“Goodness!” exclaimed Jepeth.
He had just arrived through the moongate and heard Britain’s warning bells ringing. All around he saw wounded guards and towns folk. Healers and mages rushed about casting spells and tending to the wounded while just outside the gate horse-mounted knights galloped past into the woods. They were apparently pursuing something north to the Serpent’s Spine Mountains. He got his bearings and realized where he was: the Britain graveyard. All though he hadn’t been by here in many months he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had changed somehow.
Tejnik (the Marvelous) had opened the gate, popped his upper torso through, practically dragged Jepeth into it, and then once they were both back through ran off to aid the healers. Jepeth could tell the immediate danger was over but he went on alert and became instantly tense. Aside from the general scene something was seriously wrong.
He looked around trying to understand what had happened on his own as opposed to running off to follow Tejnik or disturbing someone who was working. He fell back on his training, both his service during the Ilshenar Wars and his later training in the Paladin Order.
He could see that the wounded guards had come into the southern entrance of the graveyard in force and were bottlenecked at the gate. Jepeth reached down into the soil and immediately noticed how much blood and mangled armor and weapon bits littered the ground. Looking into the graveyard itself he saw arrows sticking all over the ground and stuck along the eastern side of some of the front mausoleums. Cearly somehow had ordered an archer volley to fire into the graveyard coming from that direction. This gave Jepeth a clue: they were fighting something or someone powerfully magical. He understood that whomever was in charge didn’t fire the volley from behind the wall of guards. Mindless skeletons and wraith couldn’t redirect ballistics but a Lich or something worse could. Pinching from two sides was meant to push whatever it was back into the graveyard and ensure that the magical foe wouldn’t send the arrows straight back at the guards or their shooters.
No one really understood why the dead of Britannia never wanted to stay buried. It went beyond insane mage’s turning themselves into Lich’s or other necromancy. Something about graveyards seemed to push the dead up and out. Most graveyards had thus been guarded around the clock to keep the dead in the ground and failing that, had spells laid on them to contain them within.
He continued to appraise the scene as the town bells fell silent in the distance. The danger to the city was over, at least for the moment. He looked out of the graveyard into the deep woods that surrounded Britain. They appeared dark and foreboding. He shook his head and quietly sighed.
Britian was the largest city in the realm. In size, population, culture, opportunity, diversity, every single metric that one could judge a city by Britian boasted the most. Ever metric except one: safety.
Trinsic was surrounded by a meter thick wall and the ocean. Skara Brae was protected by water. Moonglow by water. Jhelom, Serpent’s Hold, Nujel’m, all by water. The Spiritwood made marching on Yew nearly impossible. It was said Vesper could (and would) sever its great bridges from the mainland to protect the city if the need arose. Even little Cove had a wooden wall.
Britain had no wall. Britain was unprotected. Lord British’s logic when designing the city had always been that under his rule a united realm would not need walls or towers or giant fortifications. Britain was supposed to be the shining beacon to the entire world that peace could reign.
This didn’t stop his castle designers from building a moat, towers, and a bloody thick wall around his castle of course. Those that live in Britain are supposed to retreat into the safety of the castle if the warning bells ring. But that was many years ago and trust in the Crown has suffered.
Jepeth understood Lord British’s logic but that didn’t mean he agreed with it. Whatever happened in the graveyard today could have been stymied by a damned wall.
Behind him Jepeth heard the familiar sound of spells and the dull pop of air rushing. He turned and saw some of the robed healers opening moongates to carry the wounded back to their clinics. He saw a familiar face in a brown robe.
“Harbottle,” said Jepeth trotting over to him.
“Oh Brigand,” replied Harbottle as he was laying a bandage on a townsman who was about to be drug through a gate. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to speak to you.”
“I can see.”
“Find me at the Healers later,” said Harbottle and he followed the patient through the moongate and vanished.
Jepeth looked around again and sighed, feeling more than a little useless. Clearly the moment for swords and shields had passed but Tejnik brought him here for a reason. When he returned Jepeth would be sure to ask him what that reason was.
