A Necromancer's journey

[Venefyxatu]

Venefyxatu calmly walks into the office, carrying a few sheets of parchment in his hand and leaning heavily on his staff as always. As he walks through the office, shoving a paper aside here and a stray gold coin there... wait... a stray gold coin? From what I have seen here in the few days that I have been around that shouldn't be... better place it on the desk so it won't get lost.

 

Hmmmmm... and if I place it on top of my application it's bound to be noticed!

 

Venefyxatu places the papers he was carrying on the desk and puts the gold coin on top of it in such a way that it reflects the light falling through the window right to the door. Then he sits down and begins waiting, apparently asleep the moment he sits. But appearances are deceiving; he's actually thinking about how grateful he is to Black9, both for making him want to start playing with words again and join the Pen and for letting him use his character in this story...

 

The papers read as follows :

 

 

 

A Necromancer's journey

 

A storm was raging over an unnamed world. The rain had been pouring down for several turns now, turning rarely-used sand paths as well as often-travelled main roads to mud. The lightning that flashed regularly lit up the ghostly shapes of dead trees and reflected distorted images of the clouds that were rolling across the sky in the puddles. With every flash, thunder cracked with the sound of vast magical energies being released.

The storm was raging over dead forests, beating down on small villages and mighty citadels alike, filling the superstitious with more fear than the continuous warfare ever could, sending dogs whimpering to their masters to be comforted and filling mineshafts with more rain than they could hold.

The storm was also raging over a small village called Ambar. In this village there were more superstitious people than in most of the big cities, because so far it had been spared from most wars. Every now and then an army would pass, but the village was so poor and undevelopped that the plunder that could be had from it was hardly worth the effort of stopping. Also, near the village stood a haunted manor. In a world where the undead have realms of their own, this shouldn't be very special, but this manor was different. It wasn't that there were ghosts there, or monsters that could hurt you. It wasn't dilapidated, although with the rain and the flashes of lightning it looked as though it could fall apart at any moment. No, the real reason why it inspired fear and superstition was because there was absolutely nothing there, sometimes not even the manor itself. It felt as though the world didn't really exist around the manor, as if you could just fall through into who knows what other world.

Something like that was happening on this particular evening. Just when a particularly loud thunderclap shook the earth, a man appeared out of nowhere and was smashed into one of the manor's walls. As he hit the wall, he let go of a gnarled piece of wood he had been holding, causing it to drop in the mud only moments before he himself collapsed into a heap, next to his, for lack of a better word, staff. After that, the storm slowly raged itself out.

 

When the sun rose the next morning, the man was still lying in the mud but the manor was vanishing, as if scared off by the light. The man didn't regain consciousness until late in the afternoon, and when he did, he immediately reached for his staff. Relieved at feeling the familiar piece of wood in his hand he slowly and painfully sat up. When he looked around, he realized that his staff was one of the few familiar things around. He rememered his own name and that last night, he narrowly escaped going back to Hell... wait, back to Hell? Had he been there before then? Merely thinking about it seemed to hurt his head, so he abandoned that thought, hoping that it would come back later. He decided to leave the past for what it was and, supported by his staff, got to his feet. Slowly, he limped off, trusting his intuition to bring him where he had to be.

He wasn't really much to look at, especially with the way he was limping and leaning on his staff. His skin was pulled tight around his bones and was so white it reminded of marble. The thin hair that still framed his face was a grayish shade of white, and his tattered robes might once have been red but they looked more like black now. The only things that looked alive were his staff, twisted though it might be, and his eyes : as green as the brightest emerald, and seemingly burning with a fire deep on the inside.

Those eyes were the first thing the people in Ambar noticed about him in the inn that evening. When they entered the inn for their usual drink after work the man was already sitting there, his staff leaning against the wall next to him, his hands folded around an otherwise untouched drink. He sat in a corner and didn't seem to pay any heed to the soft whispers that rippled through the crowd.

“An undead, here!”

“And the Manor is gone again... think that has anything to do with it?”

“Undead!”

