Open Chronicles The spark of an Uprising

[TheGreenerGrey]

Crunch. Snap. The sounds of the dead leaves beneath Eilasandree's feet releasing their final cries echoed out through the dense fog, obscuring the blackened and rotting forest around them. Behind her, the sounds of clanking could be heard as a column of men followed, haggard and dirty, even more so than what is usual for their kind. Their hands and feet were bound in cruel iron manacles as they shuffled, eyes on the dead floor and the feet of the man before them. Her sharp elven eyes, which should have long since stopped working, picked out the way the almost naked prisoners shivered. However, she was unable to tell if it was because of the cold, or because of the figures that walked beside the column, armed with rusted swords and armour and rattling with each step. The skeletons had been rather easy to create (after all, these were not sentient), simply requiring a portion of the prisoners at the rear, their shrivelled bodies still being dragged by their brethren through the rotting vale. The sight of what happened to their brothers, as well as the skeletons themselves, had quickly dissuaded the prisoners from trying to attack the lone elven woman. Well. Alone, as far as they were aware.

Eventually the marching group were brought to a halt in a place where the fog was more oppressive than ever, the humans unable to see more than a foot or two ahead of them. “On your knees.” Came the imperious command of the elven noble through the fog, quickly followed by a blow to the back of the knees for any who weren't fast enough to comply, their knees digging into the wet and dead earth beneath them. The skeletons themselves moved to stand to the side, away from where the prisoners were seated, yet none of them dared to move, each of them trying their best to pierce the unassailable curtain of fog. Watching them all through the fog, the millennia old Banshee put her hands together, cupping them as a dark pink light began to form between them, piercing the fog with unnatural power. Slowly, Eilasandree spread her hands apart, the light stretching and growing as cries, rasping and desperate, began to come from the prisoners. Each man had felt sick the moment the light appeared, and as it grew pain began to wrack through them, before finally a stream of black fog burst forth from the mouths of each man, streaming through the air and meeting with the pink light, turning it a dark purple as each man began to physically wither away before their very eyes, muscles shrinking and atrophying as eyes dried up and hair fell out.

Slowly the cries stopped, replaced by the sound of bodies too weak to support their barely living host collapsing into the earth. As for the purple light of magical power, it grew in size until it was towering in its size, a purple mass of energy easily capable of fitting a giant within it as it pierced the trees. An ethereal howl of wind tore through the misty forest, clearing away the wall of fog and revealing the small clearing surrounded by trees that they resided in, the only notable feature being the cave entrance to the earth below jutting out within the centre of the clearing. Eilasandree herself was too busy to note this, however, too busy focusing upon maintaining and shaping the necromantic energies above her head, both arms outstretched above her. It was difficult, shaping the energy not only as a mass resurrection, but also as a beacon to those who were necromantically inclined while also hiding the signal from prying eyes. But now... she believed it was time.

Slowly, the Banshee's outstretched arms moved downwards, the ball of necromantic energy following as it sank slowly into the earth. Nothing happened as the energy made contact with the long since dead ground until the final section of the ball was fully submerged. A titanic boom rang out as the earth beneath her feet shook, lines of jagged pink energy appearing from where the sphere had disappeared and racing through the earth in ancient, unholy patterns, tainting the earth around her even as the rumbling of the earth began to intensify, and the first hand, clad in armour that bore an ancient, long since lost symbol, burst from the earth. Shaking her head slightly, Eilasandree took a seat upon the earth to deal with the after effects of extending your magic too far, even as all around her more and more ancient soldiers burst forth and the sound of clanking could be heard from the cave entrance. Despite her exhaustion and the mental migraine she was dealing with, Eilasandree couldn't help but smile.

The call had been put out, and now all she needed to do was wait for the answer.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

An unearthly image appeared in the skies that day, a beacon of pure necromantic energy shooting up into the stars. This had been the sign he had been waiting for. A sign that, out there, there were undead of great power and strength, intelligent enough to create such a large arcane beacon. He had been making his way to the area already, for the Sand Elves had already proved themselves unwilling to share any information and too weak to fight to rebuild their empire. Now, with a greater calling and proof of the undead's exact location and arcane abilities, there was no doubt in Amankh's mind that this is where Abtatu requires him.

And so, with the rhythmic tapping of a staff against dirt becoming the music and soundtrack for his journey, the mummy went towards the beacon, accepting the call for undead and necromantically inclined mages alike. Sand swirled through trees and mixed with the lingering pieces of fog that survived the unearthly wind that accompanied the ritual as Amankh came ever closer to its origin. The stench of death permeated the area, hanging in the air like smoke above a fireplace that never stopped burning. As the mummy walked ever closer to the beacon and this mysterious necromancer, one look at the ground showed tainted earth. Cracks sparked through the dirt like an angry storm, a lingering pink energy appearing the jagged and crumbling earth. Whoever had done this was no amateur, and this was not done to spawn one mere skeleton. This was to raise an army. An army for what cause, Amankh did not know.

Stepping through the veil of trees into the clearing which Eilasandree was in came a tall robed figure covered in cloaks and rags, a staff that glimmered gold that reflected the purple light of the beacon clutched tightly in one hand. Gilded jewelry that seemed older than the some kingdoms today and of an odd craftsmanship hung prominently, and sand seemed to coat the ground around them, some portions being picked up by an invisible wind, only to circle around the figure and then fall to the ground. A hand revealed itself as it rose from the layers of rags, skeletal and old, peeling back the hood to reveal a previously obscured skull, gold stretching across portions.

Amankh stepped further into the clearing, eyes going over the bodies and the raised standing idly. However, more prominent in the clearing was the pale elven woman, sitting tired yet proud of her work. "I presume this is your work, necromancer?" The voice was surprisingly regal and formal, the mummy showing little signs of savagery common in lesser-made undead. The woman didn't seem too undead, although the near snow-like complexion said otherwise.

 

[Albedo]

Necromantic energy sang in the sky, Albedo and her Master stared at it for a moment, their exchanged look shared disbelief and wonder in that brief trade. They traveled towards the beacon, her master always wary of anything they came across, exceedingly cautious as he sent Albedo well ahead of him to check on curiosities in the road. She usually managed to stifle the sigh that always came with his command to do so. She could understand, considering the small cart, why he would be so cautious about anything ahead. Usually it was just a log in the way, or something that had perished from a lingering wound.

