Alazreal Darkrune's Impure Rebirth.

[Flom]

**A year later, Norwick GraveYard.

Alazreal Darkrune's Grave Site

Midnight**

A brother's selfish need to live.
A brother's selfless act to give.
A brother's motives are his to fulfill.
A brother's mistakes are his to kill.

"It's been a year…" Aliza Darkrune said as she looked down to her favorite cousin's grave. She had just finished digging, revealing the coffin burried six feet under.

"I better go, i can't bear see him like this..." She told herself, patting off what dirt was left on her outfit, grabbing the shovel and taking her leave heading back towards the gates.

Thankfully Aliza had counted the days carefully ever since Juno had told her Alazreal had died, she knew he would come back on that day. She knew what Alazreal had done to himself back in Thay.
...

Moments later, a few choking gags could be heard from inside the coffin.

"Hrnnnglraaaaagh!" Something pounded against the coffin's cover, slamming it open.

His clothes were covered in dirt, a snarl present on his face. His eyes, oh his eyes, mixed with anger and fear. Despair in his heart for that one moment, Alazreal was breathing manicly, holding the coffin's cover to his side.

Crimson liquid dripping from the right side of his chest, a bulge emerging from it, a pouding pulse he felt as he clutched it with his left hand accross his chest, pulling it out with all his might.

"Hrgnnhhhhhh!!!" Memories of him and his brother flowing in and out of his mind as he sat there, his chest gaining and losing mass rapidly as he took his deep, staggered, mechanic breaths.

He palmed the precious gem that had saved his life.
He palmed the one thing that mattered most to him.
He held it tight, watching it's glow slowly fade away.

A year had passed and he knew it.
A year had passed since the sick twist of fate took his life.
A year had passed since Alazreal Darkrune had traveled to Norwick with his younger brother.

He knew this because the blood red gem which he know held in his hand was meant to do so. The bloodred gem that saved him, as he knew it would, --at a price. The bloodred gem who had taken all of his former power to make his black heart beat once more.

And with a thunderclap through the sky, it begun to rain.
Splashing drops of water all around the grave, Alazreal's facial expression never changed, he just gazed into the gem.

His senses foggy, his vision blurry, his hearing liquid, he dropped the gem that he selfishly slammed into his chest so many years ago, dropped it into his empty coffin and climbed his way out. He staggered to the gate and leaned his weight against it, holding his head with a pained expression on his face.

he made his way past the townsfolk, not giving them any regard whatsoeever, he made his way to the back of the Boarshed Inn and collapsed in the alley. Giving into every single sense in his body, giving away and the urging need to sleep, giving into sloth.

There he lay, for four hours.

Sleep, glorious sleep. His trip to Narfell from Thay refreshing itself in his rest...

The murder of there father...
The taking of the cult...
The ship to Narfell...
Peltarch...
Norwick...

Then he remember his goal, SpellWeaver. He had heard of it with Ikurus in peltarch.

Ikurus.

He wondered what his incompitant younger brother had been up to in the passing year.

...

Hours later, he blinked. He noticed a strange woman in a yellow dress passing, eyeing him like he was some sort of freak. Eyeing him like he'd just crawled out of a grave.

Which was ironic.

He pulled himself to his feet, thinking much clearer now.

He checked his dirty pant pockets.

The gem, where was it?

He paused a moment, a pondering glare. Then he remembered, his grave. He needed that gem to see if he could leach his former power out of it, the power he so greatly deserved.

The power he so greatly needed.
The power he once had in his grasp.
The power he had to have.

He quickly gathered his bearings before making his way out of the alley, his mind on his gem, and his gem on his mind...

He saw a group of three people, a pale skinned elf woman, a blonde halfling as well as some brown haired human.

He stepped forward...

[Flom]

_Look at you now, rotting away.
Look at you now, remember this day.

You can't remember, can you?
You don't know how to, can you?

Look at you, you're pathetic.
You've become everything you hate.

You are nothing, make something of yourself.
I can show you the door, but you must open it._

"You there." Alazreal barked as he approached the group. Idiots, the lot of them. Eyeing him as if they knew him, why would they? He would not lower himself to such scum.

"Tell me where the gravryard is." He demanded.

The pale elf woman spoke up. She took her sweet, precious time to speak. It sickened Alazreal, he wanted answeres, and he wanted them at that moment.

"Um…" She said shyly before she pointed her finger North East, towards the gates.

Yes, he remembered now. In his haze as he came back from the graveyard the other night, he couldn't recall his steps. Slowly, the memories were returning. Slowly, like a snake slithering through the grass for it's next victim, his senses were returning. He could feel it.

He brushed past the three and made his way for the graveyard, still dirty from crawling out of his own grave.

He had found the graveyard, and he had found his gravesite. Thankfully no one had seen it, or if they had they left whatever he was burried with inside.

What was he burried with, he wondered, as he hopped casually back into the grave...

A red spellbook, a crooked gothic style "I", facing the right, implimented on the cover.
A black spellbook, a crooked gothic style "A", facing the left, implimented on the cover.
Along with two bloodstar amulets, one his own, one his brother's.

He took them all, both spellbooks tying them onto his belt. As well as the amulets, putting them over his head hanging around his neck.

Then he saw it, the bloodred gem, glowing faintly. The light inside fading away.

His bloodstone, the bloodred gem the size of a fist, was meant to resurect our young necromancer if he would ever die. Once and only once, could this vile gem be used, and the price was costly. This selfish creation was none other then that of his father's. Alazurus' cult of Darkrune necromancers back in Thay. Alazreal would often gaze into it, gazing at the power he once possesed, obsessing over it.

"NO!" He thought. "This cannot be!" He growled as he took the gem and clenched it tight, knowing all too well what this meant.

He quickly slipped the gem away and opened the black spell book, flipping through the pages.

Past the cantrips, past the low-level spells, past all the muck he'd grown to detest. As he flipped through the pages, he understood less and less, he had no idea what any of the more potent spells meant, no idea what ingrediants to use to tap the weave.

"DAMN YOU IKURUS! WHY ARENT YOU HERE TO HELP ME!? YOU BASTARD! " He thought to himself, as he often did, yelling at himself, scolding himself or others in his mind, knowing all too well that they werent there to hear.

He tied the book back into his belt, letting it dangle as he regathered his bearings. He needed to find his brother, he needed to know how to properly manipulate the weave again. He couldn't leach the power he once had from the gem used to revive him, it was too late for that.

He made his way past the graveyard gates back into town. he found a small shop run by an elf who knew how to mind his business, he decided to clean up there, he also borrowed a quillpen and a piece of paper from the elf to write a note.

As he came out, he marched towards the group he saw earlier.

"Spellweaver, where is it…" He asked the group, awaiting a response.

The blonde halfling male, the pale skinned white elf, and the brown haired human looked at him.

The pale skinned elf, once again pointed him the way...