..I sense all of these things, and more. Perhaps in my absense, the world has sought to fill the void created by my departure, and in doing so, infected the vile wound that is to be my legacy. History recalls these men and women of substance and vision as "villains" - am I to be one myself? No, I think. There is much to be done, even yet. And while the world is divided, the heroes lost to pursue goals of self-importance and singular focus, I can walk among them, revered for my cunning, feared for my power and admired for my capability..
I have slept for far too long. I return.
Here Marius put down his pen, hearing a knock upon his cold tower door. It was dark, and yet the visitor had come alone and unguarded, for all that Marius could sense about him. Wraithlike, he moved to his doors, a commanding staff in one hand, and a sneer upon his lips. 'Whomever would deign disturb me at this time would be foolish, despite my setbacks.' Marius hissed, the wraiths and shadows that lurked about his tower recoiling in horror. Their master was angry.
For indeed, Marius was not the mage he used to be. Recent troubles with Azinith were not unknown to him, as the shift of evil had awoken him from his slumber - a magical slumber designed to rise him eternally into lichdom. With the spell broken, Marius had been 'reborn' in a sense, a youngling mage with no more powers then an apprentice. Yet, his mind had remained intact, and the shrewd necromancer had immediately worked at regaining his power.
And to the citizens of Britannia, Marius' return was both a blessing and a curse. For he would brook no insolence with this wayward daemon, and he would certainly not tolerate any pretender villains seeking to scavenge some glory or triumph as a diluted version of himself. No, Azinith and his pretenders - as far as Marius was concerned - would be swept away in the dark tide that he planned to bequeathe upon the world at the height of his power.
But first, he had to answer his door.
Marius knew exactly who it was, because the figure was not unknown to him, despite the shrounded features dimly illuminated by Vesper's river lantern lights. He did not flinch as their wills collided in a silent battle. The former-Necromantic Master and the stranger stood as still as stone, as a mental battle took place. The slightest moment of weakness would undo the lesser, and destroy and shatter his mind. It was a common practice among Necromancers to bind the souls of the undead to their will, and also to dominate their weaker breathren.
Finally, it was the stranger who moved, stepping back slightly in acquiescence of Marius' will. As Marius drew himself upright, taxed from the draining battle, he managed an imperious stare. The shadowy figure spoke unto Marius, and said;
(Continued in Part 2)
-M
