Corpsicles

That was the word that had been eluding me for days of half dreamt visions. It felt like days at least. The biting frost stirred my mind. No, it could only have been an hour, maybe two. I’d have died again if it was longer. Faint blue, flickering orange, soft white, biting cold, corpse stench, distant, radiant warmth.

Fire

A smoky scent crept along the icy floor. There was a wood fire, and  warmth I desperately needed to avoid joining the fate of the man across from me. He was young, younger than I was, had been? His clothes were stiff, resisting the breeze that cut into my cheek with every gust of cold air. His jacket looked like it had been quite warm, before something had put three deep gouges through it, and the chainmail beneath. Whatever had killed him, it hadn’t bothered stripping him of his equipment. There was a mace holstered in his belt ring, flanged to concentrate lethal force on a narrow, blunt point. He’d been caught by surprise, whatever it was that killed him had been quick.

The soldier’s throat was torn too, it looked like a starving dog had gone after it. That didn’t explain the torn mail, no dog could bite through steel wire, riveted how the armor was. There was a crackle of the fire, something scraped across the ice, it sounded almost like skates. A faint shadow passed over me, my head was pointed far enough to the side that I couldn’t see what had cast it, but I could see the outlined shadow.

Man. Dead Man.

I waited for the shadow to cross back to the other side of the fire, ears straining to follow the scrapes of studded boots. It sounded like they were beginning to echo deeper into the ice cave. I stirred, willing my frostbitten limbs to action. It was slow and sluggish at first, but I’d had far, far too little experience in this new world to become a corpsicle. A blizzard had rolled in hours after I woke up on an icy plain, visibility had gone to shit, and I’d collapsed in the cold. Flickers of being dragged face down in the snow drifted around in my head, the welt on my crown spoke to the Bonk! of a club I’d felt.

Whatever it was had saved my life, but the corpse across from me proved that wasn’t out of altruism, as did my distance from the fire. I found my feet, my fur lined boots crinkled as the ice connecting them to the floor broke. It was a quiet noise, and one indistinguishable from the occasional pops and cracks of the fire. They didn’t make a sound on the smooth ice floor, much to my benefit. The dead soldier was wearing gloves, frozen stiff, but gloves all the same. I took them off the man, flexed my hands a few times to loosen them up, and took up his mace. It had been well taken care of. The metal was polished, the leather handle had been stained with oil to keep it from cracking. Undoubtedly, the only thing cracking about it would be the target.

With gloves and a weapon, my attention was turned farther into the cave, when a brief glint of firelight caught my eye. The soldier had a necklace, a bronze pendant of what looked to be a hammer. It was oddly familiar, a religious symbol for sure. I couldn’t name it, but I knew it represented the greatest champion of humans, a conquering hero ascended to godhood. I gently took it from the corpse, and put it around my neck.

I’ll get your vengeance for you soldier. No friend of man stores corpses in an ice cave.

With a weapon in hand, long practiced skills took hold. Prey became predator as I made my way carefully towards the fire, taking the right wall to avoid casting a shadow. I paused at the turn that led deeper into the cave, listening for the tell tale scrapes. I couldn’t hear any foot steps, but there was something else. Whispered breaths, scribblings like a pencil being put to furious use, a long, exasperated sigh.

“Just as I have the materials, I run out of ink! Months in this forsaken wasteland, for what?” There was a haunting moan, and the jingle of what sounded like coins in a cup, or something like it. Possibly chainmail?

“Oh shut up you! You’ve not got even half a brain left, what would you know about necromancy? You’re only here to lift the materials.” That put me to a pause. It explained the corpse, it also meant there were at least two targets, possibly more. I tucked in deeper to the alcove I’d found my self in, thinking of how to separate the pair. There was a second, deeper alcove on the other side of the fire. Several crates were piled up there, it looked like there was space enough to stand behind them. The fire was lit in a small stove, balanced precariously on a few cut logs. They were probably meant to prevent it from melting the stove legs into the ice. It wouldn’t be so odd for the stove to topple over, especially if a mindless undead had put it there.

My plan was moving as the thought closed, I stepped back towards the soldier’s corpse before crossing to the left side of the tunnel, and slid low across the ice to avoid being seen. Thankfully the tunnel descended steeply enough that there was no chance to be seen from the deeper end. I rolled to my rear once I was even with the boxes, and kicked the stove leg nearest to me. It spun off the log, a bit of the wood splintered, perfect for looking like an innocuous accident. The stove clattered to the ground, coals and burning wood spilled out onto the ice. A large column of steam began to rise around the hot metal.

