834 LSV
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The light wakes the world, once again. Not just a hemisphere or another, but all of it. None question this oddity, for it has been that way since the time before their fathers. The oceans are a deep golden color, speckled by pearly streaks. The brilliant crimson of the mountains cast their splendid shade over many cities. Though the shadows cast by the towering figures resemble no part of the mountains, few outside of avians ever notice the incongruity.
The world continues its journey, again this morning, and so too does its inhabitants. The denizens have felt an infectious excitement for the past two centuries. Harmony suffuses most of the world and it seems new life greets the world each month. At least, that is the way most of the planet has lived. Alas, a less fortunate continent seeks to join these rotats of wealth. A nation of humans enclosed by an ocean-reaching mountain range to the west has recently finished some seasonal cleaning. To the north lies a azure-sanded beach, and joy fills the faces of the returning fisher's families. Civilization, abruptly, stops at the western border, where lies a forest that is rumored to have no ending. Children's tales claim the elders, but no one recalls anything ever leaving the forest. The south's tenants are ruins of failed construction, beautiful flower-filled hills, lakes, and open plains. The rubble is the result of a war long past, and has been left as divider between the two nations. Indeed, all is good, as morning light shines upon humanity's largest nation.
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"I won't forget! Even beyond the grave, forgiveness will not claim you. Such woeful favor, indeed, this debt shall not meet default. Though my body fails me, this covenant shall remain whole. Be wealthy and live rich, as our promised rendezvous must be full of splendor." A dying man's last words reach no one, but himself.
A room of well-kept furniture, a velvet bed, and the finest visitors any citizen of Durskrieg could ever meet bears witness to the passing of a legend. A man of stature jingles his way to the bedside. His steps are measured and the man's bearing seizes the attention of the company. He brings his hand over the staring eyes of the recently deceased. The lids are closed, but the scowl remains. He proceeds to cover the body completely with the comforter and tucks in the edges well.
"You've earned this respect, even if I couldn't grant it to you in life," the king whispers.
"Such a tranquil face, you'd think you told him he'd live forever," shaking his head as he paces at the bedside, "heavens know, placing any more of our plagues upon this man would've been sinful."
"Eh-heh, my king jokes, certainly this man has earned his rest. His peaceful display is certainly not born of my fault," a man in a shimmering robe responds. With hood pulled up and a painted, stone-mask covering his face, his confident answer stands firm.
"Of course, of course. I'm sure our hero's final mien was just his last stand against fate's cruel hands. It's truly like him to have struggled to the end, even if we all came to grant him a serene farewell."
The gathered take seats at a finely carved long table, a moderate distance away from the bedside. Upon the tabletop exists a beautiful rendition of the continent. The head chair for the king is a finely shaped shield. The two legs on his end are carved as a sword and bow, respectively. At the oppostie end a man is mounted on top of a muscular, hairy creature, and a suit of armor appear to be approaching the combo.
A couple lightly prod at the previously attended meal, a less bashful one ravishes everything within reach, and a certain attendee merely chews on a fork.
"Here's to a champion. A hand for the struggling. A beacon in the dark. A shepherd of the lost. May he finally rest easy, and we trudge ever-forward in his honor," the king stands and toasts. Light smiles and gazes of reminiscence adorn the attendees, during the speech. None partake of the beverage, immediately, as if a previous agreement was arranged.
The royal treatment-quarter is filled with a welcome silence for far too few moments. It is uncertain who lifted the first glass in the air, but the moment is most welcome among the subdued gathering. A mouth widens, a palm opens; the falling glass only has one future.
Shatter!! Tink, Tink! Shatter!!
A curvaceous woman standing next to the room's two bookshelves has no mind for her escaped beverage. Few among the visitors seem to possess such a faculty, after they followed her sight and replicated her feat. The head of the hero's assumed corpse is on its side facing the room and its wide-open eyes glare, once more. Shivering passes through the body of a few guests, but the chill grasps tightly to everyone. The torches of the marble chandlier no longer provide enough warmth for the room, but a hearty bellow causes color to return to some faces.