Albedo was again sent ahead as they came upon a clearing between the trees. The mule brayed at her master when she walked away, to which he replied in kind with a sharp swat. The dark purple cloak was stained in blood, and most likely what looked like gore. The red hair still present as she gingerly stepped through the fog carefully, green cat's eyes piercing the vale of fog. She watched the skeletal figure approach an elf? She came close enough to be seen by both beings, unsure of either ones intent.

"You the one that made that, light?" Albedo struggled for a moment on the last word as she addressed the elf. Her master had said something else, a fancier word. Bacon? No, a begone? Not quite. The word trouble fell away as she examined them both. The elf was incredibly pale, and the skeletal figure was-. Albedo drew back suddenly as she realized it was almost actually just a skeleton, with extra bits of skin and flesh stuck to it.

She probably didn't make for a much better sight. Some pieces of her skin had sewing marks on them from where gashes and cuts weren't healed, her neck was also still an ugly color of bruised from her death. Her eyes were not her own, the late Master's familiar had given it's eyes to her.

 

[TTamark]

Before the elf had a chance to answer, the deep ring of a bell suddenly sounded in the distance, soon more lighter sounding bells could be heard ringing as well, and those bells were being accompanied by some maniacal laughter. The next signs of approach was the strong smell of potato stew steadily growing nearer, as well as the occasional unnatural squeal. Finally the source of all the commotion came into view. There was a mage wearing black robes, in his right hand he held a bouquet of flowers, in his left he held steady a massive bowl of potato stew. The mage had his head thrown back as he let out his cackles. The mage was atop a corpse cart, but instead of corpses the cart was full to the brim with potatoes. The cart was being pulled by six undead cows, accompanying the cart were sixty undead chickens, four undead pigs and sheep, and a slime.

"HAHA Right building... er clearing? Whatever prepare yourselves for the ultimate befriending" Steve was prepared this time, the wise words of his father still ringing true in his head, "Steve, my boy, so next time you want to make friends just give them a nice flower, the easiest way to anyones heart is with kindness... well besides a well made potato meal HAHA!"

Upon reaching the clearing Steve leapt off his corpse cart and began pulling at the massive bowl, "Uh, little help guys?" At this the majority of the chickens began helping Steve move the bowl, which Steve placed near the strangers. He then went back to his cart pulled out some wood bowls and spoons and went to the pale elf and undead elf and handed each a bowl with a spoon inside as well as a flower, which happened to be a potatoes flower. He then conjured up a large table and chairs for everyone, except there were a lot of extra chairs and bowls placed out, was he expecting more people? It became apparent when he began scooping the stew into bowls and the undead animals began eating out of them, at the table.

Steve then motioned for the two elves to join him, but at that moment he noticed another figure standing by a tree and quickly rushed over and offered her a flower as well and motioned for her to join as well, "I can tell you are all quite impressed with me, and want to be my best friend, but wait till you try this stew, it's to die for HAHA, Oh how rude of me, I haven't even introduced myself, I am Steve, Spudmancer supreme!" With his introduction he gave a deep bow, spilling some of his stew. Not once since he appeared did his warm, genuine, and exited smile he wore wane for even a second.

 

[Rainie]

Lorraina Night stood in the shadowy fog, biting her lip and surveying the scene. Oh, if only her best friend could see her now. Standing by, idle, allowing a legion of the undead to be risen before her eyes. She thought he'd likely disapprove of her idleness. He had the sort of morals that forbid this sort of thing. However Rainie, as Lorraina was called, had no such morals. She watched as other beings approached their clearing, hidden in the fog as she was. Fairly close to undead masses, as uncomfortable as that sounded. She stood still and quiet, and no one noticed her presence.

Rainie was no necromancer. Nor was she undead. Surely she had been possessed by a long-dead necromancer, but that was old news. No, she was merely a bard, thief, and spy summoned to the side of her beloved at a time of need. She nervously stroked her fingers through her long red hair, watching and waiting. She watched a much-decayed, mummified being approach. He asked Eilasandree about the beacon. A cloaked woman appeared, asking a similar question.

A strange young man with black hair appeared, holding flowers and laughing maniacally. He charged into their clearing on a cart, drawn by undead cows, swarmed by skeleton-chickens, other undead animals and something unidentifiable. A large table appeared in the clearing shortly after, cluttered with bowls of stew. He ended up introducing himself as Steve, and spilling a bowl of stew as he bowed.

Rainie raised her eyebrows and bit her lips to remain silent. Oh, how the tone of the eve had changed. She wondered for a long while whether she should remain hidden, or join her love. She reasoned that she would be unable to stop from teasing her, and instead stood silently in the shadows. She was used to shadows. They were her good friends and allies. She would remain concealed.

Eilasandree Ival Albedo Amankh Kaltar TTamark

 

[The Crimson Madonna]

It had been a long time since Aurelia died. She wasn’t sure how long, for one lost track after death. Though she knew it had been a long time. A long time for her to reflect on her life. An even longer time for her to wish she had been queen. Most of all a long time she had been dead. Nothing more than a spiritual essence tied to a frozen burial ground. All because during life she had been so overwhelmed with wishing she was queen. Even after her death she found no rest. Her soul still wishing, wanting, needing to be queen. Needing the title, and status her sister had unrightly had her entire life. A title she only had because she was born first. Of all the reasons. Though it seemed a small bit of light would shine on her cold subterranean crypt today.

A dark purple, and very powerful light. She could feel it calling to her, pulling her cold soul back towards her body. She didn’t resist. Why would she? After the hand she had been dealt in life why would she turn down a second chance? Besides she knew the Kingdom of Nairiwyth wouldn’t have last much longer after the fall of the army. So now she was very much likely the last of the royals of Nairiwyth. Meaning she would now be queen. With that in mind she would rise from her grave.

