More than an undead indeed, commented Igdalmar Am in his mind as yet another of the nearby undead shuffled up to him and stopped at a short distance, much like the sneaky one had before it. This one was thin, wore something that looked to be a dark blue robe of some kind, and had a hole going through its lower torso. The latter could be what had killed the body´s former owner, Igdalmar Am idly figured, for the living were fragile like that and otherwise the body seemed largely intact ... or it could be something what had simply come to be after the death, as was just as probable. Either way, irrelevant.
The narrow-framed undead had been around here for a time longer than Igdalmar Am himself had - yet, since the thin one had not seemed to play much of a part in the happenings in progress, he had paid little attention to it this far - which was not to say that he had not been aware of the thin one's presence, as that he naturally had been. - See, being never noticed was exceptionally much easier than becoming unnoticed while already being keenly followed... And Igdalmar Am had firstly spotted the thin one when the one was still talking to the skeletal sorcerer who had tried to set the automaton on fire shortly after. From there on, it was obvious that he had kept a fraction of his attention on the thin one the same - he was no careless individual. He did not forget such fundamental matters.
Even if incorporeal entities might - apparently! - succeed in sneaking up on him - irritating as the fact was -, physical beings still would not manage to accomplish it, or so Igdalmar Am had determined to himself. That would have harmed his rudimentary sense of self-pride. ...Which in return was not to say that it would somehow have harmed his self-esteem - his mind acknowledged no such concept. Instead, Igdalmar Am merely tended to become irate and destructive ... well, even more destructive than he usually was.
Quite often, annihilating problems was the most efficient way of getting rid of them.
For a few moments longer, though, Igdalmar Am listened to the for the others unheard speech, as woven by the one to be called Lady Moonshine. She often seemed to say things he already knew or had had guessed, or was repeating herself, but this time he figured it was because she was telling a story, unlike the golden one who spoke a plenty the same, but yet could be conclusively responded to with a single word and then ignored until it made a single more noteworthy claim ... which its shiny-armored self could not even back up.
For now, temporarily, Igdalmar Am paid little more attention to the other unliving beings than he thought necessary - that being him only covertly observing that they still were not doing something that could be considered hostile towards him. Visibly he simply took the pieces of the one-armed's left arm into his own hands and seemed to be inspecting those, beforehand moving the lantern to hang from his left arm and leaving the staff to loosely lean a bit uncomfortably against his shoulder. He will either need more arms and hands himself, or otherwise more means to hold things...
Danger? Reward? Those were the things Lady Moonshine spoke of, the first more than the latter.
"Hmm...?" Achieving anything had an associated danger, the bigger anything the greater danger - and the world as he knew it was perhaps the largest thing Igdalmar Am had witnessed - and if not having to live in an utterly boring world was not the only reward he actually had the slightest care for, the better. Right now Igdalmar Am did not know whether the reward the Lady was speaking of was truly a reward or simply - in his perspective - something of little meaning, which was what any unwanted reward would automatically be.
The bone-ends of the arm-pieces did not form a perfect match, hence those two probably were not pieces of an original intact arm. Nevertheless, the lone bone was at least of the kind which usually connected elbows to shoulders, and about the right size.
From somewhere in the depths of his ragged once-coat and rusted chainmail, he brought out a handful of various metal pieces, wires, bolts and other, then sorting through those and trying to determine which he should actually use.
- Igdalmar Am had a habit of picking up and carrying along random things he could and thought might turn out to be useful. He had not needed another sword, either, after all...
Aha, so that was why! exclaimed Igdalmar Am in his mind at the Lady's next words. What she had now told neatly explained why the dark one had been here and what had attempted to do before meeting an unfortunate ... condition, perhaps.
Another thing he noted was that the golden one had told them all that Elizier was not their enemy, however he was certain that he (they?) would meet this Elizier's opposition when they went to end its reign. That made Elizier their opponent to be, and opponent was practically the same as an enemy. (In the end, enemies only existed because they were in the way or had irritated you. Elizier, for example, was in the way of repairing the world...) Therefore it was thus that he, Igdalmar Am had been correct in saying that it was uncertain, whereas the vanguard had so confidently told its own limited vision of the state of being of things and been thoroughly mistaken. For some reason Igdalmar Am felt an unreasonable amount of victoriousness at the conclusion. ...And he would have to destroy the golden one the same, if it intended to position itself between him (them?) and Elizier. The golden one had essentially promised it would, and that spelled its end.
And sorcery... Was Lady Moonshine's power more potent manifesting - or perhaps more abundant? - than his own? Either way, that alone was worth seeing... Witnessing in effect.
"I'll fight," insisted the staff-wielding undead in the end. Fight, since the unliving could not die? He would, of course - how else? -, [B][I]try to avoid being rendered into an entirely uninteractive state of existence...
Only then did Igdalmar Am turn his attention seemingly - and only seemingly - fully to the two speakers who had addressed him, briefly even stopping in his efforts to create a makeshift elbow-joint for the arm in his hand just to show that he was paying attention to the first speaker. It felt slightly irritating that they both inquired about the lantern. It was his lantern now.
Nevertheless, he knew why the dark one had acted the way he had...
"Having been let known it's a thing the dying world needs, the dark one was to destroy Elizier," Igdalmar Am stated, his raspy voice oddly resolute. With the next sentence, the resoluteness faded to something which at least left the impression of thoughtfulness: "Wanted to save the world, yes..."
His skull turned ever so slightly on its perch, and now his empty eye-sockets seemed to be gazing at the sneaky one who, almost against his expectations, could speak and had finally spoken.
"I, Igdalmar Am, met someone by the lantern - Lady Moonshine she sayeth she could be called."
There was a short pause, and then Igdalmar Am, straightening up as much as he could, turned to everyone around at once.
"She offers us the path of saving the world; a purpose, perhaps..."
The moment was perhaps somewhat marred to those with more poetic minds when a severed head came flying, hit the ground, and unceremoniously rolled closer and stopped perhaps two yards from Igdalmar Am's feet. The staff-wielding undead himself seemed to pay not much attention to it and its pathetic attempt to speak, since a head without sorcery was not much of a threat (if it had it, why didn't it use it?), and simple, humanly compassion was not something Igdalmar Am had in particular abundance.
The background held more interesting happenings, and for a moment he simply admired the house's collapsing - Doll emerged, house collapsed. Had been a structure, was no more. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Igdalmar Am liked abrupt change, rather than destruction? Destruction that had happened when he could not see, hear, sense it offered no joy unlike that which he was personally witnessing. In the end, the main problem with creation he had was indeed that it was slow and not too spectacular sight to behold (subjective like the latter claim was)...
After the house had collapsed, Igdalmar Am continued to look at Doll. Doll was eating a heart? What for? Doll was evidently an undead, and as such required no nourishment...
“Don't touch my things,” Doll only informed them in the way of an explanation.
"Or mine," Igdalmar Am figured it necessary to add, once more rising his right hand (the left remained to hold onto Bleeder's arm) and, accompanied with an abrupt snap and a flash of light, a thread of lightning momentarily connected the tips his index-finger-claw and thumb. If there was a clearer way to hint what would happen to those who would defy him...
- Sorrily, Igdalmar Am also had a very personal approach to what was his and what was not, meaning that he sometimes effectively considered the things which he only wanted to obtain (but had not yet) his, never mind the objects he actually held in hand. The latter were always his, exceptionlessly. Sometimes, that attitude tended to forge problems.
Doll whispered something about ingredients. Igdalmar Am in return simply could not begin to fathom what use would a severed head have. (Perhaps not too unsurprisingly, he was still not bothered by the poor creature's fate.)