• Graded • Bonemaker: Raid

[Neronin]

Continued from here.

57th Trial of Ashan, 717 Arc
Noth's Cavern

Neronin arrayed the faintly glowing gemstones, the wells, across the newly repaired tabletop in Noth's cavern. The Mongrel had kindly carted down three bodies for Neronin's use. He was still recovering from the confrontation with Gavrel's hidden force at the fracture. His side hurt and his head felt like he was wading through a pool of ache every time he moved it. But the effects of the combat had slid back into a mere annoyance rather than real pain. The Etzori could work through that, he needed to work through it. Gavrel was certainly not resting. Neronin had been scouring the Journal for answers to his questions.

Two torches lit the area and the Journal of Mad notes he had taken lay splayed next to the wells on the tabletop. The torches lent the three cadavers a sort of false warmth that gave off an eerie air of morbidity. It was something that may make those less familiar with the intimacies of death uncomfortable. Neronin, however, felt almost at home with the dead arrayed around him. What was more, he felt a comfort doing his work he hadn't felt before Mongrel's cave. Here was a space he did not constantly have to keep an eye on the door. Mongrel knew of his abilities and his secret interest. He encouraged it and supported it. The space was as close to a safe space as Neronin would have.

So he jumped whole-heartedly into his work.

The things that had attacked Kovic and him seemed to be something the Journal of Mad had dubbed Gaunts. It was a sort of upper level basic unit for necromancers. A highly customizable undead creature to do one's bidding whilst still being unspecialized. Neronin perused his own copied notes and ran his finger across his own writing. They seemed to be faster and stronger than Husks or Marrows, but did not come with any of the more complex abilities that signified a master level thrall. They are created, the journal said, through the use of corpse molding. Neronin spent quite a few breaks in the vaults of the museum secretly flitting through the journal to find notes on this corpse molding. It seemed to be a process that required time and a significant ether production.

He stared down at the three dead cadavers he had been presented with. "You three are the beginning for me." He muttered. He envisioned the monstrous change in them, like Gavrel had done. He wanted a shock troop that could be depended on to protect him. With these wells he could keep them, and they would maintain themselves without constant input on his part. Neronin glanced down at the shackles he had bought from a blacksmith that operated on the outskirts of the Bazaar. If everything went to shit, he wanted a way to survive it all. He'd lock up the minions before trying to animate them.

Neronin stared down at the corpses for a long time trying to imagine the change. The crackling of the torches was the only sound for a that span. Neronin's dark robes cast deep shadows behind him and his pale face danced in the changing light of the torches. He began his work with the farthest corpse, slowly walking over to it.

Neronin began his work by harnessing the power of the spark within him. He felt it burn through him with a vile sensation that somehow reinforced his resolve and confidence. Neronin knelt and crossed his legs, sitting next to the dead man. He spread his fingers out just above the man's face. He let the ether seep out of him in a confined trickle, embedding itself in the corpse.

Made by Kovic

[Neronin]

He retained the presence in the magical substance, but did not convert it to control the dead. He let it sit and meld with the body. The ether seemed to connect him on an intimate level with the corpse without animating it. He could feel the flesh and bone of the man, and imagined his visage changed. However, imagining was not enough.

Neronin felt the ether taking a more concrete hold of the cadaver as he focused on the connection he had opened with it. The ether was like a conduit of awareness between his mind and the physical anatomy of the body. Neronin began to subtlety force his image of what the cadaver should be onto what it was, as the journal had said. Neronin felt his mind tugging at the ether within the corpse, and as it did so, the actual physical form of the corpse as well. He pulled the teeth down, drawing them all into vicious canine-like points. As he did so, Neronin watched in fascinated horror as the corpses teeth changed before his eyes. Neronin bent to look at his work, having turned the top two incisors and canines into vicious points. As he surveyed his work Neronin felt his eyes drop out of focus. The mage groaned and collapsed over the corpse.

He awoke with a start, his face pressed into the ground and the corpse beneath him. Neronin struggled back into a seating position. It took a few minutes to breath balance back into his inner ear and keep his eyes from pulsing. He felt more hollow than he expected. The magic of manipulating the body seemed to sap more ether than he had thought from him. Neronin tumbled over to the tabletop and pulled the waterskin from where it rested. He took a liberal swig before crawling his way back to the body. This would indeed be a time investment.

Neronin decided a sustainably glacial pace would have to suffice and settled down. This body would probably take most of the day. He glanced over at the others and then at the exit of his little nook of Mongrel's cavern. He would have to reassess his timetable. Surely Gavrel would not attack him here.

Neronin set about moving through the work again. He elongated and manipulated the teeth one at a time as he went, finding that the smaller amount of work with regular forced breaks kept him from passing out or feeling particularly spent. He inspected his work afterward and found the man's mouth eerily misshapen and malformed, reminiscent of his mental image of an ideal Gaunt. But it was far from complete.

