Libris Necrologica: On being of things undead.

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Wrought of the Dead.
There are at play, in this troubled world of ours, such things known as Necromancers. Folk who would exhume the poor unfortunate dead and return them to some form of life, re-animate them, if you will, to act out the nefarious will of their masters. I will tell ye the tale of how my eyes were opened to such devilry…

In the kingdom of Stormwind, south of the great city and beyond the forest of Elwynn, there lies the small town of Darkshire. It is in everyway an unremarkable little hamlet; a fine inn, a first class smithy and a town hall grand enough to swell the heart of every citizen. All is as it should be, save for the shroud of a cloying fog that never lifts and the harrowing cries of dread things that lurk within that eerie gloom. It is a town where little ones stay very close to their mothers.

The road that wound away from the golden fields of Westfall led me to this place. I could sense the gloom long before I noticed the dimming light. As I walked across a rickety bridge and into the woods beyond, it was if the dark fell like rain about me.

I know it was in the early evening when I crossed that bridge. I remember the bright sun, although sinking, was still visible above Sentinel Tower. Though with each tentative footfall, as I made my way along that Duskwood Road, it was hastily becoming darkest night. What howled, bayed and taunted at me from the unlighted depths of the thick woods I dared not think. I kept a firm grip on my trusty stave and on I marched.

A short way along I noticed the flickering glow of a small campfire, a tiny point of light in the far darkness. Sensing respite from this threatening wild I quickened my pace. I got a fair lick of speed for a portly Dwarf whom may have seen too many winters - though hoped to see a few more.

At a crossroads I happened upon the source of the firelight, a small camp. Two humans; one a burly man the other a young woman, both heavily armed, stood grim faced in front of their tattered canvas tents.

‘Well met friends!’ I announced. I was glad indeed to see mortal souls.

‘Greetings,’ the man’s gruff reply.

‘My name is Brother Isak. It seems I have found myself on the road a little later in the day than I had planned. I seek an Inn for the night. Know ye a good Tavern or such about these parts?’

‘Aye, in Darkshire you’ll find the Scarlet Raven, as good as any in the kingdom. Follow the road east.’ he gestured with his torch. I braced myself as the road ahead promised no let up in the gloom. It seems these earnest folk were in no mood for idle chat for they appeared to be on duty, a watch of sorts, though watching for what? ‘Fare thee well,’ I said and began to set off for the Inn.

‘Be careful Priest. Stay to the road. There are things worse than wolves in these woods’.

I thanked them for the warning and I did not linger more, for a warm bed and drop of something fine was all I wanted to think of. ‘tis then I remembered I had in my pack a torch of my own. It was given to me by a ghostly lighthouse keeper, perhaps a tale for another day, though he did tell me that in times of need it would lift my spirits. I took it from my pack and held it expectantly in my outstretched arm, a wee golden flame sputtered to life and indeed I began to feel a little better. My resolve fortified I ventured on.

Further along, the road drew north and the grim veil lifted a little, as did my heart. Ahead I could see a welcoming amber glow from small windows. Soon the outlines of the houses emerged and I could make out folk about their business. I trotted into Darkshire somewhat gladdened, this was however, to be short lived.

The centre of the town was busy with activity, though it was a worrying spectacle indeed. Armed folk with swords in hand and clad in tough armour paced and patrolled, each wore a stern countenance and brandished a fiery torch. There was no friendly smile or offer of a welcoming hand. The good folk of Darkshire appeared worried.

Something was wrong, something was afoot. I stood near a weather-worn fountain in the square and watched awhile the nervous bustlings of the townsfolk, thinking I should enquire as to what it is that troubles them so.

‘I do not like this place!’ A deep hollow voice boomed from behind me. I fair jumped from me very skin. I turned to find a great hulking blue demon looming over me. I near fell over with fright.

‘Light preserve us!’ I then spoke the word of shield and readied my staff. Was then a young human girl stepped from the shadow of this monster.

‘Fear not my minion, master Dwarf, he will harm only those I command him to.’

I gave the young Warlock an apprehensive look. ‘That is indeed good to hear’. We had not the time to formally greet when the town crier demanded we listen; ‘Darkshire beware, an abomination of the undead is approaching!’ Chilling words indeed. I looked to the Warlock, who strangely wore a wry smile. I’ll never fathom these demon keepers. ‘Rally the Night Watch!’ The crier bellowed.

