Private Tales Rekindle the Flame

[Draegan the Undying]

His hand had pierced through errant earth to the sky above, but all Draegan could see was darkness. He was buried. That much he could tell from the way his body was locked down so utterly and entirely. His mind was a fog, memories all jumbled up. Well, he could sort that out later. The first thing to do would be to free himself. Using his free hand as anchor, Draegan tore himself up along with mounds of ice and snow. He could see. However, he did not recognize his surroundings. Snow and ice stretched as far as the eye could see. He thought maybe that dark line in the distance were trees. He could hear the faint roar of the sea behind him. He had no idea where this was. Somewhere in the north possibly.


Turning his attention back to himself, Draegan realized that he was still clad in armor. Armor that should have been burning cold to the touch, yet he only felt the slightest of chills. What was this? Shaking his head, he heaved himself out of the hole that he had been buried in with both hands. Black smoke began to plume out of the cracks in his armor. That was when he paused in alarm. He slowly brought his hand to his face and stared at the tiny puffs of black smoke trailing off of his fingers into the frigid air. It was then that it struck him that he did not see his breath. He pressed his hand to his face, expecting to feel the cold metal sting his skin. Instead he felt… something hard. Not the soft feel of flesh. Where his nose should have been was a hole. Where his lips should have been were just teeth poised in an eternal grimace. The smoke plumed in thick black tendrils with increasing volume as the horror of his new reality sunk in.


Draegan ripped himself from the frozen earth, hand seizing the hilt of his sword and wrenching it up as well. Ice clung to the blade. Once freed from his icy prison, Draegan could only lean on his blade and wonder. Why? How?! He looked up at the painfully blue sky, watching the smoke trail off his body and high into the air before dissipating. What was the last he remembered? He dug through the confusing jumble of memories. He recalled faintly a strange chamber. A deep chuckle. He shook his head. Those felt as though something out of a dream. He recalled fighting… blood… Ah! The orcs! Magnan! It came rushing back to him all at once. But… the battle had probably long since ended. Draegan wondered if Magnan had made it. If he had, well, that was a comfort at the very least.


So came the question of what to do next. Draegan could see no evidence of a settlement anywhere. The only evidence of a fire anywhere was himself. He wasn’t quite sure why he was smoking either, but he supposed that it must have something to do with his new state of being. His shoulders slumped forward onto his sword, going through the motions of sighing, black smoke billowing out through his open jaw. So, there was only one question that remained. What now? Draegan glanced down at the hole that he had torn himself out of as he thought about it.

 

[Magnan Smithson]

'You feel it as well.' It was a statement, not a question, from Eilasandree. The titanic knight turned from where they had been overlooking the Eternum, having only recently escaped from that strange flesh dimension where they had been beset on all sides by its strange denizens. They had initially left their own world in the middle of a blasted, desert-like wasteland, so it had been a surprise to Magnan when they ended up in not only their original destination, but surrounded by snow and hills of sheer ice. They looked into the distance, silent for a moment, before Magnan replied. 'Yes. I do. It feels... familiar.' It reminded him of... someone long dead. An old friend. 'Take the Manticore, it will be faster. Whatever it is, I must say i'm curious as to what could cause such a sudden and large burst of necromantic energy to appear within this wasteland.' Eilasandree commented, their body making its way down the icy hill as a patchwork and stitched together beast approached them. Only just larger than Magnan length wise, it would be able to at least move faster than any horse they could use (mostly because there were no horses they could use, considering the size of Magnan's body).

Eventually managing to throw themselves upon the back of the manticore, and only needing to reinforce its spine twice using Eilasandree's magic, the duo took off into the sky and in the direction the surge came from, leaving only instructions to hold still and try to ascertain exactly where they were to their commanders. The arctic wind whistled through their hollow skull, their bone and steel antlers reflecting the harsh, bright light of the sun as it beat down upon the tundra and casting fractious reflections upon the ground below. It took a small while to reach their destination, but eventually they managed to locate roughly where the surge of power had come from. From there, it wasn't hard to figure out what was behind it. A lone figure, stark against the sheet of white, with... what looked like a pillar of smoke seemingly rising from their body. Interesting.

The duo quickly set about landing nearby to the... Magnan found his mind come crashing to a halt as he finally got a good look at the figure. That armour... He knew it. He had fought beside it. In a time long past, an age he had done his best to forget. This... it wasn't possible. Why was he here? In the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles away from where they had met their ends? 'I see. He was... your friend?' Eilasandree murmured as memories and emotions flashed through their mind, even as their body quickly jumped off of the beast they had ridden in on and strode towards the skeletal being, clad in draconic styled armour. "...Draegast?" They murmured, voices overlapping with one another. "Is that truly you?"

