Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

17th Trial of Saun, Arc 717
Etzos, Noth’s Cavern

Neronin stood up straight, feeling his back crack satisfyingly as he did so. He tilted his head left and then right, hearing more satisfying cracks. He had spent the better part of the last break bent over the corpse laying on the wooden table in front of him. The only sound had been the muted noises of the three undead Maimers chained to the opposite wall. They were staring at him with the hunger in their eyes, as always. Neronin sighed and paid them very little heed. He was not using his energy to control them at the moment, their undead forms animated as ever by the wells embedded in their chests.

Neronin sighed and rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. He had been upset for nearly eight trials now. His old neighbor, an old man named Bervic, and his family had been robbed since Neronin was forced to come live permanently with Noth. Neronin had met Bervic on the night Gavrel burned his home down. The old cobbler had pulled him away from the burning home and Neronin had developed something of a liking for the short spoken old man since then. He had walked home from the museum past the old man’s house where he lived with his daughter, her husband, and their three young children.

Neronin had liked to think of himself as separate from the common society. An entity alone and without ties of emotion or empathy. But the truth was, he did feel a connection to the poor of Etzos. People like Bervic who struggled against the yoke of the elite upper class. And when the old man had told him with a tired smile that his shop and home had been broken into by burglars who stole the entirety of his shoe and boot supply. The man had found some financial success later in life by repairing and producing the leather boots Etzos cavalry wore with their uniform. It had allowed for all three of his grandchildren to eat nightly and his son-in-law to start an apprenticeship as a stonemason.

To Neronin’s surprise the old man had seen who took the shoes, and had done nothing more than told his family to avoid the area where they lived. At Neronin’s pressing, old Bervic told him it had been a group of homeless veterans of the Etzos infantry who called the Underground their home. Neronin had found the place later, creeping through the Underground late at night. He had found the spot in which the homeless men had slept, but no bags of shoes.

That had been ten trials ago, and now he stood staring down at what promised to be his most grotesque creation yet. The corpse leaked vile bile from every orifice and had odd bulging lumps all over it’s body. Beneath these squirmed the worms Neronin had fed and nurtured with necromantic ether until they grew to the size of his arm. The necromancer had trouble working on this particular creation, so vile and disgusting it was. He had a high tolerance for death, decay, and rot as was natural amongst his dark profession. But this Blight was something of a challenge for him. Neronin winced as a few of the lumpy bulges shuddered and moved, the worms inside the body sliding to new positions.

It was all worth the trials of preparation to find justice against those who took from his… From Bervic. Neronin would bring the abomination into the Underground and make those burglars pay with their lives, or their health. Truth be told, Neronin had only a vague idea of the carnage the Blight would be able to commit. Now that he had finally finished the subtle necrotic encouragement and growth of the festering decay within the corpse, and the cultivation of the worms, he would see.

Neronin animated the corpse with a slow and careful stream of necrotic ether. He wanted to familiarize his mind with the new thrall type before commanding it to do anything in fear of releasing the pent up decay. Slowly the necromancer had the thing stand. He felt the power in him pulse outward along the magical tether which connected him to his minion. In a few heartbeats he had immersed his mind within the creature, completing the Link. He commanded the thrall through the sludgy movements of the bloated corpse. The necromancer walked the minion around his dank lab room to get comfortable with the new thrall.

A break later Neronin was walking along the stone slabbed tunnel through the Underground. The Blight was lumbering along behind him, occasionally groaning in the way the lower quality undead were prone to. The shadows danced long and warped from where they stood sentinel in their brass brackets against the walls. Neronin was used to the eerie lighting of the Underground, having spent much of his younger years hunting desperately for bodies in the tunnels and chambers underneath the city.

Eventually he came to the area of the Underground which he recognized as the turf of the homeless warriors. Neronin slowed and become more alert. He curled his steps carefully, trying to be more stealthy. The necromancer reached a tentative hand out and steadied himself by brushed long, pale fingers against the cool stones of the wall lightly as he walked. He let the Blight amble ahead of him. There would be, he guessed, around four old burglars arrayed amongst the cluster of alcoves and narrow hallways that made up their makeshift headquarters. It was an area situated near an outcropping of the underground water supply which provided fresh drinking water for the city of Etzos.

Neronin willed the undead thrall onward, watching its misshapen form sway towards the shadowed corner which lead to the bandit hideout. Neronin’s mind went to the old man, and how he had pulled Neronin away from the blaze of his own home. He felt a savage sense of justice course through him. The necromancer balled his fists and summoned from within the necrotic power now all too familiar. He slid his mind into the form of the Blight and sent the new weapon into the brigands’ home.

At first the undead merely stumbled along, shambling towards each deep shadow with the same raging hunger as any undead. When it found no living flesh in the alcove it would turn to the nearest one and repeat. But when Neronin heard a muffled stirring in the shadow of a particularly large alcove near the water’s edge, the Blight seemed to focus in on the sound. It moved as quickly as it could towards the alcove with both ugly hands raised. Neronin watched through the thrall’s eyes as the man who had been in the alcove lunged out with spear in hand. He was clearly a seasoned trooper, if he could confront an ambush by the undead with not so much as a cry of shock.

