Vashtek The Eternal

[*Melmoth]

6) Wasteland

The creature closed in to the bait, thinking itself unseen. It smelled the blood, or perhaps the very life thread (he was unsure, yet...but it was inconsequential) of its prey, and it could sense it from very far, according to his tests. He did not doubt an inferior being (like the bait...) would die before hearing or seeing anything...but he was different. Since his rebirth, his senses were obviously gone, but his awareness had increased far beyond mortal limits. As the devil closed in towards the "berk" (he was getting acquainted with the Sigil Cant after all, he thought with a hint of amusement), he distractedly raised a skeletal hand and whispered a few words in the arcane language of magic: a storm of arcane power engulfed the creature as it was raising its blade, already licking its lips in anticipation...

After the cluster of magic energy ripped and pierced the infernal to pieces, like an impossible number of pure energy darts, he walked towards the bait, which was still unable to do anything but twitching under the power of his Hold Person weave: "Hm...it seems as though you are a lucky one, you outlived yet another one of them. Your colleagues werent so fortunate, when I was experimenting with fire and acid attacks...not so efficient against the local denizens, I have to say", he commented in a hollow tone as his dreadful unseeing eyes met the terrified gaze of its "companion". As he was observing the result of his attack on the devil's remains, notes forming on a floating diary right in front of him, his familiar warned him of more hostiles incoming in large numbers from all directions.

As they approached, he could count five...no seven...and more. He briefly considered destroying them all, but to what end? Lots of power wasted, and possible damage to his body when he already had the results he was looking for. There was no reason to prolong this trip to Baator, the objective was achieved. "I need to recant my previous statement, "berk". You are not so lucky, after all..." a malicious, flickering light formed and waned in the depths of his dark gaze, as he turned around with unnatural calm, his time-eaten cape flapping in a wind that was not there. He traced a few fiery signs of power, as a dimensional door opened in front of him. As his Holding spell began to fade, the victim managed to utter a weak "n-no...p-ls...", drowned by the sound of broken glass dragged on marble that was his mirthless laugh:"Farewell, and enjoy the rest of your stay...however brief it might be...". He stepped through the portal, which cut the screams of agony and the sound of ripped flesh as it closed.

[*Melmoth]

7) On the Edge of Abyss

"I am a slayer of...well, all that is eternal" she said, almost casually. Since she had materialized out of thin air, Nienna had been quite forthcoming in her dislike of him (something rather widespread, but also something few dared so openly, to be sure...he was intrigued by it), yet he sensed no threat coming from her. He could be wrong, he had been before...and yet, he was not concerned...at least at the moment. The sinuous fire genasi arcanist, Dalaria, smiled enigmatically as she introduced herself to the newcomer. He was sure mortals had to be attracted to her irresistibly, her supernatural beauty overwhelming their senses...once again, he was very glad to be unconcerned with such things. He was, however, very interested in the power irradiating from her...a source of magic so strong, pure like a cleansing fire...he was pretty sure no simple mortal could wield that staff of hers for long, colder than the Paraelemental Plane of Ice. Mysteries he was very interested in unraveling.

"So...do I have to expect an attempt at slaying me?" he uttered in his artificial, hollow voice, compensating the long-time absent vocal cords and phonetic apparatus in general.
"Not unless you give me a reason, no..." she replied, coldly.
"Well then, I will give you none. I however do not feel the need to justify myself for my ascension, for being superior to mortals, for stepping closer to godhood. You say I defy the laws of the Multiverse...if there are any such laws against me transcending mortality, then I do not recognize them. The gods abandoned me, as my own loved ones did. I decided to take matters into my own hands, and now I am out of your Gods' reach. They'll better be sure to stay out of mine..." and then he cackled, an impossible sound for a humanoid of any kind, coming from a creature that had nothing human left.