 

[Draegan the Undying]

Time passed without Draegan noticing, lost in his thoughts. It was interesting how long one could meander without the aches and pains of mortal flesh. No hunger to push him to hunt. No pain from the cold to urge him to warmth. No weariness to press him to seek shelter. He found it supremely foreign and odd. Eventually, he would have to search out answers. How many years had passed? What became of Magnan and the others? What of the people they had been trying to save? What was to become of his life now? He was not so fragile as to be unable to go on without his friends, but he once again found himself without purpose. There was only one course and that was to but seek it out.


His maelstrom of questions and errant thoughts all fell to the wayside when he saw something on the horizon. At first, he thought it might be a horse, but as it got closer, he could tell that it was no such beast. A monster would be the best way to describe it. And it’s rider…? Well, it appeared to be clad in armor. A skeleton with strange horns. An undead. His instincts set him on edge, scooping up his helm from his icy grave and donning it. It’s familiar draconic visage gave him some confidence that he was still himself. Even if he had become something else. He was still Draegan. Brandishing his sword with his usual menace, he paused.


He was no longer of the living. Perhaps then, this… creature did not wish him harm? Draegan has only heard faint stories and whispers of the undead hating life. He had never encountered one. Perhaps, since they were both undead… this one had other ideas for him? If Draegan could have scowled, he would have, clenching his sword more tightly as smoke burst from his armor all at once to be replaced by blue flame. He found it strange, but he refused to lower his guard. Draegan didn’t feel any pain from the flames, so he decided to leave that question for when he had the time to puzzle it out.


The creatures drew near, the rider leaping off of its strange mount with surprising speed for its size. Draegan wanted to shout at the thing to halt, but he had not yet discovered how to speak in this strange new form. Figuring that this undead was a warrior from his armor, he simply shifted into a stance that clearly demonstrated that he wanted him no closer. That was when it spoke. He froze. It knew his name. How? As it strode toward him, his mind was racing. How?! Was it someone he knew? That seemed unlikely. Unless… he only knew one man with that stature. The tip of his sword dropped and fell onto the snow. His posture relaxed if only slightly as flames died back down into black smoke at his uncertainty.


“Mag… nan…?”


His voice grated harshly like hot coals. It was still definitively his voice but hoarse as if he had not spoken in a hundred years. If that thing was truly Magnan, he had even more questions. But perhaps his old friend had some of the answers.


“What has… become of you…?”

 

[Nexas Anubis]

For years she watched over his grave... For years she watched, waited, tended the stone. Even when it fell into the sea she followed it to this resting place in the frozen lands. It had been her obsession to forever watch over the dead hero of her city. She even became dead herself to do so. But in this frozen land it was difficult to find flowers to bring to his grave, and she had to travel far to find any at all. But she always brought flowers to lay at his grave.

She carried a bouquet of snow flowers back along the long track to her "home"... Her only home being the dirt that lay atop his remains. She was accustomed to her undead state, she had been undead for nearly fifty years of her vigil. There were times when she thought about how happy she would be if she brought him back to life the way she was... But she always shot down that idea, telling herself that his soul would be happier in the afterlife.

She knew she was finally getting close to the grave sight. she was very familiar with the low hills of snow dotting the area and she would soon be in sight of that pristine headstone that marked the resting place of the great hero Draegan.
She rounded the bend of a hill and was about to greet the headstone as she was accustomed to do whenever she returned when her glowing eyes were met with a shocking sight...

She stood twenty feet away from two figures and a monstrous mount. She stared in shock, her eyes wide as she held the flowers clasped in front of her.
She saw the two undead standing there in front of the grave, it was like a flashback to that fateful day... The two heroes standing guard, heroically sacrificing their lives for a helpless city. And she saw the great dragon armor and the sword of the hero that she watched over... Draegan. He was now standing. No longer in his grave. Her blackened and bloodless lips parted in her surprise as she stood frozen to the spot. A tiny whisper escaped her lips.

"... Draegan..."

 

[Magnan Smithson]

The fire was certainly new, but the moment that he spoke all doubts within Magnan's mind vanished as he felt his body be compelled forward, sword dropping from his hand. He strode close, and before the other skeleton could react wrapped an arm around his long time friend. The metals of their armour scraped against each other as he did so, but he couldn't find himself caring about such a minor expenditure. 'Ah.' Was the only commented from Eilasandree, as in a rare moment of compassion, she left full control in the hands of Magnan as he greeted his long time friend. "The same as you, it seems." He lets out a dry chuckle, his rasping, deathrattle voice touched by some deep emotion wrought from within him as he stepped back, keeping an arm upon his long since dead friend's shoulder. "I am... unsure as to how this has happened, but... it is good to see you, my friend. We have been dead for a long time, you for even longer. I will need to catch you up with what Eilasandree knows."