It went on like that for the better part of the evening. The man didn't remember ever being an undead, but then again, he didn't remember not being one either. There was something with undeath, though, although it wasn't called that. It was called... neither? Nether, that was it! Nether Magic, or black magic as it was more commonly known. It had been an important part of his... unlife? He shook off the thoughts, knowing by now that they would come back when the time was right.

By the end of the evening, when most of the other patrons had gone home, he was approached by a man completely dressed in black. Most people didn't seem to have noticed him – or was it that they didn't want to notice?

“I sense an aura of death around you”

A wheezing laughter escaped from the mages throat.

“Your perceptiveness amazes me.”

“Listen! You seem quite capable of dealing death, and I have the feeling that you are more than a mere miner or soldier. In short : this town needs a capable leader, and my guild needs an ally here.”

Somehow, all of that sounded familiar to the mage; alliances, leadership... as if he'd heard it all before. After pondering that for a few moments, he replied.

“I can do that.”

“Very well. I suggest you take up residence in the manor just north of the village. Any messages you have for me you can address to Xanthor. The messengers will know where to take it. And you are...?”

Both pride and arrogance crossed the mages face as he answered that question.

“Venefyxatu. But tell me; is there a mage in your guild?”

“Mages don't exist. They're fairy tales the elves and humans tell their youngsters.”

With these words he got up and left, leaving Venefyxatu to wonder about the undead that seemed to be present in this world without the need for magic to support them.

 

The next day, Venefyxatu gathered the townspeople in the market square. Even though he could hardly raise his voice, the entire town heard him announce that he would be taking the lead for even the wind seemed to try and be quiet. When he announced that he would go and live in the manor just north of the village, however, the entire crowd started talking at the same time. Venefyxatu let them and headed towards his new home without sparing a moment's thought for the fact that it hadn't been there the first time he saw that place.

Over the next few days people started dying – and rising from their graves. Undead from many places swarmed to the village, attracted by something they couldn't quite define, and helped turn it into a mighty bolwarck. But even though Ambar became a mighty realm, Venefyxatu felt that there was something missing.

Until some time later someone unexpected appeared at the manor. He just stood outside, a rather tall man with a black breastplate and matching cloak, armed with a leader class slayer sword and throwing daggers belted around his waist, raising his voice so that he could be heard inside.

“Venefyxatu!”

When Venefyxatu came out and saw his visitor, he stopped as if struck by lightning. Seeing the blue eyes of the vampire he had once known as the archmage Black brought back more memories than weeks of meditation ever could have. He remembered commanding armies that dwarfed several of the largest armies on this world combined. He remembered the feeling of magic flowing through his body, and the burning pits of Hell that were the price he paid for that feeling. But most of all, he remembered the face of Moon, the Light in the Night, his beloved goddess, and the world that was called Terra falling apart under his very feet.

“Archmage... you seem surprised to see me here?”

The vampire looked amused.

“How can you stand living here, in a world without magic, fighting petty skirmishes with ignorant fools? Do you not long for real battles again?”

“Now that I remember, yes. But I cannot just leave.”

The vampire burst out laughing.

“'I cannot just leave'? Sounds like a cheap way to cover weakness to me! I can't stand this any longer... you know where to find me... Archmage!”

And before Venefyxatu had the chance to say anything else, the vampire turned around and left, never to be seen in this world again. He did leave his mark on the former Archmage though; now that he knew what was lacking, the emptiness became more obvious with each passing day. And as the emptiness became more obvious, Venefyxatu grew more and more distracted. Ambar didn't grow the way it used to, and the defending army suffered one defeat after another. Within days, the once mighty stronghold had fallen to ruin.

 

Another world, another universe. It was a quiet night with the full moon covering the earth in a pale, white light. A soft breeze whispered through the trees and the last lights went out in the villages that dotted the landscape. Nothing moved, except... on the road that connected a small village with an impressive but beautiful keep a heap appeared. When it started moving, it immediately searched for the staff that had appeared next to it. Venefyxatu didn't look very different – except for the pallor of his skin that had gone and the almost dried-up blood he was covered in – most of it his own.