"I did not really expect you to regret any of this, Vashtek. Regret is a mortal's feeling...and you've pushed yourself beyond the flesh. I am not going to judge you either...I am on the edge of the Abyss to kill Demons, because their very existence offends me..." Dalaria smiled her sensual smile as she finished the sentence, and he wondered with a hint of something that once upon a time could have been curiosity, how could such a beautiful, graceful creature be so set into carving a bloody way through demons across their infernal battleground.

"However, Lich, know this: the day I want you dead, your soulstone will be destroyed before you even know it, reminding you the true meaning of the word pain after centuries from the last time you felt it..." Nienna's tone was more matter-of-factly than threatening: she was just stating a fact, like those immutable laws of the multiverse she was discussing before. She even knew of his Phylactery... He chuckled, this time with a hint of amusement, very rare for him nowadays.

"I will keep that in mind. Some have tried before with rather poor results, but surely that will not discourage you...". She grinned as he continued "And now, ladies, as much as I enjoy your company, I regretfully have to take my leave. There are matters that need to be taken care of. Until we meet again..." and as he turned around in a flap of his black robes, a dimension door opened right in front of him, quickly closing as he stepped through.

Yes, he was definitely intrigued.

[*Melmoth]

8) What Lies Beneath

The black robed stranger walked into the inn slowly, his shifting gaze sweeping the room from side to side from the depths of his cowl. The customers were few, unsurprisingly. A priest of the Elder Elemental God stopped interacting with his caged female prisoner and stared towards the entrance, as the others did. A pale, tall man confronted the newcomer as he was walking towards the innkeeper: "Go away stranger. You're not supposed to be here. You're not welcome.". An impossible sound, which once upon a time could have been a chuckle but now had nothing human left in it, came from inside the dark hood: "Indeed? Well then...I will keep that in mind, mortal. Out of my way..."

The pale man regretfully moved aside, quickly stepping out of the inn's rotting wooden door after one last, angry glare. He was probably going to get some friends to drive the aforementioned concept home. Good. The Innkeeper was not more welcoming: "I have no idea who you are, and I do not care, provided you show the jink and that you know His True Name..." as he pronounced the last words, he reached under the counter, as the priest on the other side of the room gripped a heavy morning star which was lying on a table nearby. "Tharizdun" he replied hollowly. He could see the faces around relax, almost perceive part of the tension leaving the room. "Very well...what is your poison?" the man asked matter-of-factly. "Ohh...I will unfortunately have to decline your gracious offer..." the dark clad man uttered in that blank, artificial tone of his, a hint of amusement in his tone as he let a small pouch fall on the table with a low thud, gold shining inside "...I stopped drinking long, long time ago...this is for the damage to your fine establishment..."

The pale man returned shortly after, an ogre wielding a huge cudgel and the largest gnoll he had ever seen with a blade in each hand. Three mortals to kill him...really? He was somewhat offended. They approached him, the tall man ahead of the two thugs he brought along. "You should have gone when you had the chance, berk".
The dark clad man stood up, slowly turning around. A malevolent gleam in his empty eyes lit in an eerie light the inside of his hood, revealing his appearance. The pale man did not have the time to regret being the closest, nor to be scared. The nightmarish creature uttered a single word of power, and the fellow was dead before touching the ground.
The two goons reacted instantly. True professionals, he thought distractedly as he stepped aside, dodging the Ogre as he fell down limp, his spinal cord severed in one surgical strike from the living shadows behind him, now coalescing in the shape of a woman. Denna was definitely improving, he thought as he avoided the Gnoll's first stab: not even he had sensed her this time, despite knowing she was there all along. The aggressor's off-hand blade reached him to the chest, a very nifty move that would probably have killed lots of mortals. He laughed at the creature's expression, as the knife just bounced on his supernatural body. He gripped the Gnoll's neck with a gloved hand, as he wove a domination spell:
"You cannot kill what is already dead, dont you know? I am tired of playing. I am in Under Sigil for business. Bring me to someone that matters..."

