Allistaid stood at the top of a small hill in the distance, leaning against a tree. His hands in his pockets, one leg bent, black hair falling around his face. He stared across the distance at the only sorceress in Neith.
He narrowed his dark eyes as he watched her, and had to hold back a laugh as he watched what he assumed was a reporter get chased off of the property by a pack of hellhounds.
He shook his head to himself in amusement. She's got spunk, he thought. Enough, at least, for what I need.
He withdrew a small pocketknife from his back pocket, and began to carve a repellent runemark in the tree he leaned against. It was small, yes, but it would be strong enough - after he charged it - to at least get Lucy's attention. He wasn't sure if she'd know the direct from where the energy and feeling was coming from, he had a feeling that she would . . . given as powerful as she was.
With a rather malicious chuckle, he pricked the tip of his finger with the knife, then held the tip against the carving. He could feel the small amount of blood spread through the carving; as he could feel energy push through with the whispered incantation he spoke.
Blood Magic. Some of the strongest, and darkest - if used . . . not so benevolently - magic around. And only the strongest magic users could use it, use it well, and control it. Allistaid was quite proud of the fact that he was one of the most powerful Blood Magic users around.
He stared at the carving in the tree he had made, which gave off a soft luminescence. Well, to his eyes, at least. Almost as an afterthought, he muttered an incantation of a protection and dissolvement spell over whatever of his blood remained, should Lucy be so inclined as to try to use what trace of blood might remain to track or find him.
He sighed softly. He removed a toothpick from his pocket, shoved it in his mouth, sucked on it. He grinned. There, that should give her enough of a headache to get her curious.
And with almost a strut in his step, he walked off down the hill, heading into town.