“What was that? Bonehead, that stove better not have fallen again! I’ll turn you into a necklace if it has. Go check it out!” The necromancer’s voice sounded harried, an affirmative sounding moan answered. Shambling steps were soon coming up the tunnel, scrapes abounded. The ice of the tunnel wasn’t perfect, but I could see enough in the reflection to make out a head, shoulders, torso, then legs. The thing’s eyes were glowing a ghastly blue. It couldn’t see me in the sudden darkness, or maybe it was just too stupid to make out the reflection. There were only dim flickers coming from the fire now, just enough to see the outline of the thing as it came around the stove, towards the side that had slipped off the logs, and turned to lift it.

I stepped out in one fluid motion, arm raised high, and brought the mace down on the back of the corpse’s head. Skull gave way to steel, there was a loud crack of bone and then the thump of the corpse on the ice.

“Bonehead if you broke the damn stove…” I heard the muttering coming closer, and moved back to my first hiding place, tight into the corner. Scraping steps came, angry breaths, and then another faint shadow from a fire deeper down the tunnel.

“Bonehead! Get up! Did you break…” the words trailed off just as the source reached striking range. I didn’t have space for a wide sweep, instead I opted for an elbow. The necromancer was wearing dark robes, accented with frosty lines in the folds. I’d been in the very corner of his vision when I burst out of hiding. He caught the glimpse of movement, but he was far too slow stepping away. If he’d stepped back, I would have overshot and he could have slipped back down the tunnel, it was a slide of ice. Instead, he tried to step directly away, backing himself into the cave wall. It only let me build up another stride of momentum before I smashed my elbow into his jaw. There were two loud cracks, one from my elbow hitting him, the other from his skull hitting the ice. The necromancer lost his footing, sliding down to the floor.

“Ow! Whad da－” were the only words he managed before my foot kicked his head into the ice again. I leaned down and grabbed him by the ankle, pulling him away from the wall for a good swing. Steel reflected in the ice, terror crossed the necromancer’s face as he finally realized what was happening. His hand shot up as my mace streaked downwards. Inches before impact, a blue shield leapt into existence. It shattered as my mace blew through, but I lost quite a bit of momentum. One of the flanges struck him squarely in the jaw again, aggravating the angry bruise that was already swelling. He went limp with the strike, out cold.

“Still got it.” I smiled to my self. He’d be out for at least fifteen minutes, maybe longer. The necromancer wasn’t very heavy, I kicked him down the slide that led deeper into the cave, and started to follow after him when something dinged into my vision.

[Alert: Quest Completed]

[Quest: Revenant]

 [Description: You’ve defied death’s embrace. Gather your bearings and determine the fate of your assailant.]

[Reward: Basic Warrior’s Kit]

“What the hell?” I swatted at the text box, then a leather ruck appeared in front of me, clunked down to the ice, and slid down the tunnel. The boxes faded away, only to be replaced by several more.

[Alert: Numerous skills advanced.]

[One Handed: 20 -> 22, Sneak: 20 -> 21]

Vague recollections filled my head. It didn’t matter. So long as I didn’t get stomped into the ground my questions could wait. There were more pressing things to figure out, like what was inside that ruck, and if there was any way to tie up the necromancer before he woke up. I followed along down the tunnel, enjoying the slide like a giddy kid for a brief moment.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The necromancer and the ruck had come to a stop in a wider chamber than the one I’d woken up in. There was a desk, a book case, and several more crates piled around, as well as a bloody altar. How the necromancer had gotten all this crap into the cave was a question for later. My eyes turned to the ruck first, and a weapon I hadn’t realized was attached to the outside. It was a simple, two handed axe. The head was a bit oversized, but the weight wasn’t terrible. I leaned it against the tome covered desk, and opened the ruck. Things had gotten a bit jumbled around, but the thing that stood out immediately was the pile of armor. There was a set of iron plates, chest and back, sewn onto a fur-lined leather vest. It looked sturdy, and more importantly, quite warm. There was set of plates for the forearms, and boots that protected the feet up to the shins. They looked a lot like the boots I was wearing, just with plates affixed to them. I set them aside, preferring to look through what else had been inside. There was an interior pocket that held several small vials. Two were red, two were green, and one was a strange purple color. I found my self wondering what it was, when another one of the damned windows popped up.

[Item: Lingering Blood Poison]

[Description: A poison that can be applied to a weapon. Wounds tainted by this poison will bleed profusely. Remains effective if dried on the blade of a weapon.]

