Open Chronicles Bones in the Bayou

[Harrier]

Deadly places, as a general rule, kill people. The Bayou Garramarisma was no exception. And sure, the dead might not be in the best condition, but in the world of skeleton armies, quantity beat quality every time. That was sort of the point of skeleton armies.

Harrier Wren, master necromancer, cinched the straps of her pack a little tighter. The pack contained everything she owned, and you couldn't put a price on mobility. She'd set a decent pace, on foot and by boat, to get to this part of the bayou. Even though she'd stopped, she might still need to move. Necromancy had a way of attracting people, plus the ground was about to shift.

The wrecked privateer Nonesuch leered out of the swamp at an uncanny angle. Mushrooms protruded from the sodden splinters that used to be the big ship's gunwales. These pirates must have been stupid to sail a vessel this size into channels this convoluted but, again, quantity over quality.

All that to say, the ground trembled as one, two, three dozen moldy skeletons climbed into the swamp's gloomy light.

 

[Velaeri]

Swamps didn't often get enough sunlight to say that a shadow could be cast, but on this day a shadow loomed in overhead. A hurried wind tore through the thrushes and snatched at the bones presently assembling before the cloaked woman.

In a clearing to her left said shadow alighted with a thrumming beat of wings that made the bayou trees sway and groan. Harrier Wren came face to face with an old ...acquaintance. Keen blue eyes stared out from beneath hooded lids, feathered ears pinned in consideration for the amount of distaste required to greet the scene before her.

The Dawnbringer released a low call, just to be certain she had the Necromancer's attention.

Last they had seen one another had been in a dilapidated tower of the old and gone Empires, staring across cards and a healthy pile of loot. A dragon had seen to interrupt the game and the Gryphon had made good effort to save the attending players from a roasty-toasty death.

A boon, she felt, be owed to her. Now she was coming to collect.

 

[Harrier]

Those had been the days, but believe it or not, this particular necromancer far preferred the future to the past. Old glories were for dynastic god-emperor types who never got off their thrones. Harrier Wren, in her own opinion, worked for a living, and that meant constantly asking herself what's next.

Usually a good question to ask when a gryphon paradrops on your incipient horde.

The skeletal pirates who'd climbed free stayed where they were, rusty cutlasses limp and emasculated. A few others finished tearing themselves out of the marshy ground. By and large, Harrier's magic went quiet. She bowed, shallow and slow, but a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Well met, Velaeri. It's been far too long. I hope you're not here for a rematch; I could rustle up a deck of cards, but I don't believe there's a functional table in a fifty-mile radius."

 

[Velaeri]

The beast gave a shallow bow of her massive head in return, folding her wings at her side. The pirate lackeys and their grinning facades were given a cursory glance and a disgusted flick of her tail - she'd banished enough undead recently to fill a dozen graveyards. This was precisely why she was here.

Harrier, said the gryphon's voice in the woman's head - a delightful gift granted to the Necromancer upon learning of the gryphon's true name. Something to do with a fatal slip of a parchment contract from a saddlebag during the aforementioned tousle with the dragon.

Not a rematch. A repayment. I believe you owe me a debt from that day.

 

[Harrier]

If anything, Harrier's grin only widened, and she found that she meant it.

"I pay my debts, but I was hoping you'd forgotten -- or that I'd be a little wealthier before we met again. I seem to recall losing and losing hard, and a dragon's egg wasn't the biggest wager on the table. Now, if you need services instead of worldly goods, that's absolutely feasible. Payment in kind is the best kind of payment."

 

[Velaeri]

I do not want your coin, Master Necromancer.

The gryphon's feathers ruffled along her neck at the thought of where such coin might come from. Aside from games of chance and gambling, did people truly pay Necromancers to raise dead and sow chaos? She hoped not, or the recent series of necrotic events meant that either someone was very out of control or getting very rich.

Unlike Harrier, who, despite her poor choice of career path, at least conducted herself in a manner that demanded respect.

The debt is rather large. I will take payment in two parts. The first is simple.

There has been a rise of reports of undead in the vicinity of the Blightlands and the Spine. Another Necromancer ... or more. I need you to find out who is responsible.

 

[Harrier]

"There've been beacons," Harrier said. "Things only people like me can really feel. I followed one here to the Bayou but it turned out to be just a book." A book that was safely wrapped and sitting in her backpack, as it happened. "The ones after that have been getting more intense. I haven't gone looking to see who or what caused them. Some were in the area you're describing -- a lot farther northeast than I normally go, but a debt's a debt. And if they're showing their cards..."

