The city was filled with the filth of the masses. Dirt was etched into the paving stones from thousands of dirty feet, the smell of filth permeated the air, punctuated by the bitter tang of smoke tinged clothes of the workers coming back from their long day.. Nesrith knew that there were portions of the city of Fillinor that weren't tarnished by the unwashed masses, but those areas weren't suitable for her purposes. More specifically, they weren't suitable for her. A shadow dragon was not one that could walk through public areas without attracting the wrong sort of attention. As she walked through the streets, she found herself reminiscing about her childhood, and the memories of scrounging and stealing for survival… and how it had all changed.
Nesrith hadn't ever really fit in as a child, even by urchin standards she wasn't particularly strong, nor was she able to stand the thought of begging. On top of all that, her disdain for most people made joining the child gangs difficult. Her life was a constant fight for survival, and she knew that it wouldn't last. The book had changed all of that.
The merchant's house was empty six months of the year and it was the perfect place to steal a few oddities to fence off for food and shelter. It was a no brainer to Nesrith. It should have been the simplest thing, but she hadn't counted on the book sitting there. It had sat there on the pedestal apart from all the other amazing wares the elderly merchant had collected over the years. Plainly, it had to be more valuable than the rest. Who could really blame her for going up to it and peeking inside? Not even the patchwork cover that looked like, but was certainly not, leather could dissuade her from her prize.
As the book had fallen open, a shadow darker than night had erupted from it, engulfing her in shadows that felt like reaching tentacles. Try as she might to swat away whatever attacked her, it was too late. Cold seeped into her bones and she wretched as the meager meal she'd stolen earlier that day made another appearance. Nesrith had passed out on the cold marble floor, and when she awoke everything had changed. Her heart had stopped, the highlighting of beautiful green scales that followed her bone structure across her body had gone black as night. She had heard of beings cloaked in shadows as she now was; had heard them whispered about in tales to scare little children into following the rules. Shadow dragon.
Nesrith should have been terrified, should have panicked more than she had at any point before, yet she could feel nothing. She was nothing. Across the room, the Book of Vile Darkness called to her. It beckoned her to look and see what lay within. Power radiated from the blank pages that lay before her.
A voice slid into Nesrith's mind smoothly, "I will show you power the likes of which you have never known."
Just like that she was hooked.
The Coliseum roared to life with the voices of thousands of people cheering; jarring her out of her memories. It was perhaps the last place on the planet she wanted to be, but there was an important fight this day. Not to mention plenty of the supplies Nesrith desperately needed. The crowd jostled her as everyone rushed forward to get a better look at the arena, causing her to clutch her hood about her. No sense causing undue panic before the show even started by revealing her dead skin and the shadows that clung to her like a second skin.
A voice amplified by magic sounded out across the Coliseum, "And now for the big event ladies and gentlemen! Our reigning champ is taking on an up and comer from the Orcish Plains! Please welcome our undefeated champion, Balthazar!"
A red dragonborn strutted out into the dusty fighting pit, his sword held aloft above him. He ran a lap around the outer edges, calling out to his fans and winking at pretty girls. Of course, Nesrith thought, he hasn't changed a bit.
"Next into the arena comes an Orc who hasn't lost a fight yet, even if he has lost some body parts. Please welcome, Gell the One-Eyed!'
From the opposite end of the stadium entered a towering Orc, easily the biggest one Nesrith had ever seen. He didn't showboat around the stadium like Balthazar; he didn't need to. His hulking form and heavy breathing as he stared down his opponent was enough to send the crowds into fits of screams and calls for him to kill his opponent.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the fight begin!"
Gell charged his opponent immediately, going straight for the kill with a look of rage in his eyes. Balthazar, on the other hand, was a consummate professional about gladiator fighting. His job was to put on a show for the people, and that was what he excelled at. He dodged the oncoming attack with a surprising amount of grace, considering he wasn't exactly small even compared to the hulking Orc. Balthazar even spit out a laugh in his face after a particularly bad swing of Gell's sword. That confidence cost him though, as his laugh distracted him just long enough for Gell to bring his sword up in a backhand slash, catching the red dragonborn across the chest. Blood spurted out and covered the sand as he reeled back. Gell smiled viciously, baring his teeth at Balthazar as he went in for the kill. Somehow, despite the blood pouring from the wound, Balthazar had anticipated this and brought his sword up straight through the heart of Gell the One-Eyed.
