“There are as many ways of handling the dead as there are the living.”
~ Saying among the Dokkalfar
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The serene silence of the dead greeted Amalafein as he fled the sanctuary he had made for himself in Aranea. The stench of the blood and viscous remnants of the Blind Bear bandits and villagers alike was already becoming strong for his senses. It would be a pain for whatever poor human had to clean this up.
The briefest sympathy for their plight was drowned out as he could finally think about everything that had happened since he left Soteria to come here.
It was his role and duty to put the village to the torch if it wasn't already burning by the time he arrived. The demise of his dear cousin was the death knell for the community. Too many secrets leaked out from Anaris' uncaring lips over her brief appointment as the leader. It was only a matter of time before their glorious leader of the family ordered her death.
He was just upset he couldn't be the one to kill her.
Even in death, Anaris made his life hellish.
Amalafein stepped over the mutilated corpse of one of her pets, his pale purple eyes drifting over the former alleged beauty of the human man. He had seen the waif like human male wait on her as she sat in her glorified throne. Anaris had the habit of collaring her little pets, holding their long chain to give them the illusion of freedom. She enjoyed breaking the fragile humans under her protection, whether in bed or in the fields. Naturally, she had taken a few dokkalfar into her chambers to warm herself, but she never called for him to provide entertainment.
It was something he was relieved to be spared from experiencing, though that was more his status that protected him. He bent down to the corpse and, with a lockpick, unlocked the collar from his neck. The heavy metal collar seemed to burn his flesh long after he tossed it away.
At least you are free from her grasp in death.
However, the pet wasn't what he was looking for. This corpse was still considered a villager, and so would be either buried or cremated. Knowing Anaris, she would want her pets to be cremated and have their ashes mixed with hers so they could never escape. That only made him want to spite her final desires even more. He would ensure all the pets were far from her.
His detached gaze swept over the bodies left in his wake within the village square. It would be difficult to find the right body parts that matched each corpse.
While his knowledge of necromancy was rather limited, what he knew reinforced the importance of having the same or similar limbs when raising an Undead. Depending on the Undead, it would affect their physical condition and having a limb that didn't fit the skeleton or most basic form of raising Undead made it unwieldy.
Amalafein felt a small twinge of unease for what he was about to do. It wasn't his usual way of handling things, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
As he walked, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The village was eerily quiet, and the only sounds were the crunching of his boots and the occasional cawing of a crow. He knew that the villagers were either dead or hiding. But the silence was unsettling, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched.
Suddenly, he heard a rustling in the bushes a few feet away. He spun around, his dagger at the ready. But there was nothing there - just the swaying branches of a bush. He shrugged it off, thinking it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.
Amalafein continued on his way, scanning the area for any signs of life. He moved cautiously, not wanting to be surprised. As he walked, his mind wandered to the task at hand. He needed to find the right body parts to give to Serena and Kalani so they could raise the Undead. It was a gruesome task, but it had to be done. Aranea needed protection, and the Undead were the only way to provide it.
He left the center of the village and headed down to where the red-haired young woman and her companions had come from. No sooner than he stepped into the side street did he come across whole corpses. Half of the bodies of the bandits were cleanly cut across the throat and were left to bleed out. The other was a shaky stabs in the heart or across the throat that showed a lot of hesitance.
Amalafein couldn't help but feel a sense of respect for whoever did this. It was a clean kill, efficient and effective. He wondered if it was the work of Serena, or perhaps Mafuyu. He made a mental note to ask them later, but for now, he had to focus on his task.
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Carrying the first three bodies that were still whole back to the storehouse and into the torture room, Amalafein overheard Serena and Kalani discussing something interesting.
"What is the difference between raising a bandit or enemy and a random villager?"
Amalafein had expected that from him, but what the polite red-haired young woman said in response was strange.
Her voice, lower and richer than he expected given her appearance, was filled with indignation. "The difference is in the necromancer's viewpoint. Someone can argumentatively kill a bandit or a person who is a threat to their life with little concern for lasting consequences. They can then raise the body with fewer moral quandaries than if they were to kill a villager just to raise their body. This also ties to what a necromancer aims to accomplish with the communing and manipulation of the dead. If they want to stabilize the country or protect their own reputation and property, which I would theoretically qualify as, then it would be in their best interest to not cause unrest."
