Early Spring, Y2
Dusk, around 5:00pm
It was dusk now. The sky was gray, with only a little amount of orange on the horizon, which no doubt would soon fade. The lonely graveyard was dead quiet to the normal ear, save for the eerie moan of wind and crows shrieking and flapping, mingling with the sounds of someone's footsteps creeping around. With a place as dreary as this one, it was a wonder why anyone would stay here any longer than it's take to dump off a cadaver or two... Unless, of course, it was for more nefarious
purposes, like those of a grave robber. And necromancers were considered no different, for that matter. But regardless of what anyone would think of what he was going to do, Emil Timesworth continued to walk casually through the graveyard.
For Emil, graveyards were actually pretty lively. This one was no exception, either. Spirits of all shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the whole premises. Some looked like people, while others had more diminished forms and more ambiguous shapes. But save for a suspicious looking old man and a child peeking from behind a gravestone, none of the other ghosts paid any attention to mortals; Even flamboyantly dressed ones with burning spirits accompanying them. Three to be exact, actually, the floating balls of fire were one of Emil’s creations, a combination of pyromancy and necromancy. But they didn’t have much use other than to light his path and chase off pests.
Blue eyes scanned the area carefully, making sure not to miss anything; From lost children playing with other carefree lost children, to the skeletons dancing around a particular graveyard, to the blurry lights zipping past and through him. But none of them were the one he was searching for. He read each gravestone as the pyres lit them, but none of the names rang a bell. ‘Course, he only had a few clues he was searching by. They’re appearance, profession, a piece of cloth from their cloak, and the knowledge that they were, in fact, buried in this graveyard, or were supposed
to be, anyway.
With all these spirits around, it would be a wild goose chase to try and find the body on his own, he figured. But he always found canines to be far better at hunting. He stopped his pointless searching and reached into his cloak, pulling out a small, corked bottle. Popping it open, he poured out a strange gray powder onto the palm of his hand. ”Venit, mea pulchra cura. Ego vocare te.”
He chanted lowly in a strange language, his tone was eerily endearing. He then blew on the dust, which, instead of creating a cloud, began to swirl and form into something on the ground. As it formed, it began to take on three shapes; canines. But they weren't ordinary, living dogs, nor were they ghostly canines. They were skeletons of wolves.
Emil grinned as he knelt down and patted one on the head, it's bony tail wagging cheerfully. Though they were only skeletons, the dogs still acted like dogs. They appreciated being pet, just like any other. Even more fascinating, though, was the fact that they could smell and hear as well as their living cousins. The young man put the small jar back inside his large coat, and pulled out a small piece of torn cloth. He held it out, the dogs sniffed, and then put their nose to the ground, searching for the scent. The man stood and waited, watching them expectantly.
It was then that the pyres flickered twice and turned a deep shade of blue, which was a warning to Emil. He wasn't alone. "Come now, don't be shy."
Emil said smoothly, but not taking his eyes off the dogs. He already knew someone else had entered the graveyard. He could smell it. The smell of warm blood flowing, the putrid smell of the living. The deep blue shade of the pyres told him that it was a person and not a monster. One of the skeletal canines lifted its head and growled in the direction of the stranger it could sense but not yet see.