— I'm not here looking for absolution —
He doesn’t come quickly, but he never did anything at anyone’s pace but his own. He knew this was coming, and he knew that he would need his strength. He knew it wouldn’t be easy (he is arrogant but not altogether dumb) and he thus spends days sleeping, waking only for nourishment before forcing himself back into a cathartic level of slumber. When he wakes, he feels rested. He feels whole. His power thrums under him steadily, nearly simmering with the need for release, and he shakes his neck to release the tension.
It is then, and only then, that he begins to travel toward Loess.
He calls upon the things within the earth as he goes.
And they answer his call.
He feels them crawling forward from their graves. Some answer that are smaller than he would like, and some larger. They rise, listless and groaning under the weight of the life that he pours into them, and they stumble after him, their steps growing louder and steadier the further they go.
By the time that he crests Loess, his gathering is not insignificant. His neck is slick with sweat but his breathing steady. He can feel his pulse distinctly and he focuses on the rhythm of it, letting it guide him as he notes the shape and feel of Ghaul’s life force in the distance. He comes to a stop near the edges of Loess, far enough away from the flames to be endangered but not far enough away to escape the smoke that wraps around him. Inconvenient, but not something that he could actively avoid.
With a sigh, he breathes toward the undead minions who shuffle behind him,
“Go.”
And they do.
Stave’s eyes roll back in his head as he pours all of his efforts into leading them toward the slaughter and the destruction, his heart pounding in his chest, and the flames licking up toward the sky.
