Demrin once again sat in his corner of The Pig’s Head. A glass of Gin was placed on the table on front of him. He was listening out for any mention of a demon, or of the necromancer. He needed to find out what the man was plotting; were there other accomplices.
The fire in the grate created a flickering light around the room. Shadows appeared to dance; come alive. The darkness had a presence in this place. Evil was constantly a part of this place. People had their heads close together, whispering in hushed voices, dealing with each other. They traded items, information, anything they feel would be of benefit to them, or would further their own cause.
Odd words floated to Demrin as he eavesdropped on conversations, none of which perked his interest. His shoulder twitched, the wound still not fully healed. As he reached up to rub it, the door burst open in a gust of wind. A dark frame filled the doorway, menacing and powerful. The light bursting through the doorway threw more shadows on the wall, adding to the extravagant dance of the already present shadows. When the door swung closed, the newcomer’s face was hidden in shadow. The dancing shadows in the firelight’s pace quickened, the shadows moving at extreme speeds, their dance becoming more and more exuberant.
The shadow figure stepped into the firelight. Demrin saw that it was the necromancer. His presence was causing the disruption in the shadows. The necromancer sat down on the opposite side of the pub, just inside Demrin’s range of hearing.
His black robes allowed him to blend into the shadows, so when the necromancer glanced quickly about, he did not spot the warlock. Soon after, another man joined Scott, seating himself with his back to Demrin. The first words of their conversation reached Demrin.
“Anything to report from the shape-shifter?” Scott asked.
“Not a word. What of the others?”
“They are ready to support our cause and will step in and fight alongside us”.
“Do we really need the extra support?”
“I believe we do. The warlock is proving to be more trouble than he is worth. I doubt if the shape-shifter will succeed in taking his eyes”. My eyes! What do they want with my eyes! Demrin sat forward slightly, intrigued further now. And what was this about a shape-shifter?
“You cannot defeat him alone?”
“I believe I can. However I am not willing to jeopardise our whole operation on the fact that if things escalate in a full on collision between me and him, our presence could be revealed. Just the other day a minor fight we had came onto the street in front of this very pub. Luckily, no one was around to witness said fight”.
“Surely it would be better if you were to just finish him off quickly and quietly?”
“I have other plans for the warlock. An old acquaintance of mine has recently returned to these parts, from long, long ago. I shall send him to deal with the warlock. And if he fails, then we can begin to worry. This man is the best at what he does”.
“And what is it that he does?”
“That is confidential information, my friend. I cannot tell you. Now, get back to your duties. We have a lot of preparation to get on with”. The man rose, bowed his head to the necromancer and left. As Demrin sat back into the shadows, Scott’s eyes flicked to him.
“I know you are there, Demrin, and that you can hear me. Your time is almost at an end”.
Scott rose and left the premises. With his departure, the shadows returned to their normal dance, a slow, flickering movement. Demrin’s face creased with worry. If the person Scott had re-acquainted himself with was who Demrin thought, he was in trouble. He had a mighty problem on his hands.