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babybluesquid · 8 months

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Consequences of Karrnath Drabble 3

A Letter of Encompassing Love

18 Nymm 999 YK

My brilliant bonfire, Nux,

It took me many attempts to put this down to writing. I find it hard to write, as I’ve written nearly nothing in a long time. In fact, I found it necessary to enlist Vakaris to scribe for me, in order to make it legible. I will work on my own writing more, so that my next letter to you might be in my own hand. I hope the Orien courier finds you soon, as I only have a vague idea of where to send this.

I must confess that I have wanted to go to the Mror Holds myself, to find you and help you with your battle. But I know you would hate me for it. This is your own fight, not mine. It makes me worried that I cannot be there to keep you safe. Not because you are incapable, but because I love you and I want to aid you. If you invite me, I will leave everything behind to be by your side. If you want me to, I will help you remove this pact, just as I aided you in the past. But if you still want to find your own path, I will allow you to. I cannot promise I will not fear for you, in that case, so please tell me of the War Below to relieve some small part of my anxieties.

In exchange, I shall tell you of my own circumstances.

With the money the king granted me, Vaeren and I were able to open up a shop, Bone Brew, in the Commerce Ward. The building is built of strong black stone, and has living spaces on the second floor. We’re currently using the main floor to sell tea as we wait for our first brew of ale. Vaeren thinks that perhaps we need to change our business model, that we’ll likely not make a profit off our initial plan. Truly, it was more a fantasy than a plan, and now we dwell in reality.

The people of the city seem split on my presence. As my identity as an undead was already thoroughly revealed, I saw no possibility of concealing it once again, and so I walk openly. Many seem distrustful of me, and I cannot blame them for this. Even the Crimson Covenant keep themselves sequestered away from public view, and so I am uniquely visible.

Still, some others, especially secret Seekers, have expressed appreciation of me and my efforts. I have made no effort to publicize my defeat of the Shadow Sword, and yet the news has still somehow slipped out. Most believe it a ridiculous rumor. I say let them believe what they may, I do not want followers.

Also, beyond simple mistrust and derision, I have encountered hostility. Just one month ago, I was attacked within the Bone Brew by a Tairnidal named Jhalira. They came in vengeance for the Valas Tairn that are dead because of me. Fortunately, I was able to defeat them without killing them, and I let them go free. I’m sure you just scoffed at the idea, and if you were here you would’ve told me that I ought to have dealt the killing blow, or at least turned them over to the wolves. I understand your opinion, it would certainly be the easier path, but I do not think it would be effective. If I killed them, another would come to avenge Jhalira, and then the warrior after them, and I would never be free from Tairnidal vengeance. If I turned them over to the wolves, they would stew in their anger while in confinement. I had to let Jhalira loose, a deliberate act of mercy meant to allow them to determine their own path. My hope is that they will take the opportunity.

There are also still Red Watchers within the city, though the lions are set to rooting them out. I have been ambushed in the streets by those terrorists and their sympathizers on two occasions. On the first, I was within the Low District, and The Wall came to my aid midway through the battle. A dozen Red Watchers were apprehended in the aftermath. On the second occasion, I was alone, beset by twenty-some assailants, and I had to flee. It is frustrating, to be so strong and yet to still be vulnerable against numbered foes.

Vaeren and I have thus continued training, in order to keep our skills sharp and continue to grow in strength. I had hoped to never fight again, but that was also fantasy. Though stabilized for now, following the scattering of the Red Watchers and the decimation of the Ministry of Dead, Karrnath remains a dangerous place with many rogue elements. Especially now, these forces feel backed against a wall, and that makes them all the more unpredictable and deadly. The king has thus far kept his promise not to call on me again, but I am sure he will not ignore me as an asset if his power begins to wane again.

You must be wondering why I chose to remain in Karrnath, and in fact in Korth, so close to Kaius, then. It is a matter of pride, I must admit. Karrnath is my home, and I wish to see matters here improve. Even if I am not actively fighting, I hope my presence can be a positive and stabilizing force. I have been offering my magic, especially my healing, to those in need of it. Also, there is some pragmatism in it. I stay near Kaius, and I shall be in a better position to hear of events which might affect me and my community.