"Gehahah heha! Oh! it's too much, Gehe Gehe," the furniture trembles as the king tries to regain his propriety. "Just look at yourselves, it was indeed worth it to see him off," the room stills, and he drinks the rest of his half-full goblet of green-tinted wine. "Who'd have thought, a dead man, would give you people the most shock I've seen in a few elipse. It's not like it's anyone's first time, or can some of you just not stomach his particular gaze?"
"May hostile invaders, be repelled by his steadfast shield. May the corruption of our empire's belly, be cleansed by his ardent vigilance. May the conspirators in the dark, be exposed by his shining blade," the masked priest interjects. As the king closes the panic-inducing eyes, the priest continues,"Truly, only a man, spoken as such, could induce such a reaction amongst this crowd. But just maybe, it has less to do with his distinct stare than the pangs of their conscience."
"You jest! Juhani, our land's resilience these last years have relied solely on this assembly's lack of such a mental handicap," speaks the king, whilst heading over to the long table. "Come, come, join me for another round."
The bodice-dressed woman of lust-inducing curves arrives at his side and begins to fill his proffered chalice. The king embezzles some thigh-flesh, as she stands in front of him. He smirks, and she moves on to provide the same courtesy to the rest of those standing around the table. A man with more rings on his hand than fingers has her fill not one, but two glasses. Some vulgarity about one round not being enough, spews forth. A scaled female hold out her clawed hand to have her Ochoko filled. She may have hissed an insult, but for better or worse, Zeelan is a niche language. The vixen of alcohol-pouring uses her index finger to check if her next recipient is still breathing. It is questionable whether or not the eyelid of the furless feline twitched, but she fills his goblet anyway. Only Juhani shares in pilfering a bit of leg meat within her slit skirt, as she completes her round. Smiles completely return as the priestess takes her seat at the table end. The king raises his goblet and his fellows, with color returning to their cheeks, lift their beverages in turn.
"Ah, just a moment," the king interrupts the shared drink. One of the glass dishes is already empty, but everyone still has a full cup to share in the moment. The king takes a breath,"So then, I believe I have our answer."
"Our answer, Lord Trygg?" the seductive priestess asks with wavering pitch.
"Obviously, I refer to the dreary grasp that captured this room moments ago." The kings back is to the table, but no one would daresay his gaze wasn't upon them. "Y'see, the empire's most powerful are gathered here this rotat. Yet, these lions, No! These Titans! have been as meek and timid as housecats these last three grantats. My court mage even has the gall to say it was fright or possibly guilt subdueing these giants. I'm in awe, truly. Have I been acquainting myself with phantoms these past nine elapse? Your true sides hidden within the shadow of a legend's invincibility. Nay, twas not guilt or a flash of shock. Fear has been crawling up your spines ever since you've entered this room."
"I assure you, Milord, it's just---" the priestess tries to answer.
Trygg's raised hand silences her,"I'm completely baffled by how much he affected you, Yeva. You offered him that final drink with your own hands, did you not? Yet, just mere flicks later and you're horrified by your own makings."
"My li---" the man of too many jewels tries to begin.
The room quakes, wine sloshes forth, and the bodies tremble. The king has turned his gaze upon them.
"Thank you, Aurel, you've introduced a good example."
The wooden floor cries and practices horrible remodeling around the king's steps. He calmly takes his chalice into his hand, and punts the table into the far wall. It clacks loudly but manages to stand upright, and not break.
"Now that there's nothing between us, I'd like to see if anyone has delusions of interjecting." A silence pervades and the king smirks in amusement. "Such fun, the rattling has traveled up your bones all the way to your skulls this morning. I wasn't made aware of any voices, that should supersede the king. My judgement may have been faulty, but it is better that I have learned of my ignorance ahead of time. My good man, Juhani, has been the only one hanging steadfast these grantats." He looks over to his impossible-to-read mage,"But we all know what models of sanity mages are, so I can accept his superior poise. It'd be fine if it was just that, but no, anxiousness did not take you. You weren't shocked by the damn last movements of a corpse. No, what has grasped you lot and clasps on to you even now is fear. Fear, that I might unsheathe my blade. Fear, that I know the secrets you keep. And the subject of our current discussion. Fear for our future. The threat you felt was not of the man rising up once more. You felt threatened by the lack of one at our side, as if the only man of competetence has entered his final slumber."
