He rolled his obsidian shard between his fingers, then squeezed the coarse stone to his forehead. Its whispers drowned out the guilt that the light placed upon him, itching his ears with the pang of, Well done.
Well done what? He’d done nothing well, except defend a dealer of death, a purveyor of holy disruption. He had stood by the necromancer’s side in the face of his brothers and sisters of the order. Not for honor, but for selfish reasons. Jevrick owed him something, which would not be paid by the necromancer’s execution. No, Atan needed the wizard to live, and it was in that selfish aim that Atan nearly forsook one oath, and stepped to the edge of the other. One more step. . . then there'd be nothing left but a man sundered like the houses of a meek town.
“Well!” A cheery voice broke. “That was rather exciting.”
Atan crooked his head up to Jevrick who stood beaming beside him.
The necromancer looked down through his false human visage. “Now, to get to work.”
***
===
Jevrick’s Main Quest: Restore Maplebrook
- Earn Maplebrook’s trust.
- Rebuild houses.
- Remove dead bodies.
- Restore population.
Side Quests:
- Fulfill obligation to Atan.
- Discover the secret of the strange green powder.
===
Maplebrook’s Population: ~800
Undead Servants: 10 Greenfolk Thralls
===
I had expected an election to take place after the townsfolk had finished moving the dead, but instead they had gone directly to gathering their belongings and preparing for an exodus.
I hadn’t meant for things to go the way they had. I had hoped to work with Clyde, perhaps undo some of the rot that had been done in my servitude to Dread. But with Clyde’s death, that incident with the old man, those paladin’s, and now the bandit invasion. . . It seemed my ability to sow destruction was simply a natural part of my existence. Maybe I was still under Dread’s influence and didn’t realize it. Maybe all this destruction had been a hidden function of my design, and I was unwittingly ushering Maplebrook into its downfall. I couldn’t believe that this was my direction, but it was hard to shake the theory. Perhaps this town would be better off without me.
Memories of my youth flooded my mind. Long had I been hated, long before my dance with dark powers. Perhaps that was my lot. I was to be the villain. I was not meant to be the hero, the savior, the friend.
I looked to Atan, who was the only person who had come to the townhall to plan with me. No doubt he’d stuck around because of the secret deal I’d made. No doubt he was hoping to collect.
“Well then,” I sighed bitterly. “I suppose we should get started.”
The paladin ground his teeth and furled his brow. He did not respond beyond that.
I took that as permission to continue. “Let us start with settling our deal.”
Atan’s shoulders relaxed. He nodded, took up his hammer, and followed me out the door.
Now, what I saw next took me by utter surprise.
Dozens of townsfolk had gathered at the foot of the townhall, many of them holding the lifeless bodies of their kin in their arms and looking up at me with red eyes.
I prepared myself for their accusations; this was my fault, was it not? But it was not the cursing of scornful hearts that met me.
“Please, Mayor, can you bring back my husband?” a woman said, cupping a necklace of dull gold at my feet.
I stuttered, unable to find the words to respond.
A man cried out, “My boy. Please, bring back my boy!” He lifted a small bundle up, and a long forgotten pain stuck to my chest. Sadness?
Then they all began to moan and cry, asking the same thing: bring my loved one back from the dead.
Restoring life was in fact something I could do. Full resurrection? Possible. Communing with the dead? Certainly. Raise the dead as thralls? No issue. But each cost a great deal of components to accomplish, not least of which was the act of resurrection. I shook my head, “I cannot—”
“He raised Jakoby!” someone shouted.
Another cheered, "And the paladin!”
And that started a new round of crying and begging.
I was utterly overwhelmed, I couldn’t possibly bring all these people back. . . but then again. . . this was my chance to earn their love. It was my chance to prove I was more than a destroyer. This was my opportunity.
