As
the Goblins invaded the Dwarven kingdom of Thi'Betor year 1103 of the
2nd Era no accounts of the events that took place at the
capital of Maso Betorim, the last stand of King Daeken, survived.
When the Goblin horde breached the gates no one got out alive, or so
the Dwarven historians write. One month before the inner walls were
soaked in the blood of both Dwarves and Goblins a series of
extraordinary events took place that can only be found retold in one
peculiar book, the chronicles written by a certain necromancer.
The
invasion was a fact, by 1124 all bastion in the north had fallen to
the seemingly unending flood of Goblins. They had cut of the
remaining resistance from the rest of the kingdoms and were now
forcing them to retreat to their last stronghold, the capital, from
where they would have no where to run. In all tunnels the Goblins
were gaining ground fast, raiding all chambers with settlements in
them. As the horde completely encircled the last stand all seemed
lost. No Dwarves had been able to stand against the relentless
Goblins, but their new enemies feared not death.
To
the South-West a large force of Goblins under the command of the
warlord Zek'Hirm had just routed a small Dwarven force, trying to
break their lines to be able to escape to the west, to the safety of
the other kingdoms. His warriors were looting the bodies and feasting
on freshly fallen corpses, and all seemed to go their way. But as one
warrior grabbed the helm of a seemingly dead Dwarf it turned its
bloody head and stared at him. First he jumped back in surprise but
soon commenced to bash the helmet into the skull of the owner. To no
effect. The Dwarf got up, grabbed the Goblin by its throat, who by
now was very uncomfortable with the situation, and with only one hand
broke its neck. Another warrior screamed to alert everyone to the
threat, not this one Dwarf in particular but the fact that all their
slain foes had gotten back up and had now initiated a counter attack.
The numerically superior Goblins were taken by surprise and many
warriors were slaughtered before they even could raise their arms,
only to soon after bolster the ranks of their enemy. It did not take
long before Zek'Hirm sounded the retreat, escaping only with a
fraction of his initial numbers.
As
they fled even more undead entered the chamber, in the midst of them
walked the only living being left in this Dwarven hall: a
necromancer. As the chaos abandoned the atmosphere and gave way to a
calm stillness that one would not usually combine with a room full of
corpses. The necromancer walked up to one of his newest subjects, one
of the fallen Dwarves.
“Indeed
the signet of Thi'Betor.” He sighed as he examined the armor worn
by it, “has it really come to this, old Daeken?”
He
mustered his forces and continued through the gloomy halls towards
the heart of the kingdom. Years before he had visited the glorious
halls of the easternmost Dwarven kingdom and been amazed by the
architectural skill of their masons. Now all were filled with the
stench of death and told only of the battles that had been fought.
Wherever he walked he encountered Goblins, but none were able to stop
his advance. The Goblins' trait that had broken the Dwarven lines,
their ruthless ways, were to no avail here for their new challenger
knew not fear nor pain. One after another opposing groups of Goblins
fled in sheer terror of the undead.
During
one clash a group of undead ran back to their master with a Dwarf, a
live one, and dropped him on the stone floor in front of him. He was
badly wounded and would most likely have been killed by his captors
if the undead would not have stormed their camp when they did.
“I
must apologise for their behaviour,” The necromancer told his the
newly arrived guest, “I only asked them to ask the first Dwarf
that we encountered, living that is, to come see me for I have questions in need of answers.”
The
Dwarf coughed and looked up at the robed man.
“Anyone
fighting these vermin is friend of the Dwarves, what do you want to
know, stranger?”
“Ah,
good to see you are willing to cooperate. You are correct in your
assumption, partially at
least, about my allegiance. I am not here
to fight you, but in truth nor to fight your battles for you.”
He
was met with a questioning glance.
“Who
would lead an army, even a cursed one like this one, into a war if
not to help one of the warring sides?”
“My
task here does not concern you, as you might recall I said I wanted
answers not questions. So may I?” Without waiting for an answer he
granted himself permission, “how fares the king?”
