Open Chronicles Digging out the rot

[Jhyrann]

Jhyrann plodded to a stop as he saw the lights of the small town. The trees gave a slight rustled as the night breeze changed direction.

In these gentle lands, there was very little that would attempt to stop him even at night. He took a breath and prepared himself for the change. It always, always hurt.

It was the crack of his spine that cause the sharpest jolts of pain. The pain would linger, spreading to his extremities in waves for a few more minutes. He took a few minutes to dress himself and - as always - to rebraid his hair.

---

He was late.

The town hall was already full, the discussion had started. Few in the world knew how to read or write. Amongst the bounty hunters stalking the wilds even fewer. A symbol on a town noticeboard and word of mouth was the best way to get the message out.

"What do you mean undead orc necromancer?" called a voice as Jhyrann ducked through the door. It was hard not to draw attention when he was the shape of the man, but the size of an ogre.

"Well...you remember the orc necromancer some of you caught for us two years ago?" replied the town elder. He looked to be in his late forties, his swept-back and jet black hair streaked with grey.

"Yeah, we brought you his head."

"He's back."

Jhyrann tried to sneak towards and empty chair but trod on a dwarf's foot.

"Oi ya great lump, watch yer long legs or I'll hack em down to size," the dwarven ranger grunted.

Jhyrann saw most of the southern people as top soft to survive the harsh Wilderness. That opinion did not extend to the dwarven people.

"Sorry friend."

"Ya can call me 'friend' when you've bought me an ale to say sorry."

"A-hem." The town elder cleared his throat and sighed. He clearly didn't enjoy dealing with the kind of miscreants the job called for.

"Some of his followers found his buried head. Now he has an honour guard of orc warriors and a new host of undead and has been pillaging the outer settlements."


OOC/ Just a fun open thread for a little side quest!

 

[Maranae]

He watched her work from a doorway leading back into the depths of the shop. Intent eyes that seemed to glow in the firelight of the forge and an expression of such intense concentration would have painted a much more serious scene if it wasn't for her tongue caught between her teeth.

She began to beat on the piece of metal, forming the metal into the steel bit that would rest in some horses mouth. Nice, even strokes that carried a surprising amount of power for someone so lithe and lean and young.

He had never wanted another apprentice when she showed up. Telling her no had felt more like kicking a puppy than he wanted to admit, and so he hadn't. He'd expected her to wander off as quickly as she wandered in. Now, he wasn't sure if he wanted her to leave. She had a natural talent for making things, even if she was dimmer than the average person.

He looked back to the letter sent by his cousin. Trouble brewing back home, again. He could scarcely credit the tales his cousin espoused this time, but the world was a wild place wasn't it?

"Maranae?" He said suddenly from where he stood. She looked up in mid stroke, smooth features framed in violent red hair only somewhat spoiled by too-long teeth. "How would you like to go on a trip?"

The response was a disconcertingly open grin. Not because of the openness, but because a certain simian part of his brain was begging him to go somewhere else when faced with those teeth.

***

She slipped into the townhall without a word.

The road had been several weeks long and through country where the population tended towards being widely distributed. There were very few things desperate enough to approach the chimera, who gave off the vibes of a prowling jungle cat when she wasn't paying attention. There were more people that were willing, assuming she ever ran across any.

She didn't. The Reach was a vast and empty place.

She wore the same clothes she did in town, now travel stained. What had once been a blade, the frying pan on her shoulder hung loose and well-greased so that it gleamed and smelled faintly of deer fat. She towered over most of the people gathered here, a mildly puzzled look permanently etched on her face as she looked through the crowd. She had heard the statement, and did not understand.

"But if you cut off his head," she said suddenly and loudly, each word careful and precisely spoken (almost as if she were still not entirely home with words) despite the teeth that made her slur her words a bit. "How is he back?"

The concept of necromancy was new to her, which was probably just as well. It would mean nightmare dreaming of dinner coming back to life in inconvenient places.

 

[Izara]

Sometimes too many sweaty bodies with too many loud mouths could put Izzy in a funk. Her senses felt clouded and convoluted, and yet strangely enough, also felt too precise. She could pinpoint the man who reeked of grease and fish guts, even if she was far away from him. Her eyes twitched, annoyed at the symphony of too many sniffling their snot back into their noses.