Slowly and painfully he got to his knees and sat staring up at the moon for a long time.

Edited November 5, 2004 by Venefyxatu

[Black9]

Black walks into the office...he'd thought he saw an old friend. Quickly searching the room, Black finds Venefyatu in a state of rest and sits in a chair next to him, quietly...so as to not disturb him.

Edited November 5, 2004 by Black9

[Tanuchan]

Intrigued by the sudden appearance of another... undead? ... a wolf follows the scent until reaching the Recruiter's Office. Seeing Black9 making company to the most recent applicant - who's apparently the owner of the scent - Tanny reads the application, curious. Then, having enjoyed the story, grins and sits down quietly -- but visible to anyone who enters -- waiting to see if more of its kind comes.

[Venefyxatu]

Venefyxatu smiles and opens his eyes.

"Black, 't is good to see you here. I take it you are well?"

Then, his smile still playing around his lips, he turns his attention to the wolf.

"Seeing as how you read my application, I'm sure you can understand me. I take it that you are also a resident here?"

 

He knew that he still wasn't very good at making idle conversation, but at least he'd tried...

[Tanuchan]

The wolf nods and shimmers back into a woman with raven-black hair and grey eyes, who smiles at him.

 

"Hi, Venefyxatu... yes, you can say that I'm a resident. "

 

He looks at her in a mix of surprise and curiosity, and Tanny grins, "I'm a shapechanger and I like roaming in my wolf form. And though I can understand people's talk, you must be able to mindspeak if you want to understand me in wolf or... tanuki form."

 

She shimmers into a tanuki, then back into a wolf, settling down again with a friendly look.

 

You can find more about me at the Piazza of Portraits

 

Welcome to the Pen!

[Black9]

Black nodded.

 

"Yes, I'm fine. Though getting a bit on the old side. Anything past 4000 seems a bit much."

[Wyvern]

Venefyxatu lets out a dismal sigh and stretches out his arms and legs, stiffening up a bit due to the lengthy amount of time he had spent in a sleeping position, despite his potentially undead state. Tanuchan paces back and forth next to the applicant's chair, pulling at her hair a bit and grumbling to herself.

 

"I'm really sorry about this long wait, Venefyxatu." says Tanuchan after a moment, turning to the applicant and frowning. "The overgrown lizard gets involved in a lot of plots and schemes, which usually detain him... but this is ridiculous."

 

Black nods silently from his position next to the Recruiters Desk, drawing blood from one of his fingers out of nervous habit.

 

"Yeah, I wonder where the lizard is. 4000 years old, and I feel like I've aged over the course of this wait..."

 

The three of them nod sadly in unison, only to perk their heads up as they hear a crashing sound coming from the hallway outside. Venefyxatu raises a brow as Tanuchan ducks and Black quickly transforms himself into mist, watching as Wyvern comes barging in through the main entrance of the Office. The lizard is followed by a teeming crowd of Elder Dwarf news reporters, who shove microphones into the Elders face and take pictures of the entire Office.

 

"Mr. Wyvern" exclaims Shiny Iwannapearl of the Elder Dwarf reporter squad, brushing back her green hair for the cameras. "Is it true that your campaign for wolves discriminates against zombies?"

 

"Errr..." hisses Wyvern, adjusting the collar of his grey politican suit and grimacing. "Well, no, that is to say, wolves have always eaten carcasses, I mean..."

 

A loud murmer arises from the reporter crowd, and they begin jotting down notes and taking pictures of the lizard.

 

"Mr. Wyvern" shouts Sexy Andyouknowit of the reporter squad, looking into a mirror to make sure that his makeup has been done right. "As 'The Other Candidate,' are there any mesages that you'd like to make public to Vahktang at this time?"

 

"No, there aren't" says Wyvern, grinning and posing. "Because I know that if I did air a message, he'd probably be too busy watching television or exploring haunted houses to respond to it! Vote Almost Dragonic!"