I stood tall and raised my hands to the crowd. After the clamor had stifled, I gave them a promise. “Humble folks of Maplebrook. This hardship you’ve endured is terrible, and I feel your pains as my own. These brutes have sacked your homes, murdered your loved ones, and ruined the peace. What should be done about this, I hear you say?” I sucked in a deep breath; a bloody, foolhardy offer stuck in my throat. “I shall tell you. You see, I come from a far land, wielding power that you have yet to understand. I can snatch life from oblivion and restore your beloved fellows. This is something I offer to you all—resurrection, reconnection, restitution. From this day forth, I will not rest until your hearts are mended, until peace prospers in your homes. I promise you this. I will serve you until my dying breath, and I will see your loved ones returned to you!”
The crowd erupted again with cries, but this time of thankfulness and hope.
Such conviction had rung in my voice that I had convinced myself that it was possible.
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Oh, dung.
***
===
New Quest: Bring back the town’s dead.
===
Before me was a white-wood chapel, a dozen paint-chipped pews on either side. A stained-glass mural of an eight pointed star in golden style covered the back wall, shaped much like that of a compass rose. Below that intricate design was a square stage and pulpit, and on either side was a door. A train of red carpet ran the length of the slanted floor up to where I was, gilded with the light that poured in from ten-foot tall windows that lined the walls. There was no gold, but there were plenty of bronze bowls and jugs for offerings and oils, I presumed.
Rather impressive that a place like this had managed to escape the ravaging of those bandits. “Typically these sorts of places are the first to go during a raid,” I mused.
Atan grunted behind me. “There is still light that protects it.”
I nodded, strolled the length of the hall toward the stage. “You say there is a crypt here?”
“The door to the right. The left leads to the prayer chambers,” the paladin said.
I turned back to him, and caught something in his eye for the briefest of moments. A twinge of animosity, subtle, but enough for me to tell it had been there before he wiped it away with a sigh.
“Why is no one here?” I asked. “Wouldn’t people come to pray in times like this?”
Atan shook his head and did not move from his place at the entrance. “The people here have long given up on the light. They are vassals of a different entity now.”
Very curious. “Yet, this place is free of cobwebs or shattered glass.”
“Someone still cares for it.” He cleared his throat. “So, what is your plan?”
Interesting change of subject. I wondered if he was the one who kept this place in order. I found his religion perplexing. I’d never know a paladin to wield both light and shadow as he, let alone the others in his sect. A question for another time, perhaps.
“Right,” I said cheerfully. “Have the townsfolk bring their dead down into the crypts. I will need as much alcohol, honey, tar, or any other liquid substance you might cobble together.”
“For what?”
“Preservation.”
I only had a limited time to work with these cadavers before decomposition began, and I would need as much time as I could buy if I was going to gather enough resources to restore these folk to life. Too many resources. It was one thing to revive a corpse, another to steal their soul back from the celestials and tether them back to a body. As long as the anima remained intact, their soul and body would be revivable. But once the decomposition reached a critical threshold, the anima would be snipped and the soul would be swept up by one of the three. At that point, only the most powerful of magics could see the individual walk the mortal realms again. Resurrection was tricky after one to three days, and unpredictable after five. Beyond that, there wasn’t much short of undeath that could be done. My hope was that by submerging the dead in vats of fermented and viscous liquid, that this process might slow down. In practice, it might give me an extra day or two, but without proper lab equipment there was only so much I could manage. Still, I had to try, and so try I would.
Dozens were carried down through the stairs to the crypt, which was a maze of narrow halls lit with torches. There were alcoves for bodies to be wrapped and placed, and walls of exhumed bones. Urns lined the floor, and a few sarcophagi. But I needed a way to house these bodies in liquid, so I had troughs brought down and covered them in pitch and grass to prevent leaks, and lay the bodies down in baths of alcohol and honey. Most could fit, though there was one large fellow whom I considered chopping up to fit in a coffin. I decided against it, as it was best not to butcher the remains of a deceased individual without creating the proper warding circles, which I currently lacked the components for. So, I draped him in two troughs and hoped that would work.
All together, there were fifty-three dead corpses I had to contend with—ten of which were in such bad states, I was fairly confident there was little I could do for them beyond reanimation as a zombie. I’d have to hold off on that until the town was more accustomed to undead; I didn't want to spook them. In fact, I kept my ten Greenfolk thralls on the outskirts to act as sentries for now.