King Trygg paces around to each member of the room and places his hand upon the person's shoulder. He made sure to give each one an eye to eye moment of understanding. Then he stands before them all,"You are forgiven. It is quite silly, that you've all been just as overcome by the man's prestige as the peasant rabble. T'was just a little disappointing. No biggie at alll. Mhm Mhm." He smiles and nods to himself. Eyes wander down to the two sheaths at Trygg's hip, but to everyone's relief neither have attained freedom.
Trygg steps back to the bedside and ushers Juhani along with him. A bit of arcana fluctuates through the room and it vanishes along with the hero's affixed scowl. The mage tidies the expired man's collar and the king lifts the upper body. The two men straighten the hair on the man; and the gathering exchanges whispers, as they watch. Vanishing within Juhanni's hands goes the departed's cover, and the mage proceeds to shift the man's legs off the bed.
"Now have a good look at him proper. Not bad.., it's not bad having this foolish mouth unable to give credence to how well his face fits him," begins Trygg, as he wraps his arm around the deceased's shoulder. "Aurel, come forth," he commands.
The braided-beard jangles, the bracelets chime, and many other treasures form the symphony of wealth as the man makes his way. His gait possesses an ease that belies confidence. Although some would argue the slim man is just overencumbered. He pauses to deliver some words to the navy-blue skinned feline, but the feline only sneezes and hacks in response. Aurel and his pungent cologne, finally, approach within three steps of King Trygg.
"Finance, logistics, intelligence.., my good man, do you believe this man within my arms could have done your job these years?"
"Of course not, Sire, only I could've fill those holes with an appropriate digit. When the gaps were spread wide, obviously, it's been up to me to fill them up."
The king scrunches his forehead and sighs,"Indeed, you sifted through the holes in our accounts well. It is through your efforts that we could remove so much pestilence from power. Never let rumor fog your memory. Though the peolple only know of how this mutt devoured shit, you directed him to the rot. We were assured during war, thanks to you. It is by your design, that the coffers of our citizens grow heavy."
"I do my best, but it's good to hear someone honestly not say they've had better."
"That said, you don't expect me to believe none of those are for protection," the king gestures at the ornamental man.
"Indeed, regardless of whatever happens, I like to assure my survival. Too many beauties still await me to claim them for myself."
"Remember that, and don't show me the unsightly vision from the these past rotatis, hereforth."
The king waves him away and scans the other invited,"Vigsunn, step forth."
The heavy steps of the desert-orange, Zeelan creature plod forth. The dark green pustules across his skin seem to breath in cadence with his steps. The skin possesses stone-like texture and husky panting accompanies the movements. His only equipment is a long loin cloth and the many-teethed mallet strapped to his back. The floor manages to survive the creatures path to the king, as he stops three human paces away.
King Trygg smirks and Vigsunn's flesh-rippers are assumed to be doing the same.
"Aren't all of you lizards known to be of faith? You certainly have no fear of the dead. We'd all be glad to have you explain your behavior of late."
"Watch your words, King, we are not lizards. We are the Zeelan! my liege."
A spell of silence purveys, but the grinning king awaits. The bent knees extend, the tounge snakes out, and the creature begins to lean forward. The mage, who'd been casually snacking on fruit in front of the bed, stands and mana convalesces around his right hand. Priestess Yeva begins an incantation. Aurel pulls a weathered scroll out of one of his waist-pouches.
Trygg's right hand raises to motion for everyone to stop. The Zeelan proceeds to step back once with each foot. Then it happens. The mage, the priestess, and the treasurer squint in disbelief. Vigsunn vibrated the entire room with his landing, as he dropped to all fours. His length easily spans from the bed to the former table placement.