"This morality toward necromancy is unheard of for me. Please go on."
"Oh. I apologize if I was rambling. I get too invested in things and-"
Kalani interrupted her, and his voice was filled with understanding. "There is no need to explain. I am much the same."
She seemed a bit hesitant still before she continued. "Right now, skeletons would work best for not drawing the ire of others. If they were more fleshy, undead like zombies, then it could cause further trouble down the line. It's fine to raise the raiders who attacked, but entirely different if someone's grandmother was raised as an undead and tended the fields. However, it would still take time for people to work through their revulsion of death."
Amalafein listened intently as Serena spoke, her words echoing in his mind. It made sense; he thought. Raising a bandit or enemy for protection was a strategic move, while raising a villager just for the sake of raising them could cause unrest and resentment among the living.
He couldn't help but wonder what the future held for Aranea. The village would soon be protected and bolstered by the Undead, but at what cost? Would the villagers be able to accept their new protectors, or would they fear them?
He cleared his throat, making his presence known. "I have brought back the bodies as requested," he said, his voice calm and collected. "I trust they are suitable for your needs."
Serena turned to him, a small smile on her lips. "Yes, these will do nicely. Thank you, Amalafein."
A strange lightness and warmth filled him at the almost unnatural experience of being thanked. Of his existence being viewed positively and not as a threat.
It proved that she knew nothing of his people, of this world, or even his role, and for that, Amalafein was relieved.
If she knew anything about him, about what a Huntsman did, her trusting and friendly gaze would be turned fearful and filled with disgust. She wouldn't want anything to do with him, and that was something he found disquieting.
Amalafein was unsure if he was more disquieted that the smallest bit of kindness, of weakness in the eyes of the Dokkalfar, was aimed his way...or that a large part of him wanted to experience more of it.
He turned his back on the two scholars, his mind forced to stillness as he relied on his training and upbringing to not succumb to weakness.
As he made his way out of the torture room and back into the village, Amalafein couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. It was as if the air was thick with tension and unease, the stillness of the village only adding to his sense of foreboding.
He knew that he had to keep his guard up, and as he walked, he kept his eyes peeled for any signs of danger. But the village remained silent, as if waiting for something to happen.
Suddenly, he heard a faint whispering coming from the direction of the village square. He instinctively crouched down behind a nearby building, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger.
He listened intently, trying to make out what was being said. It was a group of voices, all speaking in hushed tones. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew that they were up to something.
Amalafein slowly made his way towards the village square, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't afford to be caught off guard now, not when the village was in such a fragile state.
As he approached the square, he saw a group of villagers gathered together, their faces twisted with fear and anger. In the center of the group stood a man, his hands tied behind his back.
Judging from the clothing and scraps of armor, this man was a bandit that was found lurking somewhere in the village. He knew that the villagers must have found him and taken him captive.
The man was pleading for his life, but the villagers showed no mercy. They were ready to take matters into their own hands, to dispense their own brand of justice.
Amalafein watched as one villager stepped forward, a club in hand.
He stepped out from behind the building, drawing attention to himself. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice ringing out across the square.
The villagers turned to face him, their faces filled with surprise and anger. "This is none of your concern, Huntsman," one of them spat.
Amalafein stood his ground, his eyes flicking to the bandit. "You do not need to take this man's life," he said, his voice calm and measured. "However, if you do kill him, I will take his corpse."
The villagers murmured amongst themselves, but none of them stepped forward to challenge him.
"Let him go," he said firmly, addressing the man directly. "And leave this village. If we catch you here again, you won't be so lucky."
The man didn't need to be told twice. He nodded frantically, and the villagers reluctantly released him. He stumbled away from the square, running as fast as he could.
As he made his way back to his temporary lodgings with the second load of corpses, he couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in his gut. He knew that there was something simmering beneath the surface of the village, even in the country of Lavera, and it was something that was waiting to boil over.
And he had a feeling that he was going to be caught in the middle of it.