Nervous, Tarrin darted from his room and quickly ran down the stairs, then dashed down the corridor and out of the north tower. He passed several guards at the door and on the grounds, then raced into the main Tower through a small entrance that led to the kitchens. If he had to be deep in the Tower proper, he had a good idea of where to go. To the main core chamber that most called the Heart of the Goddess. It was in the exact center of the Tower, and it had both alot of space and alot of vertical openness. If worse came to worst, he could climb or jump up to one of the many balconies that peppered the walls all the way up the Tower. He worried quickly at exactly what this Doomwalker creature was, and he shuddered at how the Goddess had described it. The Wraith had nearly killed him, and if this creature was more dangerous, then he had a good reason to be afraid. But he was Ungardt, and he would face the challenge like any proper warrior would. It was alright to be afraid, so long as he didn't allow his fear to rule him.

He reached the long corridor with its metal gate when he first smelled it. Its scent was that of corruption and decay, like an open grave, but it had a sharp ozone smell that he couldn't identify. It was coming directly towards him, and that smell, that unnatural scent, triggered the Cat into activity. Ears laying back, Tarrin growled in his throat as the Cat registered its hatred of that scent. It reacted much like that whenever he had faced unnatural beings, such as the Wraith. Opening the gate to the chamber, he slipped through it and closed it again, then looked up. The ceiling in the passage was higher than the threshold holding the gate, creating a solid overhang that was nearly three spans long. What a perfect place to lay in ambush.

A short vault up to the ceiling and some claws driven into the stone was all it took. He tucked himself up into the corner and pulled in his tail, holding his staff against the ceiling and going statue-still, using his inhuman strength to hold himself absolutely motionless.

After only a moment, he could hear the sharp metallic sound of armored boots on stone. It was a methodical pace, from the sound of it, coming towards him. As they got louder, the smell of it became stronger and stronger, until it threatened to make him gag. He closed his eyes and reined in his nose, using all his will to deaden and ignore what his nose was telling him, even as he struggled to keep the Cat from charging from its place in the back of his mind and take control, so it could hunt down and destroy the unnatural being it could smell. After a few seconds, he found that he could tolerate that smell, and he had overpowered the instinct to drop down and attack his opponent head-on.

There was a high-pitched, raspy cackle, sound made by vocal cords long dried and in disuse. It was a hollow sound, and it froze Tarrin's spine. "I can smell ye, Were-cat," it said. "You know, you do, that Jegojah has come for you, yes. Clever clever Were-cat, you are."

The gate opened under him. The top of a helmet became visible, as a skeletal being in archaic plate armor stepped through the gate, holding a sword stained heavily with blood. It had obviously killed its way to the Tower, and that no alarm had been raised told Tarrin how good it was. It held a shield in its other hand, and it was advancing into the passage slowly and carefully, head scanning back and forth. But, like most creatures, it never bothered to look up. "Close, ye are, Were-cat, close indeed," it cackled. "Come taste the steel of Jegojah's blade. Come out, and quick and clean I will be, yes. I hold no ill will to ye, but kill ye I must, yes."

Tarrin dealt the first blow. Dropping down from his hiding place, he coiled up and then exploded into motion like a bow, curling his entire body as his arms brought his staff over his head. The end of that staff struck the undead being directly on the top of the helmet, with enough force to cleave a human being in half. But the creature merely staggered forward from the force of it, and Tarrin's staff recoiled from the helmet with enough force to spin him back around and miss putting his feet down. He landed unceremoniously on his rump as the skeletal thing went down to its knees, and both of them returned to a vertical base almost instantly.

Tarrin had to swallow the urge to flee in terror when it turned around. Its face was gray, dead flesh pulled so tautly over the skull that its face was but a mask over the bone beneath. Its eyes were pools of unholy red light, unblinking and steady, and bare yellowed teeth, without lips to cover them, sat below a grisly hole where a nose had once been. It was tall, but still half a head shorter than him. It cackled gleefully as it approached, making Tarrin go into a ready stance. "Foolish boy," it said in that raspy voice, "your stick, it can't dent my armor, no." It raised its sword into a ready position. "Come then, foolish Were-cat, come face Jegojah in honorable combat!"

Hissing, baring his fangs, Tarrin put his ears back and answered the challenge in a primal threat display. Embracing the Cat to keep it from taking control of him, his two halves met to pursue a unified goal, and then rushed in for the attack.

There was little grace to the first blows exchanged, but clear skill showed on both sides. Tarrin was taken aback with the first couple of blocks, when he realized that the creature before him was every bit as strong as he was, if not stronger. It looked ungainly, but it moved with viperlike speed, and what was most important, Tarrin felt he almost recognized the forms the creature was using. It may be an undead creature, but it was fighting with very real skills of sword and shield. And those skills were impeccable. The creature moved sword and shield in perfect harmony, blocking a rapid and savage series of broad strokes of his staff designed to take advantage of his inhuman strength and smash an opponent to the ground. After nearly losing his head in a stunningly fast swipe at his neck in response to that, Tarrin backed up and reassessed his opinion of this opponent. The advantages Tarrin usually enjoyed over an enemy, speed, strength, and skill, were nonexistent here. They were actually in the creature's favor.

Tarrin waded back in, much more hesitant this time. He began testing the creature, using forms and routines that baited, stressed, pushed, as he tried to feel out the extent of the creature's skill and speed. His staff blurred as his power moved it about like a stick, blocking sword slashes and swiping and stabbing at his enemy in return. He knew that it was also feeling him out, but there was little to be done for that. He parried a thrust at his chest, tried to come around and strike it on the opposite side, only to find its shield slamming up against his side. Tarrin was pushed back by the heavy blow, and he screamed as a furiously hot line of pain ran up his side. Blood flowed from the wound as the creature tried to reset its blood-trailing sword for a fast stab in the belly, but Tarrin planted his foot directly in the thing's hideous face, knocking out three of its teeth and driving it a few steps backwards.

Hunching over the wound, Tarrin felt it burn and throb savagely. There was something about it that kept it open, long after his regenerative power would have stopped the bleeding. The creature had injured him, injured him for real, for the wound wasn't closing up the way it was supposed to. Pushing the pain out of his mind, he saw it spit out another tooth. He saw that his claws had punched five holes into its forehead and cheek, one of them deep enough to gouge a piece off its cheekbone. It advanced quickly after shaking its head, and he twisted around another attempt to skewer him, then put his shoulder into another attempt to slam him with the shield. It was the creature pushed back this time, and Tarrin bulled it out of the reach of its sword. He whipped his staff around with only one hand, holding it by the end as he spun in a complete circle. The move gave the staff horrific speed and force as it came around his body, and it cracked into its helmeted head with a sharp metallic clang, snapping the head to the side forcefully.