After the teeth he moved on to then rest of the face. All in all that took the better part of two breaks. Neronin had to relight one of the torches before he was done. He broke for a meal and ate some of the bread he had brought to Mongrel's cave. Neronin chewed and watched them dead men's silent slumber. He felt the spark stirring within him, eager to get on with its new work. It was almost thinking at him to do it, almost sentient in its persistence. Neronin blinked away the thought of that. He didn't like the thought of another being living inside him, much less a being tied so completely to his source of power.

The ether poured forth from him eagerly, the Etzori taking a moment to slow the flow before allowing it to meld back into the corpse. He melted the fat and excess away from the man and elongated his legs to something almost wolfish. He rotted his face away to look grisly and intimidating. It certainly intimidated Neronin. He pulled the fingers into vicious claws and transferred mass to enlarge the arms and wrists, making them formidable weapons. Neronin worked through eight more breaks before he was finally exhausted from the work. His temples ached with pain but he was unsure if that was from the work or from the constant crouched state.

Made by Kovic

[Neronin]

Neronin stopped for another break or two and decided to calm his jitteriness nerves by recording his exploit in his own notes. Distant screams seemed to permeate the air for a few minutes as Neronin wrote. He stood and went to the entrance to his own small part of the cavern to listen. Noth had warned him against hurting the goose, for some reason, and against going snooping. Neronin did not want the Mongrel to find him looking where he shouldn't, despite his urge to resist the dominance. He needed Mongrel and the cave and bodies he provided.

Neronin leaned against the wall of the cave, listening to the screams. Mongrel had created this group with a purpose, and Neronin's inclusion came at a price. He would have the means to increase his power and work unaccounted by prying eyes, but the half-Avriel would expect warriors for his cause. Neronin glanced back over at the monstrosity he had just created. It lay cold and just as dead as before, but no longer resembling humanity except in the crudest of ways. Perhaps this would do for now.

Neronin had no doubt Mongrel would require increasing investment on his part. Perhaps he could give the monstrous leader something else as well, to sweeten the deal. Having undead soldiers that could do more than shamble and bite meant more possibility. After a few more minutes listening to the sounds of agony the victim, wherever they were, finally succumbed to silence again. Neronin let out a long sigh and twisted his head until his neck cracked satisfyingly. He turned back to the second of the dead. As he approached he felt the stirring of the spark inside him. His closest, ever-present ally. It radiated pleasure at the attention, and released its sweet, warm power into his veins. Neronin ignored the green flickering light across the cavern walls as his witchbrand burned with the power. It was almost his natural state now.

He began his work in earnest, his mind on the future. The victory of Mongrel and the defeat of Gavrel all depended on it. The weird, slurred words from the gaunt's voice came back to him, overlaid with what he could remember of Gavrel's voice. The man hunted him. He was prey, and for the first time in a long time, he felt useless.

So he worked for breaks. Long periods of corpse molding and bonecrafting. By the time he was finished, he felt like he had been using the spell since he was a boy. The familiarity of the sensation was ingrained into his mind's memory, like the sensation of rain on bare skin or the feeling of vertigo. He really had no way of gauging time, but he had replaced the torches a few times and his mind was beginning to get a second wave of sharp focus, like he had worked through the night and into the next trial without realizing it. By the time he was finished Neronin was exhausted. He just sat there between two of his beasts with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring at the opposite wall feeling his mind drift.

It was another six breaks of fretful sleep on the dusty floor before he woke with a start. He had been so exhausted that he had fallen sleep on dirt, between two corpses. He wiped the grogginess from his eyes and stumbled to his feet, stretching as many muscles as he could remember. He dusted himself off and let his eyes fall, blinking the sleep out, onto the wells on the table. The three larger ones glistened with residual ether as he scooped them up. They begin to glow as tiny amounts of ether were pulled from him into the things. Neronin inherently knew what he must do.

He placed the first well on the chest of the first gaunt, in the exact center. Neronin dropped the others on the ground, not wanting to have their interference distract him from the gaunt at hand. Neronin let the ether seep from him again, pulling at the sternum of the creature and the skin. Tiny claw-like protrusions formed from the gaunt's undead, pale flesh to clasp onto the well. The wells were new territory to him, but he felt he could almost intuit the correct path to what he wanted. The well, after all, mimicked his role as the supplier of energy and life-force for the undead. His command of the creature was exterior to that. If he filled the well with sufficient ether and then channeled the bond to the corpse through the well, it should be able to animate the creature without him. Neronin began gathering the ether.

Made by Kovic

[Neronin]

When he had enough energy to animate the roughly human sized corpse, Neronin touched the well. It glowed as the ether poured into it and Neronin could sense the stuff as if it was filling a basin. The ether only took a few moments to completely transfer into the well, which radiated a subtle warmth now. Neronin struggled to stop the flow. The next step was to coax the well to animate the corpse.

