BUEROZA (Boris V.)

[Darradarljod]

There are men who pretend to be wolves,
and there are wolves who pretend to be men.

[Darradarljod]

Calindra (Cat Queen) and Bueroza meet at the Farmlands of Baldur's Gate.

Description of Calindra Monster Carver: A tall and lean elf woman. Despite her good looks, she seems to do what she can to make herself intimidating, mainly through her tatoos. She bears many tattoos over her tanned skin including a band of ink casting a shadow around her hazel eyes, a circual design on her breastbone with designs reaching to the hollow of her neck. On her arms, she has a matching pair of tribal armbands on her upper arm and bands in a fire-like design around her forearms. The skin beneath her breasts is thickly covered in intricate designs. She is also tattooed around and above her navel, above her pubic bone, and in the small of her back. High on her thighs are two simple bands around each leg. Her white hair is cut short. She wears a red top and loincloth and fur bracers held in place by leather straps on her arms and legs.

Bueroza: Hail.
Calindra Monster Carver: Hmph! A warrior, I see...
Bueroza: Your eyes dont deceive you.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she gives you a stony look and nods slowly *
Bueroza: looked the elven savage over, a low grunt. And you as well.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she carefully studies man's face for a long time, as if trying to find something *
Calindra Monster Carver: Ha. The true brave go to battle without armor.
Bueroza: the heavy arms of the Thayan fighter cross over his steel plated chest. A huff of breath from his snout at the words. The barbarians do.
Calindra Monster Carver: * a smile touches her lips * I know. I'm the one of them.
Bueroza: I can tell. the warrior answered, slight amusement in his typical monotone. Who are you?
Calindra Monster Carver: You can call me Calindra the Monster Carver. A warrior from the north. Ah... Life is made fun by crushing your enemies.
Bueroza: the kohl painted eyes of the fighter were bleached opal white by sorcery - unblinking as he surveyed the tattoos of the elf with curiosity.
Bueroza: One of the few pleasures. I agree.
Bueroza: You have many enemies, Calindra the 'Monster Carver'?
Calindra Monster Carver: * she crosses her muscular arms over her chest, she's she watching the man carefully *
Calindra Monster Carver: Ha. Only the coward doesn't have them.
Bueroza: Well said.
Bueroza: It is the truth.
Bueroza: Who then defies you?
Calindra Monster Carver: I can handle any of them on my own. Steel is the only thing that a woman can depend on.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she laughs with a resonant, strong voice *
Bueroza: the Thayan knight grasped his greathelm by the horns and lift it off his shaven head. His tattooed face glaring with interest at the warrior. Spirited. You remind me of my own enemies.

Calindra Monster Carver: * she smiles crookedly and shrugs her shoulders * I don't mind at all.
Bueroza: pinned the helmet against his hip with his arm and rest his taloned steel gauntlet on the pommel of his sword. Nor do I.
Bueroza: I am called Bueroza.
Calindra Monster Carver: Hail to you then. I always respect brave warriors.
Calindra Monster Carver: Even if it's men.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she grinds her teeth *
Bueroza: Hmhm. the kohl marked eyes of the man narrowed from the umbra of his crushing brow. I fought many elven barbarians like yourself, in our campaigns against Algarond.
Bueroza: I know well what your kind are capable of.

Calindra Monster Carver: Ah, yes... To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women. The best things in life...
Bueroza: The Sword Coast is not named in vain, Calindra. It removes the weak.
Calindra Monster Carver: Fine with me. Although the people of the cities seem weak to me, they are too used to luxury...
Bueroza: eyebrow raised at that with a slow nod. Yes. It is as you say.
Bueroza: Men of silver, not iron.
Calindra Monster Carver: I can't stand the women here.
Bueroza: No?
Calindra Monster Carver: A bunch of beautiful defenseless dolls, bah.
Calindra Monster Carver: What a herd of submissive sheep...

