[ There are parts that don't sell. Tongues, eyes, brains, hair, fingernails, hands, teeth - those are worth more than their weight in gold. But then there are the torsos and legs. The organ meat. The upper arms, in most cases. They sell, still. Flesh laced with magic always sells. But prices are cheaper, and good help, good help that still has magic in its bones, can be harder to come by than coin.
Hard to come by. Harder still to keep without his powers.
Another hand launches out, this one at Sypha. Magic. He needs magic. Human magic. Something that can take control of his twisting, roiling powers and use them to defend him. If he can get one of those hands into her, use her as a puppet...
Another icy dart flies into the hand. The sound of rustling cloth is clearer now, audible even to human ears. And then, then they are close enough to see.
There are three of them. Each carries - or 'carries', none have complete hands - a censer, filling the room with that blinding smoke. The first is the easiest to make out the details of. The lower jaw is gone, and the teeth torn out of the gums of the upper one. The eye sockets are hollow, the head shaven with very little care for the risk of catching chunks of flesh in the blade. It has one arm to the wrist, ending in a stump, and one to the forearm, and then two more limbs sprouting from its hips. They're legs, technically, and the colours of the skin match neither each other nor the skin of the speaker attached to them.
And it is a speaker. An amalgam of flesh in long, blue robes stained with old blood, with holes torn into them to make space for the extra limbs. Its companions, perhaps thankfully, are still too obscured by the smoke to see in their entirity. One looks to possess three of those jawless heads and one arm ending in a palm with no fingers. Another is short, its torso horizontal to the ground and suspended between four pairs of legs like a spider.
A sound comes from the first one, a horrible moist rasping noise, as it addresses Sypha, pushing past both her and Adrian to move between her and the dying necromancer. ]
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Hard to come by. Harder still to keep without his powers.
Another hand launches out, this one at Sypha. Magic. He needs magic. Human magic. Something that can take control of his twisting, roiling powers and use them to defend him. If he can get one of those hands into her, use her as a puppet...
Another icy dart flies into the hand. The sound of rustling cloth is clearer now, audible even to human ears. And then, then they are close enough to see.
There are three of them. Each carries - or 'carries', none have complete hands - a censer, filling the room with that blinding smoke. The first is the easiest to make out the details of. The lower jaw is gone, and the teeth torn out of the gums of the upper one. The eye sockets are hollow, the head shaven with very little care for the risk of catching chunks of flesh in the blade. It has one arm to the wrist, ending in a stump, and one to the forearm, and then two more limbs sprouting from its hips. They're legs, technically, and the colours of the skin match neither each other nor the skin of the speaker attached to them.
And it is a speaker. An amalgam of flesh in long, blue robes stained with old blood, with holes torn into them to make space for the extra limbs. Its companions, perhaps thankfully, are still too obscured by the smoke to see in their entirity. One looks to possess three of those jawless heads and one arm ending in a palm with no fingers. Another is short, its torso horizontal to the ground and suspended between four pairs of legs like a spider.
A sound comes from the first one, a horrible moist rasping noise, as it addresses Sypha, pushing past both her and Adrian to move between her and the dying necromancer. ]