A quiet moan caught his attention. He turned and walked a few meters into the graveyard and found another townsperson grasping a wound on his upper thigh. Blood had soaked his pants and the man’s pallor was pale. Realizing this man had not yet been attended to, Jepeth made a loud whistle at the closest healer he could see who gave him a wave of acknowledgement.
Jepeth kneeled next to the wounded man, removed a few strips of cloth from a pocket, and attempted to aid him.
“Hello there,” said Jepeth. “Let me have a look at that leg, ay?”
The man slowly let go of his thigh but a quick squirt of blood followed. He yelped and clamped his hand back over it.
“Oh dear, that’s an arterial bleed,” said Jepeth frowning. “Fear not friend, I’ve seen that many times.”
“Are,” the man whispered. “Are ye a healer?”
Jepeth then realized this man really wasn’t very old at all. He couldn’t have been more than a boy of 16 or 17. He was shaking and had tears running down his face.
“Ohh, no” replied Jepeth. “I’m,” he hesitated a moment.
“I’m just with the militia,” Jepeth said. “Let me help that wound.”
The boy let go again and clasped both hands together at his forehead. As he began to work on the boy’s leg his shaking grew more pronounced. It was clearly an effort for him to keep still for Jepeth to work.
He heard whispers come from his lips. Jepeth realized the boy was trying to pray.
“What’s ye name?” asked Jepeth after a few moments.
“Geoff,” whispered the boy.
“Ooh, named for the famous fighter were we?” said Jepeth smiling as he laid another strip of cloth along the wound.
“Ah..aye,” whispered Geoff.
“What do ye do, brave Geoffrey?” asked Jepeth.
“I.. I'm an apprentice at the smithy,” replied Geoff. “The Hammer and Anvil just down the path.”
Jepeth frowned. “Ye work very close to here. Were you here first?”
The boy nodded quickly, his hands still clasped and pressed on his forehead.
“I grabbed ‘me hammer and came running when we first heard it.”
“This town would do well to have a wall built,” said Jepeth as he laid a hand on the covered wound and closed his eyes. He tried to center himself before he attempted to perform the Paladin ritual (or spell if you prefer) of wound healing. “Warning bells are not enough.”
The boy shook his head. “It wasn’t the bells we heard first,” said Geoff. “It was the scream.”
Jepeth opened his eyes again and saw that the boy had dropped his hands away from his face. Their gaze connected. Jepeth saw fear in his eyes. He tried to smile at the boy and give comfort. He then closed his eyes again.
“Obsu Vulni,” whispered Jepeth in a quiet, calm voice.
Tiny blue orbs of light came out from under Jepeth’s palm and surrounded the boy’s leg. It made a sound like the deepest string on a harp.
Jepeth opened his eyes and smiled at the boy. “There, all better ay?”
Geoff looked down and saw that his leg was no longer pouring blood.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Much better!”
“I think ye shall live to swing the hammer again,” said Jepeth.
Two brown robed healers strode up to Jepeth and the boy.
“We’ll take ‘im from ‘ere, sire,” said one of them as he put an arm under Geoff and hauled him up.
“Farewell brave Geoffrey, knight of the Hammer and Anvil,” said Jepeth.
“Thank ye sire,” said Geoff over his shoulder as one of the robed healers led him away.
The other healer lingered behind with Jepeth.
“That was an excellent looking field-dressing” said the robed man. ”Ye aren’t a bad healer. Governor.”
Geoff looked back at Jepeth startled as he was led out of the graveyard.
Jepeth watched him go. He suddenly became aware of Tejnik standing behind him and he turned to face him.
“Governor,” said Tejnik, looking grim and lacking his usual jovial attitude.
“Have ye learned much?” asked Jepeth.
“Aye, and you?” replied Tejnik.
Jepeth nodded his head and looked back into the graveyard. He knew what had changed. There was no dead remaining. No shambling skeletons, no moaning wraiths, no crawling zombies. The graveyard only had the living townspeople and healers tending to each other and securing the scene.
“Something took the dead,’ said Jepeth.
***
Hours later Jepeth and Tejnik went to call upon Harbottle as he requested but didn’t find him at the Britain Healers.
“Gone home to bed?” asked Tejnik.
“Nae, I know where he is,” replied Jepeth.
