Sitting by the table, Doctor Blackvein had expelled all thought of strategy for the moment. His guests would soon arrive, and he had better be refreshed when they did. None of them had a particular reputation for tolerating bullshit, and Blackvein was not going to give them any. He sipped to a glass of bloodwine, his beaked plague mask resting on the chest in which he kept his Plaguedoctor's Remedy when it was not in active use. He contemplated the imminent creation of more wine, when he was interrupted by a pair of figures entering the tent and kneeling. The two shadowy, identical homonculi spoke in perfect unison, their voices a choir.<span style="color: #000000">"Our Lord, three parties have been spotted on the horizon. Your hired bodies report they are among your esteemed guests. One of the hirelings fell to his own folly by Doctor Azathur Fleshmelder's hand, but no other disturbances are reported."</span>Blackvein looked to the two men. He nodded.<span style="color: #008040">"If their folly punishes them, it makes no difference to me. Find Clais and send him to greet them. You stand by the tent, ensure that no uninvited parties get in."</span>The two homonculi nodded, and rose. No more words than necessary.<br/>Blackvein loved professionals.<br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: Red;background:Red;"/></div><br/>Clais DeMaraud sat atop his horse, a fine Cryosian fjording. Somewhat smaller and less majestic than some other horses, the fjording was also rather stubborn. Nothing a skilled hand could not handle. Besides, the fjording handled the rough mountainside terrain and brisk wind with ease. He had just returned from inspecting the workshop, and saw a pair of homonculi exit Blackvein's tent. He didn't need the instruction.<span style="color: #BFBF00">"I see them. You attend to your other duties, I shall meet our guests."</span>He turned his fjording around and headed to the main camp, bellowing instructions at the living and the dead alike to move aside and make a path for<span style="color: #BFBF00">"The good doctor's visitors"</span>.<br/><br/>The three necromancers arrived more or less at the same time. Clais carefully coordinated with the acolates to ensure they all arrived at his location simultaneously. They would be allowed to bring their vassals, he instructed, but preferably no minions or acolytes. As they were led before him, Clais bowed his head to each one in turn.<span style="color: #BFBF00">"Boyar Sangrey, Doctor Fleshmelder. My lady Wysteria. Doctor Blackvein wishes you welcome and expresses his relief that you chose to come. I shall not waste your time, so if you will please follow me, the good doctor's quarters is atop this cliff."</span>he made a gesture with his hand, and a number of acolytes came with magnificent mountain horses. There was one for each lord and vassal present.<span style="color: #BFBF00">"These will make the short trek up a little more comfortable. If you have any desires as far as food or drink go, you may place your order with one of the acolytes."</span>After each lord and vassal had been given time to make their decision on mount and sustenance, Clais turned his horse around and led the party up the path to Blackvein's tent. On the way, he said little, knowing necromancers often preferred silence to idle chatter.<br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: Red;background:Red;"/></div><br/>Doctor Blackvein stood by his table, with four cups in front of him. They were fine pieces, porcelain, a rare luxury in Maeceria these days. One was his own, but the rest had been painstakingly painted with the name of one of his visitors. They vassals would get plainer cups, but were of course allowed to partake in the wine as well. He heard the clapping of hooves against rock, and knew his visitors were close. He elected to remain inside.<br/><br/>A few scant moments later, he saw the flaps of his tent open. The homonculi stood in place, holding the flaps, their heads bowed in respect of the esteemed visitors. Clais stepped inside, holding out his hand in invitation to the guests. He announced their arrivals.<span style="color: #BFBF00">"Esteemed practitioners Boyar Lazarus Sangrey, Doctor Azathur Fleshmelder, and Lady Tekaska Wysteria."</span>Blackvein turned towards them. He was not wearing his plague mask, so his ivory skin and ebony hair, and his gaunt and stern facial features, were all visible. He greeted each of them with a curteous, if stiff, nod.<span style="color: #008040">"Welcome. I am glad you elected to heed my warning. And I apologize for the behaviour of the mercenaries. As I am sure you can appreciate, I'd rather not the local tribesmen know of a horde of undead resting here. Better they think them to be brigands."</span>He gestured to the chairs around the map-clad table.<span style="color: #008040">"Please, sit. Would you like to partake in a cup of bloodwine?"</span>The courtesy was laden with icy chill, as was to be expected. But there was something else to Blackvein's tone. Not fear, but perhaps legitimate concern. Whatever Blackvein was about to unveil, it was clear to any bright mind (and the practitioners present were certainly that) that he really believed the threat he spoke of in the letters, did concern them all. And that it was very real. And very imminent.