“If you expect a Silidari legionnaire to surrender, make sure you have not offended him in a serious manner. They will be perfect guests if you have not done so. If you have, expect a dagger to the tendons while he marches home with as much as he can ‘acquisition’ in the process. That or a battle to the death, they do not like compromise in such a state” General Deitar Uben of the Kingdom of Deuven’aber to allied kingdom of Xo’gen. A week later the feigned retreat of the Fourteenth through Eighteenth legions destroyed the Xo’gen armies.
I feel a strange sensation, while similar to being sent through a long distance teleportation circle it is different. More, perhaps violent is the way to describe it. Like my parts are being dragged through by someone pulling me forcefully. It does not hurt but it is uncomfortable. Knowledge enters my mind as this occurs, more intense whispers of things that may come. Then I feel different, the sensation of the air upon my skin particularly tells me so. So given a task by the gods to oversee a potential trouble spot, this appears more appropriate to be given to a deity's priesthood or a sworn paladin group?
Necromancers are an accepted part of life though admittedly this is limited to the liberal sections of the empire, pitchforks and torches are obvious elsewhere. Still those who pursue the necromantic arts tend to get a bit more footloose in the world with our quest for new knowledge though it is common to some mages. Of course despite some commoner’s assumption, guaranteeing that the souls go to their gods is not part of the job description of priests. This is regardless of orientation, not that the commoners need to know. Necromancers can help guarantee that souls depart the fleshly body but they can only enact some art to entrap, manipulate, or even destroy the soul. None but the beings of the astral planes can truly move the spirits in the beyond. The stories that spread amongst the people about certain priests are astounding, of course it is the crazy ones whose tales are told whenever anything happens.
My thoughts are interrupted by the stamping of shod hoof upon dirt and I turn my head. There before me is a small campsite with fire in a wooded clearing. Nothing immediately dangerous in sight. I see two horses tethered nearby, one is a chestnut and the other is a gray. Patting them down and getting them used to my scent I check the bags nearby. This looks like a generic campsite that a traveler would set up, now that I check it is almost dusk. No food out but if this follows everything else there should be rations somewhere. Checking through one saddlebag then another I find it filled with various foodstuffs, dried meat, beans, grain, other such items. Deciding not to forage so late I take out some travel cakes and soup stock to prepare a simple meal. A small creek nearby provides water for a roughly stone hewn pot I quickly made.
Looking in some of the rest of the bags I see some spare clothes and traveler’s gear, good quality hat and wool cloak along with a good staff. Some of the others hold random assorted gear but one has what appears to be the kits needed for a doctor or apothecary along with raw herbs and tomes listing treatments and herbs. The papers with the certification for a surgeon-apothecary are folded within one of the manuals, hmm guess that is my identity for travel. Not the worst one since it will be one that grants me good treatment and I can actually do a bit of such things but I don’t want to be dragged into some troublesome matter if someone important is hurt. A sad bit is that there is not much leatherwork as everything is made of wood, felt, wool, cloth, and other textiles but a simple traveling doctor would not have that much wealth on them most likely. Still these items will be tough and easily repaired.
Checking another bag I see some more apparel fit for a mercenary. Arms and armour, another disguise I see. Enchanting the bags to ensure that none can open them or even think of opening them I move forward. Now that we are in the backwoods I cannot expect much luxury but checking my satchels and purse I see a modest amount of copper and silver coins along with a rough cloth map of my general area. I appear to be in an unnamed forest between two small towns, judging by the black scribble of do not enter that is the mortis lands or as known the Cursed Lands. Between here and there are are the aforementioned towns, a larger market/trade town and a fort but no cities. That market town would be the best place for me to find out the local situation and if I can get a bit of a look at the fort the more pertinent military structure of the area.
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A traveler’s guide that is with the map calls this country Toratend under a king Dreux the Third of the Steolux Dynasty and some of the travel routes here. There is not much civilization past the fort which is likely some scattered pioneer villages making a harsh living, the guide describes that area as monster infested with the occasional undead pack roaming around. The potential for a bit of ‘recruitment’ is there, though the more immediate possibility of bandits is a more available source for me. However I do not know how unstable the land is for bandits to appear. Searching some more I find a crystal within a pouch. I recognize it as a form of soul essence crystal. Holding the cast off remnants after the death of a being it can be used as a raw source of energy or a container. I believe this is a memory container. Cautiously opening it I see that it contains less actual memories but impressions, instincts in another manner of speaking. Nothing that could threaten me.
Taking in the essence I see the slight heat mirage of this particular essence be absorbed. My mind expands itself, some thoughts and opinions on matters surface. The worth of a copper and a silver, how strong adventurers are. The names of local plants and foods, other such local lore that would be of great aid. Testing out my voice I see that it even coloured my inflection. A more lighter tone, my knowledge of the local language is expanded over what I was given in transit. An interesting language, the consonants will take some getting used to. Stirring the meal I have hanging on the fire I practice speaking the local tongue. Still more familiar then if I was learning from nothing, as if I learned it while young. Much is still there but some has been lost or distorted.
Taking out a coin I see the imprint of the king, a crown hung low on somewhat curly hair. Extended noise and somewhat squat chin. Flipping it over I see that the reverse holds an image of the deity of the country. The so called God of Holy Light, one who ascended from the mortal coil. At this I feel a flash of disdain from a specific section of my soul, my lady patron does not feel favor for this one.
Considering that as my new knowledge tells me that all other denominations are persecuted to death, a rather understandable attitude. Such harsh backlash, I do not know if this was instigated by a specific historical event or simple consolidation of power. One that is not the most successful, church and state. Often at odds if not implemented properly. I still find other cultures so foolish, why does one need to fight amongst themselves in such a matter. Then again they do not have the Imperium’s culture to be able to unify themselves.
Stirring my food on the fire I wait for it to finish simmering to eat. While eating I marvel at my hand, some calluses but no scars. I am used to seeing scars there, each one is there because it serves to remind me of the past. Lessons to remember, tales to tell. That was what the imperium guards I apprenticed to told me. Interesting times at the academy, not very quiet but I met many from it. Good friends and comrades. Cleaning up everything I decide to set up some additional countermeasures. Besides the alarm charms I decide to summon some familiars.
Thinking on what aspects I want and would be appropriate I summon two large ravens. Gathering the mana in my body I feel it respond. Much faster than previously, less diluted by miasma. It takes me time to enact the ritual, reaching back to remember the mnemonic chant is a trial. Eventually however the mana flows as it should and rotating strands of mana slowly take shape. Like weaving a basket, I take care to slowly go over each fragment and its intended purpose. Eyesight, size, intelligence, all the factors I wish are chosen. If I had wished I could have shaped my mana as a simple ball for a quicker if less advanced form. Leaving the naming for tomorrow I finish preparing to go to sleep. My body is strange, too new. A blank slate really, no more blood oaths or the wounds of past battles. Well a matter for the morning again. For now some rest.