A thick layer of melting frost would cover her white dress as she sat up. A small raspy groan would come from her mouth as she moved forward. Though what was she moving to? Certainly it was the mouth of the grave. Though what lay beyond it? Possibly the person who had risen her from her, supposed to be eternal, slumber. Someone she felt she couldn’t resist meeting. So she went moving slowly to the mouth of the cave. All the time surrounded by revived soldiers of her army. Until eventually she would reach it pushing her sword into the ground outside to lean on it. She would see a number of people outside the cave. She knew one of them was responsible for her new life. As to which one is was she was unsure. “Who has woken the Royal Army of the Kingdom of Nairiwyth?” She would say to them her loud, natural leaders voice seeming to persist even after death.

 

[Grimr]

Sent ahead of time to make sure that this was not some trap, it had been Grimr’s own suggestion to make sure that Celeste was safe, if he died, she could always recreate him even if in the worst case it was a new him without his memories. She was irreplaceable, and because of that he had no problem pushing himself in to danger for her.

He wasn’t exceptionally silent as his height and weight, he was covered in robes, ones that covered his face as well. He would probably be one of the few living things present even if he lived in a somewhat different way and through magical energies. Grimr had a heart that beat, a stomach that worked and flesh that bled, which he felt constituted him as alive.

He waited behind a tree, looking at the gathering of people, a female elf was seated at the center of it, or at least that’s how it felt, that everything gravitated towards her at the moment, he could smell the death on her.. She may look like an elf but she was not one anymore. The second he noted was truly undead without mistake, more skeleton than anything else it was impossible for him to tell by appearance or smell what he may have been in life once.

Then there was a pair, a hooded woman, human it seemed but he could smell fresh wounds on her, the older man was in a position of power over her, perhaps she served him. Grimr had to admit there were more people here, or perhaps less, I mean a necromancer could raise the dead if they so choose. The fact was that Grimr was here because his Mistress needed more power and if this helped her achieve it then the consequences were negligible.

The sound of bells caught him off guard for a moment, it seemed far too foreign for a scene like this, yet there it was accompanied by maniacal laughter. The man that he saw seemed like an undead livestock holder. That led Grimr noted him down as insane at best but the only necromancer he could truly compare anything to was Celeste, and to her they all seemed odd at best.

The last notable one he saw was a zombie, Grimr wasn’t sure if she truly realized what was going on but it seemed she had been awoken by the powerful necromantic energy rather than drawn to it.. He did not fully comprehend necromantic magic himself. He waited for a few moments, waiting for the people to become a tad idler with one another. Grimr didn’t want double or even triple introductions as to his purpose here.

He stepped from the trees, hood drawn over his face still, the giant standing at 7 ft was hard to miss so it was not inconceivable that they knew he was there and simply had not cared thusfar. “I am here on behalf of my Mistress.” His speech was a little monstrous at best, with his long tongue and mandible jaws it certainly swayed the sound to inhuman but in this collective, he wasn’t standing out. The only thing that set him apart from most would be the fact that he was alive, but so was his mistress for the time being.

“My name is Grimr, sent here to investigate this gathering..” He felt that with some of the magic here they could easily vanquish him, he felt validated in the fact that he came first.. A goddess to him his Mistress may be, with this much power even she was truly vulnerable.

 

[Magnan Smithson]

The clanking of steel and the crunch of deadwood echoed out from the forest line, the treetops shaking as something made its way through the forest. Two boue pinpoints of light slowly grew bigger in the shadows, the sounds getting louder until finally a truly titanic gauntleted hand placed its palm against the rotting wood of a tree at the edge of the clearing, and the form of Magnan stepped into view. The steel titan looked around quietly, feeling the inherent connection his nature had to every being there. But none resounded moreso within him than that of the pale elven woman sitting further away, which he was going to assume meant that she was responsible for the irresistible call he had felt, tugging at the very core of his being.

Looking around, the lich knight took in the rather... eclectic group of characters displayed around him, from what looked to be a dessicated corpse, a zombie, a relatively normal duo, a... zombie farmer, and what could only be called a monster, standing at almost a foot smaller than the lich. Stepping forward, further into the clearing, he let his hand rest comfortably upon the steel of his blade hilt as he slowly approached, jaw clacking behind his helmet as his rasping, deathrattle voice addressed the elf. “I believe we all want to know what's happening, and why we have been called.” He rasps, even as he turned to look away from where the elf was and towards the zombie farmer. His long since disappeared nose smelt something rather... delicious, and even without a stomach the lich had found he could consume food with enough concentration. Turning to look towards the farmer, he then noticed the presence of one he had missed before. A rather... well endowed red headed woman, hanging back around the treeline. He would need to be wary of that one.

“I would take some stew, if you're offering.” He rumbles to the farmer, figuring that if the Elf hadn't addressed whoever had already arrived, they would be waiting until some sort of signal or until she deemed everyone she wanted had arrived. As annoying as such dramatics were... Magnan couldn't help but be intrigued. It wasn't every day this sort of thing happened. Shouldering his way past a few idle skeletal soldiers, he made his way over towards the cart surrounded by zombir animals, seating himself on the ground to be served.

 

[Viktor]

The audible scent of whisky-soaked timber stepped lightly in beats of three. Strokes of tensely wound strings danced to the reel of Saint Charlene. Between red timbre chords descended a melody whose toes hardly touched the surface of an invisible pond left tainted with a black oily film. Yet a log left dry, aside from the moss and cold air, swam motionless atop a dying forest hill.

Pacified eyes, the color of fossilized amber, watched idly beneath heavy lids.

“You can do better than that,” the half-elf murmured in amusement.

An eager bark, belonging to a dog too large, was audibly mangled enough to encourage a normal man’s hair to stand on end. Viktor directed his gaze to indulge in the sight of a wolf trotting in small circles before him. Its eviscerated stomach allowed hanging intestines to kiss the dead leaves beneath. An arrow’s shaft dominated the space on either side of its neck.

However, his comment was directed at the hunter who was the center of the wolf’s attention. Skin rent horribly pale, even in comparison to the vampire’s, framed the face of a man who no longer knew the disconnect between reality and nightmare. He too, trotted in a small circle. The wolf was now his only companion.