Sounded like copperhead venom. I didn’t know exactly where in my mind that had come from, but it was familiar. It seemed like something more suited to a rogue, but I wasn’t complaining. If things could bleed, they could be killed. The red vials were minor health potions, the greens were for stamina. The rest was fairly simple. There was a small camp kit with a tent, a bed roll, mess tin and simple utensils, a wood axe, a knife, and most importantly, a length of rope. I took the rope immediately, setting the loop around my shoulder. The Necromancer was in my hands next.

I set him down in a wooden chair, and tied him to it. I couldn’t risk cutting the rope for individual bindings, so instead I just kept him nice and and tight with the whole length of it. I had him wrapped up like a fly in a spider web by the time he came around. I’d taken a few liberties with some of the equipment that had been laying about too. Answers would be forthcoming, one way or another. The necromancer was muttering to himself as he gathered his wits, wondering why everything was so dark. I yanked his hood up from how I’d tied it over his eyes.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty.” It must have scared him, he jumped in the chair.

“Whads going on? Who are boo?” He struggled with the words, his jaw had swollen up badly.

“You’re tied to a chair. The man who tied you to that chair was the one you intended to turn into a subservient corpse. I’d suggest you behave yourself if you want to keep your head on your shoulders.” I let the haft of my axe land on his shoulder hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break anything. He went very still as his eyes wandered up the blade. I assumed that’s what they did, I was standing behind him and couldn’t see.

“Whoa, whoa… eaby now. Bonehead bound you in da snow. Bhoughts you were dead. I bon’t murder pibble.” He was talking as fast as his swollen mouth would move.

“Don’t murder people? Did I get that right? How’d the soldier up there get his throat ripped out then?” I rolled the haft of my axe around and drew it back, pressing the blade against his cheek. He was tied in such a manner that he couldn’t lean away from it.

“Droll kill. I dried do helb him, bud da droll dore him up. Ice drolls are vishus.” He was talking even faster now.

“An ice troll? Really? Why would a single soldier be wandering about in troll country?” I had no idea if that’d be common or not, but trolls weren’t exactly known for being friendly as far as I knew. At best, they shook down travelers for pocket change at the local bridge, at worst, they slaughtered villages and ate people.

“Why were boo all alone in droll coundry?” He had me there.

“Don’t get smart with me!” I punched him in the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“You’re going to answer my questions, or I’m going to start nailing your arms to the chair. Got it?” I put the axe back against the table, and took up the hammer and nails I’d found. I moved to where he could see me, showed off the nail, and put it in position on his right hand, hammer raised.

“God id! I hear boo!” His eyes were wide now.

“First, where are we?”

“Winderhold! Soudeasd of Winderhold! Dwo days walk!” He answered.

“Two days south east? Even with that blizzard that came through?” I raised the hammer higher.

“Maybe dree! Dree days if ids slow!” He quickly amended himself.

“Three days if we’re slow. That can’t be too bad out there. What have you been doing here?” I let the hammer droop slightly.

“Sdudyin! Learnin magic! I’m nod drying to hurd people, I bromise!” He said. The half muffled stuttering was starting to get annoying. I took the nail away from his hand, reached over to my ruck, and pulled out one of the small vials of health potion.

“Drink this so I can understand you better.” I came around behind him, tipped the chair back, and poured the potion down his throat.

“Better?” I looked him over. His swelling was going down before my eyes.

“Better. Why’d you give me a potion if you’re just going to take my head?” He asked.

“Because I’m starting to believe you, partially. The story with the troll makes sense, and you’re too stupid to have survived kidnapping the other man to make a corpse of him. If you had an ounce of sense, you’d have slit my throat for good measure when you brought me in here. Where’d the corpse come from for the one I took down?” I picked up the hammer and the nail again.

“He was my assistant. We were moving things off the carriage and into the cave when an ice wraith got him. It tore his arm apart. I came running and burned the thing away, but it was too late for Bonin. I’m not a healer, my school is Conjuration and a touch of combat magic. I dragged him down here because we had a stock of potions, but he’d bled out. I wouldn’t have made it out here alone, so I raised him up. He owed a life debt to me.” That answered a few things, I’d have to check the corpse I’d clobbered over the head.

“Life debts end when the debtor dies, don’t they?” My face stayed stony.

“He has no one to claim the body, and I’d barely gotten a month of work from him. My magic was starting to run thin on his body anyways, he was falling apart. My plan was to head back to Winterhold after I finished with… well, you and the dead soldier.” He admitted, eyes averting my own.