The Cat’s Lair is a fine tavern in the southwest of Britain. Being so close to the First Bank of Britain it’s clientele runs a little more respectable than those at the Salty Dog Tavern on the other end of the city. Like most taverns, though, the wooden plank floor is stained with mud, ale, and the occasional bit of blood. Jepeth and Tejnik entered and found Harbottle sitting by himself with a full plate of food in front of him and a nearly empty tankard.
Harbottle looked up, gestured them over, and they sat down across from him.
“We came to the Healers but didn’t find you,” said Jepeth.
“Thought I’d grab a bite before bed,” replied Harbottle.
“Doesn’t look like you’ve ate much, sir?” said Tejnik rather bluntly.
“Whose this?” grunted Harbottle after a pause.
“I am Tejnik the Marvelous! Mage and-”
“He’s my aide,” said Jepeth cutting in.
“And what did you have to do with today?” said Harbottle sharply as he pointed a finger at Jepeth.
“Me? Nothing! Tejnik fetched me through a moongate right as the battle ended,” said Jepeth.
“I grabbed him and pulled him through!” said Tejnik happily.
“Why do ye treat me with such suspicion, Harbottle?” asked Jepeth. “It seemed like Britain could use all the help it could this afternoon.”
“We managed just fine,” said Harbottle.
Jepeth looked down at the plate of food. It clearly had been sitting out for a while and gotten cold and dry. Harbottle’s tankard of ale, however, looked well visited.
“Aye, I see how well ye are managing,” said Jepeth.
Harbottle chuckled and tipped the rest of the mug back.
“We all need healing,” said Harbottle. “I heard ye were playing one earlier.”
“I did what I could,” said Jepeth.
“He did wonderful,” said Tejnik. “Not as wonderful as mage would have been at healing the boy, but still.”
Jepeth winced slightly.
“Interesting company ye keep,” said Harbottle.
“What happened today, Harbottle?” asked Jepeth.
“What, don’t ye Governors all sit around and blather on together?” said Harbottle. “You can ask them.”
“Those meetings aren’t exactly a social club,” said Jepeth. “Tejnik fetched me because the last time there was undead in Britain I ended up in your care.”
“Aye, that wasn’t lost on me,” said Harbottle.
“Then what happened?” asked Jepeth again. “Tell us or I’ll have to start calling on the wounded.”
Harbottle shrugged, extended his arms outward, and then clasped them in front of himself.
“I can only tell ye what I was told by others,” replied Harbottle. “And it’s everything so don’t go disturbing any of the wounded. That’s not fair to them, they’ve been through enough”
“Ha, ye are indeed ‘Just’ as the Wisp said!” said Tejnik.
“What?” asked Harbottle, confused.
“Ignore the daft mage,” said Jepeth. “Please, tell us.”
“Earlier this afternoon a loud, inhuman scream was heard from the graveyard,” said Harbottle. “Those that were the closest, in the smithy and the music conservatory, rushed in first thinking someone was getting torn apart. Instead they witnessed a man raising the dead.”
“Necromancers!” spit Jepeth angrily.
“Sheath the sword, Brigand, I’m not done yet,” said Harbottle. “Anyway, whatever that man was doing the dead started clawing their way out of their graves and began to swarm. Someone ran back and got the town bells ringing calling the guard in. Those first poor souls tried to keep the dead at bay as the Town Guard arrived. They formed up and tried to contain them within the graveyard.”
“Were they trying to get into the city?” asked Tejnik.
“No, from what I was told they were just trying to get.. Out. The necromancer was attempting to get the horde past the magically enclosed gate.” said Harbottle.
“They broke the line of guards at the southern entrance?” asked Jepeth.
“Well, no, whomever was leading the horde was smart. He and a force of them did crash upon the guards there but at the same time they seemed to have dug their way out on the north side. A host of them escaped the graveyard and fled towards the mountains,” said Harbottle.
“An undead host.. Fled?” said Jepeth. “That doesn’t sound like mindless skeletons or bone knights.”
Harbottle shrugged.
“Did anyone get a good look at the necromancer?” asked Tejnik.
“Was it a Lich?” asked Jepeth.