 

The murmer becomes louder as several Elder Dwarf reporters chat amongst themselves, and numerous pictures are taken until Venefyxatu stands up and notes:

 

"But... if the Candidate explores haunted houses, then he must be concerned with the undead right?"

 

Wyvern pales as several news reporters begin swarming towards Venefyxatu and flooding him with questions, taking several pictures of him for the cover of magazines and quoting him for "The Candidate"s campaign. The overgrown lizard stares in horror for a moment, then quickly rushes to his desk, passing through Black's mist and picking up a large bag resting there. He then stomps his foot twice on the ground to get the attention of the reporters and Venefyxatu, and holds up the bag for all to see.

 

"Read my lips!" exclaims Wyvern triumphantly. "No new zombie limb taxes!"

 

With that, the reptilian Elder proceeds to empty the large bag of mannequin arms and legs onto the floor, coincidentally burying the spot where Tanuchan happens to be ducking in the process. The crowd of reporters goes wild as they rush to the scene, and Wyvern flexes his muscles and strikes two thumbs up poses for the cameras. As the reporters crowd around the large pile of mannequin arms and legs to take pictures, Wyvern approaches Venefyxatu and whispers to him.

 

"Psssst, hey there Venefyxatu. Listen, strike a few pictures with me and tell those paparazzi over there that you're undead and are for my campaign, and your application will be more than accepted."

 

Venefyxatu considers this proposal for a moment, then silently grins and nods to the lizard. Wyvern snickers gleefully, then slaps a "Vote Almost Dragonic" pin onto the applicant's coat and stamps his application ACCEPTED.

 

;-)

 

OOC: An ACCEPTED application, Venefyxatu, welcome to the Mighty Pen! I apologize for the long wait you had to endure for this response... I've been very busy with work lately, and wanted to make sure that I wrote a response worthy of your story. I'm looking forward to reading more of your writing as well as participating with you in community projects, and hope you enjoy yourself here at the Pen. Once again, welcome!

[Tanuchan]

As Wyvern and Venefyxatu pose for the phographers, there's a subtle rumbling below their feet. Wondering, they look at each other in confusion as the the rumbling becomes a trembling.

 

"An earthquake? At the Pen?!" mumbles Wyvern, looking around frantically. "That reminds me of the newest Almost Draconic..."

 

A small hole opens under Wyvern's feet, topling him and cutting his words as it widens to engulf his ankles, then his shins. Venefyxatu looks around, sensing something not quite right, and locates a very angry-looking young woman knelt amid discarded arms and legs.

 

"Ummm... Tanuchan..." he asks politely as she narrows her eyes at Wyvern.

 

The earth closes around the Elder Lizard's legs, keeping him immobilized from knee down. Letting the flow of energy go, Tanny picks all discarded limbs in her arms and walks purposefully in the direction of the reporters.

 

"I am sure that The Other Candidate will lower the taxes on zombie limbs, but I wonder how he got possession of this many extra limbs? And what does he intend to do with them... maybe sell as spare parts for the unfortunate ones who lost them in the first place?"

 

As the reporters look at each other, scratching their heads and trying to guess if there was really anny innuendo in her words, Tanny justs turns and dumps her armload of legs and arms onto Wyvern's head.

 

Then, smiling to Venefyxatu, she invites him to leave. "I'm sure you'd like to know the Pen... I can show you some interesting places, and maybe present you to one or other Undead that also live here or nearby."

 

Wyvern's voice accompanies her to the door, "H-hey Tanuchan... you can't leave me here..."

 

She grins at him, after scanning whatever there is outside the office. "Oh, it's just a hole, Wyvern dear... you can dig yourself out. Or maybe that bunch of people I see coming here can help you out... they seem to be looking for you, and in a very determined way."

 

Wyvern rounds his eyes, remembering all too well his latest schemes. With a wicked grin, Tanny leaves with Venefyxatu while the reporters try to get some words from The Other Candidate.

 

 

lol

 

 

Welcome, Venefyxatu... never mind all those arms and legs...

Edited November 16, 2004 by Tanuchan