“I
know not why you ask and truth be told I am not sure of the answer
either. He is locked up in the keep of Maso Betorim with the last
remnants of our army.” He coughed and seemed to be in great pain,
“but for all I know he may be dead by now.”
“Grave
news indeed,” he was greatly troubled by this and began to leave.
“Stranger!”
The Dwarfs exclaimed, “tell me at least your name, I think I
deserve to know who saved me.”
The
necromancer looked at the slowly growing pool of Dwarven blood.
“Will
you survive this?”
“I...
I doubt it.”
“Then
I need not tell you my name.”
He
looked out at his ever growing horde of undead servants, in the midst
of them a deep blue cape could sometimes be seen.
“The
dead,” he said silently, as if only thinking out loud, “the dead
does not remember.”
He
turned his back on the dying dwarf and walked away. He had no time
for the living, the task at hand was more important than the life of
one mortal.
As
he pushed onwards, through ever increasing amounts of Goblin warrior,
his hoped waned. If Maso Betorim had fallen and Daeken's stand had
been in vain his task would be much more troublesome than he had
hoped for. That was however not the case. Soon he entered the
enormous mountain hall that was before the capital's ornate wall. On
the other side he could see the still sealed gates, they had held off
the Goblins up until now, but between him and Daeken was still one
hindrance; the main Goblin force, some ten thousand strong. He had
been prepared to fight some Goblins, but this was more than he had
expected.
But
something he had not foreseen took place.
Word
of the new terror had reached the besieging warriors before he did.
Screams about the dead rising and coming to avenge them were heard
throughout their ranks and chaos took hold of the whole army. His
close to a thousand undead stormed into the Goblin warriors who first
tried to hold but it proved useless as every undead took down his own
worth in Goblins and the necromancer walked behind his own ranks and
raised every fallen Goblin to fight its own brethren. When all calmed
down the Goblins had fallen back and the undead ranks lined up
outside the gates.
“May
king Daeken come out. For I require to speak to him!” The
necromancer shouted.
A
silence followed. Then slowly but silently the massive stone doors
slid open and a dwarf in golden armor followed by hundreds of
soldiers from the royal guard.
“We
thank you for getting rid of the infestation for us.” He said when
he reached the necromancer, “I am Dureq, his highness' right hand,
and no matter how grateful we may be we can not let a cursed mage as
yourself enter our town without explaining the cause of his visit.”
“Well
then do tell, what is required of me?”
“Who
are you? And why are you seeking audience to our king?”
“It
is long since my name was spoken, for the dead does not use it. But
the living used to call me Keemon of Deepwell. As for your second
question I will not answer, for it is a delicate matter that none
but the king may hear.”
Dureq
had his eyes fixed on Keemon. In these grave times he would not let
any one close to his king without a good reason.
“Then
I have but one more question.” Dureq finally said, “if I do not
like this answer you will not enter through these gates.”
Keemon
was not looking worried.
“Ask
away, master Dwarf, ask me your final question.”
The
lines of undead were getting restless. Sweat could be seen on the
Dwarf's forehead.
“This
secret matter,” Dureq slowly began, “will it aid us in our
struggle against the Goblins?”
“What
else could someone in your position ask for?” Keemon smiled, “I
am sorry, but it will not. But then again it will not affect you at
all, good or bad.”
“Then
I must now ask you to leave.” Dureq voice was again full with
authority, “And I forbid you to ever cross our borders again!”
The
talk was over. Keemon backed away as his warriors did the opposite.
Dureq and the guards formed a defensive formation and began to move
back towards the gates.
“I
gave you a chance!” Keemon's voice was heard over the sound of
thousands of undead charging, “you have left me with no choice!”
But
as the two forces were about to clash a horn was heard from the town.
The undead stopped. Out of the gate came more Dwarven warriors, ahead
of them two banners with the emblem of Thi'Betor were carried.
Between the banners walked the king himself.
“I
speak as your king!” He shouted, “Dureq, stop this madness!”
Once
again the undead backed away and opened a path through their lines
where Keemon walked back to meet king Daeken.
