AHOTE
While Ahote was far from approaching his deathbed, he had certainly seen better days. Ever since becoming a Necromancer, while acquiring powerful magic, he was the most prone to illness and fatigue than he had ever been before. It was merely a side-effect of practicing such a dark art, but nothing he ever got used to. His hair and skin would lose its vibrant color and his eyes become something other than the rich amber he was so used to. His figure was still charming, nonetheless, but ghostly.
It happened whenever Ahote was lacking "life force" as some label it. It was the equivalent of dehydration or perhaps being anemic to put it in more common terms, but far more dreadful. As a solution to this inevitable problem, in the cellar of Boomslang is a room personalized for Ahote alone. The only reason he never leaves Boomslang except for work is because he quartered there as well. In that room was everything an adult needed to sustain themselves: food, water, entertainment, and whatnot. But most importantly, there was a rather large bathtub. It's a rather unimpressive tub, and while the nitty-gritty details are not important, it is where Ahote poured of the blood of recently passed people and lathered himself in it. It was a gross, odorous routine but one necessary if he wanted to rid himself of his peaky appearance.
It was in the middle of the afternoon today when Boomslang's biggest business was younger men and women coming in for the drinks more than the clubbing. It was only after dark that Boomslang truly came alive. But, business was business and Ahote didn't care what exactly one came here for as long as they weren't loitering.
Ahote was leaning over the bar countertop, gingerly pressing his temples with the fingers of his left hand while resting on his right. He was wearing his usual vest-suit hued with traditional pigments and a black trench coat to match. Needless to say, Ahote already had a gloomy, aloof air to him and the change in appearance only added to this idea. In fact, he looked like he was mourning someone or something when in reality, he was simply just fatigued.
"I hate this feeling. Is the bath ready?" Ahote quietly complained to the employee next to him. It was a young woman, but she neither had a will of her own or was alive. She was, in short, a cleverly disguised lich. In fact, all of his employees were simply slaves of his necromancies. They were also something to talk to when Iris and Aeluri weren't around.
"Almost. It will be ready in about ten minutes." she replied cooly.
". . ." Instead of saying anything, Ahote just sighed and continued to press his temples and pinch his eyes.
STATISTICS
HP: x/y
MP: x/y
Spells Used: xxx
Abilities Active: xxx
Weapons Equipped: xxx
Monsters Killed: xxx
Other Notes:
HP: x/y
MP: x/y
Spells Used: xxx
Abilities Active: xxx
Weapons Equipped: xxx
Monsters Killed: xxx
Other Notes:
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