"I forget the rest of you don't spend much time with our good resource manager. Yes, he does this, but still declares the term lizard offensive."
"My king, I've already explained to you; due to the way we breathe, speaking is easier in this position," the creature follows his words with a belch. He opens his eyes wide, and on full display are the vertical pupil of his left and round pupil of his right.
"Listen well morsels, it all started when I was just hatchling; doing my best to avoid the ever-encroaching filicide that filled my rotats."
"Wait, stop, we've had this discussion. Do not start your stories so far back."
The reptilian lifts his head high and his dewlap extends proudly,"But then how will these critters ever understand the true depths of my path. Every story passed down must express one's entire being in order for its lessons to truly spread in listeners hearts."
"Andor bless me, you're not passing down a tale. Just explaining a few of your recent actions. I'll share some of my knowledge of your people's customs to the group later, if that will give you some comfort. I am aware of how you hate for some to miscontrue the meanings behind your conduct."
"...Acceptable...okay, during our recent conquest of the eastern mountains, I had some decent spars with this man. He was seeking practice against heavier opponents, whilst I got to enjoy crushing the more agile. That territory is filled with capable foes, and I believe our exchanges were paramount to our expedition's success. During those rotatas, I gained a modicum of respect for the less evolved. Enlightenment, visited me one particular rotat. The calling' to devour him began to grow within my gut.
"My pardon, but this is all related to your moodswings of late," Yeva interjects.
"Saint Breedess, just wait a moment. I know your lives are short and your attention-spans reflect the notion. But I assure you will still be as young when I'm finished."
"Bree...Breeding, excuse me, but I am a prieste---"
A hoarse grunt interrupts,"Enough, don't mix me with you lower beasts. The smell you carry around speaks volumes. Now, if you can just keep your legs tight just a lil longer; we'll reach the climax you so desire."
"As I was saying, it was most curious that a two-chew, stomach-brew could rouse my appetite. Within me, a storm raged. My gut told me of power being a mere swallow away, but my head told me ruining the expedition would burden the lives of my people. And I wasn't sure if it was just the mountains and canyons were making me crazy....So I waited. We accomplished our duty, and I returned home after we returned with our report. After several rotat of introspection, I put a theory to the test. Turns out my instincts had been correct. It is not heavier meat that my people seek, but the prime. To consume the 'ascended is destiny's paved road. The path to my people's former glory has been readjusted thanks to this man. I'm uncertain, whether or not, you inferior creatures can sense it. In the grantats I have been gone, I have become a magnitude greater than when I left."
"I believe I know where this is going, but would you allow me to verify this claim of yours," Juhani requests, during a pause in speech. The mage spreads a large, blank sheet of cloth across the floor, after Vigsunn nods. Vigsunn then lifts his left foreleg and stabs a claw into his palm. The blood drips and quickly spreads across the entire cloth.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
"Don't look so annoyed, we're all allies here," the mage supplies, upon seeing some hesitation from his ally.
"If my status spreads, this time, I'm coming for your head little man," Vigsunn threatens. "This isn't even neccessary, just look at my sublime, matured tail," he nods his head towards his backside.
"Yes yes, but I'm sure everyone would be better served by a more official answer," the mage proceeds.
A gray fog froths forth from the Zeelan's mouth. As it slowly fills the room, symbols and a horizontal graph appear on the bloody page. The fog dissipates, after just a flick of time.
"So dramatic, you could have just directed your arcana into the page through contact," mutters Julhani.
"But then, my tail wouldn't be wrapped around your neck so well," Vigsunn snarls.
Juhani tilts his head,"Sure whatever, now let's see here."
"I wonder if you'd be exuding the same confidence if I ripped this off your face," Vigsunn adds, as he strokes one of his tail's horns across the mask.
"Ah, yes, this is simply staggering...by our understanding...you've truly made significant improvement. Sadly, you still haven't become as cute as this picture," he alludes to the tiny, large-eyed replica of the monster at the top left of the sheet.
