I have seen war, famine; witnessed the genocide. Have seen the changes in human nature and history, and I am still here, standing alone. Til the end, I will be there too. To witness the endless carnage, to live this harsh reality. Cause I have been cursed, Cursed with immortality.
There were a number of oddities that came with being an undead creature. The inability to die came in handy quite a number of times, though Cillian figured at some point eternity would start to get boring. His emotional senses were a bit dull, though whether that was a side effect from his connection to death magic or simply a byproduct of having spent so many hundreds of years wandering the earth and becoming desensitized to it was anyone's guess.
Probably the weirdest thing, however, was the connection he had to the spirits of the dead. If there was a corpse nearby, he could often sense it from the lingering attachment of its former soul, particularly if they had just recently died. Because of this, he often found himself stumbling into quite a few concerning and peculiar scenes, such as now. There was blood everywhere in the home of this one time millionaire. Cillian could only assume the man had pissed someone off, because this had clearly been a murder yet none of the man’s things were missing. Nothing appeared to have been taken from the home itself, and the corpse was still adorned with jewels. Whoever had done this clearly hadn’t done it while trying to rob the guy. It had probably been personal.
Well, whatever. He didn’t really care too much about that. Instead what he was curious about was whether or not the man would make a decent enough zombie to join his summon party, so to speak. Cillian had used his magic to summon the man’s spirit to talk to him, but it was a fruitless task that had become a bit of a chore. The man was quite belligerent, and didn’t care about answering any of Cillian’s questions about whether or not he had any magic or skills that would prove worthwhile. The only thing he kept going on about was how he’d been killed, how some man or woman in a mask and nondescript armor had snuck into his home and murdered him in the place he should have been the most secure.
Eventually, Cillian sighed. “Yeah, I don’t think this is gonna work out. Thanks anyway, I guess. Rest in peace or whatever. Say hi to Death for me on your way back.” The ghost tried to protest, vehement on having someone solve the crime that was his untimely death, but unfortunately Cillian wasn’t exactly the type of person to spend that kind of energy or empathy. With the wave of a hand, the spirit disappeared and returned to the afterlife.
Blowing air comically out of his mouth and causing his lips to flap together in a dramatic pfff sound, he looked around. This certainly was quite the mess. Whoever had done this really hadn’t done much to clean up after themselves. There were even footprints on the marble flooring through the puddles of blood, with a trail leading toward the window where the culprit had fled. “Well that’s just sloppy,” he commented to himself. Still, if the murder victim had been as annoying alive as he’d been just now as a ghost, Cillian wasn’t really surprised that he’d gotten killed.
With a shrug, he wandered around the home until he’d located the cleaning supplies. Slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, he snatched a bucket, some bleach, and a bunch of towels. Before long, he was scrubbing down all the blood from the floor and the walls, cleaning and straightening furniture, even wiping fingerprints off of things that he’d found. This criminal, whoever he was, had done a service to the rest of the world as far as Cillian was currently concerned so he didn’t really see why he couldn’t give them a little extra security on their job well done.
Last edited by Cillian duCrosse on 14th November 2019, 11:49 am; edited 1 time in total