Your Soul to Keep.

The night itself seemed restless, lacing winter winds down her spine, as the branches overhead shook with their caress. No amount of layering could prevent her skin from shivering. Hannelore buried her left hand into her companion’s fur, taking comfort in his eternal warmth. The large white wolf turned his enormous head to meet her dark brown eyes with his own golden green orbs. Hannelore sighed softly into the night, the fog of her breath quickly batted away by the overpowering wind. Their target was close at hand, she could feel it in her very blood. Alabaster's large eyes held comfort, strength given to his master. She smiled and stroked his ear before she broke gaze to move from their crouching position in the foliage to the open area of the clearing. Her long raven locks moved subtly in their braided entrapment as she began to prepare for her task. A large bag that hung at her side and slung over her strong shoulders was placed carefully on the ground.
As she crouched to sort through its contents, Alabaster came to sit beside her once again, his ageless eyes scanning the clearing for signs of incoming movement. Her deft hands moved through the bag, moving aside a giant tome, a glowing orb, an intricate box, multiple vials of fangs, fur, and blood, several charms, and tools until  Hannelore produced a large jar of salt and two smaller vials of herbs. Horehound for protection and solomon's seal for banishing. Taking another deep breath, Hannelore took a few steps, allowing the daggers strapped to her thighs to shine in the moonlight from underneath her long red leather coat. Five paces and she opened the jar of salt, holding it out just enough to allow a steady stream of salt to fall as she began to walk in a wide circle. Under her breath she spoke a prayer to her ancestors in her native German, asking for their protection and guidance on this hunt. She rounded Alabaster and her discarded bag before completing the circle.She placed the lid back on to the jar, and picked up the vial of herbs to leave a less steady circle with both around the prior. She spoke to her Gods this time, praying that this tribute would please them.

Alabaster made a noise crossed between a snort and a growl. Hannelore finished her circles in time to feel an overpowering shiver run itself down her lithe body. Just beyond the clearing crawled her target, the sickening sounds of its movement now apparent through the howling wind. Hannelore put faith that no matter how much the winds moved her salt and herbs, their protection would be the same. A wet slap hit the ground before them and the first appearance of the creature entered the clearing.
The creature moved on no legs, just a writhing mass of sickly flesh that tore and bled as it traveled over the forest floor, leaving a trail of gore in it's wake. It's body oozed with blood and pus, the smell of rotting flesh, waste, and death hung about the creature. It had almost no recognizable features, just a slew of discolored skin that stretched together in an infinite pattern and a large jagged mouth made of sharpened bone from the fallen that it took to weave together a flesh goblin. It paused in it's disturbing movement to seemingly sniff the air despite it's lack of smell sensory. It knew she was there, just as she had known of it.
Hannelore's stomach had grown accustomed to many horrible things, rotting flesh, disemboweled creatures, brain bits and body parts, blood and gore of all kinds and consistencies. However, no matter how many years she lived, her stomach would always hurl itself against her body in some attempt to escape whenever she encountered a flesh goblin. She took a deep breath through her mouth to keep the creature's stink from hitting her nose and unsettling her stomach further. She managed to steady herself.

Flesh goblins were a product of careless Necromancers using their powers outside of areas of protection. All it took to make a flesh goblin was a missing piece of undead flesh. No matter how small, it would writhe, wiggle, and crawl until it found more undead flesh or something just barely smaller than itself to eat. As the creature would consume, it would grow. However, they were relatively easy to find and kill when they are just budding, so they were rarely seen as large as this one. Hannelore wondered to herself how this one had been able to go so long without the detection of her family. It served as a reminder to why she had to go through the proper procedures to dispose of the undead.
The creature's skin was a mingling of animal hides as well as human flesh. A stretched human face stared at her without eyes from the flesh goblin's left side. She cringed slightly at the sight. Human flesh made them stronger, smarter. However, the amount of humans it had eaten remained a mystery in it's Frankenstein skin. Hannelore steadied herself with her legs shoulder-width apart in the center of her circle. She couldn't summon just any undead to do her bidding this night, minion zombies would just be devoured. She would need something big, something fast.