Both her hands went up to massage the base of her ears at the top of her head, trying to soothe them and find comfort all at once. A big man walked in, each step he took making the letai woman almost feel sorry for the floorboards beneath his feet. She nearly missed out on the explanation about the orc necromancer, but then again, there wasn’t much of an explanation at all. And really, one wasn’t needed.

“Who cares,” she practically hissed out, eyes squinting as she kept furiously rubbing her thumb against fur that felt close enough to silk. “We just gotta take him out again, maybe this time we take out his teeth and tongue so even if he does come back, he can’t mutter any incant….” What was the word? The spells they used? “Incantinas!” Damn, she did it again— coming up with the best plan on the spot! This was going to be easy money, like stealing money from a orc necromancer without teeth or a tongue.

 

[Josai]

Necromancers. Always bloody necromancers.

It didn't matter if they were orc, human, elf or Kivren. It was always bloody necromancers making a mockery of Death. Plying their cheap perversions and tricks. Masking them as, dark power.

Still, Josai let her breath fall easy from her nose as she sat atop her fine wooden apothecary's box. All folded crooks and leg over knee. The well crafted pack, full of drawers and compartments and reagents stuffed there in, was a treasure in its own right. Not that any ignorant knew that. For now, it was but a stump, with a strange blue mushroom growing out the top of it.

Josai being the mushroom, of course.

Though the new smells that filled the room made her wiggle her nostrils and scrunch further into the folds of her scarf. Let the dark curls of her hair form a warm little nest about her, just beneath the wide brim of her proud blue hat.

That she rest a spear at her shoulder, tall, winged, and laden with ancient runes, was of little consequence. Twined with charms three. A strand of green. A strand of blue. A strand of black. Bone, silver, and obsidian. Jaw, bell, and sphere.

Gods, but it did smell as if they'd let in a parade of beasts in here.

She closed her eyes, as the giant made stumble.

Come the approach of the second gargantuan, Josai huffed, stood up, shouldered her speer, smoothly hefted her pack onto her back, and proceeded to move some paces away. Set it back down, and proceeded to sit atop her stump once more.

It was always bloody necromancers. This time though. It was a bloody cat. A minotaur. And who in the blazes knew what else that... void was with the red hair and baby face.

Trouble, to be sure.

"Incantations," Josai added, smirk there beneath the brim of her wide hat.

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

Sylvian didn't do much bounty-hunting work anymore. Not that he didn't enjoy the thrill of it, and certainly not that he didn't need the extra money, but the risks that came with it were just too big to ignore. First and foremost, he was a wanted man; The Republic had been tipped off to his survival, and he'd no doubt they'd go out of their way to finish what they'd started so long ago, if only to ensure he didn't bend the knee to Gilram.

Secondly, Artesto was quite frankly getting old and beaten up. A lifetime of running, fighting, and violence had finally begun to take its toll on him, and while he was confident he could give any of the other eager boys and girls milling about this crowded hall a run for their money, he also knew he didn't have a whole lot of fights left in him before...

Well, that's just how it goes.

Sylvian sat quietly in the corner of the Hall, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Why had he gone out of his way to make this meeting, given all his concerns? Simply put, this Orc, undead or otherwise, was a loose end he wanted tied up. In a roundabout way, he felt some responsibility that things had gotten this bad with the old boy.

The necromancer hadn't always been that. The Orc in question had started off as many do, a petty criminal looking to get rich and gain power. The year before he'd been unceremoniously declared dead, Sylvian had actually been tasked with putting him down, after he and his gang had gotten careless and ransacked a caravan that happened to be Anirian.

At the time, Sylvian had put it off. Silas had just been born, and he wished to spend more time with his son. He'd no idea that orc thug would take up the necromantic arts, let alone that he'd be so stubborn to persist beyond death.

So, in some small way, this was on him.

Letting out a little groan as he rose to his feet and ensuring the bandana he'd used to conceal the bottom half of his face was secure, Sylvian meandered over to the town elder, and the growing group of hunters around him. A colorful bunch, to be sure.

"A zombified Orc that makes other zombies. Sounds like a party to me." He rolled his shoulders, casting a gaze over to the young woman already making a plan for action. Sylvian smiled underneath the cloth hiding his mouth. To be young and eager again... "There's no reason to think getting to him to do that is going to be a cakewalk, my Letai friend. He can raise the dead, and from the sounds of it he's been making plenty dead."

Looking back to the Elder, Sylvian crosses his arms. "He'll be expecting a fight, but probably not from this many people at once. The question now is whether you can afford a whole team." Sylvian trod carefully, raising a quizzical brow. "Unless you were only offering to the one who kills him?"