"Oy, Hani, unneccessary comments could get you killed, you know," snarls Vigsunn.
"Unfortunately, My liege, we've made little progress on deciphering any more of this language. Although with our current understanding...I am confident the humble lizard's power and arcanic well have both reached a new plat--"
Blood erupts forth, resembling more of a dive-bombed pool than a stabbed man. The mask with an all-new breathing hole remains on Vigsunn's tail, but the body falls. The deadly reptilian is soaked head-to-toe in red and enduring a coughing fit, as the new pool fills the room. Only Aurel steps away from the encroaching red tide.
"Scared to get wet," Yeva snarks at Aurel,"I guess it makes sense for the con-artist to fear a legitimate craft."
"No, Ms. Blessed-Throat, this 'con-artist' just possesses a higher understanding of trickery."
"Of course, T'was your great understanding that has you flinching at illusions," her right hand points three fingers downward and then lifts them to the left.
"Oh my, would you---" Aurel tries to retort.
"I"M GONNA Qal Inst Zviir! Qel Viicn Rochin Slvande!! YOU! Mquir Enzol Sakvin Ust!!" Vigsunn uprighted himself as he bellowed a series of Zeelan slurs.
"So dramatic, allow me to ease you children," Yeva chides. "Dis-Aeth-Dacium," she swishes her arm and curtsies slightly.
A chuckle is elicited from the now-crimson feline.
"Eh, that should've all been an illusion, you shouldn't have changed?" the startled priestess spouts.
Aurel joins in the snickering and Vigsunn's cackling also follows.
Yeva, finally, looks down and notices her lower legs look a bit scalded. The smoking, indigo-colored heels falling apart, lend her even more shock.
"Andor's wrath upon you! Ey, Juhanni is this your doing?" She lifts her skirt slightly and kicks off both heels. The arcana is so dense it becomes visible, as she channels it down her legs.
After a slow whistle,"Your closed-door devotion must be quite something for you to have just noticed that," Aurel jabs.
She scowls at him while her cheeks redden, but she ignores the comment.
"Gehaha!" with scales scattered around near his feet, Vigsunn chokes out a laugh. His shaking tail snaps off one of its sixteen horns during his fit of disturbed laughter. "Come on out, Mage, I'll not feast on you, this pass. I'll accept this amusement as your apology. After all, I doubt a human temple can afford to replace those Dreadmaw-scale heels."
"I'll have you know we're---"
"Come off it, woman, even I couldn't afford to replace these boots of mine. No one here is gonna fall for your posturing. Well, at least, while your still on your feet anyway." Aurel interjects.
"I believe we've all had enough fun, for now, please carry on liz..ehem, Vigsunn," Juhani reappears beside the king, with another bizarre mask on.
"You wouldn't be getting let off so easy, if this wasn't my first shedding since I've become..More. This minor irritation is a welcome prelude to my improved growth," the ashen colored skin continues to bleed as he restarts his story.
The Zeelan prompts,"So, after validating my theory, I return to this kingdom only to learn of my prey being stolen. I couldn't even use him as a grinding wheel to test my new limits. War! was much closer upon you things than you would guess. Slaying you all, and taking him back to my brethern had been dominating my thoughts more each rotat." The creature sighs, at least according to his understanding of body language. Hands wandered over weapons, during his throaty noises, as a typical fleshy response.
The anxiety in the room is unnoticed by Zigsunn,"Thus, after a grantat of struggling with indecision; the man perishes this rotat. He knows not of my plight. Nor my gratitude. I even half-expected him to overcome this situation and become even more worthy as a result. But, there he lies...Still...Disposed...as if he had been mere filth. Do you remember, King of men, that I asked for you to allow me to grant him a warriors end?
"Ah, I do recall, and even remember convincing you that this was a matter of national policy. And that failure, of any kind, would end in your death."