[*Melmoth]

9) Unwelcomed Guests

"Begone Undead monstrosity, you and your companion...Leave, NOW!" the spirit screamed in anger. "Seriously...?" was all that Denna commented, still cleaning her knifes on the corpse of the Dryad laying down in a pool of her own blood, still trickling from the deep, clean cut in her throat. Her companion stood motionless for a moment, just facing the spirit. Apparently calm and poised as death itself, but in the depths of his cowl irritation brought a flickering, malevolent gleam to disturb the pools of darkness that were his unseeing eyes.

First the demons at the bazaar, quite hostile for no evident reason...and now this? "I will not repeat it, abomination! Leave these lands. This is my last warning!!".
"And this is mine..." he replied, as glyphs began to form into thin air in front of him, becoming a weave, and then a portal out of which a Vampire servant stepped, answering the necromancer's summoning. "Kill it. And kill anybody else that open their eyes at me" he commented, blankly.
"Repel the invaders! Protect the forest!" As the spirit screamed, Dryads and Treants began to attack from all directions, but they were no match for the combined Eldritch power of the Vampire Warlock and Denna's blades. One after the other they fell, their life fluids mixing on the grassland, their bodies torn. He could sense their pain, washing over him as he observed with crossed arms, the ecatomb powerless to change his perpetual indifference.

"Please...do not destroy me...stop this! It's not too late..." the spirit implored.
"Ahh, but it IS too late, spirit... for you..." a burst of negative energy enveloped the creature as two of Denna's enchanted knives flew right at it, embedding themselves into its body as if it were solid. There could be no mercy for those who threatened him, attacked him.
Every creature who was so stupid to resort to brute strength against him had already fully deserved its extinction...

[*Melmoth]

10) Weaving the Cobweb

The stocky dwarf kept looking silently, weighing the creature standing in front of him. He and the masked pact mage were acquainted ... the lich already knew perfectly. His associate had done an excellent work, gaining their trust and reporting to him in detail on their particular skillsets. Now, he just needed a final proof they were fit to become his associates...

"So, you are the mysterious employer of Arvaal, then..." Zagran finally spoke, still pensive. "Indeed I am. Arvaal is a brute, yet a very useful brute. My brute" replied the walking dead, in that artificial, blank tone of his.
"I would like to know more about this...business you keep talking about. Where are we going?Why?". Unseeing eyes met the dwarf's skeptical stare: "I thought you said you were short on time. In that case, we'd better move, and postpone any further explanation to a more favourable moment".
"Hm...if you are Arvaal's superior, you must be pretty...peculiar...". The dark clad undead stopped right before floating through the pathway leading from the Bazaar to the Lady's Ward, and replied without turning around: " All your arcane competence, and you couldnt tell? Did you take a good look at me? a distant hint of sarcasm in his unnatural voice. "Well, Lich, I make it a point not to judge from appearances. Anything. That includes you...". Indeed...a quality he liked, one of many if Arvaal's information was up to his standards of quality.

"Can we please quicken the pace? Going on like this, we'll get to the Abyss for natural causes, instead of through the damned portal..." Lgnamir's tone was impatient, as usual. He could understand him, in a way: when you are so stupid that you sell your soul to an infernal power to borrow that little arcane prowess archfiends were willing to part with, you no doubt become suddenly fully aware of the sands of time running lower and lower...For other reasons, he had been in much the same situation, long time ago...a lifetime ago (or several...). Only, he mustered the power and knowledge to actually SOLVE the problem, instead of bringing it unto himself...

He nodded his approval, and Denna nodded back and disappeared in the shadows. She had her own tasks, and her own objectives too...and the Blood War battleground was not exactly attuned to her style: too much confusion, less space for finesse, precision...for her, taking lives was an art. He could see her point.
His web of associates was increasing, and soon it would be time to put the second phase of his plan in motion...

"Well, then...let us proceed." he uttered, as he moved towards the entrance of the Harmonium Barracks, the portal constituting the very heart of the building...