“And
you, Keemon of Deepwell.” The king spoke, “I think I know why you
have come.”
“As
expected of the king of Thi'Betor.” Keemon answered.
The
king turned and signalled for Keemon to follow. The undead waited
outside as Keemon and the king walked in through the gates, followed
by the entourage of Dwarves.
King
Daeken led Keemon to his throne room where they both took a seat.
Everyone else were told to leave, and soon there were no one but the
two, waiting for the other to speak. This was Daeken's 136th
year of rule and he had always been a just and strong leader, loved
by his people. But being approached by this young necromancer made
him speechless and left him sunken deep in his thoughts. The silence
could not last forever.
“I
have tried to go through all the reasons why a necromancer as
yourself would seek me out,” he said slowly, “you told Dureq
that the matter you wanted to discuss could not be told elsewhere.
You have no interest in helping us nor helping the Goblins, that
rules out any reasons concerning the war at hand.”
Keemon
said nothing, waiting only for the king to guess why he was here.
“I
find that only one reason remains, but I do not like it.” The
king's eyes were set on Keemons', “why would you come looking for
the Old One?”
Keemon
was about to answer the troubled king but was interrupted.
“You
must understand, necromancer, that my house is loved, respected and
feared by our brethren to the west.”
Daeken's
listener waited patiently for the king to continue.
“Loved
as fellow Dwarves. Respected as guardians of the eastern borders.”
He let out a sigh, “and feared for making that one trivial deal
with your kind so long ago.”
His
eyes had both sorrow and anger in them as he became silent once more.
“With
all due respect,” Keemon did not hesitate to pick up at the end of
the king's speech, “but are those three not the three single most
greatest features you could ask for in your neighbouring kingdoms?
None will ever dare to challenge or even question your judgement.”
“Silence!”
The king had heard enough, “why would I ask my own kin to fear me?
Why would I not want to ask my brethren for advice?”
Daeken
had stood up and with heavy steps walk up to one of the many statues
along the large chamber's walls. He took a deep breath and calmed
himself.
“These
statues...” he began, “these statues are the kings and queens of
Thi'Betor's throne.” He sighed, “engraved on each statue are
their greatest accomplishments, to set an example for our once proud
kingdom. What do you think will be written on my statue once I'm
gone? 'King Daeken, the one who lost Thi'Betor to the Goblins of the
north'.”
In
silence he walked back to the throne.
“Under
any other circumstance I would deny you what you are asking, but as I
might not live to see another day and the fact that no more statues
will be added to this line makes me ask myself: 'what is the
difference?' If I would tell you to leave, you could come back once
the Goblins have eradicated every last one of us and force your way
in.”
“I
am glad to see that you can see the bigger picture in these dark
times.” Keemon stood up, “I can sense something is approaching
as we speak. What is this presence, can it be the Old One himself?”
“I
cannot sense what you can, necromancer, but he would never leave his
chambers.”
As
they spoke Keemon could sense something filled with great power
coming their way through a corridor he could see behind the throne.
As the king had said, the Old One did not enter the room as Keemon
had hoped but instead nothing but a small butterfly entered through
the dark hallway. Wings as black as the night, beautiful and graceful
as it flew but as it came closer Keemon saw its small wings were
breaking apart into small black flakes. As it landed in his open palm
he could see small holes in its wings, but its flying was as delicate
as ever.
“I
have only heard tales of these creatures.” The king looked in
amazement at the insect in his guest's hand, “the Old One sent
these to my predecessors when he wanted to see them personally. That
was only on rare occasions.”
“It
seems I am dealing with powers even greater than I expected,”
Keemons whispered silently, “my lord, I have a feeling you are
obliged to let me go now.”
With
these words Keemon got up and followed his small winged guide into
the dark halls, leading deep under the city. Soon Dwarven masonry
gave way to crudely hewn rock. The flame in his hand was the only
source of light in these ever descending tunnels.