Harbottle shook his head.
“No.. ahh,” Harbottle began. “This is maybe where the frayed nerves of battle have clouded the testimony of those who were there.”
“What do ye mean?” asked Jepeth.
“It was neither Lich nor man. It was not an elf, a gargoyle, an orc, or a little goblin,” said Harbottle cryptically.
Jepeth cocked his head at the healer sitting across from him.
“Was it a bloody cow, Harbottle? What was it?” he asked pointedly.
“I’ll tell you what they told me,” said Harbottle. “But it makes no sense. They described a man pulled apart. As if there were two skeletons inside him and each were trying to walk a different direction. Pale, thin skin like a fish, gaunt features, a mangled arm ending in bones.”
Jepeth and Tejnik remained quiet a moment after Harbottle finished speaking.
“Who did this creature kill at the beginning?” asked Tejnik.
“Hm?” replied Harbottle.
“The scream, who did it kill?” said Tejnik.
Harbottle shook his head. “No, it was the abomination. It was screaming.”
***
A dark cave in the Serpent’s Spine Mountains was full of sound. Moaning, groaning, creaking, crying, screaming, laughing noise. It was terrible. The cacophony made every normal creature in the cave flee deeper within to escape the horror that had come to lodge there temporarily.
A voice in the darkness spoke to itself.
“Why,” it gasped. “Why have you done this to me?”
“Quiet boy,” said a voice from within. “Have I not given ye what ye wanted? Am I not true to me word?”
“No-- not this,” it begged. “I.. I don’t want this..”
“Shh, lad,” said the voice from within. “You’ll disturb our crew.”
“I don’t want to do th.. this..” it whimpered. “Please.. Please..”
“Not long matey,” the voice from within answered. “It be close soon. I can feel it.”
“Noo,”
“Revenge,” the voice from within breathed.
The abomination reached a hand of bone up and touched the side of his face. He felt the bone of the other ripple as it talked under his skin: “Revenge for us both.”
The abomination cried. He tried to remember who he was. That he was once just himself. But literally within his head he heard the voice again.
“Ye’ll never be alone again, Willibrord.”
He had just arrived through the moongate and heard Britain’s warning bells ringing. All around he saw wounded guards and towns folk. Healers and mages rushed about casting spells and tending to the wounded while just outside the gate horse-mounted knights galloped past into the woods. They were apparently pursuing something north to the Serpent’s Spine Mountains. He got his bearings and realized where he was: the Britain graveyard. All though he hadn’t been by here in many months he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had changed somehow.
Tejnik (the Marvelous) had opened the gate, popped his upper torso through, practically dragged Jepeth into it, and then once they were both back through ran off to aid the healers. Jepeth could tell the immediate danger was over but he went on alert and became instantly tense. Aside from the general scene something was seriously wrong.
He looked around trying to understand what had happened on his own as opposed to running off to follow Tejnik or disturbing someone who was working. He fell back on his training, both his service during the Ilshenar Wars and his later training in the Paladin Order.
He could see that the wounded guards had come into the southern entrance of the graveyard in force and were bottlenecked at the gate. Jepeth reached down into the soil and immediately noticed how much blood and mangled armor and weapon bits littered the ground. Looking into the graveyard itself he saw arrows sticking all over the ground and stuck along the eastern side of some of the front mausoleums. Cearly somehow had ordered an archer volley to fire into the graveyard coming from that direction. This gave Jepeth a clue: they were fighting something or someone powerfully magical. He understood that whomever was in charge didn’t fire the volley from behind the wall of guards. Mindless skeletons and wraith couldn’t redirect ballistics but a Lich or something worse could. Pinching from two sides was meant to push whatever it was back into the graveyard and ensure that the magical foe wouldn’t send the arrows straight back at the guards or their shooters.
No one really understood why the dead of Britannia never wanted to stay buried. It went beyond insane mage’s turning themselves into Lich’s or other necromancy. Something about graveyards seemed to push the dead up and out. Most graveyards had thus been guarded around the clock to keep the dead in the ground and failing that, had spells laid on them to contain them within.