[*Melmoth]

11) Home

He stepped inside, leaving the dark alley right at the last door before the dead end. His new friend was a man of his word. The building had three floors and a large cellar, perfect for his laboratory. It was also ideally located, right in a corner of Undersigil nobody had any reason to visit...very handy to easily spot suspicious wanna-be visitors. He evaluated the state of the walls and interiors critically, and he was once more pleased to find out Charles had been true to his part of the bargain: he had to admit, the Syndicate were proving very professional so far. He was looking forward to working with them in the future.
Denna would love the place...

"So...what do you think of it?" he asked in his hollow voice. The dwarf shook his head slowly, pensively. He knew him by now: he was thinking about all the possible drawbacks, weighing all the disadvantages and letting his persistent pessimism about everything not perfectly legal guide his sure-to-come wave of objections. Good. He needed such a perspective...he tended to be overconfident, more often than not...after all, he was a superior being...
"I dont know...what prevents them from betraying us? I mean...at the Foul Olde Spirit's Inn, I was just another berk in a room...but here? I am a target now...we all are, arent we?" he chuckled nervously. The tall, black-robed figure turned around, his dreadful gaze now weighing his dwarven associate: "Oh, I would not be so sure about that, Zagran. Do you really think a planeswalker AND magic user of your power was really managing to lay low, undetected? No...here, we know exactly the direction trouble can come from. Here, we will have the support of the locals as long as we pay the agreed amount of gold, and as long as we are a resource more than a problem. Here, we can fortify, and plan our next moves, away from unwanted attention. Think of the opportunities...". His stocky companion mumbled, begrudgingly admitting the situation was more than reasonably advantageous. Nodding, the cowled mage added: "Trust me...I am rather good at scheming...fancy a game of lanceboard? I will not wait for you to die of age before moving if you get an advantage, promised..."

Hours later, finally alone, the immortal being known as Vashtek dropped a bag of reagents, essences and components of every kind on the ground before him, and began tracing magic circles, glyphs and words of power in the air, weaving the symbols together in complex shapes, using the material components to give them power and substance, and tying the weaves off to persist the spells. He kept on weaving and persisting warding spells of every kind for an impossible long time. No mortal mage could draw so much to his or her own inner energies without resting, but fatigue held no more sway on him, and he inexorably went on, and on...

Finally satisfied, the Lich swept the surroundings of the building from one of the highest floor's windows, his bat familiar, Nightwing, now circling lower and lower above the dark alley, no doubt anticipating a well deserved rest. He felt a distant tingle of a feeling that could have been satisfaction, once upon a time: "Ahh...it feels like home already..."

[*Melmoth]

12) The Shadows Beckon

The cowled figure crushed a small jar with a gloved hand, the glass shattering with a muffled crack. He opened his fist and examined the content: satisfied, he threw the broken glass and the strange, dried flowers into the small fire in front of him, and kept chanting in the arcane language of magic. As the fire was burning higher and brighter, its heat contained by the wards he placed, he took a moment to walk to the other side of the cellar that was now his laboratory, and examined a bubbling mixture he had concoted hours earlier right before stirring it for a moment. Nodding, he moved on to a large table, where the molds he had prepared were lying. A dwarven book on the secrets of crafting was floating beside him, the pages turning themselves as he read without watching. He did not need watching. It had been a long time since he had eyes to watch...

Hours later, he gazed critically over his products: fine items, to be sure...but insufficient for the purpose. He had the essences, he could extract them from the multitude of creatures he killed every cycle...he had the components, as often those creatures were of great power, and carried treasures with them or stored them in their lairs...however, he needed better crafting materials. He would find them, of course...it was just a matter of time. He knew who could help...