How
long he had walked he could not tell. Minutes, hours, days, all
concepts of time erased by the underwordly darkness that surrounded
the necromancer. His own footsteps was the only sound that stirred
the otherwise still atmosphere. But as most other things, even this
cave had an end, a humble wooden door, that his companion finally
reached. The black wings had but a few black flakes left, and upon
arrival at the door these final ones fell off and the bearer
disintegrated. Keemon did not hesitate but walked up to the door
which silently opened before him. Inside it was a whole different
world. He entered a small dimly lit room which after a few steps
opened up into a larger chamber, walls covered with filled
bookshelves and old, even ancient paintings depicting gruesome scenes
from forgotten wars. But the most curious thing in the chamber was
lying between two chairs that were facing a fireplace, a pile of
bones. The heap was seemingly not of a certain kind but bones from
all kinds of animals and humans.
All
of a sudden the bones stirred, rose and formed a twisted and
terrifying creature. Head of something that looked like a giant wolf
but the body like a bear, its eyes flaming green. Keemon prepared for
it to charge at him but and outstretched hand from one of the chairs
touched it and the creature instantly fell apart again.
“You
must excuse him,” a low voice from the chair, “I am afraid we
don't get visitors very often so he gets a little restless.”
The
hand invited Keemon to take the other seat.
“I
do enjoy the few visitors we have, they always come crawling to me
for forbidden wisdom. But I find it interesting guessing what
exactly they want and why.”
Keemon
now could see his host, an old wrinkled man, his eyes sunken into
their sockets and barely no hair on his hooded head.
“Come
now, why do you seek me? To ask me for knowledge?” His voice was
old and dry, but still full with power and something that forced one
to respect him. Something Keemon didn't have much of.
“You
have seen more than any one else and you hold the answer my
question.” Keemon showed no signs of hesitations, he wanted one
thing, and he would leave as soon as he got it.
“Your
question? It is the same one your master asked me so long ago
perhaps?”
“I
have no master.”
“Maybe
now you don't but to deny he existed after all he did for you is
simply too harsh.”
“If
he had done enough I would not be here now. No, he was but a part of
the path I travel to fulfil my own agendas, we shared nothing.”
Keemon was clearly insulted by the comparison.
“I
think you shared more than you think since you too have come to seek
me.”
“He
saw no further than his own will to rule over those who came before
him. I have plans for eras yet to come.”
“Some
may arrive sooner than you want. The balance of the world is
shifting.”
“I
know not of what you speak, the alliance in the south is no more than
words on paper, written by a starving hand.” Hints of irritation
now appeared in his voice.
“Do
not underestimate the needs of the many.” He took a break and his
thought wandered off into some other direction. “But this is not
why you've come. What do you really want from me?”
“The
secret you have been guarding for so long.” A short, sudden sign of
hesitation, “I know who, and what, you are. I must know how this
came to pass and how to acquire the same power”
“You
speak boldly considering your position. If you know who and what I am
how dare you come here with such a request. You have nothing to
offer and I have nothing to lose.”
“What
would that position be?”
“Dying.
Afflicted by a sickness called mortality.”
“I
have no plans of leaving this world any time soon. This sickness is
yet to take root in me.”
“One
does not know tomorrow. The sickness has more than taken root, it is
already in full bloom and will bear fruit when it sees fit.”
“If
you think that is the case, perhaps you may want to help me?”
“Now
we are getting somewhere. You finally seem to see where you, and more
importantly I, stand. But why would I want to help you find the
cure?”
“I
think you would be interested in seeing how my plan unfolds.”
“Your
plan? This agenda you mentioned? No, don't tell me, I shall think
about it for a moment...” he closed his eyes and seemed to think
over all possible scenarios, “No, it can't be, can it? Why would
you want to...”
He
once again turned back to his own thoughts, but in the end seemed
satisfied with what his guess was.
“But
interesting none the less, indeed very interesting. Some have tried
before you but it has never worked, do you know why?”
He
didn't wait for Keemon to answer.
“It
is because we control the power over death, that is why!”
This
sudden outburst took Keemon by surprise.
“I
do not agree, our power is over life as well.”
