in her hair.

If the lich could have blinked, he would have. That thought was not his own. It was painful beyond belief. It felt as if a piece of him had been torn off and a searing bar of iron had been stabbed into him. He took a second to gather his mind, not knowing what the thought was or where it came from. Perhaps it was a mental attack from the Vampire? Possibly... He tried not to think about it.

On the opposite end, the form had no coalesced into the Vampire; more feral than ever, the creature that stood before them was a feral thing; more beast than man. His skin was covered in thin, grey fur, his face gaunt and hollowed, glowing red eyes, long, bat-like ears stood erect from his head. His arms were connected to his legs by a grey membrane, and on the tip of each finger and toe was a long claw, more talon than nail. A mouth full of knife-like teeth and a hellish red tongue opened. A voice that was so saturated with hate and anguish that it was palpable came;
"Behold, you maggots! Behold the fate of any vampire that dines on Ghoul blood! An abomination, perhaps, but it will be this abomination that kills you!" With that, the creature leapt towards them.

"He is weakened, disoriented! We must strike at him now!" Sandroval said, while getting on his feet.
"You are the better fighter! I'll lend my magics to you and strike him from a distance! Quickly, we have no time!"

With that, Sandroval chanted a spell that he hoped would grant the female more strength and speed here in the darkness of the crypt. He then turned his attention at the vampire monstrosity ahead. A quick green fireball, a followed by whatever he could muster to slow and numb the creature's movements.
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