The door slamming reverberated in Versatillas's mind even here. Such short sighted-ness,
small minded-ness. Vers was going to do what he did best, get into trouble. This trip was
what he had to do, it was the next step, always had been what he wanted, but Spindoctor
didn't agree. It was well thought out and inherently dangerous, but legend has of Orien's
who have been able to do it, so why not him?
So here he was, where he was warned, practically ordered not to go. The pure anger that
had filled the cleric had never been seen before, but not even that could stop him. The
chess pieces scattered everywhere. Broken, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. Just like
this. Nothing he couldn't fix.
Besides, what was the big deal? Inevitables? Sure they are here, maybe even stronger, but
so is he. He's killed plenty. The first few here were tough until he realized that they
fell much the same as normal. After a dozen or so, the field fell quiet and the denizens
left him alone, watched him and let him wander.
What was he doing on Dolurrh? Learning. I guess that was the best excuse. Dragons,
quasi-deities, armies. Everything has fallen to him or with his help. Shavarath the plane
of battle is in disarray after Eberron's invasion, so what was there left to do?
Learning was always the highest goal. If someone was to be fought it was only because it
stood in his way, it stood between him and knowledge or him and greatness. Nothing could
stand in his way now. Taking the fight to Shavarath was a demonstration of Eberron's
inherent supremacy. No one is calculating what the reverberations of our invasion of
Shavarath will cause, but one thing is certain, we are fighting the Eternal Plane of Battle
and turning the tide.
Death always fascinated Versatillas. Not that he was some morbid necrophiliac that loved
to love the dead, but so much fear, culture and religion surrounded it. If anything it had
power over other magics and elements. If it killed you, chances are that you would come
back to fight. If you are burned to death in fire, you don't come back as fire to kill
someone, but if a necromancer fells you, he can turn you into his own strength. The undead
were usually too flimsy to be a real threat unless there were enough numbers of them, so
Versatillas never bothered with that part of it. To make your soul vacate your body was
enough for him.
It was Spindoctor's fear, or hatred, of the undead that almost made him drawn here
specifically. He might have been talked out of it by a cooler head, but to scream at him
like that, it was very zealous of Spindoctor and just made Versatillas want it more. Every
creature feels fear when faced with his own mortality. Those who deal death, assassins,
necromancers, even they fear the inevitability of it. And why? It's life. Perhaps
Versatillas knows the truth, perhaps he wants to know the truth. There is life after
death, somehow. Spindoctor hates the undead with a passion unseen. True love does not
contain the passion of his true hate. Versatillas was going to the source, the home of all
that undeath and was going to just walk around like he owned the place.
Seems reasonable enough, thought Vers. Nothing was horribly spooky about this place. The
picth blackness, the cold, the dead trees everywhere, broken houses, graveyards, cesspools,
all of these things could be found on Eberron. Careful not to be careless he had at least
had the forethought to arm himself against the natural tendencies of the plane. Despite
his arrogance, he had to protect himself from the lifeless-ness inherent here. The air
itself might pull the life from you if you're not properly prepared. Between that and the
energy expended getting here and fighting or running away from the denizens he couldn't
stay here long. Maybe after a week of this he would make it another minute, maybe sometime
The headaches were still ever present, though at this point they become almost part of him. When asked about it he answers reflexively that things are fine, but they have never truly gone away. They were dulled by the battle of the fields of Shavarath though they were truly worse than they had ever been before, but compared to the silence of the Plane of Death, it was a vacation. Gripping his head, Versatillas dropped to a knee as he opened his door home, stood and walked through.