“I
see. You are one of those, you want to bring back someone you've
lost. But it will not work! Life will never come from death! If you
are truly this naïve this discussion is over!”
The
Old One turned away and Keemon could see the heap of bones stir.
“There
is no one that I have lost, no one I ever held dear. I am but a
judge! One to tip the scales!” He got up and took a few steps away
from the rising beast.
“You
lie! You lie to me and to yourself. I will not help you resurrect
her!”
The
beast rose from the bones and moved towards Keemon.
“I
know not of what you speak, none of this has anything to do with why
I want your knowledge.”
“There
was someone, wasn't there?”
He
turned towards Keemon again, the beast stopped.
“27
years ago, you killed her with your own hands.”
This
took Keemon off guard.
“Leave
my past out of this, you know nothing of it.”
“I
know much more, Keemon of Deepwell.”
Nervosity
almost got the better of Keemon, but he managed to stay on track.
“I
assume you have your means. But in the end this has nothing to do
with my goals.”
“Maybe
they do, maybe they don't. But you seem to speak true. Which makes me
even more interested in your agenda. I might give you my knowledge,
only to see what path you will choose.”
He
now gestured for Keemon to take a seat.
“So...
a city of undead is my only remaining guess if you speak true. You
want to create a standing army of conscious undead.”
He
looked at Keemon, who did not say a word.
“I
take your silence as a yes.” He leaned back, “you must first
understand what we truly are: a human is but a vessel for life to
reside in. A necromancer is simply a person who can tap into this
vessel and harvest its force.”
Keemon
listened patiently.
“But
what you want is more, you want to be able to harvest the power
around you, not just your own. To access that you must first break
this vessel so that you can merge and let it flow through you.”
“To
break the vessel? Sounds like you're asking me to die.”
“Yes
and no. This vessel is your life, when someone dies this vessel
breaks and the life is released into the world. It is the second
part you must avoid.”
“How
can one die without life leaving the corpse?”
“It
is simple, yet not easily accomplished. You must first empty the
vessel and seal it so that it is not refilled as you walk the
earth.”
“I
do not see how I can empty my vessel. As I raise undead to serve me I
cannot feel it emptying.”
“Are
you not listening?” The Old One snapped at him, “you cannot feel
it for one undead does not require much life, and as soon as you
raise them you absorb more life from the earth around you. You must
make sure your body stops absorbing, you must learn to control it.”
“I
think I already can do this. My years of studying have led me to this
knowledge, I have only never found use for it before.”
“You
will now. The next step is the key your master never learned: once
the vessel is empty you must open the seal and once again let it
fill up. When you absorb then it will fill up so fast it will break
all that is being absorb from but also the vessel itself.”
“And
as the vessel breaks the body will still have life rushing in to it.”
“Yes,
exactly.”
Keemon
stood up, he got what he wanted.
“But...”
This
stopped him.
“...there
is one important part yet.”
Keemon
turned towards him again, fearing what this last part would be.
“If
you cannot absorb enough life when you open the seal you will only
die.”
“No...”
“Yes...
you must go where you can absorb enough life to survive when the
vessel breaks.”
Keemon
quivered for the first time in years, he did not like where this is
going.
“There
is only one place with enough life for you to absorb.”
“I
have not come to kill innocent! I have come to be a judge!”
“If
you want to be a judge you must first pay the price.”
Keemon
had no answer. This was not what he had expected.
“You
must go to the city north from here, their inner walls are protected
by a barrier that will let you absorb all life inside the walls
without anyone outside ever getting to know about it.”
As
he got no answer he turned away again.
“Leave
me now, you have the answer you came for, what you decide to do is
now up to you.”
One
last gesture sent the necromancer on his way. No words were spoken.
He barely remembered the long walk up, or the king for that matter.
He left Thi'Betor in silence, Goblins and Dwarves keeping their
distance from him and his undead horde. Through the dark tunnels he
left the fortress to its fate, walking back to his own chambers in
Mag-Ogor. There he sat down. He now knew all he needed to know. His
goal was in reach, but at what cost?
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