Azathur sighed as he walked along the forest path. He would have to invest in another means of transportation one of these days. Perhaps a palaquin carried by human slaves? yes, that would suffice. He could have usch duties done by his undead servants too, but that would mean being immersed in that clinical smell of formaldehyde for any longer than he had to, and as a bonus, humans would whimper in pain and fear if he egged them to go onward with a whip or something.<br/><br/>But surely, that would have to be arranged another time, as it were right now, he would have to continue on walking. The necromancer, who had been somewhat lost in though up until now. Looked up to inspect his retinue. As always, there was the usual disorganized gait of the zombies. They were little more than tools to Azathur really, or perhaps canvases upon which he painted his exquisitely horrible art. Further down the treeline, partially concealed by the shrubbery, he could see the warped forms of his beloved masterpieces. Fusions of many bodies, bound into a form that cast off the weaknesses of the human body. Sure, there were some imperfections. An arm shriveled and atrophied due to a wrong measurement, an organ or two hanging out due to a miscalculation of mass. Yet for the most part, those beings looked so utterly perfect to him.<br/><br/>And then he catched wind of the few living members of his retinue. As always, there was zanethar, keeping the zombies in line, and undoubtedly plotting some plan to backstab azathur the first chance he got. Azathur rarely placed any amount of trust in his acolytes, after all, he of all people knew that the road to power was paved by the bodies of the weak and the ambitionless. This distrust extended to Grimnir the purple, even though the working relationship between Him and Zanethar had been quite pleasant for quite some time.<br/><br/>And then, Azathur stepped out into what he first thought was yet another clearing in the forest. Lost in thought as he was, itt took him a while to realize he was overlooking a valley. He could overlook the valley all the way to the other side from where he stood right now. With a slight distaste, he noted that it appeated his host had hired a small band of mercenaries. Living subjects were always such a bother. They constantly demanded food and drink, and even sleep. Some would even outrageously ask for such things as being allowed to take their leave. Azathur had only once dealt with such fools, and now they were one of the abominations lurking in the forest behind him. Still, at least their bodies had been well-muscled and a joy to work with.<br/><br/>And then Azathur noticed a few of the fools down in the valley were riding up to him. "Is this one of the guests!" One of them boorishly blurted out while pointing his fat fingers at Azathur. "He looks like a beggar or something!" The man continued. Azathur, rather injured in his pride by this treatment, still managed to hold his composure. "My good sir, may I remind you that you are overstepping your boundaries here? I do not take kindly to being treated like a lesser person, so I'm asking you this one and only time to knock it off with the trash-talking and bring me to the esteemed docter blackvein."<br/><br/>The mercenary in return looked somewhat hurt. "Oh, what retinue? those shabby little zombies behind you? me and my men can cut through those in a precious few moments. Maybe the 'esteemed doctor blackvein' as you call him, is indisposed and lacks the time to deal with fledgeling necromancers such as you!"<br/><br/>Azathur was now quite angry with the man. How foolish was it that he didn't notice the abominations, although that was perhaps to be expected. Azathur preferred to keep them concealed if possible. Partially out of paranoia that a fellow necromancer would see his handiwork and plagiarize it, and partially as to not needlessly get the peasants of the countryside worked up. A small group of zombies was, after all, a more everyday sight than the shambling mounds of flesh that his creations were. Not that zombies didn't alarm people.<br/><br/>"well good sir, I gave you a fair amount of warning... perhaps I should make an example out of your worhtless hide" The gaunt necromancer sneered at the foolish hired blade that was taunting him so. with a gesture almost indistinguishable from normal involuntary body movements, Azathur relayed an order to one of the beings lurking in the forest. The mercenary, still smugly laughing about his apparantly unchallanged sneering at one of the 'oh so migthy' necromancers. His laughing was caught in his throat however, when he saw the huge, looming figure behind Azathur.<br/><br/>It was an enormous, shambling monstrosity. Larger than even the other abominations of Azathur's retinue. It towered two heads over the largest of men, and was twice as wide too. It wasn't seamless like Azathur's other creations, rather, it had been stitched together from various, rather mismatched body parts. The creature's head was encased in a huge metal helmet, concealing it completely, and it had huge, brutal-looking blades where it's hands should be.<br/><br/>The mercenary, having recovered form his initial shock, set to running away feebly. He hadn't taken two steps when his legs were literally sweeped out from under him by the golem's teribble blades. The creature didn't waste any time after that and promptly started goring the hapless man unto an unrecognizable mess of slashed-up flesh.<br/><br/>Azathur watched the scene for a while, and then called back his personal bodyguard. he glared over at another mercenary. "Will more examples be necesarry? or Will you bring me to your lord so I can see what I was called out here for?" The mercenaries nervously looked at one another, and then somewhat hesitantly invited Azathur foreward. Azathur himself gestured Grimnir over to the dead mercenary to see if there were any parts worht salvaging. He sighed again. Truly the living couldn't be trusted one bit.