[b]The destruction was utter, fired still burning, the stench of death fresh in the air. Yes, the scent of death, the most alluring scent for a very special kind of sorcerer. The vilest, most profane kind, a sorcery taboo in every way. It was of course, the scent of death that attracted a Necromancer. The ground split as a strange figure crawled out of it, screams of lost souls howling from within the gash. The figure wire an imposing set of black armor, scratched and worn, but not damaged. Upon the figures back was a very large greatsword. The most startling thing about the man was his face. It was like a rotting corpse, green flesh hanging limply, part of the skull was exposed, an eye hung out of the socket. The beast crawled from the gash and stood shakily, the screams fading as the ground boiled and closed, the figure wiping himself off.[/b] [i]"Okay... what manner of massacre happened here?"[/i] [b]He said idly in a coarse whisper, that most certainly shouldn't have been audible, but was. He didn't seem to notice them as he raised a rotting fist, which became encased with blue fire as a corpse in front of him rose, blue flame burning her eyes away as she reanimated.[/b]