Eighth notes continued to trickle out from his instrument’s long neck, five strings and belly covered in a tightly stretched animal hide. His lips separated as the descending scale opened its palm in order to clutch his undead patron’s heart - yet, something new caused them to purse back shut. There was a light behind him, but he did not see it. Invisible waves caressed the tiny muscles behind his ears. An inaudible melody joined his own inside his mind. For the first time in a long time, he smiled.

“Kill him.”

The dancing man looked to the vampire as uncertainty and fatigue turned to unmitigated horror.

“No, please!!-”

Viktor brought his song to an end as he watched the primitive folk instrument in his hands begin to crumble, fret by fret, to dust. His corrupted jig came to be replaced by blood curdling screams: a serenade for the fleeting life of a wolf’s last meal.

What felt like an age passed.

Soft leather boots finally brought his steps into a clearing that played host to a sight unseen. Their tops turned down before reaching satin breaches the color of a dying rose. A tunic - one that traversed the void of a Sunday’s best, and a theater’s worst - boasted silver embroidery in a wordless love letter to a violin’s head scroll on each shoulder. He could hardly sense a pulse amongst them - the way a child could smell a mother’s cooking laid in the windowsill to cool - but, there were some.

For once, it was his turn to be the audience to an ensemble he very poorly understood. The notion caused his chest to recoil with a small sigh. The sight was exhilarating, if only in the context of the beckoning light he’d somehow heard without seeing. He could feel his nostrils flare, but for now, silence was all he had to offer.

 

[TTamark]

Steve was overjoyed to see such a great turn out, and there were so many tied to the dark arts too. The last time Steve had followed a weird dark pulse that signalled dark arts to all, he'd been met with a fire giant and his army of orcs. They had also been too busy with the necrotic artifact to become besties then, which might have been partially his fault for only bringing one last minute friendship flower that he never even ended up giving away. Well that and his right hand chicken, Leroy, openly attacking an orc, Steve would not repeat his mistakes this time. Steve had not forgotten stew and had made enough to feed a whole orc army, and he'd brought a whole bouquet of flowers. In his opinion these future friends didn't stand a chance against his charms.

Steve hurriedly greeted every new face that arrived with the same excitement and enthusiasm, offering each a flower and encouraging them to find a place to sit and enjoy his stew, he cared not who or what they were all were welcome, and he'd make that same 'The stews to die for' joke each time. To be fair the stew really was made extremely well.

When the queen arrived he welcomed he warmly, and encouraged every soldier who followed her to partake,
"I know not what fuels you, but this stew is what I use to maintain my friends, and because it was made for friends it has been made to be extra good some would even say, It's to die for HAHA"

When the homunculus was handed a bowl of soup Steve was a little concerned for it, "I do hope your tongue works cause this soup is to die for hehehe, once you've investigated this stew I'm sure you will want to grab you mistress to have some as well, also if you need more than just a spoon and bowl to eat give me a shout, I could get you a straw?"

When the giant arrived Steve realized he hadn't prepared for giants, and when the last time there was a giant as well. Steve took a step back measured the giant with his hand to get a good guesstimate and warped a tree into a suitable bowl and spoon for the creature, he then grabbed his ladle and began bailing stew into the bowl. He had some of his friends move the large bowl over to the giant when he'd finished filling it, "*heave* Stew *gasp* It's to *sigh* die for haha... I'm going to need a minute." Steve fell to his back and just lied there, "I am not used to this much manual labour any more, not since moving hay as a boy."

 

[Albedo]

"I-um. Alright." Albedo looked around at the others that had received a bowl of stew, almost wondering aloud what o do with it as the armored being sat and enjoyed a large bowl of the stew. Her eyes almost pleading with the others that had gathered to help her make sense of all this. It wasn't that she couldn't eat exactly, but it was potato stew by the smell of it, and that offered her almost nothing other than a token of friendship.

Settling the flower in her hair, a spoon was retrieved and a small scoop of the stew brought to her mouth. A scream rang out as the soup hit her mouth, and she was torn between spitting out the food and ignoring the scream to eat more.

She hadn't remembered the last time she are a simple yet delightful meal. When another trio walked into the clearing, one without a face really, the other almost too handsome. The last brought an army with it. The spoon hung on the edge of the bowl as warmth filled her slowly, her eyes shifting between all of the newcomers without saying a word. There are lots of undead here, but it seems like all the masters are hiding, Albedo thought to herself, well aware that her master was intently listening to her thoughts.

She watched everyone, almost missing the other red haired woman in attendance, as she gave a small wave in her direction.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

Amankh waited in silence as the others slowly made their way into the clearing. First came a zombie, cat eyes darting about in the sockets of a human. Stitches and gashes on her face made their presence known almost immediately from when one looked at her. Next came... well frankly, Amankh wasn't sure what to make of him. At first, he would've thought it was some poor farmer who went into the wrong forest. However, one look at the undead cattle told otherwise. After him, came a woman nearly as decrepit as he was, asking who had summoned her. Then, a monster of a creature came out of the woods, finally choosing to reveal themself, saying that they were sent ahead of their master. A moment later came an even taller man came forward, clad in heavy armor that obscured all of his features. Finally came a man as pale as the moon, showing few signs of decay.

It was an eclectic group, one that would experience great difficulty meeting anywhere other than a heavily obscured forest. However, he was curious as to their purpose here. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a normal looking woman observing them, seeming to be not hostile. They all came asking the same question, but except for her. He was sure he had seen a flash of red hair when he entered the clearing, so she was likely here prior to any of them. He gave a brief nod in the direction of the woman, only to turn to the 'spudmancer' handed him a bowl of stew and bad puns.

"Really?" he said, watching the liquid stir inside the bowl as he shook it idly. Food and him didn't mix well, but largely due to the fact he had no stomach to hold it in. In fact, most of him was bone and rags, but he leaving little room for food of any sort to go. To humor the man, he took the flower as well, storing it in a pocket in his rags. Taking the spoon in hand, he took a portion of the stew and let it reach his mouth, and where it promptly began to flow down and exit through his ribs, his eyes staring heavily at the man as it did so. His taste buds have long since faded in strength, likely nonexistent at this point, leaving him with little enjoyment of the meal. He set the bowl down shortly after indulging in it, letting it sit on the table conjured up by the spudmancer.