 

[Jhyrann]

"But if you cut off his head," she said suddenly and loudly, each word careful and precisely spoken (almost as if she were still not entirely home with words) despite the teeth that made her slur her words a bit. "How is he back?"

“We just gotta take him out again, maybe this time we take out his teeth and tongue so even if he does come back, he can’t mutter any incant….”

"Incantations," Josai added

Jyrhann was certain the spear-wielding witch had deliberately moved away from him. With no chair on offer, the shape-shifter took the easiest route. He simply sat down cross-legged on the floor between two tables.

There was a simplicity to the plan from the girl with big ears, although he had an even simpler version.

"He'll be expecting a fight, but probably not from this many people at once. The question now is whether you can afford a whole team." Sylvian trod carefully, raising a quizzical brow. "Unless you were only offering to the one who kills him?"

"I like the idea of stealing the necromancers tongue," Jhyrran said. His voice carried a timbre that could shake rocks, but he spoke with a disarmingly friendly patter.

"But I say we cut out his tongue and then burn him to the bones. That should do it!"

"Also, the money question..." Jhyrran agreed with a nod. The dwarf was immediately nodding vigorously too.

The town elder clearly looked uncomfortable discussing financial matters.

"We've gathered a host to march out and reinforce the towns and meet his forces head on if we have to. We're willing to pay everyone for helping. Everyone who survives."

 

[Maranae]

She blinked those great yellow eyes of her and cocked her head to one side as if she were considering what she had heard. Of course, there wasn't much running behind her eyes other than where the next meal would come from. That, and the words spoken by her Master - the only reason she was even here, really.

"Not all fighting is the same. Sometimes there are causes worthy of it." Blade or hammer, he had said, could make great things in the right hands.

She still didn't much like fighting though, made for it or not.

"But if his head was cut off," she said again, clearly struggling, "then why would cutting other parts off be any, uh," she began and then trailed off, searching for the word. She brightened, and grinned. "Different!" She paused, her lips moving silently as she worked her way through some other idea, and then shook her head.

She was accustomed to things that she hit staying quite well hit. The notion of something getting hit hard enough to fall to bits and then get back up again was well outside her ability to understand and conceptualize.

Another few moments spent thinking while they discussed money (a thing she did not really care all that much about) before she looked up, eyes alight again. "Can things that have been all torn apart be put back in one piece and made alive again?" Each word carefully pronounced and deliberately spoken. By the end, she was fairly sweating; she was not particularly verbose to begin with. She also did not really understand that undead was quite a different thing from being alive. Reanimation had far too many syllables in it.

 

[Izara]

Narrowed blue eyes slid over to a wizened woman dressed in a manner that seemed to perfectly suit her despite Izzy knowing nothing about her. For some reason, being corrected by a stranger instead of being corrected by Dieder felt worse, as if the notion of Izzy lacking cleverness was true. She turned her head, looking towards the big man squatting down. At least he had some sense. The woman taller than her, and also the pretty man who threw in his two cents, gave good enough points.

“You’re hoping some of us die!” Izzy accused, standing up from her short wooden stool and slamming a fist on the table to help express her point. She pointed a finger at the appointed mayor. “so then just how strong is this guy anyways if you don’t think most of us will survive, huh?”

Josai Sylvian Artesto Maranae Jhyrann

 

[Josai]

Josai nodded along with the cat's outrage. The tall steeple of her hat, bobbed ever-just with each to-and-fro. "A sound conclusion," she admitted. Lifted her chin just-so, to let the heather browns and golds of her eyes see the scene before them.

The Mayor seemed non to bothered by the accusations, save for a mild tightness in his brow, and a tension in his lip. "Just a matter of facts, ma'am," he said to the Letai, then cleared his throat. "He is powerful enough to cheat death, and his host is quite sizeable," he rubbed the scruff about his chin. "Gods only know how muany corpses lay resting and unwarded for him to call up,"

Izara Maranae Jhyrann Sylvian Artesto

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

"There's always the risk of death when you're up against a necromancer, my friend." He muttered over to the young Letai woman. "Add the trademark brutality of an Orc into the mix and you'd be a fool not to worry about casualties."

Sylvian hadn't asked about pay out of greed, despite the likely assumption of the elder, who cast a rather accusatory glare his way for but a fraction of a second. Behind the rose-colored cloth covering his mouth, Artesto cracked a little smile back at him.

