While Saga and Sasha were settling in as Deathsworn, another death sworn was moving deep within the northern woods. A shadow moved at pace among the trees. Gothwald swore as he darted from branch to branch, trying to keep his distance as ghastly green projectiles shot up to try and hit him out of the air. Dipping and weaving from one pine tree to another. His eyes swept the ground, spotting shapes moving underneath him, to get a bead on him. One of them raised a bow with an unsteady, strangely twisted arm but Gothwald beat it to the punch, an arrow exploding through the undead creature's skull as it exploded on impact.

He kept moving, kept chasing this main target. It wasn’t so much fleeing as it had enough of a mind to keep a distance to better utilize its spells. It had once been a man dressed in furs. Now it was another shambling monstrosity, lost the cold and the undeath that permeated this forest.

Gothwald dodged another projectile and let loose another shot, this one glowing blue energy. It hit the man's right leg and exploded outwards with cold, freezing energy, rooting the creature and snapping its leg like tinder. It howled and turned to fall on its back as green and purple energy began wrapping about his staff and hands. He tossed a projectile of its own. An ethereal, cackling green skull streaked towards the Stalker who simply vanished in thin air now that his target had been partially immobilized. He reappeared on a branch behind the undead mage, letting the magic flow through him as his eyes changed color. The undead thing lit up like a Christmas tree within his vision. Showing exactly where the unholy stolen life was at its strongest.

Before the undead creature could get off another spell Gothwald knocked two arrows and let them loose in one smooth motion. The first arrow lodged into the sternum of the undead creature who was mostly rotten on the inside, its wound barely bleeding as the arrow punched deep. The other arrow lodged itself into the shambling undead mage's skull. The mage snarled wildly, all madness and vile hatred. While it was certainly more intelligent than its warrior brethren, it was still unable to disengage from its need to destroy and consume.

As the creature tried to conjure another ghastly projectile, one of the two arrows exploded into green energy. Seconds later, massive thorny vines spurt out from underneath the creature's skin, shredding it from the inside out. There wasn’t much left to the living corpse, the dried and dried husk of a body exploded into a mess of vines as the arrow inside the undead mage's skull exploded outwards in a similar manner.

The stalker landed on soft feet among the snow, surveying his handiwork. He frowned as he shifted through what was left, looking for identifying sigils. This one had been old, almost as old as the ill-fated expedition of the Jarless. For such old and relatively powerful undead to roam this far south, was a sign that something had disturbed them or lured them out with their presence. He moved back the way the creature had come, retracing its steps. He had killed two other undead, draugr warriors that been a lot fresher and less potent. They had both worn clothes Gothwald had recognized from somewhere else but they had been so torn up he had a hard time placing them.

What he came upon soon put the pieces together, however. It was a campsite, or what was left of it at least. The tents had all been torn to ribbons, with a large and expensive pavilion tent having collapsed in on itself. His eyes swept the carnage, seeing traces of battle and a lot of blood but he could see nobodies on the ground. But he knew who this camp had belonged to as he picked up a small golden statuette. It was the kind of gaudy, expensive idol the Golden Revelrie carried around. He frowned as he noticed the pavilion seemed to be moving a little.

“If you are alive, you have before this arrow is knocked and ready to answer,” He said, feline eyes narrowing at the shapes that started to shift about. He heard some murmuring and mumbling but still knocked his arrow, slowly pulling it back.

“Don’t shoot.” A weak voice called out. The stalker stopped raising their bow and took a few steps back.

“Can you crawl out on your own?” Gothwald asked as he kept his eyes trained on the person underneath.

“Yes…” The voice croaked out. “There are two of us. We are both badly hurt..” They continued as they slowly crawled out from under the tent. GOthwalds concerns were immediately validated as they saw the woman, the merchant priestess crawling out from the heavy, torn tarp. Her eyes were sunken and she looked like she had the telltale signs of a caster who used far too much mana in one go. But while she seemed to be incredibly weakened, she did not seem to have any visible wounds or much in the way of bruising.

“Please... You got to help us." She pleaded as Gothwald kept the bow trained on the woman while trying to look at the shape behind her that was just barely moving.

