It had been a rather eventful day. Many undead slaughtered, and a massive battle to end it all off. Cael came out of the spa most refreshed and invigorated, and decided to scout around to happened to the rest of ghouls. He did not like being bested.
He moved stealthily through the city and city outskirts, looking for spoor of beasts, smelling for the specific scents, looking for distinctive tracks in the mud.
He was nearing the end of his search, when he noticed a particularly dark alleyway. With a slightly crazy grin, he made his way down it, quiet as a shadow. A dead cat...some diagrams on the walls...someone had been raising some dead around here. A necromancer, novice. With a prayer up to Lady Luck, he carefully stepped past it.
And something bit his foot.
A blur of motion, and his sword sliced at whatever was on his foot. Steel struck steel, and the dirt rolled away to show the Cursed Helm of Alanurs.
"It can't be", he gasped, staggering backwards. The helm followed him. He fell, and in a fit of panic shook his foot and the helm went flying up in the air, coming loose from where the teeth had punctured his boot. It thudded down next to him.
The eyesockets seemed to be glowing for a moment. He jumped up faster that he had ever done before in his life. He had sold it, and it had found its way back. He would rather throw it away, but what might happen then?! Clearly he was supposed to carry it, or else...but which would be worse?
He really wished that it had been a ghoul chewing on his foot instead...
Gathering up his courage and a broken box, he picked up the helm, trying not to touch it. It seemed as though he was stuck with it, and neither he nor himself liked it one bit. As he carried it away, he started to have a conversation with himselves, something that they had not done for a long time...
