Chapter Twelve: Discipline
The sun was shining high in the skies over Shattrath. The birds of Terokar sang in the distance, and alone, atop the Scryer Tier sat the lone priest. At his side he held a swatch of fabric, a long shirt, black with white trimming. Infection was his home, and will remain it forever more. Where else could he hone his abilities without the worry of interupttion from outside influences. Everyone within the guild halls had their own agendas, so no one much bothered anyone else there. This made for an ideal location to find inner-strength. But on a day like this, even his undead flesh could feel the warmth of the sun. Today was a good day, a joyous day.
He threw the tabard into his side satchel, not caring to wear it outwardly. New vestment's of power, and soon, new weapons. He would be spending a great deal of time in the next few days making sure to improve his tools of the trade. It was one new ally he sought to help him in this endeavor. The undead that seemed to be using the name of Serpeng, a newcomer with great strength, far beyond those of this single priest; Byrun. Perhaps a deal could be struck, an exchange of abilities. Certainly, an assassin needs someone to tend their wounds.
The deal had been made the night prior, and now this day shone brightly. Though the one known as Serpeng had no affiliations, perhaps, when the time came, that could be changed. Plans within plans.
"It's time for us to get a move on, wouldn't you agree?" He spoke to the winds, as if someone were there before him. "Yes, of course, did you expect anything less?" Dead flesh curled into a grin as he rose to his feet, his mace clipped to his side, tome on the other. "I plan on it, let these new vestments be stained with the blood of many."
He leapt from the tower, and began his plummetting to the lower city, a roar of maddened laughter echoing as he went.
He threw the tabard into his side satchel, not caring to wear it outwardly. New vestment's of power, and soon, new weapons. He would be spending a great deal of time in the next few days making sure to improve his tools of the trade. It was one new ally he sought to help him in this endeavor. The undead that seemed to be using the name of Serpeng, a newcomer with great strength, far beyond those of this single priest; Byrun. Perhaps a deal could be struck, an exchange of abilities. Certainly, an assassin needs someone to tend their wounds.
The deal had been made the night prior, and now this day shone brightly. Though the one known as Serpeng had no affiliations, perhaps, when the time came, that could be changed. Plans within plans.
"It's time for us to get a move on, wouldn't you agree?" He spoke to the winds, as if someone were there before him. "Yes, of course, did you expect anything less?" Dead flesh curled into a grin as he rose to his feet, his mace clipped to his side, tome on the other. "I plan on it, let these new vestments be stained with the blood of many."
He leapt from the tower, and began his plummetting to the lower city, a roar of maddened laughter echoing as he went.