"Only monsters put the ends before the means." ~Slayth Nyre Chapter One

    A short, cloaked figure dressed in a thick black hooded robe stood pondering over what happened. The smell of blood was so strong he could taste iron with every breath. He couldn't help but look around. It was less then a day ago that he stood in this very place and enjoyed a quite moment of inner peace in a lush field. Now countless horses’ hooves disfigured the ground. The bright green grass now stained a dirty red and trampled flat by a thousand armored soldiers. Many of those soldiers now lay dying or dead a good distance in every direction. He looked down at one of the lifeless bodies closest to him. It was a young boy in his teens wearing poor armor that was much too big for him.

    "Did you even know why you had to die boy? Did you even have to die? Just how many mothers, wives, families, and lovers have I destroyed because I 'had' to win?"  He thought out loud.He then leaned on his staff and knelt down.  Looking into the boy's lifeless blue eyes he continued.

    "What was your name? What would you have done in life if I had chosen to lose? Would you have stopped a plague or saved a kingdom? And because one of my soldiers found your neck how many could now die?" He questioned the lifeless form almost expecting it to respond.  He paused and closed the boy's eyes. 

    "Is this victory?" He asked as he looked around the lifeless, bloodied field. "No this is death, my best friend. Oh how I hate you!" The words slipped from his lips like a curse.

    The cloaked man stood up and walked to the edge of the battlefield. He rolled his staff between his fingers looking at the carved wolf’s head on the knob. He shook his head and sighed. He held his staff to the sky before slamming it down into the earth.  A dark green cloud seeped up from the ground and enveloped him. At first it ever so lightly brushed his skin like a lover's touch, gently prodding and coxing him to breathe it in. As soon as he opened his mouth it turned violent and clawed at his skin like a demon trying to claim a prize. He rose a few feet off the ground as this fog forced its way inside him. It didn’t fill him but rather emptied him of what little shred of life he still had. As this invader finished its work he slowly drifted back to the ground. When he opened eyes the dark brown had been replaced with a cold black.  His eyes showed what was under the skin, nothing. 

    As the cloud faded away he took everything in. He looked out across the field with out emotion or remorse. The world was always so different like this. Light, distance, and many other things were hardly factors any more. But everything felt so lifeless everything was just about information now. Like this he couldn't see beauty or color but he could see every pointless detail of everything. He couldn't feel warmth just degrees of cold. There was no wind or sweet scents, just the force of impact and the stench of fear. He could hear music miles away but it just sounded like monotone noise.

    He sighed and began moving his staff across the width of the field. As he did the bones of his destroyed forces reformed and stood facing him. They easily numbered over a thousand. Only a small number were too damaged to be risen again. He looked out across them all. 

    "Heal those that can be saved. Kill those who can't be. And ready all of them, living and dead, for the stone throne."  With a simple thought he commanded each of them. 

    "Yes my Lord!"  Hundreds of soundless voices invaded his mind with the perfectly unified answer.

    That use to greatly bother him. Hearing another's voice in your mind would shake anyone's sanity. He was use to it now though. It made it much easier to command his forces that way. He paused for a moment as he considered if that meant he was insane. He shook his head and focused on what he knew to be true. In this state it was very dangerous to question things.   Logic without emotions or a sense or right and wrong could only end in the loss of whatever humanity he had left.  He composed himself as he walked to a slight rise in the middle of the field. He forced his hand into the hard packed ground tearing the skin from his bones. As the blood seeped into the ground, rocks jetted up through the dirt. They snapped and ground together as if in protest as he willed them into the desired shape.  Once they broke to his will the rocks found themselves in the shape of a throne.  Two stone wolf heads adorned both armrest and one crowned the top of the back.  It was sold rock and very uncomfortable but right now everything was equally uncomfortable.  He stood up and looked down at what was left of his hand. Through the shredded and bleeding flesh he could see old charred and blacked bones.  He shook his head and passed his staff over his hand willing the flesh to reform. He lowered himself onto his throne and watched as the survivors were tended to and the dead were being lain out in front of him. Closing his eyes he reached out to the minds of his soldiers.

    The rank and file could offer no conversation. Their minds were too simple now. He had made them that way. These mindless ones were nothing but monsters. He focused on one of them and saw through its eye's as it wrapped a wounded leg in clean bandages. He chuckled to himself, most people would never put healing and death magic together. But the truth was if healers used the “forbidden arts” it would save countless lives. After all healers do everything they can to stave off death and control disease. And no one could do that better then he. He was the master of death and by that the master of life. He could clean a body to the bone in seconds. But that same magic could also put a broken body back together. Not as easily of course, but building things is always harder then tearing them down.