He slowly turned his head to view all the other creatures, undead and living, that have come to this place, and entranced by the beacon of necromantic energy that was spawned here. He looked back to the elf, watching expectedly for some answer of any kind.

 

[The Crimson Madonna]

Aurelia would look at the strange man, and his potato stew cautiously. He seemed to be a friend to the undead... and possibly anyone based on his demeanor. She had never had potato stew before as it was not a common meal for a royal family living in such a cold place. Though it did seem to smell quite nice. A fact that surprised her seeing as she wasn't necessarily alive anymore. Even more than that she didn't even have a physical nose anymore. Not the she had discovered that yet. In any event she was surprised her sense of smell had not fled from her. Something she probably owed to both her ice preserved body, and a powerful necromancer reviving her. Besides she was a bit curious as to if her other systems still worked.

Taking the bowl of stew, and spoon from the man Aurelia would look at it some more thinking. After a bit she would lift the crimson red veil from her face, and fill her spoon with the stew. At first she would attempt to sip the stew from the spoon. Though she found that a bit difficult as she largely lacked lips. So instead she would put the spoon into her mouth with as much manners as a partially decayed zombie could. Surprisingly she could still taste things. Of course she still had her tongue, and mouth though she was still surprised to be able to taste the stew. Not only that she was surprised at the absolutely amazing taste of the stew. It was almost as if the stew had been made with some sort of amazing culinary magic. How had the man managed to create a meal worthy of a queen... out of potato stew. She would swallow the stew, and feel it move down the organs she apparently still had into her stomach she also appeared to still have. She would as politely, but quickly as possible finish the bowl before moving forward with her new found energy. She would find herself stopping again this time not very far in front of the elven woman.

"I would like to thank the person who has brought my army, and I back from death." She would say to the group still not completely sure who she was really thanking. Though she had a feeling it was the not so completely alive, and well looking elven woman on the ground. It felt as if she emanated a sort of presence, and energy that felt incredibly familiar, and foreign to Aurelia all at once. Though before she could do anything else she had something important to do. She turned to look at the man she had gotten the stew from. "Thank you for the wondrous stew. It was certainly a fitting meal to be the first of my second life." She would say to him as it would be rude, and unbefitting of a queen to thank someone for such a marvelous meal.

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

Of all the possibly scenes Eilasandree had envisioned since she first dreamt up starting this rebellion, the one before her had never greeted the ancient elven noble within her dreams. A plethroa of unique and adequately powerful undead (and possibly more, a glance towards the mummy and the giant told her) had responded to her call, amidst more and more ordinarily powerful necromancers and undead that slowly began to filter from the treeline, only to be sitting around enjoying what seemed to be magical potato stew being handed out by some sort of undead farmhand! The absurdity of it all had the woman lost for words, and it took her making eye contact with Rainie at the forest’s edge in order for the banshee to calm herself down and think properly.

As they had arrived, many had been able to ascertain that it was her who had called them there, each asking their own questions, all of which pertained to a single request: The answer as to why they had been called. This was a moment that she had spent centuries waiting and preparing for, moving all the pieces into place to give her the chance she needed to address everyome before her. And no stew was going to stop her from achieving her life goal! Slowly, the noble stood, taking in the eclectic group over by the cart, before allowing her gaze to roam over the sparse amounts of other necromancers she had been able to attract. There were more, she knew. A lot more. All had felt her beacon, and while they were too far away, she hadn't been wasting those centuries. All would answer the call. Just as this group shall.

“That,” She began, regal voice cutting through what remained the murmuring hubbub that had quieted down as she stood up, facing the ancient princess of battle and those near her. “Would be me, Aurelia. For those of you who have not yet put it together yet, I... am the one who has called you here.” She sent a glance towards the treeline, where she knew more watched from afar. Every necromancer here was adept in their practice, but none dared challenge the ancient being before them. “Some of you may know why, from either my own lips or those of my compatriots. Most of you, however, i'm sure are confused.” The banshee glanced towards the potato farmer, resisting the urge to sigh as she began to pace back and forth, arms moving animatedly as her voice began to rise in volume.

“I have called you all here today to address a problem that every single one of you suffers from. The world around us despises us. You know it to be true. They fear us, because we are not like them. They hate us, because we dared to go beyond. They see us as nothing more than a blight to be removed, never once pausing in their self righteous delusions to even entertain the possibility that we are NOT what they label us. That we are MORE than abominations and monsters. We feel! We think! Our hearts may not all beat, but that does not mean we are any less than them!” She could feel herself getting worked up as one hand rested over her chest, just above where her heart once beat, but she found herself not caring.

“Our people do not deserve the hand they have been dealt! So i'm ready and willing to change the gods damned game! Right now, your brothers and sister move, all across Arethil, im the name of my dream. Of our dream. The dream to live without being despised and reviled, to live in safety! To not have to feel that every moment may be our last, simply because of what we are. We dream... we dream of our own nation. An eternal empire, devoid of anything and anyone who could harm us, accepting of all those who have nowhere else to go. And so I call you here today, with but one question.”

“Will you join me? Will you join us?”

 

[TTamark]

Steve looked on in horror as Amankh Kaltar poured the stew all over himself, "oh no I didn't realize you didn't know how to eat." Steve quickly grabbed one of his chickens and a potato, "Like this!" Steve said as he pushed the potato through the chicken. The potato disappeared as it went into the chicken. "I mean its not like any of my animals have much more to them than bones, how do you think they ate? You don't put the food into your body, you take the food into you." As if to demonstrate Steve shoved a small potato into his mouth, and made a point of not swallowing, but when he opened his mouth it was gone, almost like magic.

The queens thanks honoured Steve, he was absolutely beaming, but at the same time found himself suddenly feeling very shy. He hid his rosy cheeks in his hood. Compliments, especially from royalty were not something he was all that used to.

To the banshees speech though, Steves attitude changed. For the first time since he arrived his smile didn't just wane, it disappeared altogether.

