That's very nice art!
Thanks!
“It’s no good denying it,” said Perom, “I am a necromancer—as are several of my fellows here. But before you go poking those weapons at us, please hear me out. We’re not the people we once were—everything’s changed.”
“It certainly has,” said Alisa, “and you’re to blame for it!”
“With respect, sir,” said the law-giver, “you can only imagine how great the change is. I
lived in those days. I saw the rise of my folk, and their fall—of which I was, indeed, the cause. That does something to a man. I will tell you what has happened in the intervening centuries; then you can decide what to do with us.”
“Well,” said Thob, “you seem sincere enough. But keep those hands where I can see them!”
“Of course,” said Perom, taking a seat. And he began his tale…
* * *
I was born nine hundred and sixty-three years ago, in the castle of Rewarddangle, of which I became Baron in my twenty-third year. I was a dutiful vassal of the Nation, ever willing to fight in its wars.
But so much battle, so early in life, took its toll: I became fearful of death, afraid that the True Honor, our goddess of mercy, would punish me for the blood I had shed. So I turned to the coven of Loge Testsavior, the first and oldest of the necromancers, and one of his dark company took me as apprentice and taught me the secrets of eternal life.
Free, so I thought, from fear of death, I grew proud and scornful of mere mortals. I joined Loge’s attack on the Elves of the Soaked Glade and the humans of the Strong Empire. When we overran Weakenedpelt I was in the vanguard. I can still hear the screams of my victims…
…as I changed them into the mutant beasts I called…
“You certainly have a… way with names,” said Thob.
“Don’t interrupt!” said Perom. “I’m trying to be remorseful!”
Our campaign of undeath continued as, swollen with the arrogance of immortality, I turned on my own people. The Prestigious Nation reeled from our attacks; I followed the advancing army and took lordship over Authoredlathered.
It was then, in the moment of my triumph, that the divine judgment I had always feared fell upon me. Our holds were swarmed by goblins, attacking in huge numbers that we could not push back. They ransacked my hall and took me prisoner.
For two hundred years I languished in the dark pits—more than two lifetimes of men I spent, a prisoner and plaything of the cruel goblins. It was less than I deserved… but it was enough to turn me from my past wickedness.
I was not the only necromancer whom the goblins captured. When our tower, Kindledsteel, fell to the Lost Sins they imprisoned many others—among them Loge himself, and Loge’s apprentice and lover Sothbod Prairiecolored.
In his imprisonment Loge turned to worship of the True Honor, pleading forgiveness. She granted it: Loge escaped the goblins and fled into the vast swampy wilderness of the east. Sothbod escaped likewise some years later, and somehow—miraculously, I expect—found Loge’s camp.
Finally, I too was smiled upon; I eluded my captors and took to the wilds, where I also encountered my old comrades.
We three determined to do all we could to right our wrongs. We expected that the Prestigious Nation was no more—that we were all that was left. So we assumed the leadership of our ancient people.
Of course, if we truly wished to resurrect out nation, well, we needed more people. And, er… well, there was only one way to do that.
And they had children, and they had children… and pretty soon, as eternity goes, we had enough for a settlement.
Twenty people, 6 or 7 generations, in this shot alone... and the only one not related to the three necros is Quazo, up in generation 2!
“You…
bred the Nation back to life?” said Alisa, incredulous.
“With only three ancestors?” said Strodno, appalled.
“Well, essentially yes. We had new blood now and then—folks captured by the goblins who escaped sometimes wound up in our growing camp—but for the most part its was just us three immortals.”
Our band grew and grew over the generations. We trained for war, we took up arms: we would take the fight to the enemies of humanity, especially the undead. In the southern lands humans and dwarves were still fighting their own plague of necromancers, and we offered our swords to aid them.
For centuries we battled alongside our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren… and so on. It was in one of these battles that Loge fell, bravely aiding the humans he had once tried to destroy against the undead army of Onget Netyells.
“Onget Netyells?” said Thob. “The witch-queen of Brightplums? I know her—well, I know of her, anyways. She has that jewel you want, right Strodno?”
“That’s the one,” said Strodno. “You fought her army, Perom?”
“Many times. We could never break them, but at least we fought them to a standstill.”
* * *
He paused. “Well,” he said, “that’s about the size of it. A few months ago we decided to finally see how our ancient homeland was faring, and whether we might come to reclaim it. It is… disappointingly full of goblins. But there are, I think, enough abandoned places that we might be able to live and grow, until eventually we are able to challenge the Lost Sins.”
“Where’s the rest of your, uh, family?” asked Cañar. “You must have a large contingent after so long.”
“They’re back at our camp in the swamp, waiting for news,” said the law-giver. “There—I’ve explained ourselves to you, as best I could. What shall it be?”
Alisa frowned. “Let me get this straight. For the past six hundred years, you’ve been breeding and training an army to fight the undead and reclaim the Prestigious Nation?”
Perom nodded.
“I can’t tell whether to be impressed or disgusted,” said Alisa. “But do you really think it atones for what you did?”
“If I may, Alisa,” said Strodno. “All of your people’s enemies—undead and goblins—are immortals. Their leaders will have centuries of experience and skill over any human. If your leaders had the same, like Perom here, that might serve you well. And he’ll know better than anyone else what the undead are capable of, and can prepare for it.”
“Besides,” said Cañar, “what would we gain by killing them? If they’re willing to help, they may be the best hope we have.”
Alisa growled. “Fine,” he said, “but you’re no king of mine. If, and when, we restore the Nation, we’ll give it a proper,
mortal king, like the gods intended.”
“Well!” said Thob, “glad that’s settled. But if you don’t mind, Mr. Horse… you know, I’d like to be going before someone else decides to freak out and ‘reflexively’ raise the dead. Besides—there’s booze to find yet!”
“And gems to recover,” said Strodno.
And with that I'll take another little hiatus, because I've reached the end of my pre-played content. I like to have a buffer of several updates before I post one, so that I know better where the story is going. I'll get three or four episodes played, then I'll resume the story - and hopefully soon Thob gets his drink!
Author
Topic: Thob Goes to the Surface (Read 63695 times)