There the wizard lay, incapacitated, a; most as though he were dead. His heart rate was so shallow that the sound of a pulse was faint, but not too faint to hear. Shendron stood in the middle of the room, covered in blood - again - but human blood this time, and the red blood, in every spot where it touched his skin, bubbled and hissed. The life of the blood was being burnt out of it, by the life in Shendron's body. As each bit of the still-live plasma came in contact with his skin, Shendron’s body reacted with it automatically, and killed it! His body was protecting itself. This only happened to human blood though. All other blood is absorbed, through the sweat glands, through cuts, grazes, any point where it would be allowed to enter. Fortunately Isurra hadn't noticed this. Shendron also felt a little relieved that Rowen was unconscious, as he was in no mood to explain this now. As the blood was killed by his own soul, Shendron's body heated in protest at the foreign presence on his skin. The blood on his skin started evaporating in puffs of steam and then, he was covered by it. The blood dried, as the moisture left it and then it fell off, in big scab like chunks, onto the ground and broke apart, brittle and life less. This had earned him the ambiguous title of Blood Slayer, in the mercenary world. The title proclaimed him as one with extreme skill, but also as an outcast and a demon. He killed and the blood flowed, but his body went even further and killed the very blood itself. No other mercenary could claim to have this level of efficacy! The person he killed could not even become undead, as the tiniest drop of dead blood would mean that the piece of life in it, had been forever extinguished, and therefore, it was forever dead. "Hire the Blood Slayer! That way, you will not even be haunted by your enemy and even when you reach hell, your rival will not be there to greet you." A curse! An intoxicating curse! The blood made him feel alive, as his skin tingled at the sensation of heat and he was almost at the mercy of his own instincts. He could control it though, after all these years, he could control all of his needs.

He walked over to the shredded bodies and inspected the leftovers. He found gold, and pocketed this in his tunic. He found jewels and tied these into a small carry bag on his side. He also found potions and herbs and a few scrolls. These he picked through, taking only what he knew he would use later on in this journey. He then took the things he could not use or understand and placed them by the wizard's side, leaving the little pile of treasure for him to inspect at his leisure, once he woke up.

Turning to look at the chamber, Shendron realized where he was. He had been here before, in someone else's memory, he had seen this place before and knew how it worked and what its purpose was. He picked up this wizard and slung him over his right shoulder after he had packed the bottles and packets on the floor into his rucksack. He walked off in the direction where he had left Isurra and he wondered why she had decided to not join them after she had gone to feed, which is what he assumed the creature had done, to sate her hunger. Shendron could control his hunger. Shendron stood still in the pool of red blood, which had been black, the blood of the Dehekon, which had turned once the little vial of the creature had fallen into it. Shendron closed his eyes and he concentrated. Only a few could, after years of bitter trial and effort, manage a partial change, but he had perfected it, and he opened his eyes. The world was brighter and he saw the heat trail she had left behind. Rowen was coming too, so Shendron dropped him, uncaringly, into the mess at his feet, which covered the hard stones. He landed with a thud, but was up, almost at the same time as landing, "I am no ordinary wizard, mercenary!" Rowen spat out the last word with contempt. "I am not the garden variety wizard who roams this planet to and fro, healing the common cold and entertaining people with cheap parlour tricks! I demand that you show me the respect I deserve! I know that things have not been the same, after you came back from your last undertaking, and frankly, I don't want to know what happened, but you will at least be civil toward me, if not friendly. I am no mere conjurer!"
Shendron had rounded on Rowen and grabbed his shirt, pulling him up to his face and whispered with a veiled threat "And I am no mere mercenary." Rowen was beyond amazement, as he looked into Shendron's eyes. They were on fire. His eyes were a glowing orange and yellow and he could feel the heat of them on his face as they licked from Shendron's sockets at the air around them. He knew what Shendron was, and the fear of facing an Elemental in his weakened state forced him to apologize.
Shendron let him drop and said, "I can see the warm trail Isurra's body has left behind, and I think it's best we follow it before some other creature does, or before it gets cold. Take these potions and scrolls," and he handed over the things he had put in his rucksack, "and see what you can do with them. If you are hurt, heal yourself, if you are hungry, eat, but we will do all these things on
the run."
With these words they set off, but Shendron was uneasy, as he had never spoken to Rowen so harshly, but there seemed to be a voice which influenced him. The same voice he had heard earlier, and he wondered how well exorcism worked, if you practiced it on yourself...