"I agree with you on every count, we are unfairly persecuted, hated and feared, and that is not right. However I have seen too many lash out and die, I have lost far too many friends who hated being despised and acted out, so they were killed forever. For us who's lives are extended we need to be able to enjoy our lives while we have them, and not throw them away carelessly. What you say is what I hope for everyday, it appears to be an answer to my prayers, but that is why I have to be wary of your words, too many have died for such words. If you can make a place where me and my friends can live in peace I will give my full support and do all in my power to make it so, but if I see this as a plot for nothing more than revenge and you wish to use us as nothing more than tools for your revenge... well I want a place to live for, not die for. That is not to say I will not fight for it, if you can prove yourself to have a truly noble cause, that you have our best interests at heart. I may play the fool, but I refused to be played as one."

Steve took on a smile again, though not all of its previous warmth returned, "I see you have not touched the stew, nor accepted a flower, do you not want to join us... in a meal?"

 

[Albedo]

Albedo listened to the woman speak, and while it enticed her, it was her masters opinion that truly would decide the matter. She had little more to decide about this than whether or not it was safe for him to come forward. I believe it is safe here, master. She thought to herself as the jarring of a cart signified her masters approach, which made her turn to guide him in, her eyes not her own for a short time.

She could hear the potato man speak, and they explained how they felt while the small wagon creaked into the clearing. Her eyes became her own shortly after her master stood next to her, his one good eye whirling to identify each being in attendance. She extended the bowl of stew to her master, who simply looked at it and refused to take it. A small frown touched her lips as she began to eat it once more. She had to admit, it did make her feel wonderful and it was tasty. A few of the scrapes on her hands healed, but some remained untouched.

She watched with baited breath, not that she needed to breathe, for the elf to respond on the rebuttal to her speech.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

The mummy stared at the potato mage as he demonstrated how to eat, squinting with faded and sunken eyes. Slowly, skeletal hands grasped the bowl and spoon, letting the stew touch nonexistent lips. However, unlike last time, he didn't try to swallow with whatever muscles he had in his throat. Instead, he simply let it fade into himself. Somehow, that actually worked, and the stew tasted... good. It tasted very good, especially once it's considered he hasn't eaten something for thousands of years. "A meal worthy of a Pharoah, a noble accomplishment," he said in between sips of the stew. It seemed to almost invigorate him, some of the aged bone visibly coming back to its former glory, although little else changed.

The mummy turned to the elven woman, the orchestrator of this meeting, and the reason as to why they were all here. After all, they had things to discuss, things with a bit more importance than stew, even surprisingly good stew. He listened to the woman's speech intently, nodding every so often to what was being said. Surprisingly, shortly after the elf had finished her speech, the farmhand spoke as well.

Once the final words came from him, Amankh tapped his staff against the ground to signify that he will speak. "Indeed." The word hung in the air, an imposing voice behind it as the source gazed over the group and the soldiers that followed the raised queen. "Our people are hunted down with swords and arrows, our people are treated like mere unintelligent hordes, and are feared by both the uneducated and scholars alike. Some of us still bend our knee to people who only wish to exploit us and use us as cannon fodder to push their own plans. Something must change, and if we do not become that change now, it is likely nothing will." Amankh paused briefly, his voice rising with passion before slowly subsiding to a more tactical tone. "However, I believe our interests must not first land on revenge or a war for vengeance, as the spudmancer said. The only purpose that will serve is decreasing our numbers as well enforcing their fears and superstions. We must instead focus our efforts on forming a home for us, a place for all undead to find shelter. Once we have a home, a city even, it will change people's view of us drastically. We will no longer be a mindless horde. We will be a people, just as alive as they are. We must build a city as eternal as we are. From there, we may defend. From there, we may conquer. From there, we may find our salvation once and for all." His voice was unmistakably regal, and from the ease he had with formulating the speech, it was clear he was not unfamiliar with the movements and speaking of a conference, nor was he unfamiliar with serving as an advisor on such affairs.

Ending it there, Amankh returned to his previous location, his eyes once more following the group. He noticed a new figure, a man standing by the one with eyes of a cat. He gave a brief nod to the new listener, turning his attention back to the group as a whole.

 

[Viktor]

Viktor had made little effort to protest the soup handed to him by the lanky man with skin somehow lighter than his own. The flower found its stem woven through an opening on his lapel. An air of confidence - and, an interest in reteaching a skeleton how to properly eat - apparently superseded the farmer’s need to force the vampire to do the same.

He was grateful.

Soft steps, slow enough to lose a foot race with a second hand, ushered him to the safety of anonymity between more of the shambling dead. The fingertips of his left hand rose to ease their calluses over the tip of his coat’s left collar. An invisible weight gently pulled down on the right side of his head, as if to angle his ear towards an inaudible siren. His gaze made no apologies for the way it silently pried at each of the damned and living alike.

Finally, the lyrics he had been eager to hear began to pour forward from a regal elf - the origin of the call they had all been sent to answer. His eyes drifted shut as he began to nod along to her condemned psalm. Her intentions - blemished with impassioned conviction - caused his lips to seek a grin of their own volition: he could feel his fangs began to extend without asking for permission.

What you say is what I hope for everyday, it appears to be an answer to my prayers, but that is why I have to be wary of your words, too many have died for such words. -Spudmancer

The bowl was casually orphaned before being adopted by the closest, reanimated skeleton. It was all he could do to keep himself from visibly recoiling. Prayers? The potato farmer’s discourse wracked his sensibilities: it was as if someone had used a violin to bludgeon a cat to death.

His eyes sprang open as the sand-animated skeleton voiced a mutuality of sentiments.

Viktor’s weight shifted only once, from one foot to the other. His lips remained as still as death. This had been by far his most prolific interaction with the sentient dead. Patience, however, won out. To watch, to listen, to wait, in order to find an advantage - if one were to even exist - was demanded of the disease that infested his veins. Resolve spawned naturally from a respect for the precarious situation he found himself within.

 

[The Crimson Madonna]

Aurelia would listen to the others as they spoke paying careful attention to their words. Just as she would have had it been one of her old military meetings. Though this time it was something much more. The birth of a nation which she would have a chance to be a part of. She would wait her turn until the others had stopped before speaking up.

