Dance of Death (Pt. II)

Please don't scream, what a simple request, and yet how hard I had to fight to heed it. My very bones shook with the need to scream, to let out my startle, my fear, my anguish. I didn't even know what stood behind me, but I knew that he was sentient, and aware of himself. After all, he knew how to speak, and knew enough that I would be scared. Don't scream. But what about the please? Did that make him a civilized man?

"D-Drychteri?" I finally spluttered, eyes horrifically wide, entire body shaking. His hand did not move, and he himself was painfully still. How was he able to do that? To stay so still in such cold conditions? Then I realized that his hand was nearly colder than the area itself, he didn't feel cold because he was the same temperature. Horrifying.

"Well, aren't you observant? Yes, I am Tarael Drychteri. Now stay still, I don't want you to be struggling the entire way down." Before I could object, a cloth was tied around my eyes, soon traveling downwards to bind up my arms and legs. The cloth itself was of a fine weave, a soft material, like silk. It smelled like the earth, sweet, almost sickly so. I couldn't help but notice the undertones of rot and decay embedded in the cloth. Its scent told a story, if only I could pick up on it.

Halfway through my wondering (and trying to figure out where that cloth had come from), the man picked me up. At his mere touch I felt sick to my stomach, his skin was cold, and dried out, like parchment, poorly kept parchment. (Come to think of it, the more I thought about the smell, I learned it could be equated more to molded scroll. Either way, not a pleasant scent.) Only at this moment did I get a feel for how thin he was. The skin rolled over his bones once or twice, as if there was no muscle to cling to, and the bones themselves were thin. Strong, but thin. I shuddered to think how he could even lift my frame.

"Herr Drychteri, where are you taking me?" I tried to struggle against the cloth, but it was tied so tightly, that I couldn't move. If anything, I wanted to know how he tied it so that I couldn't move whatsoever, but that it didn't stop my blood from flowing!

"Try not to ask too many questions-- and stop struggling. It will hurt less if you do not struggle." He readjusted his hold over me, and I felt myself being jostled. "Relax your muscles. If you tense up, I won't be able to hold you, and you do not want to be dropped here. Stay still." I did as directed, and found a far more comfortable position had been waiting for me the entire time. Perhaps trusting this man until I could see again would be wise. He continued to walk, a pace which I could only assume was slow, leisurely, but his steps were not the lightest. Light in weight, yes, but not in intention. He walked with a clear purpose in his step, however, the purpose in his step was exactly what I feared now. Nothing good came out of anything that had the prerequisite of being tied up and blindfolded!

Finally, I was set down on a soft surface, solid, but with plush cushions. How well to do could this man have been to afford plush? I struggled to sit up, but with my hands and legs bound, I still couldn't move as well as I had wanted to. Drychteri must have taken note of this, because he unbound my arms and legs, leaving the blindfold.

"As a favour to me, could you keep yourself blinded for a few short moments longer? I wish to retain this perfect feeling... without the screaming that will ensue once you remove it. You must understand, I detest the screams, they're the worst part." A strange request, but I thought better than to anger him, and kept the blindfold on. Staying on this man's good side was the most important place to start. After all, I had no idea where I was, and chances were good that he was stronger than my spellwork. I dared not risk anything, after all, I had little clue where I was. All I knew was that the air was cold, dry, and very earthy.

"It has... been a long time since I have had visitors, you know. Do not allow me to be rude, would you like something to drink?" Strange, his tone seemed... genuine, did this man really kidnap me just to offer me a drink!?

"T-tea, if you could, Herr Drychteri." I really wanted to take the blindfold off, but knew it would be in poor taste to do so, perhaps when I got my cup would I be allowed to.

"Tea? I had no idea I was dealing with a refined young lady. So many around here do not know the finer points of a lovely cup. Come to think of it, I have some lovely green teas, from the Orient, made of fine jasmine flowers. I think you will come to appreciate it." I heard him move about to another section of the room, not quite another room, but likely divided by a short wall. I couldn't really tell. His steps were soon muffled, but not his voice. "And please, call me 'Tarael'. None of this 'Herr Drychteri' business, honestly. You make me feel so... old!"

"W-well then, H-He... Tarael." I struggled to say his name without a title, I really did.

"Wh-why have you brought me here? Oh, forget that, why are you here? I mean... that headstone, and you... and...." I brought a hand to my head, starting to feel quite ill. (Although, whether that was confusion or the decay, I'll never know.)

"Dear me, little lady, have you never heard of the undead? To think, someone who went to a graveyard would surely know of its dangers. Oh! The secret is out, isn't it? Fine, remove your blindfold, just... promise me that you won't scream." Immediately, I did so, letting the cloth fall around my neck, and then to the base of the sofa. I had to blink a couple of times, because my eyes hurt from being forced shut for so long! Fortunately, the lights in this room were dim, lit mostly by small tea candles. Earthen walls, reinforced by wood and stone, clearly dug from the Earth itself.

We were underground. Under the ground of the graves.

My eyes then drifted to the immediate area, a purple sofa, with every bit as plush as I had felt, which matched the purple in the sash that had held me so tightly. Soon, I heard the clattering of teacups, and a serving tray was put in front of me on a small table. A pale, impossibly thin hand stretched out, and grabbed the cloth, affixing it over his left shoulder. I did my best to keep my eyes to the floor, noticing that he was barefoot, and how his toes looked painfully long, accompanied by nearly talon-like nails that were surprisingly clean and well-kept. (If not sharpened lightly into points. Frightening.) I would have examined his legs further, had the rest not been covered by a thin, white skirt. (And I do say a skirt, as his chest remained completely uncovered, save for the sash.)