The spear slid into the thrall’s belly as if the thing was made of butter. Neronin watched as the determined, murderous look of the mans’ face turned to terror. The Blight did not fall, but clenched the spear with both ugly hands. The wound spilled an acidic necrotic goo that sizzled on the spear. As both Neronin and the man watched a palid yellowish worm slid out of the wound and wound itself around the spear. The man let go of the spear with a scream, his eyes on the disgusting insect. The thing slid along the shaft of the spear with amazing speed and before the man could back up had launched itself onto his chest. There was a nasty squelching noise as the worm bit its way into his chest cavity. The pale yellow body of the thing thrashed around as it consumed his insides, slapping wet beats against the slime drenched tunic he wore. Neronin would have contorted his face in disgust if he had been in his own body. But instead he turned the Blight to continue his search as the first man dropped to his knees making choking noises.

The others had heard the struggle and two more men had come out to meet the undead from a nearby alcove. The first had a shortsword and buckler in hand. He wore a mangy beard and a fierce fire burned in his eyes. The man charged without hesitation, his rage at the death of a friend overpowering any reservations about the danger of the situation. With a howl the man raised his sword and swiped down just as the Blight reached out to grasp his arm. The sword cut the Blight’s hand off in one swipe. As the hand dropped another yellow worm burst from the wound like a wild, horrifically thrashing hand. It whipped through the air, halfway stuck inside the Blight’s arm still. The man made an attempt to raise his sword again, but the worm had latched its circular mouth to the man’s neck. He was finished. The worm ate away at the man’s flesh, consuming constantly. Blood burst from around the worm as it reached the artery in his neck. The man vainly reached up and tried to pull the worm from him, screaming in terror. The worm swung around in his hands as he unmatched its horrible, biting mouth. It latched onto his forearm instead and the man flailed as he died. He stumbled sideways and with a great splash went into the water. Neronin turned the Blight’s attention onto the last man as his comrade thrashed weakly in the water beside them.

The Blight charged the last man, its arms outstretched and its wound bleeding the sickly acidic ooze freely. The last man also had a spear. He seemed unwilling to go the way his comrades had though. With a single swipe of the spear he turned and fled. The Blight stumbled into the wall as another worm slid out of it’s stomach wound and flopped on the ground. The Blight reached out, grasping for the man. It did not catch the man though. It was not a nimble creation, the Blight. The thrall ambled after its prey, intent on the kill. The man had reached the end of the line of alcoves. His eyes flickered between the black water and the shadowed coves. He turned to face the Blight with a look of resigned terror on his face.

The man bounced slightly on his toes as the Blight slowly closed in. The thing raised its hand and its stub in front of itself. The worms seemed to roll inside it, eager for a feast. The man swung his spear like a quarterstaff again. The weapon struck the Blight across the head, sending it reeling towards the water’s edge. The plan would have worked, if the Blight had not grabbed ahold of the spear as it fell. The undead thrall fell into the blackness, and pulled the man with it. The Blight clung to the man, the water not dissuading it from its hunger. As the undead pulled the man down, Neronin watched it bite into his face.

The worms inside the Blight slid through it and latched onto the man all over his body. He screamed with silent pain as the undead feasted upon him, slowly pulling him to the bottom of the reservoir. The vile ooze in the Blight leaked forth into the water as they went to their watery grave.

Neronin let the Link go and blinked as he was returned to his own body. He shook his head and turned the corner quickly to investigate his handiwork. The first man lay face up, the look of horror still splayed across his features. His chest bulged and moved occasionally as the worm feasted on his dead insides. Neronin stepped over him with a satisfied smirk on his face. He spotted the other corpse floating face down in the water.

Neronin watched the corpse float for a long moment, trying to feel the sense of justice done. It felt much like the rest of the murders he had done. He tried to imagine Bervic pleased at the site of these men dead. Neronin knew the man would be more horrified than pleased. But horror was his trade, and Neronin was pleased. People needed to know that there were consequences beyond the constraints of social norms that would be exacted on them if they chose to terrorize the downtrodden. He was one such consequence. He's was no hero, he knew. His actions were not governed by such qualms as the good opinion of the weakling masses. He was a force unto himself.

Neronin sent his magic into the corpse of the man laying on the walkway with almost no thought. He animated the man and made him stand. Neronin could see the worm moving inside the corpse. He made the undead Husk reach up and coat its hand in its own dark blood. He then made it press the hand print against the wall next to the nearest torch. With two fingers the Husk ineptly wrote the word Al’Angyryl below the hand print. Then it slumped down, dead once again.

Neronin turned to leave the crime scene. He had, overall, been happy with the new undead. He would have to use them again.