He continued to appraise the scene as the town bells fell silent in the distance. The danger to the city was over, at least for the moment. He looked out of the graveyard into the deep woods that surrounded Britain. They appeared dark and foreboding. He shook his head and quietly sighed.
Britian was the largest city in the realm. In size, population, culture, opportunity, diversity, every single metric that one could judge a city by Britian boasted the most. Ever metric except one: safety.
Trinsic was surrounded by a meter thick wall and the ocean. Skara Brae was protected by water. Moonglow by water. Jhelom, Serpent’s Hold, Nujel’m, all by water. The Spiritwood made marching on Yew nearly impossible. It was said Vesper could (and would) sever its great bridges from the mainland to protect the city if the need arose. Even little Cove had a wooden wall.
Britain had no wall. Britain was unprotected. Lord British’s logic when designing the city had always been that under his rule a united realm would not need walls or towers or giant fortifications. Britain was supposed to be the shining beacon to the entire world that peace could reign.
This didn’t stop his castle designers from building a moat, towers, and a bloody thick wall around his castle of course. Those that live in Britain are supposed to retreat into the safety of the castle if the warning bells ring. But that was many years ago and trust in the Crown has suffered.
Jepeth understood Lord British’s logic but that didn’t mean he agreed with it. Whatever happened in the graveyard today could have been stymied by a damned wall.
Behind him Jepeth heard the familiar sound of spells and the dull pop of air rushing. He turned and saw some of the robed healers opening moongates to carry the wounded back to their clinics. He saw a familiar face in a brown robe.
“Harbottle,” said Jepeth trotting over to him.
“Oh Brigand,” replied Harbottle as he was laying a bandage on a townsman who was about to be drug through a gate. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to speak to you.”
“I can see.”
“Find me at the Healers later,” said Harbottle and he followed the patient through the moongate and vanished.
Jepeth looked around again and sighed, feeling more than a little useless. Clearly the moment for swords and shields had passed but Tejnik brought him here for a reason. When he returned Jepeth would be sure to ask him what that reason was.
A quiet moan caught his attention. He turned and walked a few meters into the graveyard and found another townsperson grasping a wound on his upper thigh. Blood had soaked his pants and the man’s pallor was pale. Realizing this man had not yet been attended to, Jepeth made a loud whistle at the closest healer he could see who gave him a wave of acknowledgement.
Jepeth kneeled next to the wounded man, removed a few strips of cloth from a pocket, and attempted to aid him.
“Hello there,” said Jepeth. “Let me have a look at that leg, ay?”
The man slowly let go of his thigh but a quick squirt of blood followed. He yelped and clamped his hand back over it.
“Oh dear, that’s an arterial bleed,” said Jepeth frowning. “Fear not friend, I’ve seen that many times.”
“Are,” the man whispered. “Are ye a healer?”
Jepeth then realized this man really wasn’t very old at all. He couldn’t have been more than a boy of 16 or 17. He was shaking and had tears running down his face.
“Ohh, no” replied Jepeth. “I’m,” he hesitated a moment.
“I’m just with the militia,” Jepeth said. “Let me help that wound.”
The boy let go again and clasped both hands together at his forehead. As he began to work on the boy’s leg his shaking grew more pronounced. It was clearly an effort for him to keep still for Jepeth to work.
He heard whispers come from his lips. Jepeth realized the boy was trying to pray.
“What’s ye name?” asked Jepeth after a few moments.
“Geoff,” whispered the boy.
“Ooh, named for the famous fighter were we?” said Jepeth smiling as he laid another strip of cloth along the wound.
“Ah..aye,” whispered Geoff.
“What do ye do, brave Geoffrey?” asked Jepeth.
“I.. I'm an apprentice at the smithy,” replied Geoff. “The Hammer and Anvil just down the path.”
Jepeth frowned. “Ye work very close to here. Were you here first?”
The boy nodded quickly, his hands still clasped and pressed on his forehead.
“I grabbed ‘me hammer and came running when we first heard it.”
“This town would do well to have a wall built,” said Jepeth as he laid a hand on the covered wound and closed his eyes. He tried to center himself before he attempted to perform the Paladin ritual (or spell if you prefer) of wound healing. “Warning bells are not enough.”