"Rise thy gaze upwards, my dear. You may behold me, so long you do not run in terror." He even stood to make it easier for me to look, standing with his feet together, and his arms slightly spread in a manner that let me see his entire body. His abdomen was impossibly thin, conversely, with a wide ribcage, while his entire torso was covered in scar tissue. (Some of it having hardly healed, either, as there were still stitches in many of the wounds. Small, expertly done stitches.) His shoulders were wide, and almost... sharply pointed, as the bones and blades threatened to break free of the restrictive skin pulled tightly over them. I felt bad for Tarael, as this looked to be very painful.

Finally his face, his features were likely gaunt in life, and this was only worsened in death. Often, death (and undeath, subsequently) isn't kind to the body, and nearly never kind to the face, but Tarael seemed to escape from its usual ravaging clutches. His eyes were sunken, his skin stretched, his lips thin, and his nose barely there, but he still looked... handsome, I suppose. At least as handsome as one could be for having been dead awhile. Stranger still was that he still had a full head of hair. It was dulled, and thin, but still there, a shockingly bright white, which would have flowed past his shoulders had he not tied it back with a purple ribbon.

I took him in slowly, examining every detail that I could. However, every second that I looked at him, I became painfully aware that he was looking at me as well. It should have been an obvious conclusion, but I had been so caught up in watching him, that I forgot that I was every bit as visible.

"Your tea, little girl." He finally remarked, gently handing me a cup. Of all things, I gasped when I looked at it, as it was expertly carved, and very delicate, with little intricate designs painted into it in pure gold-leaf. Surprisingly, the teacup wasn't purple, but instead a crisp, stark white, which only caused the pale green tones of the tea to stand out and intermingle with the beautiful golden designs. The ripples in the teacup made the designs look like they themselves were moving about, swimming inside of the cup. "Go on, I did not poison it. I assure you, if I had, I would not have been using such a fine and delicately brewed tea. Poisons are better suited in alcohol, or strong brews, where you cannot taste the subtle flavour of death." I did as asked, and had to set the cup down immediately to savour the flavors. The tea itself was flowery, as one would expect jasmine to be, but it struck one in a strange way, it was so fine, as if the leaves were plucked at a very young age, and wrapped in the finest silk satchel. (Of course, I presumed this was exactly the case, and my taste-buds were not fooling me.)

"Th-this is incredible, Herr Tarael! R-really, where did you come across such teas?"

He pretended not to hear me. I caught him smiling from my compliment, but he did not give me the privilage of an answer. Instead, he assaulted my mind with more questions. "What is your name, little girl? And what were you doing out in a graveyard late at night? Moreover, you're not blessed, why are you dealing in the dead-- their domain?"

"I... I.... It is merely something I do, I... I just enjoy visiting the graves when I pass them, to show my respect. M-my group travels often, and we... we cause enough graves to be filled, it is only proper that I try to make amends."

"You forgot your name." His lips twisted into a scowl.

"H-Harra, Herr Tarael. Harra von Schwarzenebel." I tried to keep smiling, but I could see his expression become less and less friendly.

"Schwarzenebel, mm? And von, implying 'from', also implying nobility. You are King Schwarz' daughter?"

"His Student, mein Herr." A common misconception, while I was the King's heir, I had no blood relation to him. This was a surprisingly common trend in my homeland, however.

"... I was close. I met the man once when he was a restless youth, before he had become King, and before I had become... me." I did not have to ponder that statement for long without understanding its meaning. Tarael knew my Teacher before he had 'died'. He stared into my eyes, leaning forward slightly. It gave me a better look into his, his eyes were blue in life, but now they just faded into milky blue pools. It was a miracle that his eyes hadn't melted or rotted completely (and I shuddered to think what measures he must take to keep them!) Cataracts had taken them over, and it was clear that he did not actually see through them. The only thing I could assume would be a spell. (I liked to think it was some sort of divination spell, that let him see through disguise, but perhaps that was my wishful thinking of spells I wanted to do.)

"Can you guess what I am, little Harra? I can assume what you are, after all. I know that you are Schwarzenebelin, and you have a Gem to hold your soul. That you are the King's Student, I can assume that you are a magical being of incredible power. And by your brown eyes, short frame, and dark hair, I can assume that you are not blood related to the King in any way." He smiled, accidentally exposing his elongated teeth. Another frightening effect of death, his gums were nearly nonexistent, making his teeth appear as if they went on forever. "So, child, can you tell me what I am?"

"W-well... you are obviously some sort of living dead. That much is known as fact. The fact that you have 'lived' long enough to have known Herr Teacher in life suggests that you are powerful enough to have evaded or vanquished anyone wishing to hurt you for a long time. You are very well-preserved, which makes me think twice about what you would be. You... you're corporeal, which keeps you from being a wraith. You aren't singlemindedly trying to harm someone, so you could not be a revenant. So that leaves... oh." If I had ever felt 'light' going into my eyes, it would have been at that moment. "Herr Tarael! Where is your phylactery?"

He gave another smile (this time, thankfully, keeping his lips closed) and moved his sash to the side, exposing a brilliantly beautiful purple diamond resting against his chest. It was kept on a gold chain, with gold triangular tips pointing out at each direction. "Continue, little one, there are many uses for a phylactery."

"Yes, but not many for undead, and not many as powerful as yours for some simple reanimation. You're a Lich, undead by your own design!" I was shaking, be it from excitement, or terror, I wasn't quite certain. I had only read about Liches, and knew them to be powerful, evil beings. They controlled all around them, and desired power as if it were a drug. Suddenly, I viewed Tarael with all of the distrust he had earned. Liches weren't to be trusted, at least wights and some zombies could be controlled, but there was no controlling a Lich, it was something that only the most powerful mortals could ever dream of.