Neronin was about to stretch the magic across the things' dead limbs when his eye caught on the flickering of the torch-light on the shackles. If he could put in some other way to keep them in check, without the shackles, maybe they could use them for more than just his posse. Then Etzori began formulating Protocols and embedding them into the well. This was the source of animation for the creature, so they would have to be cemented into the crystal before the animation to work. Neronin let images of Mongrel, Maws, and himself settle into the well, entwined in ether associated with the command never to do violence. Then after a moment he put the image of the goose in as well. Mongrel was linked to the bird for some reason, and Neronin didn't want to incur his wrath over the damn thing. He then ushered in a Protocol to stand sentinel wherever he left them, guarding the area. If something came within arms reach of the thing that was not Noth, Kovic, Vern, or Neronin, they would be a meal for the undead.

Neronin pushed his magic further into the well and began to spread the ether from it out across the gaunt's body. He felt much as he did when he animated a corpse, but it came from the well rather than his own spark. It was like a secondary step that he constantly had to account for. As hi finished the two-level animation Neronin watched in fascinated horror as the gaunt opened it's eyes and clawed its way to its feet. The inhuman hunger in it's eyes glowed with the same vile green light that was present in his witchbrand, and Neronin saw that the well did also. Black and green veins pulsed from the well and below the eyes of the beast, something that had never been present in his other creations. Perhaps this was a sign of the increased power? As he grew in strength, so did his ties to his creations? After all, this gaunt was the most intimate creation so far, molded to his liking.

The creature stood just a bit taller than him, but hunched and straining. It's maw gaped as it eyed him hungrily. He watched the green, fiery orbs flicker from him to the two corpses near it and then towards the exit, but it did not move, and it did not attack. His Protocols had worked. Neronin let his mind enter the thrall with the force only a necromancer could muster. The thing became a shadow body, tied to his willpower. Silently Neronin made the creature walk across the room, admiring his handiwork. Its lope was animalistic and feral, gross in it's human origin and inhuman essence. The blending of the two seemed to set his nerves on edge. Neronin left the creature to crouch balefully at the cavern entrance. He set about animating the other two...

Neronin awoke hunched in the corner of the cavern late in the evening on the Fifty-eighth, covered in sweat. He had dreamt undead were tearing him apart and awoke when one of his own gaunts appeared to rip into his face, the glowing green eyes still burning in his mind's eye. Neronin gasped and hit his head on the rock behind him. The three gaunts stood where he had left them, staring hungrily at him. It was a chilling reminder. The creator is not the master, unless he is. Neronin stood and stared back, his heart racing, though he knew the three thralls would not attack. The baser instinct within him told him to flee and to hide, for a predator was staring him down.

Neronin, not for the first time, felt his insides turn over at the magnitude of his commitment to this path. Necromancy and it's vileness had been his only path in the beginning, but now he had the museum and another path. The power enticed him though. It was more of an addiction, if he was truthful with himself, than a need. The flickering green light, the warmth of the spark, that was all more a part of his identity that anything else had ever been, and the Museum and his life there would always play second fiddle. His commitment was written all over his body.

Neronin glanced down at the black veins that were slowly growing across his form, a constant reminder of his sacred pact with the darkness within him. He steeled his resolve and pushed his mind into the gaunts. They were his creations, his Maimers. Neronin left the cavern to find Noth, his undead padding heavily along behind him...

Made by Kovic

[Noth]

Noth had spent much of his adult life forming himself into a predator. He had ensured that his visage was a monstrous one, one that would strike fear into those who saw him. His savagery and viciousness were animalistic in their nature, and he considered himself to be fairly cunning in his plans. All in all, he considered himself to be something of an apex predator among men. Still, there were others who had defied him in his past, beaten him, and he was determined not to allow those loose ends survive a second coming.

A predator is determined by the prey they consume. At his talon-ed feet now lay the corpse of one such prey. The man had been a rabbit in the past, one who had managed to flee away from a conflict that had resulted in his injury. His partner was still loose somewhere in the world, but there was some innate satisfaction to be had in finishing off someone who had defied him. The twilight hybrid glared down at the body, at the wicked knife-like cuts across his throat, still spilling forth like a vile river of crimson. The man’s body blinked a final time, and the breath escaped from his chest for a final time in a heaving death rattle, the air fighting against the clotting blood to remove itself from the body.

The hybrid had had a productive trial, and he knelt down to search through the fellows pockets for any loose nels, not finding anything more substantial than a couple of bronze pieces which were lazily tossed into his pile of possessions. All in all, there was little to be gained from the corpse, and the hybrid let loose a frustrated sigh, releasing the anger into a fierce kick which snapped the body’s head to the side. He had just taken hold of the hem of the fellow’s pants in order to drag him off into the woods with all the other bodies, when he became distinctly aware of a presence further in the cave.

It was a sensation of danger that arose before he consciously recognized it. The heavy pattering of steps moving through the dark cavern, the gentle illumination of the torchlight as it blasted against at the shadows revealing that it was a person of some manner. Marrow had not resided with him for a particularly long time, and he gradually began to relax until he realized that there were many footsteps as opposed to the two that he would have expected. There were only two potential solutions to the answer: creation or betrayal, and both made him quickly take hold of the mace he left near the top of his pile.

