Break 8 - Mortan Osserfid

Gharlamaal watches...

Mortan stumbled down the street, in as fast a run as he could manage, away from the advancing menace behind him.

The black cloth over his scythe long fallen and discarded in his escape, the blinking eye of Seld-Olthasar fell upon the sets of Servitours Arcanus getting ever closer behind him.

"...Right does not mean Good..."

The gnome almost tripped on his robes and landed face-first on the ground at the shock of the invading voice in his head.

"Little *huff* busy right now *huff*, friend."

Mortan dodged to the left as a sword glanced across his right shoulder, marking him red once again. Mortan used the power of the magical artifact at his fingertip and directed a stream of energy at the offending Servitour. He lost not a single footstep as the guard became rigid and froze in place, his compatriots running past him slowing only slightly at the gagging effect the Ghoul's Touch spell created.

Another small victory, but his energies were beginning to run short as was his stamina, and the damn troops showed no signs of slowing as he continued his dead run through the streets of Andisine.

"...Wrong does not mean Evil..."

Mortan was only half-conscious as his shadows swooped in to defend him, draining bits of strength from the guards before becoming the victims of enchanted blades. The necromancer snapped an enchanted bone on a pile of rat corpses as he ducked down an alleyway, letting them loose behind him.

"...Mortan seeks to restore a balance that Mortan does not know, and cannot, while Mortan is unbalanced oneself. Mortan has forgotten one's own path while judging the paths of others too quickly. Mortan has chosen correctly in incorrect ways. Trails of black and white lay where there should only be gray. Mortan must remember..."

The gnome suddenly stopped dead in his tracks as he turned a corner and found himself in front of an ironically named dead end. The guards had slowed their advance but continued forward with smiles on their faces and glows to their blades that didn't promise a painless death.

"...Gharlamaal watches as Mortan improves. Gharlamaal watches as Mortan declines. Gharlamaal watches the path of Mortan, twisting and turning on a road of Mortan's own making. Mortan had best be careful that one does not lose one's path, less one lose Gharlamaal..."

The Servitours Arcanus charged the necromantic heretic of Andisine.

---

Mortan sat bolt-upright in his generic inn bedroom, his small face flush with perspiration. Outside his window was a bright sunny day. No guards, no running, no imminent death.

...less one lose Gharlamaal...

Mortan shuddered. That would be worse than death.