Calindra Monster Carver: But, well... only the strong can decide their own fate.
Bueroza: tapped a steel finger on the pommel of his sword. How amazonian. You know that it is men the gods have given strength for battle.
Bueroza: The women of this city? he waved a hand at Baldur's Gate. They do their duty when they sit and tend the home fire.
Calindra Monster Carver: Don't think myself second to any man, ha!
Bueroza: Nor do I.
Calindra Monster Carver: You are an intriguing man, brave Bueroza...
Calindra Monster Carver: I wonder if you are so composed in combat as well.
Bueroza: War is all I know. the Thayan's scar mangled face lowered to stare directly at the elf. It is the means by which my Lord extends his domain.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she looks at you steadily, a faint smile touches her proud lips *
Calindra Monster Carver: Let deeds speak, not the words.
Bueroza: Then what do you propose?
Calindra Monster Carver: I hear there's a goblin cave nearby. It's time to cut off a few heads.
Bueroza: Goblins, there are. North of Beregost... the Thayan closed his eyes briefly as he remembered. Then opened them slowly - fixing the elf with his pearly stare. They are no sport for me, Calindra.
Calindra Monster Carver: So bold. What opponents are searching for then?
Bueroza: My greatest opponents have been in the arenas.
Calindra Monster Carver: I fight for the fight itself. The thrill... fire in your blood, when you raises your battleaxe...
Calindra Monster Carver: When that calls you... only then do you feel truly alive.
Bueroza: There is nothing better than the victory.
Calindra Monster Carver: Indeed.
Bueroza: To bring another under your power - to dictate their death at your will. Or grant them quarter.
Calindra Monster Carver: Arenas? What does it mean? * she raises her eyebrows, slightly tilts her head *
Bueroza: Come. I will show you.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she slowly nods * Lead on, then.

*They walk together North of the Baldurs Gate Farmlands.*

Bueroza: You are not of this land.
Calindra Monster Carver: I am not.
Bueroza: Nor am I.
Bueroza: You stand out like a wolf among dogs, Calindra.
Calindra Monster Carver: A She-Wolf they call me sometimes.
Calindra Monster Carver: Or She-Devil from the North.
Calindra Monster Carver: But I sense a wolf's blood in your veins too.
Bueroza: Bueroza also means Devil.
Calindra Monster Carver: A Devil? You have some reputation...

Bueroza: rain peppered the fighter, plinking off his plated shoulders. It ran down his grim face as taloned gauntlets clutched the stone rail and he glared down into the fighting pit.
Calindra Monster Carver: I see... It's like a combat circle from my tribe.
Bueroza: Yes.
Bueroza: craned his bull neck to regard the barbarian from the side. This is where many great victories of mine were won.
Calindra Monster Carver: And these benches? Hence frightened sheep watch wolves fight?
Bueroza: Yes.
Calindra Monster Carver: Pitiful.
Calindra Monster Carver: Everyone should be able to defend themselves.
Bueroza: Even the weak lust for blood sport. The thrill of battle. Though they are too meek to reach out and take up the sword.
Bueroza: They are damned to live and experience it only through us.
Calindra Monster Carver: Life knows no mercy.
Calindra Monster Carver: At least no mercy for the weak.