Alabaster watched with dangerous eyes, ready to leap to her defense should her circle ever break as the creature held it's disturbing stance. Hannelore slid her long jacket from her form, letting it hit the ground. She rolled the long sleeves to her white blouse, revealing a string of scars on her left arm. She slid one dagger from it's sheath on her right thigh, her striped black and white stockings barely keeping out the cold. The red leather corset that adorned her torso had skirt lifts to ensure that her black skirts wouldn't ever impede her movement, should she need it. The symbol of her clan held from a black choker around her neck glinted in the light of the moon. A symbol of her dangerous breed.
Hannelore closed her eyes and concentrated. She thought of her purpose, the very craft for which she was bred. The wind stilled, Alabaster moved to his feet, his undeniable size making the wide circle seem cramped. This was the moment, his fur was standing on end. As if the flesh goblin too could feel the power, it surged forward causing the sickening noise of tearing flesh to echo through the night. Faint lines of black and gray traced the fine contours of Hannelore's face, moving through all her visible flesh. Her eyes shot open as the creature hit the wall of her protection circle, revealing that they had become engulfed in black. The flesh goblin was cast several yards back with a sharp thud, it screamed a guttural cry as it fell.
Hannelore wasted no time as the ancient power sprang to life within her. It's essence traveled through her blood, warming her soul with it's flame. She had made her decision. She brought the chosen creature's name into mind, visualizing its essence, and calling it's soul to her cause. The minion of the undead fought, as they always did. However, it was a losing battle. Hannelore held a power over it that could only be severed by choice. Suddenly, as the flesh goblin began to mount another assault, the earth just outside of the circle, in the middle of the clearing split into giant jagged fissures. The cracked ground ran lines all around the clearing, causing several trees to sink awkwardly.

The earth shook underneath the flesh goblin, as a pair of large talons began to drag the skeletal body of a serpentine creature from the ground. From it's skeletal body hung scraps of dried flesh and gore, it's one eye was a glowing orb of fire, and it's long tail whipped about the clearing with razor sharp blades. It's face was eagle-like, the skin of which only barely held on, yet it's body was long and nimble like that of a serpent, wheres it's legs were two too many. It was just barely larger than a bear, but was as long as the clearing they were currently situated in and from it's ribcage spouted white flames in the place of organs. The creature cried aloud, echoing beyond all planes of existence, causing tiny shivers to run down Hannelore's spine.
Hannelore held the name of this creature, and commanded it as she saw fit. With her right hand, she drew her blade against the soft scarred flesh of her left forearm and spilled blood upon the forest floor. She spoke to the creature as she offered her blood, and saw that it knew her reason for summoning it. The pryekin regarded her with its one blazing eye, before turning to face the pathetic flesh goblin before it. Wings of great flame erupted from the back of the great creature. Hannelore felt it strain against her hold, the pryekin was a greater undead and saw no reason to be commanded to destroy something so lowly. She had feared the rebellious nature of this particular minion yet pushed her will upon it severely. She had won the right the command it many moons ago, it was hers to command. The pryekin howled again under her force.

The flesh goblin did not understand the exchange nor the creature that stood in it's way of a powerful meal. It reared itself up and charged around the pryekin, attempting to get to Hannelore. The pryekin swatted the creature away with one large paw without effort. The flesh goblin was once again cast backward. However, as this happened, Hannelore's legs fell out from underneath her. A steady menacing growl erupted from Alabaster toward the dark tree line. Something had approached. Hannelore moved to a quick crouching position, unsheathing her other dagger. The pryekin, compelled by his mistress's distress, moved to a defensive position in front of her. Through the fiery ribs of her minion Hannelore saw the silhouette of a man surface from the forest. The flesh goblin moved to the man, sniffing the ground around it, paying homage to it's master. Hannelore realized, with horror, that this explained why the flesh goblin had been able to achieve such a great size. Someone had been feeding it.
The man laughed at the sight before him, a scrawny pale girl stood in a circle of salt surrounded by one minion and a creature of the living. Alabaster's fur stood on end, he took one step toward the circle's edge before Hannelore grabbed him. That flesh goblin was completely capable of devouring the wolf within mere seconds despite his freakish size. Alabaster barked at the man, a deep accusatory sound., daring him to step close enough to be bitten. The circle would only prevent the undead from entering it.

