Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Continued from here.

56th Trial of Ashan, 717 Arc
Second Story Inn

Neronin had taken a day to get back to Etzos. He had snuck into a farmer's hayloft and slept for four restless breaks once he could no longer make out where the city was. That monstrous turtle had shook him to his core. The Etzori mage was glad that his side had stopped aching since the fitful sleep. Neronin approached the home of his ally Kovic, or Maws, a man he was unsure if he could totally trust. They had been in a few tight spots together and Neronin hoped his curiosity over the hunt would push him to join Neronin today.

Neronin knocked hard four times and leant against the wall. He surveyed the street around him with a paranoid eye, as if the turtle had followed him all the way back to the city. Neronin made a face and sighed. He smelled of hay and sweat and grime. He didn't look better than he smelled. Usually the man kept a respectable appearance. He hadn't gone anywhere else since waking up and sneaking out of the farmer's hayloft at sunrise. What are you doing? A little dirt is nothing! These grimy streets made you who you are. He thought, the self loathing rising in him like bile with the thought.

When had he become such a posh scumbag? Tabard and his damn museum were the reason, of course. Neronin had grown accustomed to the cleanliness and privilege of the whole experience. Even some of Tabard's disdain had rubbed off on him. Not that Neronin did not disdain the same people, but he had his own fiery reasons for it and Tabard's felt like sewage in his well. The mage spat onto the street and scowled around at the passersby.

When the door was answered and Kovic appeared he wasted no time.

"Maws... I need your help." Neronin said in a hushed voice. "an old...enemy has arisen. I was attempting to track him down by myself but... everything went to shit." He clenched his teeth and let his hand fall to the coinpurse which housed the wells he had found. "I was overwhelmed by something... I think it was from the dream world. Maybe. I'm not learned in that lore. The beast pursued me and I had to abandon my search. I'd like you to help me take it up again."

Neronin looked at the man uncomfortably. He knew what was coming. Who was this man who had Neronin stalking the woods alone. He knew he would need to trust Maws with this at least to get him on board. Neronin wouldn't walk out into the woods for someone else without any information on their prey either, after all. Neronin sighed again. His discomfort stole his words for a long moment.

"He is my old master. He taught me...the craft." Neronin said finally. "I thought I had killed him many years ago, but apparently he lives. He is more powerful and more dangerous than... Well he is very dangerous. I know he is trying to come after me, the man doesn't exactly take slights well. Will you help me?"

Maws did not question Marrow's request for help, and without saying a word, he stepped out of his room and locked it behind him. There was clearly a sort of relationship between the two, one that Maws wasn't able to quite brand. There was no real trust between the two. Marrow had chosen to reveal his nature as a necromancer in a moment of weakness, and there was little doubt that he'd try to fix said lapse in judgment sooner or later. Maybe today or maybe not. Maws' guard was kept high at all times, regardless of what were to happen on this day, regardless if he was alone or with individuals like Marrow or Mongrel. His blue eyes kept jumping towards his companion, who guided the way towards the woods, both of them walking down the road like two regular citizens. It wasn't until said road was left behind and the bushes began their annoyance that Maws asked his questions.
“What are we to expect?” he asked. “I'd imagine the master still surpasses his student, given your choice of asking my assistance.”

As the bushes grew around them, so began growing the pine trees over the horizon. Soon enough, the obscured the sun, and the exploration of the forest began. Marrow seemed more or less adept at making his way back towards wherever he had been, or where he pretended he had been. Whatever it was, they were getting closer with every step. It was when Maws' foot crushed a cone that he realized he had forgotten to bring a weapon with him. The concept of self-defense was often done with his teeth, and the notion of carrying weapons was strange to someone as peaceful like himself. Were they to encounter whatever Marrow had, Maws would be of little use. Perhaps he'd have to lay back and watch rather than be of any practical help.
“You mentioned the dream world. I've never heard of anything similar. Could you please elaborate on it?” Maws mentioned whilst Marrow took some time to orientate himself. “We should hurry, by the way. We don't want the night to fall upon us.”

