Isala gets tired of waiting, and casts Sleep on Beefy.

Beefy tries to fight the spell, but can't. As he falls, the figure of Death remains upright, the tendril still wrapped around it from Alcashia's spell. Suddenly, it dissipates, without any input from Alcashia.

Death speaks, mingling languages together, some words in Common, other in Draconic, constantly switching. Somehow, you can all understand it.  You have fought well. I have already claimed the sorcerer and fodder. It then turns to Alcashia, still bleeding heavily from the stomach. You were almost claimed. Be thankful you have not, Hell-Spawn. Speaking to the rest of the group, Death says, All of your times are near. You will be the first, Isala. With this, Death and Beefy evaporate.

Oblivious - or more likely apaethic - to the others nearby, Grishkar strides to where the bugbear's corpse once was amid his undead retinue, "My dear, we've played this dance many times before, but the music will never fade between us. When you wish to meet again, I'll be here."

Oblivious - or more likely apaethic - to the others nearby, Grishkar strides to where the bugbear's corpse once was amid his undead retinue, "My dear, we've played this dance many times before, but the music will never fade between us. When you wish to meet again, I'll be here."

Isala tosses Alcashia some bandages, and demands: "What did it mean - he has already claimed the sorcerer?"

Gorgox marches up to Grishkar, ready to attack if it is called for. "Who are you and why did you get involved" I ask him menacingly.

Lyssma stays in the tree for the time being, watching the scene unfold. She tries to take in what’s happening with the bystanders.

The snarling dragonborn seemed to have plucked a cord of interest in the necromancer, "And who is this?"

His robes are a deep obsidian with slashes of red trim across the arms and back. A large hood covers his head, but turning his gaze upon the others reveals a face marred by ages of desecration. The left half of his face seems to have been burned by terrible brand, and the eye replaced by a swirling void of midnight-blue. With his staff in one hand, he scratches at a patchy beard with the other. For a fleeting moment, a white orb can be seen embedded into his wrist, but its true nature cannot be seen by such a cursory appearance. "We stand before each other with mutual ambitions and crossed paths. Again, I extend salutations to all, I am Grishkar Darkmoor, Beast of the Black, Shepherd of Death, and Harbinger of Doom." With a mocking bow, Grishkar beams a twisted, unnatural smile to the others.

Lyssma agilely leaps down from the tree and steals across the way to regard this Shepherd of Death at a closer range. 

“You reek of undeath,” she states, rather obviously, as she draws closer. 

"Unfortunately, that would be them." He pats a minion on the head like a pet dog, "I have not had the pleasure of joining their ranks yet. Such a shame, but oh how I can't wait for the day that I do away with this miserable form. You all say that beautiful woman, yes? We're two sides of the same coin, but one day I plan to be the one to arrive when lives end, to offer them something greater than death."

Alcashia ignores Grishkar completely, tying the bandages around his wait tightly before responding to Isala. "Well, obviously she's in her version of the afterlife. I did decapitate her. Death's image must be in charge of guiding the souls."

Lyssma grimaces at the line of thought proposed by Grishkar. “Death is a natural part of life. Speaking of which,” she says, nodding towards where the bugbear disappeared, “whatever that was, it was far from natural.”

Gorgox accepts Grishkar at his word (for now). Slapping him on the back I thank him for his help. I will reserve judgment until Alcashia approves (if he survives). Until then I will keep half an eye on him.

Replying to Lyssma "I believe that's a good idea. Does anyone have lamp oil or alcohol?"  So saying I cast web on the bugbear and taking a couple of torches from my backpack, light them and get ready to start a bonfire. 

Grishkar's mouth quirks after the dragonborn's approving pat. The bodyguards shift anxiously, turning their focus to Gorgox. Grishkar's staff levels toward Beefy's corpse and a conflagration erupts over it, swirling into a massive sphere. Once the body is dust and char, the flames vanish into thin air. "Now, if we may continue..."

(Flaming Sphere via Staff of the Magi on Beefy's body. Gorgox feels a strange unevenness to Grishkar's form beneath the robes. Dips and depressions give a sense that his body isn't nearly as uniform as normal peoples'.)

Isala regards Alcashia with suspicion. "As you say...sorcerer."

Gorgox will cast prayer of healing 4th level on himself and Alcashia, and anyone else who want it eho is within 30feet. [roll]41d8+4[/roll]  27

(You guys realize Death took Beefy with him right?)

Alcashia will pause slightly at Isala's comment before seemingly brushing it off and thanking Gorox, then turning to Grishkar.

"So, we know who you are. Now on to why are you here. Are you friend or foe, elf?"

"I am whatever you make me to be," The unnatural smile once again splits the man's face, "And as for why I'm here, that's simple: there are heroes here who have meddled in the affairs of true powers too long."

"Hm. Well, we have the same goals. And you could be handy. We have a plan to take over this fair land and all its cities. Would you care to join us?"

// Oh nope I missed that. Is that normal in this world, people evaporating when they die? //