The boy shook his head. “It wasn’t the bells we heard first,” said Geoff. “It was the scream.”
Jepeth opened his eyes again and saw that the boy had dropped his hands away from his face. Their gaze connected. Jepeth saw fear in his eyes. He tried to smile at the boy and give comfort. He then closed his eyes again.
“Obsu Vulni,” whispered Jepeth in a quiet, calm voice.
Tiny blue orbs of light came out from under Jepeth’s palm and surrounded the boy’s leg. It made a sound like the deepest string on a harp.
Jepeth opened his eyes and smiled at the boy. “There, all better ay?”
Geoff looked down and saw that his leg was no longer pouring blood.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Much better!”
“I think ye shall live to swing the hammer again,” said Jepeth.
Two brown robed healers strode up to Jepeth and the boy.
“We’ll take ‘im from ‘ere, sire,” said one of them as he put an arm under Geoff and hauled him up.
“Farewell brave Geoffrey, knight of the Hammer and Anvil,” said Jepeth.
“Thank ye sire,” said Geoff over his shoulder as one of the robed healers led him away.
The other healer lingered behind with Jepeth.
“That was an excellent looking field-dressing” said the robed man. ”Ye aren’t a bad healer. Governor.”
Geoff looked back at Jepeth startled as he was led out of the graveyard.
Jepeth watched him go. He suddenly became aware of Tejnik standing behind him and he turned to face him.
“Governor,” said Tejnik, looking grim and lacking his usual jovial attitude.
“Have ye learned much?” asked Jepeth.
“Aye, and you?” replied Tejnik.
Jepeth nodded his head and looked back into the graveyard. He knew what had changed. There was no dead remaining. No shambling skeletons, no moaning wraiths, no crawling zombies. The graveyard only had the living townspeople and healers tending to each other and securing the scene.
“Something took the dead,’ said Jepeth.
***
Hours later Jepeth and Tejnik went to call upon Harbottle as he requested but didn’t find him at the Britain Healers.
“Gone home to bed?” asked Tejnik.
“Nae, I know where he is,” replied Jepeth.
The Cat’s Lair is a fine tavern in the southwest of Britain. Being so close to the First Bank of Britain it’s clientele runs a little more respectable than those at the Salty Dog Tavern on the other end of the city. Like most taverns, though, the wooden plank floor is stained with mud, ale, and the occasional bit of blood. Jepeth and Tejnik entered and found Harbottle sitting by himself with a full plate of food in front of him and a nearly empty tankard.
Harbottle looked up, gestured them over, and they sat down across from him.
“We came to the Healers but didn’t find you,” said Jepeth.
“Thought I’d grab a bite before bed,” replied Harbottle.
“Doesn’t look like you’ve ate much, sir?” said Tejnik rather bluntly.
“Whose this?” grunted Harbottle after a pause.
“I am Tejnik the Marvelous! Mage and-”
“He’s my aide,” said Jepeth cutting in.
“And what did you have to do with today?” said Harbottle sharply as he pointed a finger at Jepeth.
“Me? Nothing! Tejnik fetched me through a moongate right as the battle ended,” said Jepeth.
“I grabbed him and pulled him through!” said Tejnik happily.
“Why do ye treat me with such suspicion, Harbottle?” asked Jepeth. “It seemed like Britain could use all the help it could this afternoon.”
“We managed just fine,” said Harbottle.
Jepeth looked down at the plate of food. It clearly had been sitting out for a while and gotten cold and dry. Harbottle’s tankard of ale, however, looked well visited.
“Aye, I see how well ye are managing,” said Jepeth.
Harbottle chuckled and tipped the rest of the mug back.
“We all need healing,” said Harbottle. “I heard ye were playing one earlier.”
“I did what I could,” said Jepeth.
“He did wonderful,” said Tejnik. “Not as wonderful as mage would have been at healing the boy, but still.”
Jepeth winced slightly.
“Interesting company ye keep,” said Harbottle.
“What happened today, Harbottle?” asked Jepeth.
“What, don’t ye Governors all sit around and blather on together?” said Harbottle. “You can ask them.”
“Those meetings aren’t exactly a social club,” said Jepeth. “Tejnik fetched me because the last time there was undead in Britain I ended up in your care.”