“Marrow?” He called down the dark tunnel, observing as the man came forth, the presence of some abominable thing making itself known behind him. Its face had the appearance of something which had been festering for some while, and he became acutely aware of the strange twitching of its wicked mouth in mock imitation of breathing. The gradual opening and closing of its decayed mouth as it sought food. Its eyes flicked across the place, settling upon each living presence and then simply staring off into the distance, gazing almost directly into the sunlight.

It had an absolutely inhuman manner about it, as though someone had transplanted a wild beast’s mind into the form of a deformed man. It was rather tall, but its height seemed forced, as though its spine would snap at any moment from the increased weight. Its arms and shoulders were rather large, and the hybrid could only imagine the twisting and coiling of dead muscle underneath its flesh, could only imagine what it would be like to fight the beast.

The predator glared into the undead’s eyes, unconsciously attempting to assert some form of dominance over it which was completely lost upon the dead thing. Never before had he confronted a beast with no fear, with no compulsion to do anything but to eat. The complete lack of reaction to his movements, to his gesticulations was unnerving to the hybrid, and he felt his feathered fingers tighten rather heavily upon the mace.

“It’s safe?” He questioned the necromancer, raising an eye towards him.

“It’s… frightening. Magnificently fierce. But what can it do? How strong is it? What are its capabilities? It would be uncouth of us to use them as soldiers without knowing their abilities… and I believe I know of a perfect target for... them.” He finished with a plural as he became acutely aware of the remaining two monstrosities lingering behind Ron.

“There is a blacksmith’s store rather near the exit from the tunnels. Wait until night has fallen… and we may test your fantastic creations.”

An analytical eye was placed upon the beasts once more, and Noth came to the sudden realization that he wasn’t certain he could fight them if it came to it. One could certainly be bested, because they would fight without any semblance of strategy, but the overwhelming force that came with a trio was unlikely to be defeated easily. His usual ferocity was lost upon creatures without minds, and with instincts that could more than match his own animalistic behavior.

Good. They would be grand. Noth gave the necromancer an approving smile as he raised a hand, directing them back towards the tunnels whence they had come.

[Neronin]

Neronin nodded at Mongrel’s question. “Yes, they are safe. For you and I at least.” He could not help but grin at his handiwork. His pale face, half hidden in shadow, gazed appraisingly up at his creations. They were all he had hoped for, and more. His smile flickered as the half-avriel voiced his doubts.

Neronin made the beasts move forward, further into the light. Their eyes glinted with the same vile green light that glowed in his witchbrands, a sign of their creator and their master. “They are strong and fast, and can do what we need them to.” He assured the half-avriel. He moved to stand between the nearest two. They made no move to attack him, and Neronin felt a surge of joy at that power. This was perfect loyalty.

Mongrel growled on about testing their abilities against a blacksmith down the road from his home. Neronin did not doubt their ability to cause mayhem and carnage, but he was eager to see his minions in action. “They are more than up to the task of raiding some blacksmith.” Neronin responded, feeling his confidence rising in the words.

“You told me you expected soldiers for the cause from me.” Neronin said, his tone low and rich with triumph. The necromancer raised his arms, “Here they are.”

He spent a few minutes making the undead pace around the cavern for Noth, to demonstrate his control over them. Then, when the sun was settling beneath the horizon Neronin sent his Maimers bounding on ahead of him. He indicated for Noth to walk with him out of the cave and explain his plan. Neronin would listen as they walked along the dusty path.

The undead trudged along with their great arms swaying and their eyes full of wrathful hunger. Neronin watched them, analyzing their movements and wondering what doors he had opened with their creation. Surely he could take much more with them, command more fear than before. These were not merely the corpses of the fallen any longer, they were the beginnings of the real power of necromancy. They were monsters come to walk with man, and he was their master. The necromancer forced his mind back to the present and back to rational thought. Dreams of his own power may fuel his rise, but they would also blind him. Gavrel was about, and Etzos did not take kindly to necromancers. Three undead would not protect him from the wrath of a city. He did not yet have that power.

“When we reach the smith’s shop, I could blink inside.” Neronin began in a hushed voice, glancing to his side at Mongrel. The dark, brooding leader of their small faction was like a inky spot against the diminishing orange on the far horizon. “I mean to say, teleport inside. Then open the door from there perhaps.” He said, then his eyes once again fell on the lumbering form of the closest undead. “Or we could just have one of them kick it in.

When the shop finally came into view Neronin had his minions crouch down in the long grass beside the road and moved to join them. He bent low and searched the area for people. It seemed the blacksmith’s forge and shop were on a thoroughfare road that lead toward Etzos in the near distance. He was among a few outliers who lived within a league’s distance from the Bazaar road and some cottages and farmhouses could be seen beyond the small house. A large pack horse and wagon were outside the forge, clearly just returned from a journey to the city or some army barracks. Neronin knew these outlier blacksmiths made most of their living catering to the farmers around Etzos or else supplying the army with new weapons.

Neronin would look at Noth, waiting for his command. If Noth gave it he would then send his Maimers sprinting towards the shop. Neronin would then wait to follow Noth’s lead.