“I see. So, if you aren’t an evil murdering necromancer, why set up shop in the middle of a frozen hellscape like this? Afraid that the locals would take offense?” I asked. Now I had him in a bind.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I know the taboos of raising the dead, but I am seeking the knowledge of it for good cause! The local idiots would hang me if they knew what sort of magic I’d done. What? Surprised I’d admit to such a thing?” He seemed to get a bit of courage back after he’d stood his ground.

“No, not really. You academic types are a bunch of arrogant bastards with lofty ideas for the definition of a good cause. Shoot your shot, what’s the cause? It better be an actual good one, or you’ll be apologizing to Bonin here in a moment.” I stood, left the hammer and nail on the desk, and took up the pole axe again. His courage rapidly fled him as quickly as it had appeared.

“I want to help solve murders. So many times a body turns up, freshly dead, not even fully stiff. My magic experiments are focused on how to bring back a corpse, only long enough to learn of how they died. I’ve heard of great wizards bringing back shades and spirits to ask them for knowledge. Grand rituals and absurdly convoluted schemes to summon the soul back from the afterlife thousands of years after death. My theory, that I have proven, is that recently departed souls are still tied to their bodies for a time. If a body is discovered within three days of death, their mind should be intact enough to question them. I was able to get a few words out of Bonin when I first turned him, but I made mistakes in the ritual, his thoughts were fragmented.” It struck me as one of the few practical uses of necromancy that wasn’t inherently evil. It was a convenient story for him.

“How noble. Solving murders, you yourself would never murder someone, obviously. I’ll ask you this. Is that the story you’re going to stick with?” I got a good grip on the haft of the axe.

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” Sad resignation swept his features.

“Then why’d your corpse assistant club me over the head when I woke up halfway here? He was dragging me face down in the snow, I tried to roll over, and got smacked across the face.” Genuine confusion manifested on the necromancer, and then anger. It didn’t come across as sneering indignation, or a last gasp of defiance, more like he was furious with himself.

“That was my fault. I told Bonehead, Bonin, to bring any bodies he found back to me. When you rolled, he might have thought you were trying to escape. The undead are dumb and violent without proper guidance. I’m sorry.” The necromancer let his head hang as far as it could, bound up as he was.

“What’s your name?” I let the haft of the axe settle back down onto the icy floor.

“Jurger, of Windhelm. May I know my executioner’s name?” Jurger squirmed in the chair a bit, probably trying to get comfortable.

“I’m not your executioner. Captor or jailer would be more appropriate. Call me Johannes. Hold still for a moment.” I walked around to a jug I’d seen, it smelled like oil. I took it up, and poured a bit of it onto the sleeves of his robes, on his hood, down his back. He started bucking in horror.

“Oh just behead me! Get it over with!” He thought I was going to burn him alive.

“Settle down pussyfoot. That’s insurance. If you try casting any of those fancy combat spells of yours, poof! Your sleeves will probably catch on fire, then the rest of your robes will. Burn up your robe and you’ll be very hot for a very short time, then you’ll freeze even if you manage to survive the flames and succeed in killing me. Have you got anything valuable that you want to keep?” I looked around the room after I set the jug down. There was a sled in the corner that’d help with moving the soldier’s body.

“I’ve not got much gold left. There’s two crates of potions, food for another month, and then my tomes. I have a camping set there, in the long box.” He jerked his head towards a chest that looked like it had come off of a carriage.

“What happened to your carriage? Is it parked somewhere outside?” I asked, remembering his story about how Bonin had got it.

“The carriage is, I set the horse loose after Bonin died. I brought the dog sled for my self for just that situation.” What good was a dog sled with no dog?

“How’d you mean to use the sled? Pull it yourself? Maybe you aren’t the entitled scholar I made you for.” I laughed, moderate irritation brewed up in the necromancer’s eyes.

“I’m a conjuration mage. I can summon a familiar to pull it. They are very strong.” He let slip. He seemed to realize his mistake immediately.

“Good to know. We’ll be keeping your hands tied up for now. You didn’t kill me, so I’m returning the favor of not killing you. We’ll work on trusting each other during the trip. Have you got any more rope around?” My thoughts turned to logistics.

“Forgive me if I don’t help you make my life any more miserable.” Wrong answer. I gave him a soft thwap on the back of the head.

“Not for you, dumbass. I’ve got you tied up just the way I like. I need rope to pull the sled up that ice slide, and the crates. It’ll be too heavy if I load it up down here. You’re going to help me pull what you want to take, I’ll handle loading it.”

“Oh. There’s rope in the camp chest.” Thus began the arduous process.