The armed folk about me gathered at the town hall steps. Their commander, a stern though fair woman, issued orders; they formed ranks and hastily headed south, back along the very road I had not long travelled. ‘twas worrying to know, that whatever it was, it may have only been moments behind me.

The commander then approached the Warlock and I. She was indeed fair, a striking noble face. ‘Adventurers, do you seek to aid Darkshire?’ She enquired.

My response was swift, ‘Aye!’ ‘’twas why I had left the monotony of my tailor’s shop and entered the priesthood, so that I could stand with my allies in times such as these. The Warlock gave a slight nod.

‘Then get thee along the Duskwood Road. The Watch reports that an obscene thing, wrought of the dead, hastens this way.’ She then charged off to follow her troops.

‘Are you ready to die Priest?’ Asked the Warlock. It seems she knew something I did not.

‘Aye, if that is what it takes.’ We then took flight.

I ran as fast as I could, following the girl and her menacing Demon. I was fair out of breath by the time we caught up with the Night Watch. They were stood in the road, gathered in a tight group to await their fate. We fell in to the rear of their ranks, best place for the less armoured, and we too, then waited…

Did the night become still? Or did the quiet moments of this brave band merely make it appear so? I know not, though no word was uttered save a whispered prayer and no sound came from the deep woods. I will admit, I began to sense a little doubt in whether my faith had the strength to hold. For a Priest of less than two winters I was to face my sternest test. First, in the distance we heard shrill screams, the bright clang of steel, a gunshot, followed by an unholy sound of what my fretful imagination decided was the rending of flesh. Then silence…

‘Stand fast Night Watch! It nears…’ We braced at the commander’s words.

In the dimness of the road ahead a shape began to form. The unholy sight that lumbered forth will never leave my nightmares. A towering creature, nay obscenity, constructed it seems of the rotted parts from, Light knows what, unfortunate souls. Formed of great swathes of dead, greying flesh, roughly stitched with coarse thread. It bore open wounds in its guts so visceral and yawning my stomach turned. The smell of rotted flesh was overpowering and it was still a good fifty yards away. From one of its arms swung a mighty crude cleaver, the other flailed a weighty chain and, bless me, had it not a third arm grasping a cruel hook. An abomination indeed!

It roared a pained guttural cry on seeing us, quickened its pace and with cleaver aloft, bound straight into the forward group. The Night Watch fearlessly held and hacked into the monster’s sagging flesh, their attack lasted only moments before the great cleaver arced down and took life and limb from those poor, brave souls.

I tried to heal the warriors ahead of me as quickly as I could, with pitiful result. My powers impotent when faced with the terrible damage they suffered. The doubt in my faith was growing.

A flurry of spells issued from The Warlock but it seemed to have no effect, her blue demon, strode into the fray but was swatted aside to return to it’s former plane of existence, no doubt gratefully. The commander of the watch gave a mighty battle shout and drew the attention of the beast to her, this resulted in a crippling blow to her midriff which sent the fearless warrior reeling.

As a last hope I called down Holy Fire upon the blasphemy. A column of searing light crashed onto its hulking frame. I caused it pain, I know, for ‘twas then it turned its one good eye on me, pushed aside the remaining warriors and rumbled with murderous intent toward me. I spoke Shield, held my staff defensively. I will admit to you now dear reader, I closed my eyes in anticipation of the inevitable.

Though I must have opened them. A glint of moonlight off a harsh blade, a withering roar and the whistle of that dread cleaver raining spiteful blows down upon me. Then a stark silent blackness. These images I still recall in my restless dreams and choking nightmares…

Despite a desperate prayer, my sorry ghost wandered the rubbled graveyards of Raven Hill, confused and lost. ‘Til I happened across an angel of sorts, a kindly spirit healer, who offered me the chance to walk again amongst the living. I can say the thought to remain in that still and painless land of the dead was tempting.

I returned reluctantly to the battle scene, save for a few patches of blood and the broken remnants of useless weapons, the road was deserted. It seemed the abomination had done its worst and had gone away sated. Sick and uneasy from my resurrection, I limped into Darkshire to find weeping loved ones following the bearers of the fallen Watch, as they conveyed their grim cargo to a makeshift field hospital in the town hall. With the little energy I had left within me, I did what I could to aid the numerous wounded and comfort the bereaved. Though I did not see the young female commander amongst the casualties.

