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[Mairsil]

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A wet bag thudded against a floor of dirt and stone, and from it a pool of blood emerged. Barl De'Abreago clutched its previous contents within his grasp, and with every simple squeeze of his fist, matching drops of blood rained before him to the ground. This heart was a dead thing the lichdrow had given life anew, and he could hear the whispers of the force trapped within it. With every odd beat was an odd and sickening glow not common of such an organ, but truly it was no longer an organ anymore. It was a vessel, a prison, and the greatest potential weapon that Barl had wielded for some time.

He stared into the force within the undead prison, reflecting upon the events of the night before.



It started with a gathering in the very place he believed Church's phylactery to be. He would test his theory soon, he would draw him here, but pieces were still missing.. pieces he intended to find that very night.

One by one, those students and allies of necromancy whom were loyal to Barl started to make appearances, and the gathering quickly became more than coincidence. One way or another they had been summoned here, and so too did they follow him to the destination of interest. Moonglow.

The city that for a short time Barl had won for himself was also the original home of the enemy he sought to destroy. More important than Moonglow however was the city's graveyard. Information had thus far aided Barl a great deal in his hunt for Darrien Church, and it was his suspicion that this information would lead him to what remained of Darrien's Mortal shell.





They searched the graveyard stone by stone, and for every other turned, they put down the undead creature that attacked them in protest. He was not quite sure what he would find, or where it would be located, but he and several of the others knew well where they would likely find anything. Three marble structures rose high into the air from the ground, like temples in the honor of fallen gods. His dull red eyes grew brighter at the thought, even in death was the arrogance of the lich lord palpable.

In the second would be tomb of Darrien, there was naught but dust and and crumpled leaves. They scanned the room thoroughly, looked for enchantments, and eyes the floor for possible trap doors. Eventually, when all else failed, it was Nightshade who found the inscription, covered by dirt upon the wall. It was then as she read it aloud that something happened, predictable as Barl expected, and yet not at all what he would have expected.





What spirit that is not Church inhabits his grave?

He spoke the question as command, his curiosity and devotion fueling the power of his art...

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The sound of rocks crashing in the distance and echoing through the caverns of the city of magic ripped Barl back to reality. His mind focusing inward on the defensive wards he'd placed so carefully. None of them had been tripped, but the disruption had done its job.

Barl's thoughts of the present having returned to him, he looked to the scattered pages upon his stone desk. He shifted a few of them aside, finding one in particular: http://www.atlanticcommunityboard.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=132433&highlight=#stat

Lifting quill to paper, his hand glided over a series of names with lines scratched through them, and after a moment found one which was not.

Elizabeth M'real

He scratched through only one word.

Elizabeth M'real -Deceased
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"You see I can not be forsaken, because I'm not the only one. We walk amongst you, beating, r#ping, must we hide from everyone?" - Jon Davis

[Elizabeth M'real]

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Lips ripe as the berries in June, Red the Rose, Red the Rose

Love...

Skin Pale as the Light of the Moon, Gently as she Goes.

Illness...

Eyes Blue as the Sea and the Sky, Water Flows, Water Flows

Murder...

Heart Burning like Fire in the Night, Gently as she goes.

The Heart Whispers his name...

Husband...