Made by Kovic

[Noth]

Marrow stated that the creatures before him would be capable of doing what they needed them to do. That was a grand order to live up to, because they needed soldiers capable of defeating Etzori opposition. The soldiers needed to be ferociously ruthless, and yet undyingly loyal. One final glance at the monstrous amalgamations standing before them, and at the flickering green embers of light glaring from their eyes and that of their masters seemed to hint enough at their utmost devotion. Still, while it was a reassuring reminder that the gaunt and spindly beasts were directly under his control, it could also prove to be a weakness were he sighted in battle, as it would make him a greater target for hostile action. Clearly, that issue would need to be addressed in any suitably tactical encounter.

Marrow spoke once more of how he had brought soldiers for the cause, presenting his arms outward with a prideful triumph that sounded akin to how a father might present his favored children. “You have done well, but let us go and test them.”

The twilight hybrid found it difficult to remove his gaze from the abominations as they strode longingly behind their master, their arms limply slapping against their sides with each movement. In a way, the creatures were entirely symbolic. They were literally monsters created from men, beasts forged from a crucible of conflict. They had all died, each of them had faced the Immortal of Death, and yet, here they all stood, their backs arched and their black blood still laying within their vile bodies, an accursed slap in the face to the god of death. They were beyond mortality, and to the hybrid, that was something envious indeed. If only there were a way that he himself could counter death, become greater than it so that its effects became nothing more than inconveniences.

His companion spoke, alerting him to his ability of teleporting; something that caught him by some surprise, and the hybrid began to nod slowly at the potential implications of such a power. His agreement was hasty, as though he wholeheartedly supported the idea, though perhaps more realistically he was just eager to see what the ability entailed. “Very well. Go on and teleport yourself inside of the structure, and let your soldiers in. I shall stay near you in case the blacksmith becomes violent, and we shall simply observe the carnage.”

The road that the blacksmith’s shop stood upon was one that was fairly well-traveled, as evidenced by the way the path had been made grassless by trampling feet, and the subtle indents in the dirt where wagon wheels had pressed down as they neared Etzos. It was a decent place for his business, close enough that supplies could be delivered to and fro the shop in fair time. The cottages and homes further down the road likely found themselves visiting the blacksmith fairly often during times of harvest, and Noth briefly questioned what the disappearance of the man would do to the rest of his community.

The draft horse outside of the shop didn’t utter a noise as the group approached it, apparently having grown used to the presence of visitors. Admittedly, however, Noth thought that he could see the faintest hint of fear in its eyes at the presence of the monstrosities trailing behind Marrow and himself, but they must have seemed human enough that it decided not to raise an alarm.

“Release them. Let’s test their control. Do not harm the horse, have them wait until you can open the door, and then send them in. We care not for the lives of blacksmiths and craftsmen.” The idea of taking the horse for himself was one that sprung to mind rather quickly, but it seemed unlikely that the draft horse would make a good mount, especially since it was used for pulling wagons, not being ridden upon. On top of that, it seemed like a rather stocky beast, which meant that while it would be incredibly strong, it was unlikely to be capable of rapid speeds like a proper Destrier. Nonetheless, having mindless solders in their midst would be absolutely worthless if they couldn’t be commanded to ignore certain targets and focus their attention upon others. Tactics were lost upon animals, which was why men were typically victorious against them.

[Neronin]

Neronin ran up in the wake of his minions, reigning in their bloodlust so as to avoid killing the horse. Was Noth concerned with the life of some animal, or more likely he wanted to keep the horse alive to carry any loot away. Neronin agreed with that logic. When he approached the shop, creeping as lightly as he could across the dirt road. As Neronin began to gather his power from the rupturing spark within him he pressed his face against the glass pane of the smithy’s small window. He needed to see inside to blink into the shop and open the door. But that became unnecessary a moment later when the wooden door next to him banged open and a burly man wielding a smith’s hammer jumped through it.

“Away from my home, brigands!” He shouted as he hurled the hammer at the nearest undead. The hammer’s head struck the Maimer in the shoulder and bent the thing’s arm back violently. It set it’s eyes on the smith, rage glowing in them. It’s muscles rippled with its wrath at the Maimer lunged forward to attack. The smith was ready though, he had a second hammer and a pair of thick iron tongs. The smith kicked out at the Maimer’s chest, stopping its charge and swung again with both hammer and tongs. Neronin hissed a curse, watching the situation deteriorate. He felt the flickering power in him surge up and he blinked behind the man, shoving him hard into the Maimer with his shoulder.

The man yelled and pushed away as the undead tried to wrap it’s arms around him. The big smithy collided with Neronin and sent him sprawling, but not before the undead’s claws gauged deep lacerations in his back. The man was only wearing a linen shirt and the sounds blossomed with deep red as he reeled to his knees. The Maimer and a second pounced on the smithy in his moment of weakness and stillness. Their claws and teeth shredded the man, devouring flesh and bone hungrily. Neronin let the two gorge themselves as he stumbled to his feet.

