Aylin felt a weakness take her as she fell, her breath escaping from her like mist. She closed her eyes and let go, but found herself drifting, barely hanging onto life. Why was she still hanging on? She opened her eyes just as a gust of chill caught her, swirling like a whirlpool. What she saw was utter darkness, with only a gentle grey light in the distance. It pulsated, dancing like a flame. Beckoning.
She found that she could walk, and started toward the light. As she drew nearer, she felt the cold intensify, and she began to shiver. It was like walking through a blizzard with no snow. She finally came close to the light, and discovered that it was a little purple flame, dancing slowly in the dark. She reached out to warm her hands, and felt only a merciless, rending chill. She touched it, feeling ice crystals form at her finger tips.
"Stormstrahd."
The voice was booming, deep, rasping. It echoed through the darkness, bouncing off of endless unseen surfaces. Aylin whipped around, seeing nothing in the darkness. She searched frantically for the source, calling out, "Who's there? Show yourself!"
"But you see me," the voice said, "I am the flame."
"A flame cannot be cold," Aylin scoffed, turning back to the flame, "How would you do this?"
"I am ancient," the voice continued, and the flame grew and shifted, forming a humanoid shape, "I possess magic that you cannot imagine." The figure pulsated, and the flames peeled back like a film to reveal an old man in black robes, a cowl centered on his forehead. The darkness shrouded his face, but Aylin could see a jutting chin with a long, silvery beard.
"Who are you?" she asked, hearing her voice echo in the darkness.
"I am you. Or perhaps I am no one," the old man said darkly. And then he chuckled at her expression, and his voice dropped the booming quality, "I just like to fuck with the youngsters. I'm no philosopher, just a necromancer from long ago. The man you fought before was my servant, and he was... disappointing."
Aylin sensed he was dancing around a question, "So why am I here?"
"You look like you would not disappoint," the man said, crossing his hands within the long sleeves of his robe, "I'm willing to make you a deal, Aylin Stormstrahd."
"What sort of deal?" Aylin asked, suspicion and curiosity intermingling in her throat.
"I will bring you back to... life. Well, not completely the same as before. You have died, so there will be some complications of course. In return, you will serve some purpose for me later on. And you will inherit some of my power, become my Warlock."
"What sort of purpose would I serve?"
"We'll have to get to that later," the man said, and she could see his mouth now, curved into a toothy grin. Aylin looked around her, thought for a while. "I can see your hesitation," the necromancer said, "But I also know of your thirst for vengeance. If you're not alive, you can't carry it out."
Aylin thought of everything that had led her here. She did have a thirst for vengeance, and a hatred that drove her to great lengths in the past years. She looked at the necromancer, staring into the darkness where his eyes would be, and gave a single nod.
"I'm in."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Well that didn't go as planned," Aera said as he finished lifting Aylin's lifeless form onto one of the nearby tables.
"Let's loot the room and get back. We'll have to see if she's got any family," Oswin said, removing his helmet and setting it next to her. Corus was already looking, finding a single health potion among countless bottles of bubbling black sludge. The four tables in the room lined the walls, and were covered in various tools, bottles, books, and other randomness. Not much seemed to be of value, to his great disappointment. Finally, he circled to the necromancer's body and searched him.
