Continued from here.
@elvennecromancer
The commanders of his army flanked the doors as he came in to examine the helpless captive. She wasn’t undead, she was mortal. If she was undead she would have been killed on sight, why would they let her linger here like this? What was her crime? Was it necromancy?
His withered, thin, leathery hands carefully caressed her battered and bloody form. His teeth parted slightly to utter soothing “shhhs” to the wounded creature. He carefully parted her hair away to see her pale and beaten face. Yet she didn’t cry, but seemed very pained nonetheless.
But he was here to make sure that fate would not be brutal.
With unnatural strength he carefully scooped up her form into his thin, withered arms with no body heat. His hard, bony chest covered in fine vestments did nothing to conceal his undead nature. Yet he was gentle, very gentle, and very careful and very deliberate.
His ancient glowing violet eyes looked upon his subordinates at the door.
An ancient, wise voice spoke from his pale, leathery lips, “We’re going now. Let us take her to the outpost.”