Bueroza: Mm... as you say.
Bueroza: The cold removes the weak. The plague. War. Famine. Only the strong survive.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she rests her hands on her hips, raindrops run down her tattooed cheeks *
Calindra Monster Carver: It's true.
Calindra Monster Carver: Once I was just a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice...
Bueroza: the Thayan stared at Calindra directly - his face an emotionless, ugly thing as he listened.
Calindra Monster Carver: Long time ago.
Calindra Monster Carver: Now I know that justice does not exist.
Calindra Monster Carver: Only strenght matter.
Calindra Monster Carver: We ourselves become our own saviors.
Bueroza: It is the Order of things.
Calindra Monster Carver: * the awkward half-smile on her face turns into an anger sneer * It is...
Calindra Monster Carver: Now I decide my own destiny.
Bueroza: Where you go from here, Calindra... know there is a god who sees the path you walk. His name is not spoken in Duchal lands.
Bueroza: But if you go North... brave the blizzard. Ascend the Sunset Mountains. You will find him there.
Bueroza: Waiting.
Calindra Monster Carver: Ha... Once someone came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and He granted me all I wanted and more…
Calindra Monster Carver: Although there was a price. As always...
Calindra Monster Carver: I don't want to rely on the gods. I prefer to rely on myself.
Calindra Monster Carver: I never prayed to the gods with my words before. I have no tongue for it.
Calindra Monster Carver: No one, not even them, will remember if we were good men or bad.
Calindra Monster Carver: Why we fought, or why we died.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she looks at the arena thoughtfully, her hazel eyes sparkle *
Calindra Monster Carver: All that matters is that one stood against many.
Bueroza: followed the elf's gaze into the arena - the thirsty sands that drank the blood, letting the words wash over him.
Bueroza: Then take this land by the throat, and your will be done. Nothing less.
Bueroza: If we meet again. Let it be here.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she nods slowly, then looks in the mans's eyes * And you? Do you rely on the gods power?
Bueroza: My god demands my strength as proof of my worth. He gives little of himself to any. But he is an exacting master, who demands all... who rules all... There will be no end to his domain.
Bueroza: When I come to the arenas of this land... when I come face to face with my enemy... I do not call on my god.
Bueroza: I fight as a man with steel in my hand. If I live or die.
Calindra Monster Carver: That's a relief... * she laughs with a strong, sonorous voice, reveals white teeth in a smile * I live, I burn with life, I slay, and am content.
Calindra Monster Carver: I am a queen by fire and steel and slaughter. Only that's matter.
Bueroza: Then let my ears hear of your deeds. Or of your death.
Bueroza: In either, you will do well.
Calindra Monster Carver: I'd love to face someone in this arena someday. There are many fools who want to fight me because of my oath.
Bueroza: Oath?
Calindra Monster Carver: * she crosses her arms over her chest and raises her chin proudly *
Calindra Monster Carver: I never lie with a man unless he defeats me in fair combat.
Bueroza: I see.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she pushes a lock of snow white hair from her face and smiles crookedly *
Calindra Monster Carver: Men never think with their minds.
Bueroza: Not often. No.
Calindra Monster Carver: Do people fight here often?
Bueroza: From time to time. Perhaps there is a quarrel to be resolved... other times, knights of the local Order train their recruits here. Test them.
Calindra Monster Carver: Knight... bah...
Bueroza: a sharp side glance at that.
Bueroza: a shaved eyebrow raising to question the reaction.
Calindra Monster Carver: They are pompous pricks with shiny armors and white horses.
Calindra Monster Carver: Knights... paladins...
Calindra Monster Carver: They hide their weaknesses behind a shiny helmet.
Bueroza: Not all knights.
Calindra Monster Carver: Well, I don't know many.
Calindra Monster Carver: That's the way with civilized men after all.
Bueroza: looked back into the arena from the woman, gazing at the pit. I was a Knight.
Bueroza: Once.
Bueroza: Knight-Commander of the Order of the Crimson Guard... I was responsible for the protection of the Magi.... of the Red Wizards.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she looks at the man carefully, listens in silence *
Bueroza: his chin lift proudly at the title as he spoke it, glaring down his broken nose into the pit.
Bueroza: but his face grew quickly bitter.
Bueroza: I lost a duel.
Bueroza: I fought the Commander of the Zhentarim.
Bueroza: Our Lords had a dispute and we represented them in battle.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she nods slowly, her long fingers play with a necklace made of tiger fangs *
Bueroza: To punish me for my failure, my Lord separated me from my wife... fury glowing in his pale eyes.
Bueroza: He would not hear my appeals. I lost my will stronger than death in the heat of my rage, and I attacked my Lord Magus.
Bueroza: It was the end of my honor. The beginning of my exile. I can never return to my people... my lands... nor my wife or son.
Calindra Monster Carver: When the pain gets too great, you have to let the flames consume you.
Bueroza: Yes.
Bueroza: That is what I learned, too.
Calindra Monster Carver: A good steel must be hardened by fire. It's not worth getting attached to anyone. I lost my tribe too.
Bueroza: his pale eyes turn to Calindra at that.
Bueroza: How?
Calindra Monster Carver: How... they are weak. I was weak! * she raises her voice, but clenches her teeth then * That's all...
Calindra Monster Carver: The past is the past.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she slams her hand on the balustrade fiercely *
Bueroza: The last opponent I defeated in this arena...
Bueroza: It was the man who defeated me that day.
Bueroza: The previous Commander of the Zhentarim... Maximilian Blackthorne...