"Indeed, I had regretted not pressing on inspite of that. Thus, you should understand just how powerfully my heart pounded upon sensing him move. Those who excel in death all know just how great one can become in those final moments of life. I foolishly thought my trial was upon me. That this here single moment would seperate me from the rest of my kind, as I would leave this room far closer to my ancestor's roots. And yet, in that instant destiny's manifest, I felt I wasn't ready. It was only a moment, but having seen that man up close for five elapse, a figure of the very mountains which we conquered had been carved into my heart. Unshakeable, unmatched, and completely overwhelming. T'were it not for that very moment; I never would have realized how great his image had become to me." His chuckle is the least threatening sound he has made all afternoon.
"Mhm, you've been having quite some fantasies, all your own, lately. You should be careful, there's a reason those things are dreams. Delusions aside, I'm guessing you should be fine, henceforth." The young king stares down the Zeelan, as he speaks. The participants in the room all blink twice in response to the upright sword, piercing the floor in front of Trygg.
"Ah, ehem, unfortunately this rotat isn't the one my people eulogize. A remarkable man meets an ordinary ending, and a wayward Zeelan's path becomes ever longer. But, yea, I should be back in top form by the morrow's light."
"Very well. Shalas, you may approach."
The bi-pedal feline strides across the room with an ease, that trembles hearts. The feet are trimmed and the skin still dons the liquid red. The gathered don't take in the beauty of the apparent traveling pool, but instead focus on the absolute silence that saturates his movements. He's taller than all, excluding the Zeelan, the muscles taut, although not immune to the wrinkles of maturity, and his fully opened eyes gaze down upon the king with a caustic wisdom.
"Sir Trygg, I...,uh, just give me a," he rambles, as he uses one of his nails to pick at his teeth. "Juhanni, a cup, if you will," he adds.
The mage reaches out into the air and as he brings his hand back; a pitcher is slowly revealed within his hand. He tosses the beige container over to his cohort.
"Many thanks," Shalas responds as he flicks a couple of overly large bones and a bloody feather into the canister. "Ah, that's been bothering me since light of morn', seems even my teeth have grown weary over the elapse."
"Err, is our food not usually to your people's liking?" Yeva looks on in revulsion.
"Oh, don't misunderstand, I had every intention of enjoying this lil' banquet this morn." He replies candidly. "Nevertheless, those Squalloks won't be tolerated in these sz' lands. I found one looking for roost on my way over and provided an expedient removal."
"I thank you for the prompt response, and send a few scouts to sweep the surrounding area later. For now though, lets return to our current discourse."
"Very well, sire," the pest slayer bows slightly. "As I've already made known my dissent with the current proceeding, I presume I don't need to sugar the salts."
"Indeed, what portends misfortune upon mine, bodes twice ill upon yours. Once more, allow me to thank you for bringing clarity to our relationship last rotatis." King Trygg responds.
Shalas tounge flicks about,"No trouble at all, your Highness. My people are fully aware of humans camouflaging a thirst for control, as responsible secrecy. It would be most welcome, if you prove a more empathic ruler than former king, Trilik. On more relevant matters, y'see Proud Scales over there; he may claim that he is a superior being among us, but there are none with superior senses to we of the Panterin."
The mage coughs behind his drooping, long mask. A Zeelan grunts, but continues softly rolling side to side. Shining like the temple just received great tithings; with her staff slightly raised, the cleric snorts.
"Oh, do tell, what exactly have your superior senses done lately," Trygg smirks.
"Ruler of men, this one was certain that man had long departed this world. I'm sure you felt the body's stiffness when you tucked the cover. My kind considers scavenging a foul practice, and we pride ourselves on our noses never being fooled by prey. I could even feel his shift in temperature from where I was standing."
"Really? All that?" Trygg leans forward.
"Er, mo' o' less," Shalas speaks with a tounge full of his shoulder.
"Well, I'll accept the smell part, and I guess the overt embellishments are just a fresh spread of jelly. Comrade, for the sake of your future nonsense; you should actually attend a few of our lecture halls. Bodies don't become stiff, nor cold, so quickly. But, upon being that close to him, I agree with you. He was certainly no longer among us."
"Sz'at so, led astray by human hearsay. No matter, I don't have an inclination for playing with corpses anyway. Thus, you shouldn't be surprised, that I the idea of fighting an undead absolutely distasteful."
