With a long, slow exhale Lydon sent a cloud of condensation wafting through the night air - only to watch as it dissipated into nothingness a few feet from him. A faint smirk crossed the Diaboli's lips and, under normal circumstances, he would've likely made a comment about the symbolic value inherent in such a display. These circumstances, however, were far from normal.
Pushing away from the wall that he had been leaning against for much of the last two hours, the robed figure left the protection of the overhanging roof, turning his attention to the night sky and the incessant rain that originated there. Even through the dreariness of the darkened, low hanging clouds and the cold rain, a faint brightening could be seen in the eastern sky - signaling the infancy of a new day. It was almost time.
Thus far the journey had been an uneventful one; which, contrary to what most of his acquaintances believed, was precisely how Lydon preferred them to be. He may be a powerful man, but he was also a practical one. Besides, this particular trip was far too important to jeopardize by dealing with the various persona non grata that inhabit the roads and merchant trails leading to and from this wretched city. Indeed, there were more than enough hired swords closing the distance to this particular location at this very moment. All of them earning a kings ransom in an effort to prevent or delay that which was about to happen. The closest one, according to Lydon's best guess, was still a few miles out of the city, much too far away to interfere with the events planned for the imminent sunrise.
As if sensing the thoughts of the cloaked Diaboli on the ground below, the dark rain clouds increased their weeping, sending sheet after sheet of rain down upon the evil creature that stood defiantly in the open, looking up to the heavens.
It was of little use. The plan had been formulated quite some time ago and Lydon was determined to see it through. So, ignoring the heavy downpour of rain, the now drenched figure turned his darkened gaze to the shadows of a nearby alleyway. As if on cue, two large figures emerged. Mountains of men, these two ex-soldiers had been paid to escort Lydon on his journey and had done so thus far without a single spoken word. This was just as well, since the mage seriously doubted the abilitiy of the thugs to carry on a worthwhile conversation. Loneliness was nothing new to this particular Diaboli. In fact, he had become so used to it that he treated it much like a physical impulse - ignoring it, in much the same way that he ignored the biting cold of the rain or the soreness in his feet. Such was the life of one who is truly devoted to the arcane arts.
Without a word, Lydon turned and began walking, trusting the two thugs to fall into step behind him. The time was fast approaching and he would soon be busy weaving the threads of his newest arcane creation.
Making their way down a handful of darkened streets, the trio eventually came to a small cemetery. There were fewer than twenty souls laid to rest here, but this particular burial ground was very, very important. Slowing to a stop, Lydon lifted his right hand ever so slightly; signaling his escorts to remain outside of the graveyard. Then, with a slight twinge of anticipation, the mage made his way towards one of the gravestones and kneeled before it.
A single deep breath, a slight tilt of his head - that's all it took for Lydon to switch into "autopilot". He was an experienced mage and, like most accomplished magi, he had his own relaxation ritual that he preformed prior to beginning a spell - an ingrained routine that helped him channel his magical energies. Mouthing a silent phrase, Lydon closed his eyes and began the process of calling forth the mystical powers that he had worked so hard to hone over the years. The incantation flowed from brain to mouth where it was breathed into existence, and with quiet efficiency the Diaboli began to weave his spell.
Suddenly, one of the escorts cried out in pain. So fine tuned was Lydon's magical abilities that he was able to cast a glance at the interruption without ceasing his spell. The thug was grasping at his throat, from which the obvious form of a crossbow bolt could be seen poking through the flesh. The ex-soldier had been shot from behind at medium range and was now paying for his inattention with his life. With crimson liquid streaming freely down his neck and onto his desperately clenching hands, the thug dropped to his knees before falling face first into the mud.
The second escort had already turned and was scanning the area for his companion's assailant, sword drawn and at the ready. A split second later another crossbow bolt streaked through the damp, early morning air. However, the attacker\'s aim wasn't as true this time, and the bolt whistled harmlessly past Lydon's shoulder - impacting one of the gravestones.
Through all of this Lydon had continued his spell and with a final utterance he completed the incantation, lifting his hand and pointing at the gravestone in front of him. A mere second later the gravestone was illuminated by a faint bluish-green light. No fireballs, no earthquakes, no ear-shattering thunder - the mundane masses always expected those types of things when magic was involved. Lydon, however, knew that the most powerful spells were those that did their work quietly and without fanfare, such as this one.
Sensing that the target was about to slip away, the attacker let out a scream of rage and came charging towards the graveyard. Happy to finally have a target, Lydon's escort charged forward, through the pouring rain, to meet the would-be assailant. Their swords met one another with a resounding metallic clink, followed by another, then another. Unfortunately, the attacker now doing battle with Lydon's escort had not been traveling alone. A third bolt from a crossbow raced out of the nearby shadows and slammed into the escort's thigh, eliciting a painful yell from the massive man.
Lydon continued to kneel before the gravestone, waiting... waiting... waiting... Finally, in an oddly anti-climactic fashion, the first ray of sunlight broke through the clouds above and magically found its way to the gravestone, and the man kneeling before it. The bluish-green light leaped out to encompass the mage and just like that, it was over. Both mage and gravestone were gone, leaving the wounded escort to fight and die, outnumbered, on the muddy grounds next to his already fallen comrade.
Lydon awoke to a painfully bright light. A few blinks were needed to allow his eyes to adjust to his new surroundings. Once they did, however, he was fairly surprised at what he saw. Nothing unexpected, of course, but it was one thing to read and plan for such an event, it was something else entirely to actually accomplish it. So, with a quiet sigh, the mage climbed to his feet and began walking. The journey was truly just beginning, for there was much more to be done... next stop: Yliakum.