Calindra Monster Carver: You kill him?
Bueroza: No.
Calindra Monster Carver: Why?
Bueroza: I should have.
Calindra Monster Carver: Vengeance would be yours.
Bueroza: dragged his black gauntlet down over his mouth, shaking his head. His pitbull jaw clenched then he spoke. It was enough to humiliate him infront of his peers... or so I thought.
Bueroza: Twice I bested him here before them. He did not rise against me a third time.
Bueroza: But his treachery continues...
Bueroza: I will have his head. One day.
Calindra Monster Carver: I wouldn't be so merciful.
Calindra Monster Carver: Retribution... it has a sweet taste.
Bueroza: ... the corners of his mouth downturn grimly.
Bueroza: It is as you say. Perhaps ... I remembered his mercy to me. On the cold stones of Darkhold, where I lay defeated, fighting on behalf of my Lord.
Bueroza: He could have killed me there. He should have.
Bueroza: He gave me quarter.
Bueroza: Death might have been better, than the dishonor I must live.
Bueroza: glared darkly into the pit of the arena again, his teeth grinding.
Calindra Monster Carver: Sometimes... Even if we painstakingly piece together something lost, it doesn't mean things will ever go back to how they were. * her voice does not reveal the emotions visible in her quickly narrowed eyes *
Bueroza: grunt softly. You are right of course.
Calindra Monster Carver: Ha. I'm not a scholar.
Calindra Monster Carver: But for me barbarism is the natural state of mankind.
Bueroza: It is the base state. There is a kind of greatness in barbarism. Strength... A simple truth, a way in right standing with the Natural Order.
Bueroza: The barbarian does not grow soft, sitting on pillows and dining with silver. He does not rot on the throne of a degenerated empire, clinging to false power.
Bueroza: I have spent my whole life fighting barbarians, from Rashemen to Algarond...
Calindra Monster Carver: I'm surprised you can see it then. Civilization... is unnatural.
Calindra Monster Carver: It is a whim of circumstance.
Bueroza: It is an anomaly. It can end at any time. And when it does, barbarism returns.
Calindra Monster Carver: And barbarism must always ultimately triumph.
Bueroza: No.
Bueroza: There is an Order coming that will never end.
Bueroza: It is ... already here.
Calindra Monster Carver: Oh?
Bueroza: Greater than any empire of man.
Calindra Monster Carver: Empires collapse.
Bueroza: Not this empire... it is eternal. the Thayan reached up to touch something under the scarf he wore.
Bueroza: dangled the gold chain, and its black pendant for Calindra to see.
Calindra Monster Carver: Ha. Some fear change and will fight it with every fibre of their being, you know...
Bueroza: Yes.
Bueroza: They will fight it.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she slowly comes closer to the man, carefully touches the pedant with her fingertip *
Calindra Monster Carver: But sometimes, change is what they need most.
Calindra Monster Carver: Sometimes, change is what sets them free... * she raises her head to boldly look the man in the face, her face shows no fear *
Calindra Monster Carver: * then she releases the pedant from her fingers and takes a step back *
Bueroza: held the elven savage in his impervious gaze, unblinking. You have been a most unusual encounter, Calindra.
Calindra Monster Carver: Ha! I'll take that as a compliment.
Calindra Monster Carver: * a slight smile softened her serious, strict features a bit *
Bueroza: Take it as you will. the Thayan murmured, not coldly. His eyes narrowing with amusement. I go my way. And you must go yours.
Calindra Monster Carver: Indeed...
Bueroza: We will meet again. Here, gestured to the fighting pit itself. or perhaps in the lawless North... where we will contend in skill at arms.
Calindra Monster Carver: See you on the battlefield then... Bueroza the Devil.
Bueroza: She-Wolf.
Calindra Monster Carver: * she nods her head slowly, respectfully *

[Darradarljod]

Beneath mighty Darkhold, in the deepest and darkest of depths where prisoners long forgotten wasted away in the grim cold and isolation of stone. That is where Bueroza moved. No torch lit his way as the man in midnight platemail marched through the darkness with the primal purpose of the predator, the clack of his steel boots on the damp stone floor heralding the horror of his coming to those enchained.

With the slow grace of a great shark gliding through the unlit depths of the sea Bueroza moved down the narrow prison corridor. Wide eyes of the captivity lift to the small window of steel bar grating in their uniformed prison doors, cringing to see the shadow of death pass them by.

At the end of the corridor Bueroza halt. The miserable soul within the prison was overcome with dread at the presence of the knight. That gentle rattle of keys signaled his salvation or doom. As the door groaned ajar the sheer mass of the titanic warrior who darkened the doorway was beheld - a monolith of hatred in blackened steel. Eyes of a wrathful man, bleached white with Evil sorcery, glared pin-pricked pupils upon the wretched one. Bueroza was perfectly still and silent - not even his shoulders or chest rose or fell.

