Desertmancy

He was out and about all the last day, after he left trying to perfect his work. He would continue to use the stinnoxes as catalysts to absord the feedback of the necromantic ritual. He had been extremely careless not to the previous day, but he would not repeat his same mistakes. He stayed up through the night perfecting it. He had been working on it the months that they stayed in the desert, he would know this art.

Everyday, the sands were strewn with the bodies of stinnoxes, killed with the constant feedback of the necromantic failures, and bandits, those killed in the name of Azrael to please him, then used as the fodder for his studies. He would know this art. There was no other way.

He hoped that she was making as much progress as he was in her attempts to get stronger and know what she was seeking. To control her hateful and tormentful anger. To direct it in vengeance. But he was of minimal help, only capable of guiding and advising. The rest of the work was up to her. But in necromancy and his learning of it, he had full control. He would know this art. There was no other way. It would submit.

He took a stroll from the tent they stayed and went around the usual bend to the hunting spots, and witnessed her cannibalising herself, he sat next to her,  "You shouldn't turn your anger or hate on yourself. You have nothing to hate yourself on."  He would take a few bandages and help wrap her arm. He took a deep breath, it was going to be another one of THOSE days.

The kind where he buried himself in sorry about his missing stells... and hid it as best as he possibly could so that he could help Salem overcome whatever demon was gnawing at her soul this time.
(Vindictus)