He turned to gesture at his undead chimera, but before any words could escape his hollow skull, his multicoloured 'eyes' touched upon the presence of another being at the reunion. They had somehow managed to get closer to the pair of experienced knights with neither of them noticing, and despite the emotional nature of the reunion that fact still alarmed the knight as he kicked his sword up from where it had slipped into the snow, catching the hilt in one smooth motion and pointing it towards the being. 'Stop.' Eilasandree murmured within their mind, as suddenly he felt half of their control be returned to her, and the sword lowered somewhat. "You are undead." Their multilayered voice stated, as pink light flooded through the left arm of the skeletal knight, and the necromantic magic reached out to touch the red haired being, a tendril of slow pink light twisting and winding its way towards her, like a handshake of pure power. Its call sounded the sweetest song to all but true Lich, and was as dangerous as it was alluring. Without a phylactery, any undead that became the target of the Banshee Queen's power would quickly have their wills stripped away and everything they are be bared before them.

"You are not part of our Eternum. Who are you? Are you responsible for raising this noble man from his slumber?" Internally, a battle raged between the two halves that made up the combined being, as Magnan did his best to try and restrain the strange magic he had little knowledge of, whilst Eilasandree did her best to defeat him and quickly grab a hold of the red haired undead. The could learn who she was once her loyalty had been confirmed! They couldn't simply enslave another being out of fear and convenience! The mental battle between the two raged, as the tendril of pink light slowly made its way towards the red haired woman, easily avoidable, yet inviting.

 

[Draegan the Undying]

At first, Draegan hadn’t been so sure that it was Magnan. The Magnan he had known in life did not have antlers attached to his head or a strange layered voice. But once the larger man swung an arm around him and hugged him, Draegan knew. Old fool. He chuckled and hugged Magnan back despite the scrapping of their armor. It would buff out. And it seemed a small price to pay to console Magnan. If Draegan could have smiled, he would have. He liked to imagine that his skeletal expression twisted up into a smile that somewhat resembled the happiness he felt at being reunited. As Magnan stepped away, Draegan chuckled again, the hoarse quality to his voice starting to fade. Magnan sounded like Magnan again too. He wasn’t too sure what had been going on with the layered voice thing, but he was relieved that Mag was back to his old self.


“Who is this Eilasandree? Not another lady friend of yours?”


Draegan happily recalled the days when Magnan would walk into the bar with women on both arms only to throw them at him. He could remember it fondly now, but he distinctly remembered swearing vengeance on Magnan as he slunk out of windows to avoid them. His flaming blue eyes followed as his friend gestures toward the strange undead chimera. It looked tame enough, but he wondered where Magnan had gotten such a beast. It wasn’t as if he was particularly skilled with magic. Perhaps this Eilasandree was. It was then that Draegan noticed someone else nearby. He was surprised that he hadn’t noticed a little sooner. She was a woman. Well, an undead woman, but a woman nonetheless. It seemed Magnan was also quick to notice, but his response was strange.


Staring in disbelief as pink magic coated his friend’s arm, Draegan hesitated for only a moment. Magnan’s next words were enough to spur him to action. In a blur, Draegan interposed himself between the pink link and the woman. She was an undead, sure, but so was Magnan, his dearest friend. He would be the first to accept that there could be good, innocent undead. They were no different than any other race. Moreover, she wasn’t even the least bit hostile. Otherwise, Draegan was sure that he and Magnan both would have recognized her presence sooner. He didn’t bear his sword at Magnan, but he did point the finger.


“What the devil’s the matter with you? She’s done nothing yet!”


She was even holding flowers. Before Draegan could spend too long wondering who those were meant for, the magic seized him in its pink light. The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was sweet, but in the sickly way of rotten fruit. It was a foul smell. He felt it pulling at him in the way a child might tug on one’s sleeve for attention. He wasn’t sure of its purpose, but he refused to let it harm that woman. He would protect her.


With his resolve came flames. They burst forth from his armor with the same intensity. The tendril of pink light withered in an instant and crackled into sparks of pink and blue magic, dissipating harmlessly into the snow. With the immediate danger out of the way, he turned to check on the woman. She seemed fine, but it was probably best to check. He wasn’t well versed in the ways of magic.


“Are you alright, miss? I’m sorry about my friend’s behavior… But do you mind answering his questions? I’d like to know as well.”


