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[Sethos]

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Sethos walked slowly up to the Sanctuary of the Ebon Skull, atop Charnel Hill. Genuflecting and making a number of odd symbolic gestures he paused, not knowing where he had learned them. He kneeled for a few moments, praying, as a sharp pain grew within his chest, then his head directly behind his eyes…This pain burning within him had in many ways been his inspiration to pursue all of this, to come to Umbra, a gift from the dark arts he thought, or a curse, his calling.

Rising slowly he made his way to the skull, bending his hand into a claw he moved to touch the relic but paused inches above. Small little ebon flashes of energy jumping from the Skull to the boy’s finger-tips, the empty eye-sockets filling slowly with a cloudy mist, it was aware of his presence. He felt it tracing through his body, odd tendrils of energy radiating from the Skull, tugging at his soul, his very essence. A chill, a horrible chill through his entire body. Withdrawing his hand slowly he clenched a fist across his chest and meditated on all he had learned to this point, from the wraith Lord, from Lord Tyranthraxus. With a harsh gaze into the west a thought entered his twisted mind, he wished to make sacrifice, to test his new abilities.

Walking only a brief distance towards Sanctus he found a small traveling band of companions, two females and a male. From the tree-line he watched, carefully cautiously, as they made their camp. Hours later as they rested by the fire they could not have heard the wither spells in the woods, causing roughly thirty crows to fall dead. Nor could they hear the words of animation. As the male slowly began to enter into sleep they did in fact here the screeches and sounds of wings, then an inky mass blacked out the faint moonlight overhead and they were upon them.
Ripping, tearing and squawking at them. Decaying and putrid winged death. Slowly the flock calmed, perching along the close-line and the wall tent’s outer beam. The females groaned in pain, in the end they begged for death as Sethos slowly used the arcane to ravage their bodies with boils and plagues of all kinds, with bliss he slowly dissected them, so neatly, with a steady hand and unblinking eye. When he had finished he turned to the male, laying their watching in horror.

Gingerly Sethos began to make the incisions near the man’s chest, then without warning the man haphazardly swung a small dagger at Sethos, missing horribly, amid his bloody and gurgled spewing of curses. Slightly un-nerved Sethos pulled the man’s arm close, summoning a number of the birds who picked it clean of flesh, leaving small bits of bloody muscle. Standing over the man and tapping his head once Sethos spoke, his voice cold and mechanical:

“Racht'nekrosis li vaspa vash'gath”

Then, turned and vanished back into the woods, in the morning travelers corpses, the flesh pecked away, their eyes missing, their organs laid out methodically about them, all amid a feathers, black and terrible scattered thru out the area.