It was over as both men collapsed onto the ground.
"Balthazar wins again, folks!" The voice called out joyously, as if their favorite fighter wasn't slowly bleeding out on the ground before them.
Slaves scurried in to the arena and dragged off the bodies. One headed towards the infirmary, the other to the pile of the dead left behind after a day at the Coliseum.
Nesrith watched blandly, noting where they dragged each of them. The fight had gone even better than she could have hoped.
As the masses headed back out to their dismal lives, Nesrith walked in the other direction. The crowd was abuzz with the fate of their favorite fighter, mostly as they argued with the bookies about whether it was really a win for them. No one noticed one lone woman as she walked into the slave's quarters. It was too easy really, as the shadows around each corner welcomed her and helped hide her from the prying eyes she sought to avoid. In no time at all she stood in front of her childhood friend, the man who had saved her countless times from the cruel life of an orphan.
Bandages spread across his bare chest, blooming red with his life blood as he fought against death.
"Hello Balthazar, you've certainly looked better," Nesrith said as if she was talking to her friend over a cup of coffee.
He didn't respond unsurprisingly. Balthazar was far too busy fighting to survive an almost certainly fatal injury.
Out of her cloak Nesrith pulled forth the book. It hummed in contentment in her hands as she laid it on her friend's chest. Once again, her friend would help her, although perhaps not in a way he would choose to.
"Thank you for this by the way," Nesrith pulled a dagger from her cloak, and casually dragged it across his throat.
Blood poured down in a river onto the book, looking like it would drown the pages and render them useless. After a brief moment the pages began to soak up every drop of blood that landed on it. A wave of pleasure hit her as the book nearly purred in happiness in her mind. A wicked grin broke across Nesrith's face as the writing began to appear on the blank pages of the Book of Vile Darkness.
When the book had fallen into her newly dead hands the pages had been blank. No matter what spells she had cast, no matter how hard she begged for the book to show her what it hid, nothing happened. The book lay inert; almost like it was mocking her. So now, she was some sort of undead creature of shadows with a book of unmentionable power but only able to cast a few low power spells. It was the most infuriating thing she had ever experienced.
As it was Nesrith was still relegated to stealing to survive. It was significantly more difficult as well, considering anyone who spotted her deformed skin would scream and attract all manner of hell, which lead to moments like the current one. While trying to grab a small brooch from a travelling merchants pocket someone had caught sight of her shadow draped hand. Now, a guard had her by the back of the neck and was trying to drag her off for a beating.
"Now look, it really wasn't what it looked like. That man was clearly delusional," The argument was getting her nowhere.
The guard merely clutched her neck tighter trying to leave bruises on skin that was no longer living. With a sigh she reached into her pocket and grabbed the sharp dagger that she kept tucked away in the voluminous folds of her cloak. Nesrith palmed the dagger as she let the guard drag her into a quiet alley. The second he released her she spun and brought the dagger down into his neck in a wicked arc. He tried to cry out for help, but there was no chance for him. The steel was embedded deep in his neck and the blood gushed out of the wound in time with his failing heartbeat. Bright red splattered against Nesrith as she watched the man die.
This was not her first kill. It was nowhere near her first. Nesrith had roamed the streets since she was a child. In the world of street urchins, it was kill to survive. If you didn't, you were liable to be the one dead at another hungry kids hands for the heel of bread in your pocket. This was different though. She could practically feel the cold hand of death clenching around the guard's heart, and she reveled in it. Nesrith thought she could even feel the remnants of her dead heart racing in excitement. It took her only a moment longer to realize these feelings were not coming from her. Instead, near her heart, the book nestled in her cloak thrummed in time to the blood spattering against her. Her hands shook slightly as she pulled the book out. Blood had hit the edge of it, Nesrith noticed distantly.
Before her eyes the blood seeped into the book as if it had never been there, "Open me," the book whispered into her mind.
On what had once held no information whatsoever, there was now a ritual slowly rising up on the first page. Animate Dead it read along the top.
Nesrith nearly wept in joy into the puddle of blood surrounding her feet.