This group of 'hunters' was rag-tag at best, and totally incompatible at worst. Without something to keep them from killing each other, say, a monetary reward. he didn't like the odds of avoiding internal conflict until the deed was done. Especially if the town had only budgeted to reward the actual killer of the target.

"However we do it." Silvian's voice carried as he walked--somewhat limping-- back to his table in the corner. "We can't afford to be cocky. We've got to actually get to him first, and that'll be an ordeal in and of itself. Just like the lady in blue says, he's got an army behind him six feet under."

Far be it from him to sit and agonize over the little details though. Sylvian was here to put the wretched Orc down and tie up a loose end. He was grateful to have a sizable group to do it with, but it would be a stretch to call any of them allies.

"'Course, if we were able to get the jump on him somehow, that would make things easier. We don't seem the stealthiest bunch though, at first glance."

Izara Josai Jhyrann Maranae

 

[Jhyrann]

"'Course, if we were able to get the jump on him somehow, that would make things easier. We don't seem the stealthiest bunch though, at first glance."

"Ah well. Surprise can come in the form of: 'Oh these devious hunters have snuck into my crypt at night' but can also come in the form of: 'Fuck, these mad people are running at my camp in broad daylight!'."

He offered the room a grin that was full of teeth. A smile that gave away his heritage.

"Might not be the best thing for the people, but if we wait until the force is committed and come at him from another angle? When he's good and dead the undead will all stop. That's how necromancers work."

Jhyrann frowned, looking less certain of himself.

"That's how necromancers work, yes?"

 

[Josai]

"That is how they work, yes," Josai cut in. "Assuming we destroy the Necromancer's true soul," she smirked as she looked to the big man and the hot blooded dwarf that seemed almost his tiny double.

"Bloody fuckin necromancers," the dwarf cursed.

"Agreed," Josai said, bright as a ray of sun, though not but grey clouds seemed to gather round her. She looked to those around her before she went on. "Could be, the Necromancer has a soul bind, a vessel, many have called it a phylactery," she explained with even measure. " If he has re-risen once, my guess would be that he has such a vessel, and our necromancer, might be considered a lich."

 

[Maranae]

The level of discourse between all of the people in this room was far, far beyond her ability to comprehend or even follow. She wore an expression halfway between mild puzzlement and deep curiosity. She felt a little stupid, truth to tell. It was a feeling she was not entirely comfortable with, even if she was accustomed to being a few steps behind everyone else.

Affable silence was all she could offer.

If she had the words or the understanding, she might offer that she had a way to deal with things like a phylactery. She didn't even have to break such a thing, just possess it for long enough to kill its magic, much in the same way she would sap those around her of their given enough time.

She listened, not really comprehending and not really feeling a part of the group. All of them had come here of their own accord; she was here at the express wish of another and it showed.

 

[Izara]

Frustrated, Izara had begun picking at something in between her teeth with a sharp, pointed nail. With her ears flat across her head and tail swishing to and fro in irritation, some may have thought she looked nervous. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Izzy had never come across a necromancer before and was unable to understand the grand scale of risk involved— even with the woman in blue and old blondie explaining the chances and probables. Maybe Dieder would have found more interest in a conversation like this. Izzy had no time for it. Her father had raised her to believe in her tribe’s old adage: as you grow stronger, so do your enemies. Every second mattered.

“So what if he has a bunch of skeletons following him around, just kick those bones out of your way.” Izzy snapped to no one in particular. She couldn’t speak on the fact that they had to find him first before getting near him, but Izzy was confident in her nose to find a big group of rotting flesh walking around. There was no way on Arethil that the necromancer didn’t smell like rotting flesh and gnarly body odor. If he was dead, he would smell dead. “This guy knows what he’s talking about,” Izzy declared, pointing at the gigantic redhead. Blue eyes narrowed in assessment.

She turned to look at the dwarf, the blonde man, the woman in blue, and the woman who was even taller than her.

“And if you guys wanna sit her and discuss sim….” What was the word? Dieder had used it before…. “Simromantics all day then be my guest, but I’m getting the necromancer’s head first and getting that reward.” Hands on her hips, confidence flowed through her like it was only natural that she be such a way.

“Big guy, you’re with me. And anyone else who wants to be on the winning team, because we’re getting paid and not dying!” She threw a fist above her head and into the air, the proudest cat in all of Arethil.

Sylvian Artesto Josai Maranae Jhyrann