“Mark? Mark!” A new voice yelled from the open doorway. Neronin spun to look and saw two teenage boys, both with what looked like short swords, and an older woman who may have been their mother. Well, that bonded well for the contents of the blacksmith shop. Neronin backed away a few steps and mentally signaled his undead to attack. All three of the Maimers, two covered in blood, ran at the three.

The woman screamed and attempted to run towards her fallen husband but the older of the boys grabbed her around the waist and threw her back through the doorway. The other attempted to slam the door before the undead could reach it. But the Maimers were fast. Neronin watched with baited breath as one managed to get and arm in the door before it closed. It wrenched the door open again with the help of its pack mates and all three spilled inside. Neronin could feel their rage and hunger even if he could not see them anymore.

Screams and crashes sounded from the smithy as Neronin glanced back at Mongrel and approached. He heard the unmistakable wet sound of undead feasting on flesh as he came into the doorway. Neronin looked inside and saw that the younger boy was sprawled across the anvil in the corner, a Maimer chomping away at his intestines. The second boy was against the door that connected the shop to their home. He was still alive and vainly beating the back of the Maimer who was biting into his stomach with his fists. He would not be alive much longer. The mother was nowhere to be seen. Apparently she had gotten into the home before the
Maimers won entry to the shop.

Neronin turned and called to Noth. “The woman! She is inside the house. I’m going in after her.” He turned and with a mental command signaled for the third Maimer to follow. Neronin was sure Noth would be pleased with the contents of the smithy. He had seen many gleaming blades along the walls. But first, they would need to tie up loose ends. Neither boy would run for help while they looted, both would be dead by the time Noth reached the smithy. But the mother could very well make things difficult. Neronin rounded the corner and saw the mother tearing across the field.

Neronin hissed as he sent his remaining Maimer after her with a mental shout. Fear erupted in his chest. If this damned woman got to the house across the field they would be in trouble. That alarm could bring a few dozen men down on them, and even with his magic and Noth’s skill, twenty versus five was steep odds. While the Maimer was gaining on her, Neronin was something of a perfectionist. He didn’t was her to be able to scream out.

It was a moment’s work, the gathering and release of his magic to blink near her. The bright green portal which deposited him flickered out immediately and Neronin met the woman’s gaze before they both acted. The woman stumbled as she saw him, making Neronin smirk. But as she righted herself, a small blade shone in her hand. Neronin was almost ready though. As she thrust it at him, the necromancer met her with the full force of his Sap spell. It erupted from his hand just as her small blade slid through the soft flesh between his middle and ring finger.

Neronin let out a ragged gasp of pain as he bent over, clutching his right hand in his left. His spell had done the trick. The woman, older and emotionally exhausted from the situation, had not stood a chance against his powerful energy draining spell. She had gasped the air from her lungs and crashed to the ground. She lay panting weakly on her front, her eyes shifting wildly to try to look at him. She was so weak, however, that she couldn’t turn her head. Neronin examined his wound as the Maimer caught up to them and set upon the woman without remorse.

Neronin ignored her gurgling last gasps as he carefully pulled the small blade from his hand. He groaned in pain and threw it aside. The wound pulsed in agonizing pain bit the necromancer made no sound after he pulled the blade free. With his hand bleeding freely, if slowly, he gritted his teeth and began the walk back to the smithy. The Maimer continued to feast on the now still woman. Neronin didn’t even look back at her as he walked away.

Made by Kovic

[Noth]

There was something absolutely exhilarating about watching one’s orders be carried out. It was a confident sensation that pulsed through the body at the sight of underlings following orders, of soldiers obeying the commands of their officers. It was the same sort of feeling that the hybrid was certain must have been felt by countless commanders and generals throughout the brutish and violent history of Idalos. It was the high of power, the perverse excitement which racked the body with messages of self-importance and courage. At the end of the trial, Marrow had his own power; his ability to control the monstrosities under his command, and to have them heed his beck and call, but Noth was still the one making decisions, and that elicited a feeling which simply couldn’t be replaced.

The twilight hybrid observed the entirety of the ensuing conflict with a tactical and analytical mindset, observing as Marrow neared the entryway of the smithy, and admittedly rather intrigued by the prospect of seeing him vanish through the walls in the blink of an eye. Rather surprisingly; and to an extent, frustratingly, the door suddenly swung open revealing the taut and heavily muscled man within. It seemed reasonable to infer that he had been working late into the night, because whilst his shirt seemed rather cleanly, his pants held the tell-tale marks of someone who often lacked an available rag to wipe away dirt.

Why the man had been awoke, or how he had determined the location of the party were unimportant. It was far more important that he had come out of the door on the offensive, hurling a heavy looking hammer into one of the gaunt and vicious creatures under Ron’s control. The blow was enough to bend the creature’s arm backwards forcefully, and the twilight hybrid winced, imagining the crackling wet noise which accompanied the breaking of muscle. If the thrall had been a living being as opposed to a corpse, Noth would have immediately regretted the idea of having to pursue the Glass-Eyed Doctor living in the woods for the sake of having the wound healed. Thankfully, since the entire fight was being conducted with a group of festering abominations, the cost effectiveness of the new warriors suddenly became glaringly obvious.