That is the most important reason of all, community. My brothers by blood and by allegiance have chosen to remain in Korth as well. Continuing to see and speak with Andrev, Seven, and Vakaris brings me joy. Andrev has a simpler perspective on the world than I, yet this simplicity leads to honest judgments unmarred by anxiety or prejudice. Seven, despite being forged and part of a strange religion, is the one I can relate most to. And Vakaris, my lost brother, has begun to rekindle that bond of sibling affection which we had lost when I went to war and died. For too long, I had no companionship in this world, and now I have those whom I truly love. I would not leave them, especially not now. Andrev and Vakaris have become close confidants, and they have both expressed romantic affection toward the other. Perhaps they will decide to build this relationship further, and then wish to be joined. I would love to perform the ceremony, if they would allow me. Having these beloved people living so near me allows me to face my grief and step past it.

I have been confronting my emotions more, lately. Andrev encouraged me to go to House Jorasco as he did, but I do not trust some house shrink to go through my thoughts and keep them a secret, even with their oaths of secrecy. Instead, I have been writing, in my scrawl of a hand, and I have been having honest discussions with Vaeren, Andrev, Seven, and Vakaris. I’m telling you this because I know I hurt you in the past, with my stubbornness, anger, and paternalism. I hurt Vaeren too, I know, and Syv. I have truly been an overbearing and damaging force in your lives as I attempted to change you.

I apologize.

I cannot excuse my behavior, but I can work to improve myself. I want to be a kinder, more gentle person. I want to be a stronger person. I want to inspire, not through coercion, but through uplifting others. It has been difficult to confront my shortcomings, and I often fall back into bad habits, but I have true confidants who inform me on my progress and advise continued improvement. I am so glad to have them.

It has not been easy for me to quit adventuring. I keep expecting threats around every corner, and I am unfortunately not always incorrect. I have few skills, other than my capacity for violence. I am trying to learn how to be a person, a real person, like I was before Almante ever went off to war. She used to write, not just letters or journals, but prose, poetry, and philosophy. I have no idea where to start with writing again, but I have started to read. I am currently reading the Analects of War. It seems I am not yet able to leave violence behind.

Sometimes I still think about what I am. I do not know for sure, and that can be frightening. However, I do not think I actually need to know right now. It is enough to just be a person, not a soldier, or a martyr, or a Bone Lord, or an infant god. I have been something for so long but now I just want to be.

I’ve been recalling our time spent together, from the beginning to our parting. You have grown so much since you were a scared but audacious kid who stole my helmet right off my head. I am filled with incredible pride when I remember when you stood in defiance against the formidable Great Icefang, when you reached into my mind to save me from the Bone King, and even when you made your pact with the Killing Cold because you did it to keep us all safe. You burn strong and with brilliant confidence. Your mind is sharp, your tongue is sharper, and I have no doubt that you will defeat all those demonic abominations you have gone to slay. You are also kind, humorous, and lovable, and I have no doubt that you will find new companions in the Mror to fight alongside you, new companions that you’ll protect and who will protect you in turn.

My light, I hope always for your safety. Come home to me soon.

Your boney bastard,

Dagne

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babybluesquid · 7 months

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Twisted Emulation and Insomniac Regret

“Our allies will not arrive in time to reinforce us. The Cyrans will be upon our position in two days.”

Commander Iura Josan stood at the end of the war table, looking over the pieces on the board contemplatively. C4-P9-S3-Q2-OR6, or “Calm” as Iura had nicknamed it, stood at the other end of the tent, guarding the closed entrance with poleaxe at the ready. He flicked his gaze up to look at the undead soldier. “What do you make of this?”

Normally, an Odakyr Rites undead only responded when spoken too, barring the need for clarification in orders. It was common to hear one ask for permission to use lethal force. However, Iura Josan had been keeping his eyes on this one, this curious one, who did not behave the same way as the others, Calm. The skeleton was impassive, making absolutely no movement. Even when it responded, it had no need to move its jaw as the sound emanated through a magical enchantment.

“The Cyrans will surely attack us. To them, we must seem an easy target.”

Iura Josan did not externally react, continuing to look over his map. Internally though, he marveled at the strange response. “Us,” “we,” such language was never used by the Odakyr Rites undead to refer to both themselves and the living. It was far too familiar for those detached dead, who existed only to be ordered around and to serve Karrnath. Additionally, crucially, it had just given a tactical opinion.

This strange one, this Calm one, was clearly just pretending to be like the others. It didn’t realize it had messed up.