The sojourn had been further than Maws imagined. Had he known about this, he would've rented a couple of horses and packed a rucksack with fodder – to at least have enough for lunch, that is. Perhaps he would need to resort to his Misty Mania to remain unflinching about his urges, thought Maws, as he took a hold of a pine cone and split it open. Inside laid the seeds, which Maws tossed onto his mouth and munched on, shell included. It wasn't much, but it could delay the inevitable.

Maws was more ready to partake of the risk than Neronin had expected. They were now deep in the woods with not more than a vague plan to retrace Neronin's steps. Maws waited until they were far from prying eyes to question Neronin further, and for that discretion the mage was grateful. "Well, the reports I've heard say he may have a rather large undead with him. It would be something challenging to create and control. When I... ended our studies together he was just attempting it for the first time. I'm sure if he is indeed behind the rumors, he has achieved it in the arcs since I last saw him." Neronin glanced back at Maws as he pulled aside a thornbush and allowed them to continue. "Either way, the mage we are tracking must be strong if he could create such a creature."

Neronin's manner became more nervous as he fixated on features of the landscape he recognized. He lead with one eye glancing constantly over his shoulder to make sure Maws was still with him. The presence of an ally, even one as eccentric and haphazardly loyal as Maws, was a comfort. He didn't want to seem nervous, but he found his nerve depended on the constant reaffirmation of the other's presence. Neronin wiped sweat from his brow.

He was grateful for something else to fixate on when Maws made conversation again. "Well it is a common enough subject at the museum, amongst scholars and artists alike. They say there is an alternative world connected in some way to our dreams. I don't know much more about it." Neronin said, conversing about such theories falling into an easy cadence for the mage, even as they trekked through thick underbrush. "Apparently some believe that entrance to that landscape can be achieved through physical...fissures? Cracks I suppose, in our world I mean."

Neronin paused at that, wondering if he should tell Maws about the wells he had found. He decided to press on with the dreamscape instead. "I think I may have found one of these cracks. Possibly the beast I encountered had come through it, though when I found it there didn't seem to be much room for something of that size."

Neronin felt a sudden jolting in his stomach and stopped in his tracks. He was standing on the ridge of the valley. The Etzori threw out an arm to stop Maws. "We're here. Hang on." He said in a hushed voice. Neronin's voice cracked with anticipation and a dark discomforting fear. He scanned the valley with keen eyes. "I don't see any shining, maybe the beast is gone."

Neronin lead the way down into the clearing. He could make out the familiar crevice that was the supposed gate into that mystery world. The mage felt his skin crawling with anticipation. He was not a fearless man, and those things that could not be explained by his eyes struck fear into him. When those things did not seem negatively affected by his magic, they were all the more fearsome. But the beast was apparently gone, for after a long moment standing on the edge of the clearing Neronin did not hear nor see any sign of the huge thing. He took a cautious step into the clearing, once again glancing back to make sure Maws was with him.

At that moment that his boot touched the clearing's soil, three large, muscular men rose silently from the brush nearby. It took no more than a glance for Neronin to realize what they were, experienced as he was with the undead. The undead thralls were misshapen in a vicious caricature of humanity. Their arms were grotesquely large and their fingernails corrupted into claws. The things stared with the apathetic, hating hunger of the dead reanimate and their mouths were forced open by jagged teeth.

Together they looked at him as one.

"Shit." Neronin said in response.

One of them seemed to shudder with a momentary convulsion. "Hello, apprentice." It hissed with an outlandish slur, a product of the thing's horribly disfigured mouth. "I see you have idiotically returned to my power source. Your mediocrity is wonderfully dependable!"

“Gavrel you stinking shit!” Neronin hissed under his breath. He sprinted to the side as the undead pursued him as one. He could not hear Maws, nor see where he went. The mage was hardly concerned about that now. Gavrel had returned, somehow. Somehow that evil old bastard was alive or worse and hunting him. All his worst fears had come to fruition and now he could hardly think what to do for the sheer impact of that.