Soldiers that never needed to eat, that never needed to sleep, that never needed to be healed. They were absolutely what would be needed if they were going to wage a successful war against any opposing force, especially given the fact that any hostile organization was likely to possess a numerical superiority over them. Nonetheless, the abilities; or lack thereof, of the undead gave them a rather severe advantage in regards to any battle of attrition.

The fight with the Smith concluded itself rather quickly, and crimson eyes watched with thinly veiled fascination as Marrow warped himself through space, appearing behind the smith and shoving him into the open maws of his creations. The hybrid removed himself from his spectating position, choosing instead to finally enter the building. He slid past the devoured corpse of the man; his eyes locked to it in observance of the devastation, and vaguely took notice of the screams of a woman further within the house. The heavy thudding of footfalls as the undead rushed onwards to claim her life were a promise enough that the issue would be dealt with, and so he didn’t afford even the slightest glance towards the woman as she fled. Instead, the hybrid took a couple of moments to loot the smith’s pockets, coming up disappointingly short on valuables, but that was to be expected since he had been in his own home, and wasn’t likely to carry around a coin pouch for no discernible reason.

Perhaps if he had actually taken the time to look at the screaming woman, or if he hadn’t been so apathetic towards the very prospect of human life, then he might have been able to stop the monstrosities from tearing apart the children upstairs. Taking his time so as to ensure that he didn’t intervene lest it ruin the test of the creature’s, Noth began to follow the creatures and their master up the stairs, taking notice of the way their feet smeared blood upon the floor in a decidedly messy fashion. He attempted to avoid stepping directly onto the prints of blood wherever possible, but eventually conceded that everything was a mess, and continued with less inhibitions on where he placed his feet.

Instead, the hybrid crested the stairway only to find another room covered in blood and viscera and the ravenous gnawing noise of creatures filling their abyssal stomachs with flesh which would bring no comfort to their appetite, no satiation. That was not so terribly uncommon given the line of work that Noth engaged in, but the presence of the two boys suddenly put him on edge. He could feel the sudden wrongness of the entire scenario lay upon his back like a hefty weight had been placed there, and he felt his eyes twitch as the optical observation suddenly become mentally identifiable.

They had killed children.

Admittedly, the pair of boys both seemed fairly older, but at best they were simply teenaged boys. The hybrid moved with solemn steps to the closest of the children. Noth could see the hollow space in his abdomen where his intestines had once lay, and the terrified face which gazed forever off into a space outside of vision nearly brought the hybrid to his knees.

There were rules and lines that even monsters wouldn’t break, and his had always been children. They were innocent of the many crimes of the world, of the terrible actions of their parents. Children didn’t know better than to act the way they did, couldn’t decide their own activities for themselves in a proper manner.

He hadn’t killed them, he told himself in vain consolation.

No. He had just ordered their deaths like an obstinate and heartless ruler. A sacrificial king throwing away subjects as though they were simply offerings to a thirsting and wicked god. He hadn’t even taken notice of them as they died, hadn’t even acknowledged their presence as their flesh was eviscerated, and their lifeblood spilled out to satiate the ground.

Marrow had killed them… but he couldn’t turn on Marrow, because he needed him, and because he was just as responsible for the outcome of the fight as the necromancer had been. If he had just given more clear definitions for their rules of engagement, then this would never have happened… and yet, in a strange way, it was better that it had happened. What was the alternative? Letting the boys live so that they could identify them to the authorities? Then they would be dead, and the future that the hybrid had planned would have been tossed to oblivion, scorched up in the fires of eternal nothingness.

The Prince of Eternal Mercies knelt beside the corpse, and slowly, gently, he shuddered its eyes to the horrors of the world, to the abominable things that pigs in the guise of men did to one another.

Some futures needed to be sacrificed for others. It was the only way.

Noth refused entirely to make any eye-contact with the other corpse he had vaguely made a notice of sitting in the corner of the room, the dull-minded monsters standing around idly as they had finished their meals. Now was not the time for stifling emotion and sentiment, but it was rather the time for a hardened heart and a soul of stone. The hybrid focused entirely upon the presence of the draft horse outside, and of the metallic goods within.

Rather quickly, he began to attach assorted pieces of armor to himself until finally he was decked out in what appeared to be an impressive array of plate to compliment his chainmail coat. He refused to don a plate chest-piece since they had not been fitting to properly accommodate his wing, and because it seemed unnecessarily heavy. It was only moderately more difficult to walk in the full-outfit of armor, and the hybrid quickly began to search through the blades and assorted weapons upon the wall, taking hold of them and beginning to plant them near the doorway.