“Once again thank you for giving my soldiers, and I a new life. For that I would feel we are obligated in some way to help you with the construction of this new empire. So I will join you in the endeavor. Though I know not of hardships of being undead, I know when a good offer is put on the table. Just know your heart beating, or not must stay planted firmly in your beliefs. If for one second this becomes a plan for revenge against the world. It is certain that your eternal empire will fall. My sisters poor leadership is what lead my kingdom to its grave. I’ll be sure not to waste my second life on yet another kingdom destined to fail. So I do hope you’ll prove I’m making the right decision.” She would say mostly in agreement with the other speakers. Though she had already made her decision. For good or for bad she would be part of this new empire. She made it through her own free will. Though it was possible her being resurrected by the woman gave her a bit of trust in her. Either way her decision was made, and would not change without good reason.

 

[Celeste Tenebrea]

Celeste waited in the shadows, watching through her creation, Grimr, to determine the source and efficacy of this gathering. She, too, had heard the call and determined that if this was truly a trap the best course of action was for Grimr to be her Ambassador out in the open so she could watch safely from the tree line. A small lip curled some at the farmer handing out soup and flowers. She shivered, rolling her magic over in her mind like one might muse over lyrics or a witty phrase. Soft pale hair billowed down behind her, seeming to lift slightly by an unknown wind. Power. It coursed through her pores for a moment, a soft glow surrounding her form as she put her wards and incantations into place.

Illusion, protection, and misdirection spells. She had no need of an outright attack, or even a subtle one. The petite female began her small trek from the tree line. Her heart very much beating, her body very much alive. Power coursed through her as she wound it tighter and tighter about herself. Waiting for a trap. Glyphs glowed under her skin, constantly moving and morphing. If you focused on the glyphs one would become sick from the disorienting nature. She wore pale robes that hung from her body in draping fashion. She was barefoot, as she had a wont to be at anyone point. Nothing here could hurt her. Not really, not anything she couldn’t heal.

Celeste watched, several beings she could pick out rather quickly, an ancient skeletal form of some desert region, the farmer with his soups, the stink of blood wafted from somewhere, no doubt something hiding. Perhaps a blood mage…or… She sniffed again, a vampire. The female figure stood at the head, addressing the rest. But Celeste was on a straight path for Grimr. She smiled sweetly when she spied his familiar form, her hand caressing his shoulder as she rounded from behind him, to stand in front of him, her back to his chest. She had kept her eyes on the woman speaking about this new city. This new prospect. Celeste waited patiently for those to say their peace.

“I hope I didn’t miss anything important.” She whispered to Grimr. She grinned looking up at the creature. Her wonderful abomination. The form of a lich caught her eye before she continued to scan through the group. How had they all come to be here despite the ones who hunted them? She frowned. She didn’t like it. Celeste was wary at best, concerned that in some was this was a trap or ambush just waiting to be sprung. She knew Grimr would protect her should a thing happen.

Celeste eyed the crowd, watching as others voice their opinions, mostly the same mewlings as the one who had begun this meeting. The Banshee.

“Are you not concerned of being wiped out in such an Empire? We would all be in one place, able to be targeted as a whole by larger armies than the wandering Mage hunters. Our survival now has rested on the fact that we are spread out and harder to find. This gathering might well kill us all, Hunters may yet lie in wait for us to leave so they can pick us off in smaller pairings. What, pray tell, assurance do you have that any of this is safe?”

The she-elf crossed her arms, she wasn't entirely opposed, but she had the habit of playing devil's advocate. It had kept her alive thus far. Had kept them out of sight and harm until now.

Grimr | The Crimson Madonna | Viktor | Amankh Kaltar | Albedo | TTamark | Eilasandree Ival sandree | Magnan Smithson

 

[Relan Shask]

The light is what brought the Scout out of his focus on his kill. A bright light? Here? Not a fire- no. A color he had never seen outside of dyed clothes, in the sky. It terrified, and bewildered him.

He had been following the curious tracks- some more deep than others. And some sliding in the thick mud. The tracks were curious- some almost bone-like. Animals of some kind? But from what he could tell in the mud- which provided an excellent impression of the tracks- all too easy for man of his talents. He had been walking alongside them, tracking them for quite some time now. He had been poaching not too far from here- but the prospect of the reptilian prey over a curious, somewhat large force with new, exciting creatures, caused the curious, inquisitive nature of Relan to take over.

He crouched over the tracks, when he snapped his hooded up, his painted face becoming extremely alarmed. He had painted his face, hands, with the colors of the marsh- and the dense fog, mud, and the fact he had been out for several days, covered his scent. But now, he was sure that he was not following some beast- something more foul was afoot here. The thing that alarmed him- was a terrific sound, as if some great tree had fallen quickly and rapidly. He had never heard anything like it in his life.

He was a good distance away, but it caused him to sink low into the foggy ground, concealed. He pulled his earth-covered cloak tightly, outfitted with small brush and twigs that caused him to appear no more than one of the many bushes littering the swamp. He made no move for his bow, or daggers- he was best when he worked unseen.

But he had to move closer, closer to see. Something like this- the information would undoubtedly not be one to be missed, or go unreported. So, Relan Trask, began to slowly stalk- silent, scentless and camouflaged, while in reality, he was a great deal away. He inspected the turned earth, discovering more tracks as he went.

Others had come- but not in the column he had found. He stopped, sketching his findings of the curious looking tracks. He had no doubt that whatever he would find, would come in handy at a later point. Relan had a feeling, a gut sensation that he needed, and by extension- everyone else, needed to see what lay at the end of these tracks. He stalked along silently, the scout eager to discover what lay at the end of his search.

 

[Grimr]

Grimr had held himself silent for a long time, he had not taken a single piece of the bowl of food he had been handed. Grimr wasn’t a trusting being when it came to anyone else but Celeste Tenebrea, in this case he was just quietly observing the group and their dynamics, you’d almost be surprised to see that these people were necromancers or undead looking for power, It almost felt like a gathering of old friends.