His elucubrations were interrupted by his familiar, sending him a mental image of a shadow among shadows approaching the front door. Well...not exactly an image, really. It was difficult to explain, as bats have a way to "see" with their ears that humans do not really comprehend well... Without turning around, he commanded "Bring Denna to me. Tell her I need her assistance". The Vampire servant, silent and immobile as a statue in the corner of the room till that moment, nodded, disappearing into a cloud of gray smoke. Now, he just needed his associate to find him the whereabouts of Desdemona, and then he would be on his way to the surface.
It was time to move. The Shadows beckoned him...

[*Melmoth]

13) The Cursed Citadel

The conjured wall of fire suddenly materialized right under the ghosts as he pronounced a word of power in the arcane language of magic, burning of a purifying, white-hot flame. He knew this spell was particularly devastating for the living dead...it could very well prove destructive even for his own supernatural body, but of course he was properly warded against it. Preparation was always the key, he thought coldly as the malevolent spirits of long-dead warriors were consumed by his spell...careful preparation...

He turned towards Zagran, and noticed he was doing fairly well indeed: despite four ghostly warriors trying to rip him apart and the archers on the walls all around hurling a rain of phantom arrows and eldritch energies at him, he kept whispering bindings and hacking at them with his characteristic dwarven waraxe, spinning the weapon into deadly circles whose end impacts would have cut a mortal in two right away, but they retained a high degree of effectiveness even with their undead aggressors. A few steps behind him, his familiar warned him of the presence of Denna, hidden in the shadows and observing the situation, itching to stab something. He expressely warned her to stay out of it, as her daggers would have been next to useless against these foes...they were there to get a first "feel" (how ironic, for him, to use such a word...) of the area, more than undertake decisive operations. However, as he had to observe on other occasions, her wisdom was not exactly her strongpoint. Which, of course, was a good thing: nobody wise enough would associate with him...except for Arvaal, but that was a whole different story...

He was very satisfied with the city and the overall feel of the plane: Nilfheim definitely suited him, in many ways. There was much to learn, much to study...even as far as his own condition and limits (yes, he still had limits, however few...annoying, but also temporary...) were concerned. The portal was exceptionally close to their hidden base, and in full Syndicate controlled territory, which was another advantage: confronting these enemies could prove draining for his inner magical reserves, and the least thing he wanted was to be forced to a hasty retreat if confronted with the wrong visitors from above at the wrong time...he hated haste (despite the fact it was indispensable, in many cases...), he always had. Haste reminded him of his mortal days...so undignified...

The once-human creature who had called himself Vashtek for the last few centuries turned towards his allies as the last of their enemies received its final blow, his black robes floating in a wind that was not there, and spoke with his artificial,hollow voice: "Come, associates. I believe it is enough for the moment. Time to get more acquainted with the locals, now...the non hostile ones..."

[*Melmoth]

14) Fingerprints of the Gods

"Do you really believe they will allow you to do it?" his stocky companion gave him a skeptical glance, as he turned absently the pages of his travel grimoire, caressing his cat familiar, Fireball, with the other hand. The black robed arcanist took a few seconds to extend an invisibility weave on the entrance of the cavern they had selected as hideout before replying. As it turned out, slaying a couple of Demonic armies fighting the Blood War was a consuming task, even for mages of Zagran's power...and his own, of course. "I cannot fathom what you mean...Whatever it is I do, I dont need to ask permission for it. I never have...". His reply was in his usual blank tone...but in life, he would probably have been irritated by the very subject: someone having power over him? Nonsense...

"The Gods, Vashtek...you know what I am talking about, do not insult my intelligence" the dwarf smiled sardonically, as if reading his mind...which was of course impossible, since his skull had been empty for a long time, and these tricks had no effect on him anymore...still, his associate hardly needed a spell to figure out his ambitions. The stout wizard had long since formulated a very accurate evaluation of his true power, and he knew what the only possible path was to increase it...he just did not know the steps he intended to take... yet. "Someone before you has already trodden that path...what makes you think such a being would watch benevolently on a potential threat like you?". Had he been alive, he would have jumped at those words: he took a mental note to never ever underestimate Zagran Belgyr...ever. "Oh, really? Why, humor me with your knowledge, then..." he replied, hollowly, without turning towards him.