He became acutely aware of the presence of Neronin, and he motioned a finger upwards towards the secondary floor.
“Make sure all of the bodies are inside. Search the upstairs for anything of use. People tend to keep their nels in drawers or behind clothes, or even under loose floorboards. I’ll get to work storing all of these into the wagon.” He spoke gruffly, authoritarian in tone, but quickly amended it with a congratulatory tone, “You’ve done well. The soldiers you’ve brought me are greater than I had hoped.”

With his arms covered in a pair of vambraces, and his hands shod in gauntlets, and a pair of pauldrons draped lazily over his shoulders, and other armor pieces: chausses, cuisses, greaves, and an armet with chainmail aventail gripped in his hand, the hybrid seemed far less natural than he had prior to entering the building, as though he had shed some mortal foil which had prevented his ascension into something far greater.

The Prince of Eternal Mercies exited the structure with naught a thought as to the fates of the inhabitants.

[Neronin]

Neronin watched Mongrel as he pieced together armor. The Etzori mage was not concerned with such protections himself. He glanced at both corpses. One seemed to have it’s eyes closed in an almost peaceful state. Neronin rolled his head back to watch Mongrel, grinning. The beastly warrior had taken the time to close the boy’s eyes? Interesting. Neronin gave a subtle snort of laughter and picked up a dagger from where it lay on a workbench. He examined it closely as Mongrel moved around the shop, gathering weapons. Neronin sighed and tossed the thing onto the pile near the doorway.

When Mongrel spoke Neronin chose not to raise the subject of the dead boy who seemed to have softened Mongrel’s heart. He hadn’t thought twice about killing them. Neronin stretched and with a mental command sent his three Maimers outside to stand guard by the wagon. Their thirst for human flesh was once again raging. The necromancer was practiced in keeping the undead on a tight leash, however.

“Sure, anything of use.” He repeated after Mongrel had finished. “Make sure you save some of this stuff for us to sell, Mongrel.” Neronin said with a tone of humor as he nudged the younger boy out of the doorway with his foot, not looking at the corpse. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Neronin said as he stepped through the doorway.

“Oh, here let me help.” He paused and turned. Neronin sent a wave of necrotic energy into the nearest boy, his witchbrand lighting up with green light and his arm sinking into an undead state briefly as he cast the magic. The boy climbed to his feet silently, his gaping wound pulsing with blood. “He can carry supplies for you now.” Neronin winked and grinned. He turned to inspect the rest of their home.

As he moved through each room Neronin opened every drawer and closet. He ransacked the kitchen, finding nothing of value. Neronin moved into the next room, which seemed to general family gathering space. Two wooden sparring swords leant against the wall and folded next to them were what looked to be homemade tunics in the colors of the Etzori Army. Neronin snorted. He had indeed done Al’Angyryl a favor in killing these boys. No doubt their minds had been full of earning glory for the city through military exploits. Well, that was all finished and done for. They would be feeding worms soon enough.

Neronin reached a pair of doors and opened both, his hand swirling a dark miasma of necrotic energy, ready for a fight. The left room was small and housed a pair of beds and a pair of chests at the foot of each. Neronin lifted open each chest and found an assortment of clothes and items befitting a teenage boy’s life. Nothing really of use. He sighed and frowned as he dropped a pair of riding boots back into one of the chests. Well, the smithy was the real reason for this little visit.

In the next room Neronin found a single bed, larger and more ornate than the others. He found a wardrobe that looked as though it had been built by the smith himself and a chest slightly bigger than the others.

“A man of many talents, eh?” Neronin exclaimed as he appraised the wardrobe. He pulled it open lazily and examined the clothes, discarding each article upon the wooden floorboards as he did so. When he found a pair of black tunics with high collars he paused. These were clearly the smith’s special outfits. He held them up to himself, but both were far too large. Neronin tossed them aside and turned to the chest instead.

The chest contained some interesting items. A pair of iron brooches, plain but with a bracket to set a gem. Neronin examined these and then pocketed them. Perhaps these were gifts for the man’s wife, but he had been too poor to set a stone yet? Then there was a dark black ring with an obsidian bird curled around it. This made Neronin laugh with excitement. It would be a perfect gift for Mongrel.

When he returned to the smithy and walked outside to find Mongrel and the undead next to the wagon, working, Neronin called his ally. “Hey, found something you might like.” He said with glee. Neronin tossed the simple brass ring to the half-Avriel and casually leant against the wagon. He crossed his arms and with a simple mental thought released the animation on the young boy, who slid to the ground in the doorway of the smithy.

“Oh right, we wanted the bodies inside, yes?” Neronin nodded to himself. Without a sign of command two of the Maimers wordlessly grabbed the smithy by the ankles and dragged his dead corpse into the smithy. One slammed the door closed with a kick as it returned.

Neronin climbed up into the wagon and turned his attention to the nervous horse. “Hey Horse, I hope you enjoy caves.” He said. He watched as Mongrel tossed a flaming torch onto the thatched roof of the home and climbed into the wagon. The warrior, now clad in an array of intimidating looking armor, took the reins and drove the wagon on. Neronin willed his three Maimers to lumber over and climb into the back of the wagon as they set off back towards the Cavern.

Continued here.

Made by Kovic