Gavrel was hunting him. The thought nearly brought him to his knees. If anyone in the whole of Idalos knew Neronin for what he truly was, it was Gavrel. He turned and began to weave away from the fracture and the surrounding clearing, putting trees hastily between himself and the undead. This was a failing plan, however. These undead were made of stronger stuff than the usual ones. They kept pace with him and seemed to be gaining on him easily. Neronin reached into himself and ripped from his essence a dark cloud of necromantic ether. He threw this at the nearest undead with his mind. The strong wither, bolstered by Neronin’s emotional volatility in that moment, struck the undead full in the chest. The stuff seemed to rot the pale, sickly flesh from it and the thing stumbled. By instinct Neronin paused. He threw his hands out and spilled more power into the spell. He directed the torrent of black with a merciless will.

The undead creature thrashed it’s maw at him as the flesh and desiccated muscle beneath flesh rotted away under the wither, but it stumbled forward. Neronin felt a flicker of fear and his spell stuttered. He flipped the outpouring into a sap and watched the undead fall to it’s knees again. The other two were close behind him. Neronin could see slivers of their pale flesh through the trees and hear the pounding of their thick, clawed feet. Neronin got an idea then.

He turned and began to run as he gathered his ether, from both sparks this time. They coiled together, competing for dominance. The sensation renewed his strength of will and his focus, sending all his senses into overdrive. Neronin unleashed the rupturing power, blinking back behind the rear gaunt. The necromancer suddenly appeared behind the monstrous undead. He lunged for the thing before it realized he had even teleported. His hand grasped the deformed ankle and he unleashed the pent up Wither he had been storing in himself. The spell caught upon the undead with a hunger, rotting away the fleshiness of the ankle. As the thing stumbled and fell because of the sudden weight attached to it’s foot, Neronin held on with all his strength. He felt the rot set in and drew the dagger at his waist. The undead was now scratching to turn itself around for a renewed attack. Neronin brought the dagger down on the rotting ankle, attempting to make the foot unusable. If he could slow them down, he could outrun them, perhaps.

“All that power and you resort to a dagger, fool.” Gavrel’s voice hissed from the undead gaunt’s snarling mouth. “You were never meant to be more than a servant, boy.” Neronin’s face contorted into a toothy grimace. Gavrel never dictated his worth before, and he wouldn’t start now. He had climbed back from death, using it to his advantage. He could turn this as well.

As the undead turned to face him, it’s mangled ankle keeping it from being able to stand, Neronin got unsteadily to his feet. He felt the brushes of overstepping blurring his vision and his mind already. The thudding of the approaching undead, the two remaining, was a dull and unimportant backdrop to the scene at hand.

“Your insults aren’t winning you this fight, old man.” Neronin hissed, the dagger rising in front of him. The undead gaunt swiped with one clawed hand, making Neronin stumble back. “You always talked a bigger game than you played, Gavrel. It’s one of the reasons you held me back so much.” He lunged and found his mark. The blade smashed into the crystalline well embedded into the thing’s chest. Neronin watched as if in slow motion as the dagger was torn from his hands and the well cracked. The little power source flared as the ether was released into the air around it. The undead was suddenly dead weight, just as it was falling onto Neronin. The body hit him with the force of a tackle and slammed the slim academic into the ground. He felt the air rush out of his lungs with the impact of the ground.

“Your death has been a long time coming, boy. No more betrayals to be had.” The second undead said, the ugly head appearing over the corpse on top of him. The flare of undeathly hunger burning in its’ eyes. Neronin felt the fear settling in. He didn’t want to die in a panic.

“Perhaps…one…more.” He said, abandoning the attempt to free himself and instead forcing his energy at the undead. He mimicked the pouring of will into an animation, willing his spark to take control of the undead before him. This was different that any animation he had yet attempted though. The undead fought him for control, Gavrel was fighting him for control. He could sense the mark of the necromancer in the ether of the beast. The two mages were pitted against each other, the battlefield contained within a single thrall. Neronin could feel the hatred and the wrath with which Gavrel fueled his creation.