Fear fell like a blanket, smothering the prisoner whose unexercised voice began to croak and stutter inarticulate pleas for mercy as the ominous warrior entered the threshold of the cell.

The blood curdling scream that followed echoed down the corridor until it was abruptly cut short - silenced by the audible crunch of the man's soft throat, and the ravenous growls of the Thayvian giant.


When he was refreshed, Bueroza attended the midnight mass with the clergy and faithful where he contributed his holy orisons to the Sovereign Lord of Hatred, Bane. Tonight they pray for the destruction and subjugation of Mystra, an insubordinate opponent of The Black Hand and his vassals.

Smite now the scions of the Witch!
Grant us the strength to pierce their unclean flesh!
To cover their fields with the pale form of the blasphemous dead!
To drown the thunder of our legions with the shrieks of their dying!
To lay waste to their citadels with hurricanes of fire!
To wring the hearts of their kin with unavailing grief!
To send them into the waste of their desolate land in rags and hunger, broken in spirit, worn with travail and begging for the refuge of the grave.
We ask it, in the spirit of wrath, O Lord Bane - Master of Mankind!

[Darradarljod]

Morgan: She is prosterated towards the alter. Quite murmurs can be heard from her. In her hands is a knife and all around her is lay ashen white hair. He hair looks cut jagged and rough
Victoria Thornhart: She curiously looks over the scene, then looks back at Boris. "Hm." She then turns back to Morgan. "Necroqueen, you have company."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: darkened the doorway, the gentle glow of green fire snuffed behind him as the temple door closed behind him. A heavy clunk of steel boots heralded his coming down the isle.
Morgan: Her murmuring comes to a stop as she would look up from the groud upwards before standing slowly. As she moves to stand up she waivers. Wobbly in her step.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: perceiving this, the hairless brow of the vampire knotted. His grey skin creasing. "...Sister?"
Victoria Thornhart: She approaches with unusually sharp reflexes, offering a hand.
Morgan: She would turn around dropping a handful of hair to the ground. The knife still helf in her left hand. She would strugg of the attempts of Victoria trying to help her stubbornly trying to stand on her own strength.
Victoria Thornhart: She tilts her head at Morgan, briefly, but takes a step back -- letting the stubborn woman stand on her own.
Morgan: She would struggle taking a step forward her eyes mournfully looking up towards Boris a faint smile would momentarily grace her lips before vanishing. "Brother...." A weakened voice would eminate.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: approached briskly, closing the space between them. A studying appraisal of the woman, his huge arms extending either side of his gorilla physique.
Victoria Thornhart: She takes another step back, opting to just let the two talk.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "Forgive me sister. My evil suspicions. I spoke against you, without cause."
Morgan: She would look at him her red gaze barely flickering.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: his armored hands closing. "But who.... has done this to you?"
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: he looked Morgan over head to toe with his vacant undead stare, a frown knotting his corpse grey brow.
Morgan: "It is alright." She says though she struggles to find the words. She gives him a faint but genuine smile. "You inevitable departure has awoke something inside that i never knew exsisted."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "And what, pray tell, is that?"
Morgan: "A feeling of loss."
Morgan: She says her voice shaking has her hand with the dagger held tightly.
Victoria Thornhart: While they speak, the priestess tends the shrine. She polishes the statues, blesses some of the water, prepares incense... really, it just seems busy work.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: one hand of the knight reached, a massive steel paw, to steady the hand that trembled with the dagger. The other, cold black talons, curl gentle under the chin to look on the face of the necromancer.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: whatever he felt, his ugly face now seized with vampiric hatred could only convey the harsh grimness of undeath. A softer voice from the Thayan. "My dear sister."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "Do you remember our meeting?"
Morgan: She would looks him in the eyes with an unsure looks. "I remember it well."
Victoria Thornhart: The shurffling of books, papers, and reports can be heard from the other room.
Victoria Thornhart: The sound of her rummaging around in the kitchen, <i>and Vic actually making something</i>, can be heard.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "I have never forgotten it."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "And what has come from it... will live on. Eternal with me, in Immortality."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "You have been the constant companion. In my trials.... when I was brought low, with no other beside me. You have never abandoned me for mortal whims of politics."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "I will repay your faithfulness, somehow." the bladed thumb of the knight pressed lightly, not enough to break the skin, and dragged down the cheek 'kindly', as his moon eyes stared like dead fish.
Morgan: She would stare back at him. "I have lived many lives and meet many people but none were as resilent and had your force of personality. A true friend through and though and i would have gladly given my life in exchange for yours." A single tear would stream down the face of the half undead woman and she would take a step forward and embrace Boris.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: the cold corpse stood like a statue for a moment - then, slowly, his herculean arms raised and closed around the necromancer queen. No breath or warmth from the man, his grip on her a death grip as he stared into the altar vortex of churning darkness.