“Aye, that wasn’t lost on me,” said Harbottle.
“Then what happened?” asked Jepeth again. “Tell us or I’ll have to start calling on the wounded.”
Harbottle shrugged, extended his arms outward, and then clasped them in front of himself.
“I can only tell ye what I was told by others,” replied Harbottle. “And it’s everything so don’t go disturbing any of the wounded. That’s not fair to them, they’ve been through enough”
“Ha, ye are indeed ‘Just’ as the Wisp said!” said Tejnik.
“What?” asked Harbottle, confused.
“Ignore the daft mage,” said Jepeth. “Please, tell us.”
“Earlier this afternoon a loud, inhuman scream was heard from the graveyard,” said Harbottle. “Those that were the closest, in the smithy and the music conservatory, rushed in first thinking someone was getting torn apart. Instead they witnessed a man raising the dead.”
“Necromancers!” spit Jepeth angrily.
“Sheath the sword, Brigand, I’m not done yet,” said Harbottle. “Anyway, whatever that man was doing the dead started clawing their way out of their graves and began to swarm. Someone ran back and got the town bells ringing calling the guard in. Those first poor souls tried to keep the dead at bay as the Town Guard arrived. They formed up and tried to contain them within the graveyard.”
“Were they trying to get into the city?” asked Tejnik.
“No, from what I was told they were just trying to get.. Out. The necromancer was attempting to get the horde past the magically enclosed gate.” said Harbottle.
“They broke the line of guards at the southern entrance?” asked Jepeth.
“Well, no, whomever was leading the horde was smart. He and a force of them did crash upon the guards there but at the same time they seemed to have dug their way out on the north side. A host of them escaped the graveyard and fled towards the mountains,” said Harbottle.
“An undead host.. Fled?” said Jepeth. “That doesn’t sound like mindless skeletons or bone knights.”
Harbottle shrugged.
“Did anyone get a good look at the necromancer?” asked Tejnik.
“Was it a Lich?” asked Jepeth.
Harbottle shook his head.
“No.. ahh,” Harbottle began. “This is maybe where the frayed nerves of battle have clouded the testimony of those who were there.”
“What do ye mean?” asked Jepeth.
“It was neither Lich nor man. It was not an elf, a gargoyle, an orc, or a little goblin,” said Harbottle cryptically.
Jepeth cocked his head at the healer sitting across from him.
“Was it a bloody cow, Harbottle? What was it?” he asked pointedly.
“I’ll tell you what they told me,” said Harbottle. “But it makes no sense. They described a man pulled apart. As if there were two skeletons inside him and each were trying to walk a different direction. Pale, thin skin like a fish, gaunt features, a mangled arm ending in bones.”
Jepeth and Tejnik remained quiet a moment after Harbottle finished speaking.
“Who did this creature kill at the beginning?” asked Tejnik.
“Hm?” replied Harbottle.
“The scream, who did it kill?” said Tejnik.
Harbottle shook his head. “No, it was the abomination. It was screaming.”
***
A dark cave in the Serpent’s Spine Mountains was full of sound. Moaning, groaning, creaking, crying, screaming, laughing noise. It was terrible. The cacophony made every normal creature in the cave flee deeper within to escape the horror that had come to lodge there temporarily.
A voice in the darkness spoke to itself.
“Why,” it gasped. “Why have you done this to me?”
“Quiet boy,” said a voice from within. “Have I not given ye what ye wanted? Am I not true to me word?”
“No-- not this,” it begged. “I.. I don’t want this..”
“Shh, lad,” said the voice from within. “You’ll disturb our crew.”
“I don’t want to do th.. this..” it whimpered. “Please.. Please..”
“Not long matey,” the voice from within answered. “It be close soon. I can feel it.”
“Noo,”
“Revenge,” the voice from within breathed.
The abomination reached a hand of bone up and touched the side of his face. He felt the bone of the other ripple as it talked under his skin: “Revenge for us both.”
The abomination cried. He tried to remember who he was. That he was once just himself. But literally within his head he heard the voice again.
“Ye’ll never be alone again, Willibrord.”
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