Turning his head slightly to glance back at Magnan, Draegan shook his head, the disapproval evident even with his face hidden under his helm. He wasn’t aware of the circumstances or even what this Eternum was, but this wasn’t the way that they had ever done things. This philosophy of shoot first, ask questions later, the layered voice’s return, the pink magic. It all worried Draegan more than words could express. Had his friend changed so much in the years that he had been gone? Did being undead have such a horrible effect? He didn’t want to believe that. He still wanted to believe that the Magnan that he had chosen to follow all those years ago was still there. Concern as much as disapproval was evident in his stare.

 

[Nexas Anubis]

The horned one who she thought was Magnan at first kicked up his sword and pointed it at her. He spoke with an echo in his voice and pink magical flames appeared in his empty eyes, that same pink magic approached her and it sounded like the most beautiful song she had ever heard. But Draegan... Yes, she was absolutely sure it was Draegan now... He stepped in front of the aimed sword and magic flow and the pink light dissipated. That magic was so alluring, but now back in her right mind she was certain it meant nothing good for her.

Draegan had saved her, but he too asked her to answer the question.
She had so many questions herself!
As she stood there staring the wind blew the delicate flowers to pieces in her hands and the petals fluttered away. Hardly noticing she dropped the stems and took a few uncertain steps forward, her footsteps making no sound in the snow.

She was dressed in worn leather armor. Her boots were more like leg armor since the soles and toes of the boots had worn away revealing her skinless feet. Some clothes remained hanging on her body from under the armor, but also on the verge of disintegration. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she did have two daggers sheathed to her thighs and a bow and quiver full of arrows on her back. Currently she looked like a corpse preserved by the cold, with frostbite on her face and body in various places.

She approached Draegan the way she was, taking slow, unbelieving steps until she stood right before him. She looked at his dragon helmet and the fire wreathed about his body, his armor. Though it was older, burned, and a bit rusted it was that same armor she remembered.
She spoke his name again, "Draegan... It's really you..."
She fell to her knees before him, her head bowed.

"I... It was not I who raised you... I thought your soul would want peace... That you would hate me if I brought you back... So I just waited here... I tended your grave... Brought you flowers every day... Protected you in your sleep from bandits and grave robbers..."
Her speech was a bit disjointed as she finally moved her mouth for the first time in years, and she felt her iced over lips bloodlessly splitting open as her mouth formed the words. She could speak without moving her mouth, using her spirit to speak, but she reasoned that since she still had a mouth, she should use it instead. Even though she spoke to him she spoke as if she were talking to herself, reasoning with herself and explaining to herself why she was there.

 

[Magnan Smithson]

'Tch.' Magnan could feel annoyance flow through him as Eilasandree's magic was somehow... burnt away by Draegan. That act alone was rather impressive to the undead knight, who had seen the Banshee Queen command mass amounts of undead like it was nothing. Unfortunately, amidst that annoyance, he found something far more worrying. Curiosity. There was one thing that the ancient elf could not resist, he knew, and that was the promise of power. She was adept enough at necromancy that unlike him, she was able to mask a few of her deeper thoughts from Magnan, but it still worried the knight. He had known from the beginning that despite the noble intentions of the Eternum as a whole, their leader wasn't someone to be trusted, and now that Draegan had returned and was displaying... powers, he would need to watch out for his ancient friend. He would also need to quickly find a way to once again extricate himself from the foreign presence within his mind, now that the events of pandemonium were over.. for now. He worried about where exactly that initial burst of annoyance had stemmed from.

The pair did not say anything at all as their long time friend/acquaintance talked with the newcomer, simpyl listening as they made their way over towards the chimaera. The two seemed light, odds were they could be carried by the beast back to the bulk of the Eternum forces. Draegan would be very beneficial towards their goals, and anyone capable of sneaking up upon the capable warriors and powerful necromancer would certainly be useful in certain situations. They leaned against the silent and unmoving beast, its non-sentient mind easily ensnared and entrapped by Eilasandree's magic while Magnan watched with concern for the two. From what he heard, this woman... she had spent centuries alone, caring for Draegan's grave. It was... almost touching, but it also raised many questions. Draegan didn't know who this person was, and yet she had dedicated not only her life, but her unlife towards him? That simply wasn't normal. Perhaps... he simply did not remember her? A lover who placed more importance upon the man than he did her? although, that was certainly not like the man he knew.

"You can continue to talk in a bit." Their voice interjected. "We need to start moving. We are in hostile territory as of right now, and cannot risk being caught." Their hand slapped the back of the patchwork monster next to them. "Climb aboard, and we will take you to your people."