Morgan: She would murmur a simple spell on boris as she embraced him. "For one last time i wish you to feel alive." She would cast spark of life on him.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: a taloned gauntlet like a griffon's paw stroked the back of her head. The whole man tensing suddenly, as the spell was wrought.
Victoria Thornhart: Victoria silently re-enters the room. She sits in the back, clasping her holy symbol tightly. The beads over her hands as she clasps then together, lowering her head in what seems to be contemplation and prayer.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: the spell took root in the cold heart, and whatever it wrought in the man caused the hardness of death to soften from the face. He blinked slowly, seeming to awake to his surroundings.
Morgan: She would embrace him, her frail frame against him.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: inhaling the smell of the necromancer's mutilated hair. A somberness, the Thayan's embrace easing to pat the woman on the back gently. His pitbull jaw clenched, the death gaze welling with what could be sorrow.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: he lowered his gaze at the frail figure against the tower of steel that was his armor, an artificial inhale and a deep exhale mimicking life. "The loss is not only yours."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "I ...feel it."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "And I am ...afraid. Not of what lies ahead of me. But for what I leave behind."
Morgan: Tear drops would fall onto Boris pauldren running down his armor until they would seep into the floor. "I am well aware." She would pull away and place her gauntlet over his chest looking up at him. "I will not be far off from you as you will not be far off from me." she would lightly tap on his chest plate where his heart would be
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: his face was ugly with pain - the first feeling of sorrow, since his death. Releasing Morgan, he took her hand from his chest. "Lady Blackrose."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: bowing, he lift the gauntleted hand of the necromancer up to his fanged mouth, a cold lipped kiss on the back of the steel fist.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: then returned to his stoic posture, releasing the hand to her once again. His chin lift with a noble pride, staring at the companion.
Morgan: She would smile staring him in the eyes</C> In this life or the next if you ever have need of me just say the word and i will come.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "I know that you will join me one day, in true immortality. And we will be ....eternal." as he spoke, a dark oil seemed to weep around the eye, pealing into a bead and dripping down his cheek. It fell upon his breastplate, trickling down. He scowled, glaring after it with mild alarm. Touching his face he glare back to Morgan. "What have you done to me?"
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "I feel life."
Morgan: "It will fade shortly. I wished to speak to the real you one last time." She says a sense of hopefulness in her voice. "I look forward to the day we are both eternal"
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "My lady...if my time fades, let me say, it has been an honor. To serve with you in these days..."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "I pray there are with you, those who love you as I have loved you. To keep you from the enemy, that your work may be complete."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "My heart burns to leave this place... I feel its rage. It was not a decision I made gladly."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "The Dreadlord, Victoria... has treated me with dignity and honor. While others lorded shamefully over me. I ask you keep her from those who mean her harm, as I would have. And I pray she do the same for you."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "I know you will do these things already... for love of the Black Hand."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "We are family."
Victoria Thornhart: When she hears her name, she looks up from her prayer.
Morgan: "I promise you this that no harm will befall Victoria as long as i draw breath. I do this out of love for you. The Loyalty you have shown me i will extend to her also."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: "Bring about the unification of the North... for our Father. We need one another, more than we know."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: turned back to Morgan at her words.
Victoria Thornhart: "I've been trying to not interrupt... but I do need to say something, when you are willing to hear me, Morgan."
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: a large paw of cold steel on her frail shoulder. "Thank you Lady Blackrose."
Morgan: She would murmur dismissing her spell. "Goodbye...." She hesitate "No see you later" She smiles before taking a step forward leaning to place a kiss on Boris left cheek the kiss itself burning into his skin leaving a small scar.
Deathknight Boris Nightgale: as the spell dismissed, Bueroza stared vacantly forward once again - unflinching at the kiss that burned his unfeeling skin.
Morgan: She would looks to victoria a moment before mumuring magic bolstering her own being her eyes slowly returning to there red hew.
Morgan: She would close her eyes for a moment before pulling away from him and wiping away the tears. She would take steps towards Victoria.