She ran a hand through her hair and glanced around at the bone pirates, currently skulking between twisted trees. They didn't have much intelligence, but enough to know that getting close the gryphon wouldn't be good for their unlife expectancy.

"People like me do our work in private settings, generally. If not, there's either a good reason for it, or someone's come up with a grand plan, and that usually involves undead burning cities. I hate grand plans, for the record. I'm happy to do this for you.

"What's part two?"

 

[Velaeri]

She listened and acknowledged the Necromancer's words with a simple nod. It was true, she'd not felt these beacons, but she'd seen the carnage left behind and fended off plenty more. It made sense in a dark and foreboding sort of manner.

That depends on the result of part one.

Among other things. There was more than just undead stirring across the lands. Something else powerful had moved from its home in the north - a magical token she'd not seen in quite some time. Velaeri had her own investigations to carry out.

The gryphon curled her head to one side and plucked free a golden feather from her shoulder. With care, she made her way across moss-covered roots and soggy sphagnum to offer the feather to the woman with her beak.

This will lighten your step and your burden.

When you have the information I seek, hold it towards the sky and beckon the Dawnbringer. I will find you.

 

[Harrier]

Velaeri's answer brought Harrier a wide grin: the gryphon's meaning, or one probable meaning, was clear enough. The implied challenge struck Harrier as a compelling chance to test her necromantic skills against those of her peers.

In short, to get...necrofancy.

The smile vanished as the gryphon plucked and offered a feather. Harrier smelled layers of meaning in the gesture beyond the obvious inferences. She took the feather carefully.

"I can't help imagining a scene where I find myself in the necromancers' camp, use this feather as instructed, and watch you strike like a comet. I suppose the second task would become obvious at that point. Or do you have a less...reactive...reaction in mind?"

 

[Velaeri]

Please, the gryphon's ears flattened in offense at the imagination of the Necromancer, melodramatics are for dragons.

Besides, not even she could break the laws of magic - much as doing so would have made her routine a bit more efficient. She refolded her wings as if to brush off the thought and turned her head to give the politely waiting skeletons another look. Nope, they still disgusted her.

I do not take you for a brash and foolhardy Mage, Harrier Wren, and I trust you will act as your instincts deem necessary - but well-informed decisions could make all the difference in turning the tides of what may yet come.

 

[Harrier]

Harrier gestured around at the undead pirates who cowered in the swamp. "Appearances notwithstanding, I prefer the considered decision. Especially since I do expect serious action to count toward favor number two."

She filed 'even gryphons are bound by the same Five Laws' under 'useless but intrinsically valuable information,' her favorite category.

"Time to start sailing, I suppose. Fortunately I've just acquired some sailors."

 

[Velaeri]

A nod from the woman's feathered and furred associate.

Veleari's gaze panned across the bayou, admittedly curious as to the Necromancer's means of travel. There was a ship here, buried within the moss and muck; she questioned the useful state of it. Did sails rotted and full of holes really catch wind? Mayhaps an ethereal wind. A gust of hope ... or dread, depending on who was driving ... well, conjuring.

Might I observe?

Only seemed polite to ask. Some preferred privacy to public displays for reasons.

 

[Harrier]

"I'm not sure you'll see much of interest. I'd hoped to find this ship in better condition. My pinnace is just through these mangroves."

She filled her lungs and barked instructions in a local patois. The pirates kept their distance from Velaeri, but obeyed. Off they went through the tangled roots.

Three dozen undead, one midsize boat. Not ideal, but skeletons had their advantages. Two manned the ropes. The rest filed aboard and compressed themselves, knees to chests, heads down. In short order they'd packed the boat in layers of grimy bone and rusty metal.

The boat pulled out into the saltwater of a bayou river, and wind caught the sail. Harrier tossed a wave to Velaeri.

 

[Velaeri]

I'm broadening my horizon...

The gryphon cheeked back. But Harrier was right, it was a wholly anti-climatic ordeal. She didn't mind so much. Standing by while a ship of undead sailed away from her on the whim of a Captain-and-Master on her favor was not a sight she expected to see again.

Broad wings gathered the air beneath them, lifting her great bulk from the soft grounds of the swamp. Velaeri took to the skies above, glided low once over the ship, and winged off into east.