Zagran told him what he knew about the Whispered One, and it indeed was amazing he had done the connection so quickly with the little he knew of the Master of the Spider Throne...another testament to his extraordinary intuition, if any more was needed. Good, he could use it...immortality tends to bring a certain...static nature, to one's intellect...a stagnant quality that could be compensate by the sheer vastity of acquired knowledge, but surely influenced one's flexibility when dealing with the unknown. It would be useful in the times to come...Him, Denna, Arvaal...all individuals possessing different, specific skillsets...now, he needed to bring Desdemona on board, and the formation would be complete...
"I heard of this...Vecna, of yours, he was a great wizard of my homeworld" he replied, hiding the deep respect for his role model behind the artificial quality of his magical voice "but whatever you think of me or my plans, know this: when I want something, I take it, regardless of the time, effort and degree of opposition involved. Whether interested onlookers of any kind like it or not...".

"As you say, Vashtek..." his companion replied. From the glint in his eyes, and the way he gripped his dwarven battleaxe, he looked more than ready to resume the butchering of chaotic creatures and let the matter drop...at least for the time being...

[*Melmoth]

15) Diversion

The cloaked figure stepped forward, stopping right at the edge of the light circle, where the shadows were thickest. "So...you came, finally" the man's tone belied his fears. He was right to be afraid...well, if he valued his life, at least..." Come closer...I cant see you..." he pressed on in his unsteady voice, waving a torch towards the black shape. "And you never will" replied a sensual female voice, amusement in her tone. "W-whatever...I dont care...just give me my gold, and be gone". The shadow dweller's only reply was a hearty laugh, echoing sinisterly in the Slags' deserted alleys.

"Do not try anything...just give me the jinx...it's better for everyone, really..." the man laughed nervously. She could smell his fear, and...something else. She paused, scanning the surroundings, and she noticed he was not alone as agreed. She smiled. She never expected him to be, of course...in fact, she counted on it." Oh, do not worry...I will give you what you deserve..." she whispered in a gentle tone. "To you...and your friends..."
"You better, woman...or I will go directly to the Harmonium with what I have on your rotting friend...maybe it's enough, maybe not...but from that moment on, they will monitor you closely, and then we'll see how your employer likes it!" he cackled, somewhat bolder now. "I will m-" his words were cut short by three throwing knives: one slicing his throat, one piercing his heart and one right through his left eye. "I never liked men that talk too much" she commented with a sigh as she stepped into the light with a fluid grace, throwing a vial of Alchemist Fire on the body and incinerating it in seconds.

"Bad mistake, bitch" eight men came out from all around her, blocking the exits from the little clearing among ruined buildings and preventing any easy escape. "You should never have done that...now, you will pay. Then we will kill you, and we will hurt you a lot before and after that" they laughed, a malicious light in their eyes. She could not help laughing herself: "Bold words, for a dead man. Do you realise who you tried to blackmail? You really are a bunch of idiots..."
She nonchalantly dodged a dart, ducked under a handaxe and deflected a fist with a fluid movement, using the very man's strength to send him sprawling on the ground, and then...it was over. A terrible scream, a flash of eerie light, a tingle through the wards protecting her...and they were all lying on the ground, dead, an expression of terror on their faces.

"Excellent work, Denna" the tall arcanist commented, his invisibility weave fading. "Both in finding them and rounding them up. The others you tracked are already on their way to the Nine Hells. Accidents happen...How unfortunate..." and then he emitted a sound of broken glass rattling on marble that could not possibly be a laugh, and had nothing human left in it. "A pleasant diversion. But now, it is time to go back to serious matters..." he turned around in a flap of his black mantle, stepping through a Dimension Door that he kept open for her to follow.