“The undead has all been taken care of,” Gothwald said as he finally began to lower his bow. "Is the alive?" He asked nodding towards the other shape.

"Oh. Gods. The captain." She began to immediately try to remove the heavy fabric but Gotwald could tell that despite the lack of visible wounds she seemed to have been severely weakened. Perhaps it was a curse because she seemed to be bleeding a little vitality with every breath.

“Thank the Gods you are here.” The priestess began but Gothwald cut her off.

“Don’t thank them just yet. There is a lot of ground to cover to get you both to safety.” GOthwald said as he began to help her unfurl the tent's remains from the other survivor. It was heavy with wet and clumped snow that must have fallen onto the tent from the trees.

"How did you survive?"

"Golden Stasis," She said as they got the captain out from under the tent. "it wraps me and anyone I touch in a divine gold. It completely immobilizes me and freezes me in place. Against someone more intelligent it would do little but delay my death."

"But to the undead, you suddenly seemed as inedible, inanimate objects. Clever." Gothwald surmised as the priestess nodded. He looked down upon the captain. He seemed to have been spared whatever curse had afflicted the Priestess but his wounds were pretty bad. A gaping chest wound was going to do the man in unless something was done to stimmy the bl Gothwald forced a potion past the man's lips then slung him over his shoulder with a grunt.

"Let us talk on the way. Can you walk?" He asked the Priestess who simply nodded. He handed her the gaudy idol which seemed to make the Priestess recoil.

"Leave it. It was the thing we were chasing the traitor over, but it turned out to be a trap. It had been heavily cursed. Even now I can feel my life being sapped."

"A necromancer's curse. Fair enough." He looked at the thing but he could sense no curse or magic on it. Whatever had been on it must have transferred to the poor priestess. He pocketed it instead and reassured her it was fine.

“Where is the necromancer now?”

“I... I do not know. I would be surprised if he was ever this far north. We found a half-eaten body near the idol. I think he hired someone to dress like him and lure us up here. " She said with a voice that sounded so tired and defeated it was as if she was an entirely different person for the Priestess he met with the others.

"Let's get you safe, then we can figure out exactly what happened and who he truly is."

With that, the two of them were off to seek the safety of civilization while Gothwald carried the wounded captain over his shoulder. Just as they left, Gothwald glanced back at the camp with a frown.

***

Far south from where Gothwald had found the mercenary and the priestess, sat a man who was deep into his plans. He sat by an old oaken table lit up with two large vax lights. He scribbled advanced sigils onto parchment as he referenced old tomes and scrolls at speed. Every so often he had to stop to push his spectacles up as they seemed to fall down his nose repeatedly. Suddenly, his hand stopped and he looked up to see one of his candles snuff out. He took a breath and let his mind extend to the hundreds of little creatures all around him. They all swarmed into the room from every direction just as a shape began to form among the shadows.

"Ah." He said softly as a younger man appeared behind him. He had short, scraggly blonde hair and a pair of unsettling, red eyes that seemed to glow within the shadows of his hood. He was very much the opposite of the older man. Where the older man was dressed in fine fabrics and had the regality of a noble about him, the younger man looked like his clothes had been plucked by someone several sizes bigger than him. They were all shoddy and hung off his frame in an awkward manner.

He sat down on the floor behind the older and was soon surrounded by the small horde of rats. All of them had lifeless white eyes and were in different states of decay. He seemed entirely too calm for a man covered in undead vermin.

"Young Master." The older man turned to regard the young man.

"They are sending their newest Deathsworn after my pets." The young 'master' complained as he lifted one of the undead rats to eye level. The creature clawed and screeched at being pulled from the swarm about the necromancer's feet so he let it back down. He was nowhere near the number of them he needed to truly turn them into a threat.

"As they are want to do. They can't risk them on anything big." The older man said as he returned to the scribbling. "And please, do not shadow port into my study. You blew out one of my wards, I almost killed you."

"Apologies. Speaking of killing, however. Am I allowed to kill them? The two new ones?" The now covered in rats necromancer said, fixing the back of the man's head with a stare. If he tried to do anything rash, however, the many rats in the room would tear him apart in a second.

"Of course. Deathsworn are trouble. Better prune the bush before it sprouts any more roses."

***