—

Dagne hated the evenings. Those empty hours where everyone slept, and even Vaeren was in their trance. The times where their own thoughts could not be externalized, could not be distracted from. They had to endure these hours for so long. It was all the more painful now that they could remember sleeping and awakening to feel refreshed.

Still, it was better now than it ever had been. Back in the military, almost all their time was empty. They had never been expected to do anything except stand around and occasionally fight. An undead soldier was just a weapon. They were finally living now, most of their hours filled with activity.

They were trying to read, but the book was not capturing their attention, and it was a difficult one besides. After a while, they just set it down in frustration and returned to their own mind, attending to memories and anxieties. They kept returning to the war. Most of all, they thought about Iura Josan, his strange affection and his icy cruelty. They hated him.

—

“Come,” Iura Josan said, gesturing to the empty seat, “play me.”

Calm stared down at the Conquerer set, unflinching. Iura Josan’s face was warm, but he put up expressions like they were masks. “Orders: guard the commander,” Calm replied. Iura smiled, “this will not interfere with that. I am quite safe besides. Play me.” With the assurance, the undead sat in the chair, leaning the poleaxe against the seat back in easy reach. He quietly made a standard opening move, watching for its response. A moment later, the undead did respond. The move was not the proper counter, but it also wasn’t random. Clearly the undead soldier had some understanding of the game’s rules already.

In a few more moves passed in silence, it was clear that the skeleton did not know much about Conquerer strategies. Perhaps whoever it had been in life had not been an avid player. That was of little importance though.

It was the only Odakyr Rites undead that Iura Josan had ever encountered that played at all.

Of course he easily defeated it, systemically capturing its pieces and reducing it to a worse and worse situation until finally it had no more recourse. At the end of the game, Iura asked, “how was the game?” “You played well, commander.” “Thank you, Calm. You may return to your post.” Wordlessly, Calm rose, retrieved its poleaxe, and returned to the tent entrance.

Disappointing, but he didn’t expect the undead to give away its actual thought processes so easily. He didn’t want to probe too deep into this one, and he certainly did not want others to notice his fascination with it. It was his own little curiosity, one which the Ministry of Dead would not be taking away to analyze. They would think it was defective, for its lack of bloodlust. But that was the very property that made Iura Josan feel at ease with it as his guard. The other undead had something unnerving about them, even as they were recognizable as something which was once a person, and Calm seemed to lack it.

—

They stood up and wandered over to the wall where their armor and poleaxe was mounted. It had been Iura Josan’s sword, armor and poleaxe. There was a time when they believed his ghost had come to haunt them, but it was merely a demon using his face tauntingly. The anger was still there, over that, even if they had beaten the foul creature.

Because it made them ashamed.

Dagne tried so hard to be a leader like him, a great tactician who was able to move people effectively and win. But they weren’t that. They were never that. They had been a pretender.

They took the poleaxe down from the wall and felt the familiar weight in their hands. The poleaxe that they had bonded with Garthir. As if on cue, the weapon send reassurances into their subconscious. The warm familiarity was calming as Dagne worked their way through a set of stances. Low, high, half, and so on. It was unusual for a commander to prefer a polearm. Iura Josan used it for its deadly practicality, favoring it over the sword. Everything always seemed to be about practicality for him. But that wasn’t true.

—

The axeblade of Calm’s weapon rested against the prisoner’s neck. The mercenary glared up at Commander Iura Josan. He stared down, coldly. “Your refusal to give any information has brought you here. Had you turned over the location of your comrades base, I would have saw fit to spare your miserable life.”

In response, the hobgoblin spit, responding in Goblin, “no kapaa, chaat’oor. I am ghaal’lhurusk. You are just Karrn’taarka.” Immediately, Iura Josan responded in kind, taking on the hobgoblin’s own tongue, “and you are Cyre’s tuuv’daask, taat. Tell me location.” A bit surprised to be addressed in her own tongue and insulted so, the hobgoblin’s ears went flat and her lips turned up into a sneer. “Kuur dor. I seek kurar before kapaa.” “Ban,” Iura Josan said.

He looked up at Calm then, but it already understood. It did not hesitate to raise the axeblade and bring it down, beheading the mercenary.