It was late when I finally got to the Scarlet Raven Inn. I was given a warm stew and strong brandy though I barely touched them. I did dwell some, that lonely night, on the weakness of my faith and doubt grew long within me. I wondered if the decision to ever leave my little shop in Ironforge and join the priesthood was the right one.

‘Thank you Priest.’ I barely heard the quiet well spoken voice, lost in my self doubt.

‘Good Dwarf we owe you our thanks. Your efforts, this night, have not gone unnoticed. The people of Darkshire thank you.’ The noble though pained face of the Mayor of Darkshire, Lord Ebonlocke, smiled as best he could.

‘I… I could not halt the thing. I fear my faith is weak.’

‘Think not such thoughts Isak; you were by our side to face that heinous abomination. The commander told me of your stand.’

In a visceral flash the stark image of the commander suffering that terrible blow returned to me.

‘The commander? Has she returned? How is she?’

‘She has returned, though she is not good… a fearful wound in her side. She is conscious at least… though for how long…’ His words quivered. I noticed a personal sorrow in his eyes, then he added, ‘…the commander is my daughter. I fear she may not last the night.’

‘I will see to it she does, I know of the treating of wounds and can offer a few prayers to aid healing.’

‘That would be most kind.’

I readied my pack, and hurried with the Mayor to the chapel. The streets of Darkshire were empty and quieter for now. I was pleased to see a more clear sky and bright stars above me, the gloom lessened some.

Althea Ebonlocke was in a fearful condition, lying in grim agony on a simple bed within the chapel. The bed linen scarlet with her blood. The faces of the attending nurses ashen with concern. She did not notice mine and her father’s arrival and was beginning to lose awareness of her surroundings. The torturing pain from her wound was pulling her in and out of consciousness.

To heal the commander was a simple enough task, though with wounds so grave, I had to offer many prayers and replenish my energy from time to time, with many short breaks. After what seemed an eternity the bleeding had stopped, the wound was healing and the commander had begun to return to us. I asked the nurses to apply fresh mageweave dressings and gently ordered the commander to rest. She gratefully accepted the order with a weak nod of her fair head and a tiny, though pained, smile. My prayers answered, she would survive. I would long remember that moment, as the moment when I finally put the doubt in my faith aside. I left the commander to recover and walked with her father out of the chapel into the chill night. I thought it best to leave discussion of the terrible incident to the comforting light of morning. I raised my hand to bid the mayor goodnight.

‘Before you retire for what’s left of the night I must say Isak, I cannot thank you enough.’

‘Ah think no more of it. ‘tis only what any of practioner of my faith would do’

‘And there is no doubt that faith is strong.’

‘That may be…’

The mayor looked about his now quiet town. ‘Well, all quiet… for now…’

‘For now? Then it may return?’

‘I fear so.’

It only then struck me, this attack was, more than likely, a common occurrence and of course the very reason for the Night Watch’s prescence. ‘Tell me Lord Ebonlocke? What circumstances may have brought forth such a fiend?’ The Mayor seemed to me to become a little evasive.

‘We are continually threatened here in Darkshire from all manner of foes, the dead that walk, drooling rabid wolves and hideous deadly spiders. Though the greatest foe of all is the threat from a vengeful madman determined to unleash his wrath upon the town.’

‘Who is this madman? What reason has he for such villainy?’ The mayor paused and nodded as if readying words he was reluctant to speak.

‘I know of him only in the tales of children. At least I know of whom he purports to be… the Embalmer he calls himself, an evil alchemist from children’s nightmares. In the story he is driven, through personal grief, to practice necromancy, the dark art of re-animating the dead to serve one’s foul aims. As I say, I thought him a mere fiction.’

‘It appears he may be very real my Lord.’

‘… Very real indeed Isak.’ The mayor cast a worried eye towards the dark deep forest then turned to go back to his daughter, he seemed in no mood to talk more.

‘I will bid ye good night friend. We may discuss things further in the morning.’

‘Aye goodnight sir’. I watched him go, he moved with a sunken weary gait. Like my own self, this proud man, had been somewhat humbled by this evening’s events.

From the Journal of Brother Isak Stoneshanks.