I found myself in the heart of a city known as Oceania, where the waves kiss the shore, and ships dance upon the sea's rhythm. Here, among the Tritons, honor and artistry flow like currents, intertwining word and sword with the grace of the ocean's embrace. A beautiful city, scenic and full of nightlife.
Yet, darkness prowls amidst the waves, its shadow stretching across the kingdom. Senseless murders stain the shores, recently spellcasters have been falling prey to a malevolent force. Their bodies, once vibrant with magic, were now twisted and maimed by a wicked blade.
Turmoil grips the kingdom, its people whispering fear in the depths of the night. King Caspian Midden, burdened by the weight of responsibility, calls upon the bravest and most skilled to unravel the mystery that haunts Oceania's streets.
Very inconvenient and unfortunate for me, I have finally settled in a suitable destination for my work, a small vacation away from the dreary Eldrak, and almost immediately heroes and adventurers are stirred out like a kicked hornet's nest. Life in Oceania was prospering, enough life to mask the small inklings of death that I was dropping around the city before this high-profile slasher started making his mark. The senseless butcher was carving every magic-wielding fool they could get their hands on, from the lowly bard with one charm, to the court wizard that they caught leaving the castle just last week. Before all of this started, I was free to operate, one prostitute missing here, and one death of a family due to a mysterious disease there, I was free to experiment and eat as I pleased. This wolf had disturbed the sheep, and it must be stopped.
The moon illuminated the streets of Oceania, and the smell of the ocean hung in the air, I ventured out into the night on a mission to restore the delicate ecosystem that allowed me solace in this city, and the only way to restore that balance was to eliminate the invasive creature that had disrupted it. I cloaked myself in the wool of the prey, cloaking myself in illusion magic that gave me the appearance of a frail elderly magic caster, one that looked ripe for the picking off the streets, hoping that it would entice my new friend into coming out to play. Under the guise of fragility, I wandered the alleys, making sure to sway with a vulnerable imbalance that portrayed frailty. The darkness embraced me, concealing my true nature, as I awaited the arrival of the slasher whose blade thirsted for blood. I had been on the other end of these circumstances; I knew what a predator would look for before making their move. Anticipation was heightening my senses and I felt exhilarated acting out my charade, but eventually, as the hours dragged on the rushing feeling of excitement was replaced by frustration, I knew that I was playing my part correctly, I had used magic in the most populated areas, I had looked intoxicated and weak, I had played all my cards right. So where was my killer?
Hours passed like fleeting shadows, until at last, a figure emerged from the depths of night. Finally! Enough of the time wasting.—A cloaked silhouette of a man began approaching me, drawing closer, this is it.
With bated breath, I watched as the murderer stalked his prey, his eyes ablaze with madness and malice. Closer he drew, drawn by the scent of vulnerability, spurred on by my haphazard swaying, and disarmed by my weak appearance, he was unaware of the trap that he was entering.
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For someone that they had been referring to so sinisterly as the “Seaside Slayer,” this man didn’t look like someone worthy of killing so many magic users, some who while I hate to credit were quite capable in their selected fields. Very ordinary-looking, middle-aged, and on the shorter side- 5’7? Quite the unfortunate letdown of a foe. Nonetheless, it was time for him to meet his end.
A blade slipped from his long baggy sleeve, but as he slipped it into his hand and moved to strike, I quickly dropped my façade. I took my form, I expected him to be surprised but instead, he lunged forward with his wicked curved blade, his expression slack and unchanging. Three black missiles of necrotic energy drove him back into the nearby wall and he exhaled heavily before sliding down and slumping onto the trash that lay below him.
I smiled to myself; relieved thinking that things could go back to normal now. I began walking away from the scene where the body of my attacker lay, only pausing to prestidigitize my clothing to clean off the blood spattering that had ricocheted from the impact of my magic missiles. I was interrupted by the sounds of scraping, turning just in time to see the same man I had just killed shambling towards me, wicked blade swinging in his hand.
Surely, he should be dead. I had hit him with enough necrotic energy to kill a horse. Opening my senses, I probed deeper into his mind, attempting to invade his thoughts but only being met with a sticky black static that clung to my thoughts in response. The man before me was no mere killer driven by madness. His eyes held a darkness deeper than the abyss, his movements guided by a sinister force beyond comprehension. I sensed the malevolence that consumed him, a wicked blade whispering secrets of blood and despair. It was not the man who wielded the blade, but the blade that wielded the man—a puppet to its dark desires.
“What are you?” I demanded being only met with a laugh that sounded more like a dry and raspy wheeze from the lungs of the man puppet in front of me, who after concluding its imitation of humanity began its pursuit of me once again. Moving faster now the body lurched towards me, slashing at me wildly. My reactions were slower than I remembered, having not had to combat a foe without undead reinforcement for years now, I was rusty. I barely had time to erect a magical barrier in front of me deflecting the blade and shrugging it off toward my side before responding with a cracking lash of psychic energy materializing as a ghostly glowing silver chain.
As the ghostly silver chain crackled through the air, its ethereal form leaving a shimmering trail, it collided with the assailant's puppet-like body, causing it to stagger backward with a grotesque jerk. The puppet-man hissed, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity as it regained its balance, unfazed by the psychic assault. With a primal snarl, the puppet man lunged forward once more, its movements unnaturally swift and fluid.
“Alright, enough of this” I growled in impatience before snapping my fingers towards the figure that was now again a silhouette against the bright orange fire that engulfed it and the alley with its massive eruption of flame. I am usually a mage of more subtle means, not always resorting to an elemental ball of fire to solve my problems, but sometimes the most effective solution is simple.
Nothing like I had seen in my over 300 years of undeath. This blade is truly one of a kind, a sort of magical beacon that leads back to a singular hivemind that can take control of sentient creatures’ minds and work them like puppets. Was this some sort of super weapon? Some sort of demonic artifact? I am not sure, but I do intend to find out. Fortunately, now that this entity knows firsthand of my magical ability, I have a feeling we will both be seeing each other very soon.