The man that faced Ludo was old; his skin had an odd grey tinge to it, and as the hands released the cowl, Ludo caught sight of liver spots and knotted sinewy fingers. Grey eyes regarded the young nobleman calmly, without a trace of concern at Ludo's outburst. Thin, colourless lips parted, and the damaged voice creaked, “I am Nicodemus, and you, are at my service.” As he spoke, shapes moved from behind him, and the light from the candle showed the upright corpse of a young woman. She had been pitifully thin, and her features were gaunt from malnutrition, a simple peasants dress hung shapelessly on her, and Ludo saw many shapes like her, move into the dull aura of light produced by the lantern, surrounding the stage coach. Nicodemus didn't even pay attention to the gruesome shapes, instead, his grey eyes remained fixed on the Ludo. “I would introduce my, things, but alas I didn't have a chance to catch their names as I ripped the life from them. I trust that this concludes the formalities, and we can move to the real business of the evening.” Ludo stared, and he found himself croaking stupidly, “You're... you're... a Necromancer.” Nicodemus gave Ludo a wide smile, revealing a collection of stained, yellow teeth, “How perceptive of my lord to notice,” he cackled, “I profess, I am surprised that you would even recognise me for what I am. No matter, I don't think you will be passing on your observations to anyone.” Nicodemus turned to move back into the shadows, and as he did Ludo spoke, in a quiet, broken voice, “This is so wrong, this, this is evil.”
Nicodemus whirled round, his ancient face was livid, his eyes bulged alarmingly, and his grey skin turned a dull, blotchy crimson, “WRONG? WRONG?” Nicodemus shrieked, “No, you are the ones who are wrong! The only evil here would be if someone of my talent, my genius, were to shrink and wither to the curse of mortality! That the world would lose one of the greatest minds ever birthed to something as prosaic as AGE AND INFIRMITY, IS WRONG!” Nicodemus strode between the motionless corpses of the horses, the light of Morrslieb casting odd shadows on his face, his cheeks and eyes sunk into shadow, and the dull green light gave him an strongly cadaverous cast. Glaring up at Ludo, the skull spat, “They didn't understand, my learned colleagues,” and jabbed his staff at Ludo, “for an Order so concerned with death, that draws it's power from Shyish, they couldn't even countenance the notion that we should master Death, instead of being beholden to it! They could not understand the power of death, the power we could control!” Nicodemus lurched suddenly, a dry, hacking cough bending him double, forcing him to lean on his staff. As the coughs subsided, Nicodemus straightened, and walked back towards the table, his composure settled, and his dry voice pronounced, “It is of no matter, those fools are my masters no longer. I have found a new master, one who understands true power, and after tonight, he will lavish me with power so great, I will transcend the understanding of you simple, little, people.”
The corpses moved into the light, a skull, covered in bloody arcane sigils was clasped in each pair of cold, dead, hands. The dead surrounded the coach, and for the first time Ludo noticed thin chalk lines etched onto the floor in dizzying complex, interweaving circles. As they reached the edge of the circle, the eyes in the skulls burst into life, a sickly green fire burning in their sockets, and a palpable tension crackled in the air. Ludo started screaming, all arrogant nobility escaping him, and he thrashed helplessly against his bonds, blood seeping from his wrists as he desperately tried to free himself. Nicodemus' voice rose in a chant, his arms outstretched towards Morrslieb, which had almost reached the apex of it's arc, and bright green tendrils flew from the tips of Nicodemus' outstretched fingers, whipping around the coach in a frenzy of light and energy. The confusion of light, chanting, and Ludo's agonised screams reached a crescendo, and the corpses surrounding the circle, exploded into green fire, burning like torches in the cold, Sylvanian night. Ludo slumped forward, his body held in position by the manacles, and the corpses crumbled into small piles of ash, the skull that each had held, steaming gently.