Marlene
It was cold, grim, and brutal in the harsh winterlands of the North. Where the more brazen and brutal folk of shapeshifters makes their home in the icy regions of Gantrick. Where food is scarce and survival is the fittest, there is a reason that its inhabitants are forced to become much fiercer and wild. For the nature of these very lands don't give a single speck of mercy to any life other than their own.

To the lonesome trail of the Morthal Forest Road, a single individual clad in heavy winter clothing of white and light materials would be trekking a calm day of winter in the middle of a soft and dim afternoon. The white specks of snow gently moving down with grace and elegance. Heavy fumes of white mist would come out with each breath, as if he has difficulty breathing. But who wouldn't when their lungs are filled with frostbite?

But other than the cold temperature, it was at least quiet and peaceful. To the road ahead towards Alynthi, the safest route for him to go is through these lands. But this was also the longest road to get there. Whatever where it may be, at least he is patient. Eternally patient. For a few days is nothing compared to the unknown time of millenia within the hellscape of the Plane of Dreams. 

His backpack on his back, being so large that it can be associated to a goliath's was merely lightweight. Or at least, having enough to carry it properly. It can be assumed that its magically enchantment by nature for him to carry such a thing. But other than that, he is burdened by the things he carry. 

After a few moments, shapeshifter wolves would come out of the clearing of the trail. Brandishing black serrated swords with every ounce of their body covered in thick leather armor.

```Well now, we have a gold mine ripe for the picking!```
-

The individual would slowly move back. Though more emerged from behind him. Two at the front, and three at the back. "**Please, let me pass. I'll give you my gold, just spare me and my work.**" His voice was ominously demonic and dark, though there was indeed a tone of fear and anxiety to it. But he did not fear for his life.

He feared for theirs. For they do not know that the dead calls him their leader. Their Prince. And when the dead senses that their majesty is in danger, they shall rise to enact revenge to the living.

```Yeah... We'll spare your belongings and your life! I'm sure you'd make quite a slave for those nobles. Bet they'll give us tons of gold with someone like you.```

While all of them laughed and cackled, the individual would slowly raise their head to reveal a porcelain mask underneath all that winter gear of fur and leather. "**... Sir, how many have you killed?**" 

```Probably too many to count! But I'll make sure that you're unharmed~```

The atmosphere began to tense as the masked individual lays dormant and silent. A chilling breeze of wind moving through the place, awaiting the suspense to take fold. "**Then I'll make sure your soul is split equally to your victims.**"
Carlos
*The metalclad knight traveled the roads up of Morthal in the lands of Gantrick. He was searching for his next bounty to claim just to make a quick buck for himself, part of him relatively missed the thrill of an Oath. It's been a little while since he has been bound to one, though he was not exactly searching for one.. The sentiment was still there. His companion, a White and Gray Hawk name given Amicus rode his shoulder. When you travel as much as Vidal has, it helps to have some company. Amicus perked his head up as he heard the distant sound of chatter. Vidal assumed this was his behavior finding some poor mice to snack on, though nonetheless he trekked his path in the way Amicus had pathed him on. Further approaching the encounter, he could faintly hear the sounds of dialogue.*

*Bandits, lowlifes just trying to make a quick coin off unsuspecting travelers. If there was a scale for the morality of people, they would be at the very bottom. But in the face of thievery, there was only one type of punishment any sort of thievery can be met with. The cold steel of a double edged blade piercing through their heart is the most necessary justice, though perhaps this can be avoided. If not, they will just add on to the some of many who face the hand of his longsword. He continued to walk the path until he encountered the Necromancer and the band of bandits, one quick glance at them and he already knew what was at hand.*

```"Well, I don't suppose you are the greeting party for these lands."```

*He let out a chuckle as he realized the full situation, some traveler being mugged by some nasty lowlifes. If the worst comes to shove, it'll just be like clockwork.*

```"If I offer some gold to you gentleman, will you pester some other poor traveler? You seem to be the negotiating type so say we part ways here with a pocket full of gold eh?"```
Marlene
```Full gold eh?```

Glancing one of its own comrades on the back of the Necromancer, a bandit would immediately dash to Vidal's side with a mace at the ready. He tried to make a mighty swing right to the head to end the knight's life. The attack was rather quick and his moves fluid, it seems as though these are no ordinary bandits.

Meanwhile, the Necromancer would take off his head and porcelain mask. Revealing the grotesque face of a monstrous, mutated humanoid being that is rather indescribable to entail what race it was. The bandits at the front got terrified at the sight while the sole individual on the back is confused on the reaction of his comrades. 

Unlike earlier where his voice is both menacing and demonic, the voice he now uses is unlike any other. Benevolent, soothing, compasionnate, it was like the voice of an angel that may even rival or exceed that of a siren's call. Heralding doom in the most graceful manner. 

 "**Oh victims of these evildoers! I call upon your tormented spirits! Ye who has been spoiled of life! Take your revenge and seek true justice! I call upon in the name of Lawrence Silvermoore! Rest through the blood of your killers!**"

-
Deep within the woodland forests of the morthal trail, dozens of spirits would soon spring forth. Chanting harrowing screams of anger, malice, and agony. They would fly through the area, in between the bandits and Vidal. Lawrence would be seen covered in soul-like flames. His arms covered with an intense glow of cyan colors that reveal the skeletal structure of his arms wreathed in spectral blue flame.

```What are you all doing?! KILL HIM! KILL THE NECROMANCER!```

The rest of the bandits (Excluding Vidal's attacker) would try to attack Lawrence, but they felt rather slow. Very slow. As if the vitality of their agility was somehow drained out of them. "**Not even the God of Death can save your souls from me.**" The spirits had conjoined themselves with one another to form a horrific shroud around the caster.

**Spirit Shroud**

"**Now then, to the newcomer, are you in need of help? The dead will provide cover should you need their assistance.**"