Night
Inside the graveyard a light fog twirled around and added to the already macabre feel of the place, in the distance the Coven house stood, an impressive monument in the gloom. No light shined from within it’s foreboding body but Petty was sure that inside held great knowledge to any who had the strength to find it. Knowledge which Petty wouldn’t mind getting his hand on to, Knowledge, which Petty would not get, much to his displeasure. The dark tower was a training ground for the witches and warlocks of the lands, and Petty had no aspiration to become a warlock or mage of any sorts. Magic was powerful but just as dangerous to the wielder, too risky Petty thought. Pulling away from his admiration of the Coven house, Petty moved on through the gloom, carefully following the instructions of the maiden, It was told that the graveyard played tricks on those who couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand and lead them astray to impending doom within the gloom. Shadows flickered about Petty, darting here and there, but Petty trudged on, ignoring the shadows that would spell his fall if he allowed his concentration to slip.. Time passed and Petty finally found his target, a stone structure, maybe a crypt of sorts thought Petty as he fished in his pocket and pulled out a black mask. The mask not to hide his face, natural skin tone of jet black helped with that, but rather to hide his snow white hair which would most certainly stand out. Petty had came a long way and wasn’t going to take the risk of being spotted by the occupant of the crypt now. Slipping on his mask, Petty now blended perfectly into the gloom, removing a Dirk from his sheath, Petty checked it over and replaced it, then silently removed two concealed blades from his wrist sheaths, checked them over and replaced them once again. Everything seemed to be in order to Petty as he took a deep breath and spoke the words which the maiden had instructed him to speak at the entrance of the building. The stone door of the crypt creaked open and slowly Petty stepped forward… The interior of the crypt took Petty by surprise as he surveyed the dank, dimly light room he found himself in. The room apparently appeared to be a place of social gatherings and merry making, that latter being rather missing from the bar at this time. The very little light which illuminated the room came about from candles on tables dotted around the room, most likely for the not so adapted to night vision among the undead patrons or just out of habit. The patrons of the bar were few, most seeming to be lowly undead who just wanted a place to drink in safety from the zeal of holy crusaders out to rid these ‘dirty heathen’ from the lands but one table caught Petty’s attention and pulled it in with force. Wanting to get a better view of the table in question and also to remove himself as a obstruction to the entrance of the bar in case a customer decided to enter or leave, risking his exposure. Petty moves swiftly around the outside of the room, the welcomed, comforting chilled feel of shadowy tendrils encasing him. Petty wasn’t sure how this worked, if it was a deep-seated ability from his magical elven roots, a higher power protecting him or just the properties of the guild armour the wore. Which ever it was Petty was thankful for it, it had proved to be very helpful in past situations. Close enough now to identify the creatures situated at the tables, which piqued Petty’s curiosity upon entrance to the bar, Petty counted 4 undead sitting around it, each quite different talking to each other in low murmurs, growls and shrikes, the contents of the words lost to Petty. A hairy, half-man half-wolf creature sniffed and glanced about before growled to a Banshee who in turn shrieked across to the other two members of the table. One a bandage covered mummy, who mumbled slowly and a tall man, apparently the head of the table who just nodded. A small smirk crossed Petty’s lips, from the description given to him by the maiden, he came to a conclusion that in front of him sat his target, a lich. “An undead mage of considerable power, main schools of magic lies in Necromantic, dark and death, but control of elements such as cold and electric also not unheard of” Petty thought over in his mind as he moves closer to his target, forming up a plan of attack… Slowly Petty stalked to the right side of the table, never removing his cold stare from his target, even his heartbeat seemed to slow and quiet in this time of need for complete silence…seconds seemed to slow to minutes then hours. Petty slid his right hand down to his Dirk’s handle, ready to quickly attack and flee. The plan was to deprive the lich of his head, Petty found this to be commonly a needed body part in creatures and if it failed to kill the lich, it would give Petty time for leave the scene to safty..nothing like a missing head to add some confusion to a situation. The Dirk slowly, silently lifted from it’s sheath, coated in foul poison which lined the sheath allowing Petty to keep it poison coated at all times to his left he passed the Mummy sitting at the far end of the table, opposite the lich. In front of Petty the Werewolf came next for him to pass by before reaching his target. As Pettys approach continued, the Werewolf sniffed the air once more and growled to the lich who nodded, in turn the rest of the table nodded. Petty carried on his approach when suddenly the werewolf gave up a terrible growl, leaped from his chair and clawed wildly at Petty. Obviously attacking blind, the werewolf’s stroke were off mark, as Petty turns to avoid one more mad swing, one of the razor sharp clawed hands of the werewolf’s tears deep into Petty’s arm. Petty lashed back with his Dirk, in anger of his plan failing and disdain for this filthy animal causing him harm. The werewolf’s body crumpled up on the floor, sporting a fatal neck wound, crimson pool slowly growing around its inanimate body. Petty, though pleased with dispatching the werewolf, quickly knew the damage cause was great to him, not just that his arm, now bleeding profusely but his whereabouts obviously now exposed to the crowd in the tavern. With a quick glance at the table before him, Petty sprung backward onto his hand on his good arm and brought himself back onto his feet again a small distance away to a more open area, allowing Petty freedom of movement, He came here to kill a lich, kill a lich he will, dying trying wasn’t a option! Surveying the area, Petty concluded that the only threats were the ones directly in front of him, the other patrons of the bar apparently didn’t care much for fighting, but were more into watching, Petty swore he could hear odds being shouted out behind him. What ever odds they have on me, they better be ready to pay out Straightening up, Petty stood, silently, composed and bleeding. The pain of the wound on the arm wasn’t apparent just yet adrenaline suppressed it. Before Petty the lich remained seated at his table, shadows covering his face, the mummy was slowly shuffling his way out of his seat, the banshee though, was hurtling toward Petty with rather surprising speed, screaming as she moved, a hideously deformed, white hair blur. Petty gritted his teeth, and cringed, the scream of the banshee was horrendous to his ears, his head felt like a pressure cooker, He felt his legs getting weaker, fretting to buckle, all from a scream of the banshee. In a attempt to compose himself, Petty fixed a cold stare on the banshee as she closed in, a complete sense of disdain for the banshee flooded Petty, he hated what was before him, the thing before him didn’t even deserve to be in such close proximity to him. The hate inside helped Petty to withstand the mental bombardment of the Banshees wail. The banshee closed in, still Petty stood, The banshee was within striking distance, with a clawed hand she lashed out as Petty spun around the banshee and they passed each other and silence…. Moments past, Petty stood himself up from his final position and looked back at the banshee as she fell to the floor, distinctly in two halves, a top and a bottom.
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