The taste of his vengeance in their battling spirits almost gave him pause. The man truly hated him. Neronin had always thought his fiery hatred for Gavrel had been justified. His righteous indignation a perfectly predictable consequence of the man’s vile nature. Feeling that intensity of hatred so intimately directed at him was harrowing. It was the kind of experience that humbled. Neronin felt his own power waning in the thrall.

Death. The power that had brought him back from it. Now it would slowly engulf him once more. Neronin saw in that moment, struggling for his very life, that this was always his end. The dark struggle for control, the stench of rotting man, the flickering of corruption coursing through his bones. He focused on the sensation of the necromancy as he struggled in a losing fight for dominance. As he and Gavrel fought over dominance of one undead, the second gaunt loomed ever closer, still slowed by Neronin’s initial Sap spell.

Gavrel was controlling two thralls from afar. Was Neronin really so weak that he could not wrestle one from the old man? Death, death was not his end. It had been his escape and his rebirth. He could make it his weapon today. He redoubled his efforts to press against Gavrel’s control and found the old man slow to match his strength of will. The second gaunt seemed to falter as they fought on. Neronin grinned. He gathered his strength for another surge of power.

He relinquished his control of the gaunt and in the same moment pushed his will towards the second, farther one. He felt Gavrel rushing in, filling in the spaces he left. The aura of confidence and victory thick in his magic made Neronin think the man hadn’t noticed his ploy yet. The gaunt’s eyes atop him flared with deep purple energy, the color of Gavrel’s dark magic. It raised a hand with a savage snarl.

“You are too weak to win, Neronin.” Gavrel’s voice intoned before he made the downward swipe.

But the claw did not rake across Neronin’s face. The necromancer hadn’t been murdered. The second gaunt had clasped it’s own contorted fist around the wrist of the first. This one had eyes blazing a fiery green.

“You were always too stupid to win, Gavrel.” Neronin said as the second gaunt ripped the hand from the first, a roar of savage bloodlust escaping its lips. Neronin laid back and fought the blurriness back. He fought back the nausea and the headache. Meanwhile, the gaunts tore at each other with abandon.

Neronin had never seen such a vicious display of single-minded brutality in his life. Fingers and chunks of meat were cast aside in their fury. They fought with neither the fear or the caution of the living, tearing with no interest in preserving their own forms. Neronin felt a rush if excitement as he felt his gaunt rip the small well from the other’s chest. He felt in that moment the thrill of danger pass and the presence of his old master disappear.

He let his mind falter. It was over. He could sleep. He didn’t bother to try to push the gaunt’s body off of him. He hadn’t the strength in him. He welcomed the bliss of relaxation under the weight.

Then he heard the snarl. The gaunt, his gaunt, was looking at him with hunger in its black eyes. It snapped its jaw and blood red drool spilled from its maw. It stepped onto the dead carcass of its packmate and with a hungry hissing noise began to rip the corpse apart to get to Neronin where he lay under it.

The necromancer fought with all his strength to regain a semblance of his power. He felt his strength stretching past its limit as he once more awakened his spark. He pushed his mind into the thrall and made the thing reach up and rip from its own chest the last well.

As it fell to the ground Neronin coughed up blood and spittle. He quickly lost consciousness.

When he awoke he didn’t know how long had passed, but Kovic was still nowhere to be seen. Neronin spent the better part of a break puking and then wrenching up nothing, and finally dislodging himself from the undead. He was dizzy and weak kneed, but he had to get out of there. The necromancer bent and picked up his dagger, sheathing the trusted weapon once again. He collapsed not ten feet from where he had started.

The next time he woke it was frigid and dark but he felt more rested. Neronin got unsteadily to his feet and started walking slowly towards Noth’s cave. He needed backup.

Continues here.