The human man rolled up his sleeve, as Hannelore had done before, showing a similar string of scars. She felt the pryekin's blood temptation roll through it's being. She couldn't believe that he was about to do something so stupid. Necromancy, true necromancy at least, was reserved for females. Only women were able to summon and command the undead. Males were capable of making short-term deals with the dead, but that almost always ended in their eventual death.
“Oh great creature of the otherworld, I beseech you to leave this unworthy w***e of a master for a contract with me.” he spoke aloud to the pryekin in a heavy English accent, casting a glare at Hannelore as he did. “I offer you the blood of many for your service to me.” Hannelore was incredulous. She felt the pryekin pull against the invisible ties connecting the both of them to each other. She allowed a guttural noise to spring from her throat, while her eyes blackened yet again. She gave a sharp tug to the creature in her control, pulling at the string connected to it's essence. A remainder that at any time she chose, she could permanently end it's sorry existence. The pryekin recoiled at the sensation.

Hannelore stood, casting the pryekin to stand behind her circle, leaving her view completely open to the stranger before her. Alabaster stared at his master, seemingly rising an eyebrow in her direction. He felt her anger radiating, felt her power press down on the night, on the ignorant man just paces away. The man cringed at the force, his knees physically bending under her might. She came to the edge of her circle and called to him.
“I do not know who you are, nor do I care. Your fate was sealed from the moment that you began to make contracts with the undead. The Rothschild Clan is the oldest and last true clan of Necromancers and I will not stand by as you bastardize the craft with your blood.” her German accent was clear as she spoke and stepped forward, from the protection of her circle, clutching both blades in her steady hands. The flesh goblin seemed to understand that whatever had stood in its way before had disappeared and suddenly he was charging one again. The man moved to call it back yet, before it's solid mass made contact with Hannelore, the pryekin surged forward, to tear the creature to pieces. Seconds later it opened it's great beak and spewed white flames. The flames licked at the creature and yet touched nothing else, ending the existence of the abomination.

Hannelore crossed the clearing toward the man that had so blatantly insulted her. He stood only barely taller than her, with his back and shoulders straight, yet the trembling of his hands gave away his true nature. She stood before him, with Alabaster and her minion behind her. His legs crumbled underneath him and he kneeled to her, muttering quick apologies to the superior necromancer. However, a glint of metal shone through the night, but Hannelore didn't notice it until the man had sliced into his own skin. Blood pooled from the cut on his arm, it was a deep wound with bone clearly visible. The pyrekin roared and raced toward the man, attempting to make the contract solid before Hannelore could stop it.
It's six legs made no time crossing the clearing, leaving uneven foot prints in the broken ground of the forest floor. Hannelore grasped for the strings of the creature's essence, yet it was too fast, too rebellious. Just before it's tongue of flame could lap at the false necromancer's blood, the pryekin crumbled unexpectantly into ash. Hannelore breathed a quick sigh of relief. The man's eyes clouded with disbelief and stared at the woman before him. She, however, was looking to the giant white wolf. In it's massive jaws was the golden orb that now had hundreds of tiny cracks throughout it. He had destroyed the object Hannelore had bound the creature to, extinguishing the pryekin's essence from existence.
The man slumped forward, staring at his own pool of blood. She watched him for a moment, using a sharp gesture toward Alabaster.. Hannelore cocked her head to the side and pulled the man by his shirt to look him in the eyes. She saw in him his lust for death, his need for abominations and sacrilege. She smiled softly as Alabaster came to her side carrying an intricately designed box.
“Well, you've become so acquainted with the death perhaps it's best to keep you.” something of a sadistic look clouded over her pretty features as she drew one of his daggers across his throat. A pure look of terror had engulfed him, yet he hadn't the time to protest or beg for mercy before blood gurgled from his open wound, silencing him forever. As he died and his soul attempted to leave his body, Hannelore drew it into the box. A necromancer could never have too many souls after all.