The Aristocrat [Chpt. 1]

"Oh, how perfectly vulgar..."
Lord Rutherford stared up at the court, his tophat held nervously in his hands, his fingers drumming on its brim, filled with anxiety. He stared up at the long robed, crow like judges, perching above him as they stare down with a crude fusion of distrust and pity.
"You, Terethaum Reginald Rutherford, have been convicted of two cases of murder, one case of violation of the peace, three cases of thievery-"
Lord Rutherford put up a stern hand, and caughed. "Ahem, not thievery. I am a Lord, after all. Not some common peasent."
The judges gave Rutherford a long, cold stare before continuing again, in the same cold, empty tone.
"-four cases of unethical scientific experiments, fifteen cases of blasphemy, and one case of assaulting an officer of the peace. We have evidence to back this up. As a matter of fact, we all saw you do it. You even left this message on the corpses' bodies!"
The judge swiftly held up a small peice of partchement reading "Lord Rutherford was at this current location."
The judge gave Rutherford another cold stare. "How do you plead?"
"Innocent, of course. That could be any Rutherford."
The judge's eyes narrowed, and he turned the paper round. Clearly, it stated "This is not any Rutherford, this is the Lord one who looks like a suspicious gentlemen, and a snappy dresser too, I might add."

Rutherford paused, and held up a finger. Feeling defeated, he lowered it, and gave a slight grin, marred with cheekiness.
"Well, I am a snappy dresser..."
All three judges furrowed the brows in irritation, and the centre judge slammed down his mallet in anger.
"Terethaum Reginald Rutherford, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging. May the Light have mercy upon your soul."
Rutherford blinked, suprised. He opened his mouth, but no words were found. Finally, he pointed a finger at the judge.
"Will it make a dramatic and climax-inducing statement if I state "You will pay for this!"?"
The judge gave a cold, sickly sweet smile.
"No. Unless you find a way to come back from the dead, of course."

Four Years Later...

The soil rumbled. A thick green, poisonous mist filled the air with it's toxic, necromantic and corpse animating fumes. A rotting, festering hand bursts through the soil, clutching at the ground as if it were oxygen. Slowly, a body rises up through the mist. It looks around. It dusts itself off. It repositions it's tophat. It reaches down, and reclaims its cane from the abyss of the hole he arrived from. He looks around...
"Hm. Irony sure does cause quite a rucuss, I must concur... How indelicately inconvenient. And here was me-"
Darkness.

A few minutes later. Rutherford got off to a bad eternity.

"We found another one, sir!"
"Wonderful. Keep it in the cage. It could be a Forsaken, and if so, we could get some information from it... if it turns out to be one of the Scourge, just kill it."
"What if it's neither, sir?"
"What do you mean 'neither'?! They're either Scourge of Forsaken, you imbecile."
Rutherford opened an eye, staring towards the talking humans. One of them turned their backs, and walked out. The jailor walked towards Rutherford, wearing a cunning and malicious grin.
He walked up to the bars, his face a few inches away from it.
"How you doing pretty? By the Gods, we'll keep you burried this t--"
"An gardè, you ghastly fiend! Hyaa!"
Swiftly, Rutherford thrusts out two bone like fingers, impaling the jailor through both eyes, and penetrating the brain.
Rutherford withdraws the fingers, and inspects them. With a scowl of disgust, he wipes it on the jailor's uniform.
"I say, how terribly impolite of him. Didn't even ask me if I wanted something to drink... I say, etiquite these days..."
Unhooking the jailor's kets, Rutherford swiftly unlocks the door. Collecting his cane and tophat, he struts through the door, humming to himself idly.

"You!"
Turning sharply, Rutherford's face embraced with a look of pleasent suprise, the Judge. Rutherford smiles, and walks towards the Judge, who backs into a wall.
"Good evening, Judge Harkly. I must say I'm not having the best of evenings. Perhaps you could direct me to the nearest exit?"
The Judge looked towards the undead with pure terror.
"J-just kill me and get on with it!"
Rutherford quirks an eyebrow in mild confusion.
"Kill you? My good Judge, why would I waste such fine steel on my sword? Or threaten a chance of splattering my suit with the blood of a lesser class?"
Far off yells are heard.
Turning towards the door, and back to the Judge, Rutherford gives a pleasent smile.
"Well, old bean. Tally-Ho!"
With a flick of his tail-coat, and a quick bow, Rutherford leaps out of the window, glass slattering onto the floor, the Undead figure jogging heartedly into the night...