Iura Josan stared down impassively at the dead prisoner for a moment, then “drag off the body and then retrieve the next. We are running short on time.” This time, Calm hesitated, just for a second, but that instant was long enough for him to catch and make note of. Was the undead soldier uncomfortable? He had always assumed it to merely be indifferent, rather than relishing in slaughter, but if it was actually affected…

He pushed the thought aside. He could follow that line of logic and make further observations at another time. Now, he needed to focus on prying information out of the prisoners. Perhaps a mere foot soldier would be more forthcoming than the mercenary sergeant. Hopefully a mere foot soldier would know the information he needed. And if not, he could have his necromancer speak to the lhursk’s corpse.

—

Dagne set the poleaxe down on the floor, sitting down. They stared out into the empty night, then, slowly laid out so they were just looking up at the ceiling. Grief was their companion right now. Rather than alleviate their restlessness, going through the practiced drills only reminded them of the past.

They hated him.

Thinking back, Dagne was ashamed of how much they acted like he did when they started adventuring. How they pushed the people around them to change, past the point of comfort and for their own selfish reasons. They had told themselves that they just wanted to help them, but it couldn’t be true. There was always the ulterior motive of wanting to control others’ actions. Even with Vaeren. Their actions disgusted them. They also did Iura Josan proud.

—

“Do you remember who you were?” Iura Josan asked Calm. The undead reacted physically, just a slight twitch. He stared it down with an unreadable gaze, expecting response, no acceptance for a refusal to speak. “No,” it replied.

He sighed, “pity. I heard you were created of a hero.” This time, there was no reaction. Iura carried on, “of course, I am not supposed to know who your corpse donor was. I will speak no more of it.” Calm made no response, disappointing. He could not blame the undead soldier for being so cautious. Clearly, it was an attempt at self-preservation, to pretend it was something ordinary. The other soldiers were fooled, the other undead were not. Iura Josan noticed how their unintelligible, bloodthirsty and restless whispers would fill the night, and how Calm’s were not among them.

“Spar me,” he ordered, picking up his poleaxe. The weapon was beautiful, blackened metal with a detail of a skull at the center where the axeblade, hammer, and spearpoint met. It was enchanted as well. Calm obliged, taking up stance.

Iura came in aggressively, aiming to knock the undead off balance. However, its feet were planted and it took and hit, responding with a powerful downward strike at his arms. Iura danced aside in time to avoid the disarming blow, then came back in again. Hammer connected with Calm’s exposed femur, cracking it powerfully. He knew it must’ve hurt the undead, but it gave no reaction as it stepped forward, swinging its own weapon and stopping short of Iura’s chestplate. It refused to retaliate. Iura grinned.

“You are skilled indeed to be able to keep up with me, Calm. But you do not want to hurt me,” he said. The skeleton just looked back at him, expressionless as only bone can be, but Iura could swear he sensed a bit of anger. Finally, some indication that it was capable of being enraged. Interesting. Then, it suddenly responded, “orders: protect the commander.” Iura Josan laughed, he couldn’t help it, it was so absurd how this thing was clinging on to the semblance of its facade long after he had seen right through its feeble attempts to hide. Then, his tone turned serious, “we both know you are under no such restriction. You could have landed that blow. You chose not to.”

The undead did not respond to the accusation, of course, but it backed up. Just a half-step, but it did, and that was all the confirmation Iura Josan needed. “Now, can we drop this tiresome pretense between us and finally speak frankly?” The silence lasted for many long moments. The undead knew it was caught, of course, it had known it was caught for a long time. Finally, it responded, “very well.” Iura Josan smiled, “who are you?” “I do not know.” He snorted, annoyed, “not who you were, who you are now.” The undead shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to share. “Tell me,” Iura ordered, all kindness gone from his voice. “I’m Dagne.”

—

Note:

I used some terms from the goblin glossary in Exploring Eberron.

kapaa = "betrayal"

chaat'oor = "defiler," especially a human

ghaal'lhurusk = "strong" + "sergeant"

Karrn'taarka = "Karrnathi" + "wolf," Karrnathi soldiers are called wolves, Karrn would be an import word

tuuv'daask = mercenary, literally "buy" + "soldier"

taat = derogatory term for someone of lesser rank

kuur dor = "speak" + "never"

kurar = "death"

ban = "sure" or "your funeral"

#I was in a weird mood when I wrote this #dnd #d&d #dnd campaign #d&d campaign #dnd story #d&d story #dungeons and dragons #my post #my writing #consequences of karrnath #eberron #dagne #vaeren #drabble 4

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