    The cloaked figure shifted his focus from one monster's view to another. This had taken him time to perfect but with a little focus he found it was much the same as recalling an old memory. He scanned his forces overseeing their work and helping them with any complex tasks. As he worked with one of them a familiar voice rang out in his mind.

    "My Lord I request your help. We have found a young lady who is 'determined' to fight against us.” The voice was Davion's, a trusted adviser and one of his best commanders. He was almost sad that Davion's service was coming to an end. 

    Not much him by surprise anymore. But this intrigued him. He knew that some women chose to fight and even a few had willing joined his service in the past. But these encounters were rare and always interesting. Besides it would take his forces another hour or two at least before his former enemies would be ready to hear his proposal.

    “Keep her unharmed. I'll be there shortly.”  He silently replied.

    As he made his way closer to Davion he could hear the lady yelling at the monsters to stay back. He held his staff against the sky and opened his mouth. That same dark green cloud could be seen this time seeping from his mouth and eyes. It dissipated quickly enough but clearly took a great deal of will power on his part to force it from him. As the cloud faded he almost choked as the smell of blood filled his senses again. Strangely he was thankful for the feeling of being alive even if it was a facade. Her voice now replaced the monotone noise he had heard before. It was harsh and dry yet still carried a feminine quality to it. As he neared the group of skeletons that surrounded her he nodded to Davion who saluted him in response. The cloaked figure just shook his head and raised his hand. The skeletons parted at his silent command. There in the middle of them was a young lady in full steel armor. Her golden blond hair whipped her face as she spun a spear in all directions. As the group parted she stopped and locked her dark blue eyes on the heavily cloaked figure. She pointed her weapon directly at him,

    "Who are you?" She commanded.

    She was still screaming just not with her words. He'd seen it many times. Her whole body was screaming fear. She hid it rather well though. Like one that had years of training and had possibly even fought a few monsters of her own. But fear is part of life. He paused before answering her trying to decide how best to respond.

    "My name is Slayth.  And you are?" He responded with a smile as he pulled his hood back. 

    "Don't! I know what you are necromancer. Don't you dare try to act human you're nothing but a monster!" Her whole body shook in anger and fear.

    "Really you do? Are you sure? Have you seen a necromancer before? How do you know?" He couldn't help but be slightly sarcastic while surrounded by his hoard of undead.

    "Do you think I'm stupid? You're the only one alive that the undead aren't trying to kill! Who else could you be but their master?"  The end of her spear was steady and true as she focused her will and hate against him.

    "Well to be fair that's not true. You're alive and not being attacked. According to your logic you could just as easily be their master. That and there's at least a hundred wounded men just over there.  They could be necromancers too as I'm pretty sure I saw skeletons tending their wounds."  He gestured to a large white field tent his minions had recently constructed.

    "Lies! The dead never tend to the needs of the living!"
Her eyes and voice burned with rage even though her spear stayed steady and unshaken.

    "Well except for necromancers," he smiled as he admired her control.

    "Enough! You're trying to confuse me, to trick me into lowering my guard!" 

    "Why?"  Slayth asked with a stoic expression.

    
"What?" she responded with a confused look on her face.

    "Why would I try to trick you? If I were a necromancer then I could easily have my soldiers overpower you or just have my knight here disarm and subdue you. Or let us suppose that you are the greatest fighter ever and could best all of them. You're clearly very tired and weak from a battle you just lost. They are undead and as such do not know weakness or fatigue. I could just have them form a wall around you and wait till sleep or hunger took over. There is no need to trick you if I were a necromancer."

    "I...  What are you then if not a necromancer?"  She stammered unsure of what to do.

    "Right now, I'm Slayth," he said with a smirk.

    "What do you mean 'right now'?" she gripped the spear and lined the tip up with his chest.

    "Just that at this very moment I'm simply Slayth. Tomorrow I might be undead. The next day I might be the lord of these lands. We never know what the future holds."  He said with a rather whimsical look.

    "I don't believe you." She said as she regained her composure.

    "I never asked you to. I would ask that you prove me wrong though."  He said as he leaned forward resting his hands on his staff.

    "About what?" She responded as she tried her best to hide her renewed confusion.

    "That the undead are tending the wounds of your fellow soldiers."  He responded still resting on the staff.

    “And how would I do that?"  She questioned as she ever so slightly lowered her spear.

    "Just follow us over to the healer's tent. And see for yourself." He nodded over to Davion. The pale knight silently commanded his small group to form up as they made their way over to the large white pavilion style tent not but a hundred yards away. The young woman was left standing by herself. The look of confusion was plan on her face. She clearly expected that to be her last stand. She didn't know what to do now. However, curiosity was getting the better of her and it wasn't long before she was following at a safe distance. Slayth never looked back at the woman but he knew she'd follow. Curiosity is powerful, sneaky, and very useful.