"Even knowing the the undead are known to be non-threatening, you would be nervous?" Trygg sounds skeptical.
"Of course, my liege. Even knowing a bug isn't poisonous, wouldn't you find squishing it between your fingers to be gross? Look at me, all I have is my waistcloth. Seems only Aurel and I followed the proper custom of coming here, unarmed. Would you expect me to have put my bare hands or teeth on one of those rotting things? Should that man have arisen, as the first ever 'powerful undead', I had no intention of taking care of it. Lest, not forget our former hero also possessed an inventory, similar to Juhanni. Even a weak undead could've pulled out something dangerous. My nerves should be understandable, knowing that this may have very well have ruined our relationship. After all, I never agreed with your decisive measures in the first place."
"Ah yes, actually, forgive my oversight on this one. I have indeed overlooked your obsession with hygeine. Should you have any qualms in the future, do remember to seek me out. I look forward to our renewed relationship."
"As do I, Lord Trygg," Shalas with a closed fist over his belly bows, and his body shifts back to its natural charcoal color.
"Well now, Yeva, we are all aware you felt some type of way about our deceased comrade. And as you had more direct dealings in his final rest, we can all understand your lack of poise. Nevertheless, help me make one thing clear."
"What can I do for you, my king," Yeva curtsies before him.
"It has come to my attention, that we've let mere imaginings of undead frighten other sapients far longer than its use. Rumor waxes well on foe, but spreads plasters poison upon ally. For the sake of our continued partnerships, enlighten the less studious among us on the characteristics of the undead."
"Very well, for starters, there are three types of these abominations. The defiant bodies, lingering spirits, and to my horror designed-mutations. Defiant bodies are those who have rejected death's finality and provide a sad imitation of life. None have been found to be any stronger, than a hardworking peasant. To our further delight, the wretched things don't even possess an arcanic well or any amount of control. These include the usual skeletons, ghouls, and zombies."
"Pfft, so you're sayin the cursed thing couldn't have accessed any equimpent, one way or another," Aurel clarifies. He follows with a slow clap of wealthy music,"Good, oh that's rich, such a useless thing actually rattled nerves earlier."
Yeva ignores his intrusion,"Anyway, spirits, on the other hand, have no problem wielding arcana. They happen to take the form of wraiths, geists, and haunts. Fortunately, these types seem unable to leave a specific range of their birthplace."
"What about the questionable possession rumors?" Shalas engages.
"There is...that...Annnd it does allow the spirit to leave it's suggestively restricted area. Although, it seems only the weakest of the willed are susceptible. Sleeping children, delirious addicts, and the dying elderly are the choice targets. The possessed may gain a minor affinity to the arcana, but the body remains weak, all the same. The things even retain their weakness to raw arcana and faith-based abilities. They are considered slightly more problematic than their physically-born brethern, but dispatching them is no real trouble," she stops in front of Juhanni.
"Anything to add?" she tries to jab in the chest, but the drooping mask extends and thwarts the attempt.
"I don't believe my superior expertise would add much of note," he responds frankly.
With a look of someone assaulted by the taint of someone unfamiliar with ablution, she turns and continues,"Lastly, and possibly the most dangerous of the groups are the manufactured."
"I thought you called them..designed-mutations," Aurel smirks.
"I did, but as they aren't a legitimate type, but instead the results of lunatics like Juhanni here; the term is irrelevant. Nice to know someone is paying close attention, but there will be no after-class meeting," she remarks. "Anyhow, certain freaks exist who consider the dead akin to immortality, and they partake in collaring, summoning, and creating the foulness of unlife. The results of such experimentation are known to create more powerful undead, but fortunately, they are still plauged by a lack mental facilities."
"OOOHH!! you mean like the one we've heard called the blood-drinker," Vigsunn intrudes.