‘Disgusting’ That was the only word that came to mind with seeing such camaraderie, not because it was seemingly friendly but because to him it was obvious that it was a façade that would eventually reveal itself. The weak ones in this group would no doubt find themselves falling for such foolishness and be quickly absorbed in to those that desire power. The problem that Grimr had was the fact that this would be a perfect opportunity to harvest others for whatever they needed, an alliance between a few of the powerhouse necromancers and undead here to enslave the weaker ones, or even some of the stronger ones. Combined power will generally overthrow a single power.

He wasn’t sure whether he was happy that Celeste was here, not because he was not pleased to see her. He involuntarily chittered from the back of his throat as she touched him, his head moving to face her as she moved to lean against him, his clawed digits moving to rest upon her shoulders, softly. He wanted to speak to her but they could sense emotion, not telepathy. He hoped she would understand the desire for caution, the worst thing he could imagine was that any harm came to her.

He knew her though, he knew her better than anyone and she was hungry for more power as well, bold and confident like a true goddess. He was quiet still, he had no desire to speak but the large hulking monster did sketch an interesting contrast with the lithe and ethereal woman that leaned against him.

She was speaking of safety for them, and he was aware this was simply a ploy to see who was working together and which of them were more independent in thought, perhaps even levy her a leadership position in this strange gathering.

He seemed pleased with her actions even if they were less cautious than he would have liked, but it was his calling to make sure her safety was assured, so that she need not concern herself with it and she could simply focus on her goals.

“Who says they’re not already watching, if only to see those involved.” He said, softly though loud enough for those in close vicinity to hear him, including Celeste, he then finally whispered something more personal to Celeste as he bent down.

“I missed you Dea.”

 

[TTamark]

Steve listened as others echoed his thoughts, good that meant that at the very least they'd have to make a proper nation, not just an army to fight for someones dream. As long as living was a goal, things would at least be going the right direction. Steve was not foolish enough to think that was their final goal though, anyone who wanted more than one person dead would agree to such terms.

He was happy when a beautiful stranger wandered in to ask a question perfect for him to transition to building a good place for the dead to live. He poured two bowls of his stew, walked over and offered one to shy girl's master, and began bringing the other to the new woman delivering his answer.

"Ah, good question, forgive us for having to get the obvious stuff out of the way. Obviously everyone wants this this nation to succeed, and no one is seeking petty revenge. Even if they were with all of us here, fighting for such a good cause, they wouldn't be allowed to have their way. I will not pretend that all of your goals are the same as me, people who have a genuine desire for their friends well being and happiness are too rare, I'm aware it is makes me the greatest abnormality here. But even if I was not the one to call all of us here, I'm sure we all can use this opportunity to make our goals come to fruition. They will be able to find: honour, glory, respect, power, an empire, safety, and/or help accomplishing anything else they may want.

Any idiot can see the strengths, and benefits of working together, which is why so many were so quick to condone what could stand in the way of our nations formation and success. You though bring a good point though: it can bring some weakness as well. So here is my answer: I am not afraid of all of us being in one place. Let me explain some of my reasoning. First our kind will not end with us, the call of the dark will always be answered. I think you are more concerned with us here though. It is true us becoming a greater threat means they will deal with us with greater force. The reason we will be fine if it turns to that is the same reason so many who practice the dark arts are hated: we gain power through chaos, through others dying. War is the ultimate form of chaos, and any empire who would engage in a war against us would soon learn that. Finally if what you are afraid of is being killed off alone, because you do not believe in your own power to survive, well I guess you provided a very good reason for you to stick with us then.

Either way, The last thing I want is for anyone to die... again" Steve shot finger guns at all the undead. Standing in front of the lady elf now he offered her the bowl "Have some of my stew, take it from the other undead: It is to die for. Hehe, anyways, glad to have you with us." Steve gave her a warm smile, "I really like your hair." He was either the best liar or the most genuine idiot.

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

Eilasandree let them talk it out, staying silent as question after question was launched her way. She had expected it all, and indeed welcomed such inquisitiveness. It let her know who would follow her, and who would need to be watched, perhaps even dealt with. Sure, the most powerful of them may stay silent, but the dangerous ones were the ones willing to speak up. The farmer was certainly one of them, and she made a mental note that the moment he expended his usefulness to do something about him. There would come a time when her actions could not hide behind preemptive measures, and she would rather not have to deal with that particular headache. Still, however... The banshee's hair grew in volume until a solid tendril of the snow white mane reached out and wrapped around the base of the bowl, drawing it towards her. "Thank you." She smiles towards the farmer, taking the smallest sip of the broth before crossing her arms and addressing the rest of the crowd.

"There is an island, up north, known as the Eretejva tundra. It is more than large enough to house an entire nation of us, and is sparsely inhabited, even by the natives there. It is out of the way of all other living races, the climate is perfect for preserving our bodies, and it even has an abundance of minerals. We will be able to live in peace there. However, I will not lie to you. This is not a bid for revenge against the living, but there is the distinct possibility that we will need to fight for this new land. I wish there were another way, but there is nowhere else that is anywhere near as good for us."

Her red eyes slid over towards the pale elf and the crafted abomination. A child, it seemed. Barely out of her first century. Despite that, it seemed she had accomplished something of note with the presence of the beast. Certainly more than Eilasandree had at her age, having been bound up in her studies. "There is an answer simpler than that one." She responds, gesturing towards the farmer. "Being spread out is the reason we're always dying. Sure, it makes us harder to find, but our art is not a subtle one. They always find us eventually. Together, however? Together, we are unstoppable, simply because an army of us is unstoppable. Living soldiers are fragile, can tire and require resources to keep. Undead, on the other hand, do not tire. They do not get sick. They don't falter when they lose limbs, and keep moving even without a head. Undead don't feel pain, and the more they kill the more soldiers we are capable of raising mid battle."

"Now, is there anything else? I hope i've answered your questions, because I wish to move on to detailing my plan."

 

[Albedo]

Albedo and her master listened to others speak, and while it didn't seem like Edmund had any questions outright, he suddenly spoke.

"Will there be an limits to the ability to conduct research in this nation?" Edmund's one good eye focused on the woman that spoke of plans and ideas. His only true concern was being able to raise more undead in different ways, and to bring the living to an untimely end in the name of study. "While I understand that the undead will be given rights, what can one expect trying to conduct further research when those subjects of my interest have rights?"