After the last of the dead townsfolks had been stored, I ascended back into the chapel to meet with Atan. He was at the foot of an altar, hands folded over that black rock of his, and as well as the sigil of an eight-pointed star. A man of two faiths, a soul dedicated to two celestials, and forever torn between the pull between opposite masters. I understood that the people here, especially the paladins, worshipped some sort of rock they called The Obelisk, but beyond that I was less clear. Was this Lord of Light he clung to so accommodating to allow him to service another master? I found it unlikely. The great Celestials were not friends, and Atan appeared to me as a man perpetually in pain. Hmm.
Was he so disloyal that he could not uphold one vow? Or was he so loyal he could not let them go? Many questions I was sure I would find out, but inquiries that would have to wait until after I fulfilled my promise to Maplebrook.
The chapel had dimmed as the sun set, and the day’s work would come to a close. I rounded up Atan and the craftsman who had helped me in making the troughs, and brought them to my office in the townhall. All together, the workers included three carpenters, three woodsmen, a mason, and five hunters. I had yet to learn their names, but I thanked them for their time and tasked them with rebuilding the houses around town.
“It’ll be easier jus’ usin’ the logs from the fences,” one of the carpenters said while stroking a massive beard. The woodsmen agreed.
A hunter spat, not in rudeness, but due to what appeared to be a considerable build up of phlegm. “Aye, but if any more bandits or them kobolds—even wolves—come ‘round here, we’ll be mighty sorry we did that.”
A burly woman pointed her wood axe to the sky. “Gettin’ too dark to make use of the trees, people will need shelter. Tonight will be cold. Can already feel the brisk.”
I wasn’t worried about kobolds, and I doubted we’d see bandits for some time, since I’d wiped out all the Greenfolk. Wolves were a valid concern, however. “Have you had wolf trouble recently?”
The woman shook her head. “Nay, but they’ll smell the blood and rot from the fightin’. That sort of thing brings wild creatures in droves.”
The rest of the group nodded in affirmation.
Indeed, there were still plenty of dead bandits scattered outside, and even more pools of blood. Half the town had been focused on packing to leave, while the other was in a state of mourning. This was a neglect on my part, I would need to better ascertain the state of the town come morning if I was to stay ahead of these issues.
“Tonight,” I said, “light extra fires near people’s shelters. We’ll keep a double watch to make sure no wolves surprise us. Tomorrow we’ll focus on cleaning up the rest of the dead and making what repairs to the buildings we can.”
The group of workers gave an array of curt nods, and left to carry out what work could be done before dark.
Atan and I were once again left in the townhall.
“Quick thinking,” he said to me. “Have you done this before?”
I smiled. “I tried once, but that was long ago. What else needs to be handled?”
The paladin looked outside and tilted his head.
I joined him and observed as a posse was forming below, yet again, with torches and pitchforks. They gathered around that motherless-son-of-an-imp, Guardsman Ronald.
“I need to be rid of him,” I muttered.
Atan shrugged. “Or find him someone else to hate.”
===
Jevrick’s Main Quest: Restore Maplebrook
- Earn Maplebrook’s trust.
- Bring back the town’s dead.
- Rebuild houses.
- Restore population.
Side Quests:
- Deal with Ronald-Mc-Imp.
- Deal with the wolves.
- Discover the secret of the strange green powder.
- Fulfill obligation to Atan.
===
Maplebrook’s Population: ~700
Undead Servants: 10 Greenfolk Thralls, 43 intact townsfolk corpses stored (10 more beyond repair).
Allies: Atan, Ronald??, Nora Jacoby, Von Jacoby
Workers: 5 Guardsmen, 5 Hunters, 3 Woodsmen, 3 Craftsmen, Mason, Blacksmith.
===
Buildings: Townhall, Tavern, Chapel of Light (Crypt), Dockyard, Blacksmith, Palisades
===
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