"Yes, alongside things like the lich and general abominations. Nevertheless, I assure you the rumors of these things are full of hyperbole. All noted events of these creations have been discovered to require an operant. Even the ones converted directly from a live patient have all been brain-dead. These creatures have, thus far, proven to have no will and require a controller to pose any threat. Most importantly, no undead, of any kind is known to have progressed."
"Oh! are they stunted from the glory of ascension? Haha even our great mother rejects the existence of those contemptible things," Vigsunn cackles.
"Hahhh, ascension, the things have not shown even the slightest change in attributes. The natural ones anyway. Unfortunate as it is, we humans have a penchant for trying to make use of any and everything. Even now, I am shamed to admit, that we've yet to wipe those cultists from this world. Foul priests and blight mages proclaiming they study the path of nekros have taken a firm root in the underbelly of our less fortunate cities. We don't believe the undead within their grasp; actually make any progress, but we do know some controllers possesses a way to imbue them with greater power."
"Sz' humans actually like to play with rotting flesh. I guess some have a point in calling you hogs. Pretty sure most meant it, as insult to your lack of natural covering, but you truly do have some disgusting habits," Shalas remarks.
Yeva grimaces,"I'm not going to comment on that. Anyway, unless Juhanni would like to be of service---something unfamiliar to him, I think that about covers any crucial knowledge on the undead."
"Not at all, I must admit, I've never shared your inclination to join the service' industry," Juhanni lets off. "I think we'd all agree, you've adequately satisfied everyone with your professional' work, already."
"Indeed, you may step aside now," Trygg resumes. "Now that we've had superstitions quelled, allow me to just clarify a small matter," the young sovereign smirks. He raises off of the bed and heads toward the party, that has gathered near the filled bookshelves. "Now that we've revisted everyone's poor display this rotat; I'd like to resolve one last, silly notion."
"Oh, do tell," Vigsunn finally stands, with scales quickly regrowing. "I should probably thank you, Juhan---," he dodges his head to the side, without a moment to spare. A gash travels up his snout to just beneath his right eye. "Q--," he cancels questioning the situation and escapes the throat-seeking stab. His massive arm reaches back for his flesh-mauler, but immediately the blade sticking out of his hand steals his attention. Seeing it entered from his elbow, he quickly decides to just attack the man with his free left arm. Before his attack covers even half the distance, his right arm bursts open. His eyes glance for less than a flicker at the exposed, rust-colored bone, yet his assailant still manages to escape his perception. The blade, with a slight glow of arcanic radiance, shallowly enters the back of Vigsunn's neck on a downward path.
DEATH! Every non-essential thought takes leave, as the Zeelan forgoes any thoughts of pride. He drops straight down to all fours, once more, just narrowly escaping the fate of being cleaved partially in half. "I SURRENDER!!" his guttural cry resounds.
"That so," Trygg's blade dims. "Are you sure? I mean clearly your more important than me right? Interrupting your lessers, is the natural order. Is it not? And...as that lesser...it's only natural I try to wound or escape a superior predator."
"Becau---EhAHHH!!!Qel Zinken Vasssun?!" he roars, once more, after his quad-horned tail is slashed off.
"To answer, no, it wasn't just cause you slighted me speaking. Did you not just threaten my royal advisor in front me? The highest ranked mage in the empire. After we just lost a massive asset to our ranks, no less. I get that you may have been a bit excited over your recent ascension, but am I to allow you to trample our empire?" The king sheathes his bloodless scimitar. "Are you people waiting on permission? Oh! so now you can display proper decorum. Clean this mongrel's blood off me, already, Juhanni...Yeva, Aurel. You all know I don't possess such a useless skill."
Yeva swishes her staff and Trygg becomes a pristine man, once more.
"Well, as this volunteer for my point-proving has helped emphasize for you all; allow me to not waste this opportunity. There is nothing that could have happened, whether or not, our former champion was alive or dead. Am I not still in this room? Won't help take care of it, Shalas? Some grand trial, Vigsunn? Not enough treasures, Aurel? Hmph!" He grunts.
Everyone's, excluding Juhanni and the king, eyes water, and their hands reach for parched throats. The arcana within the room has gathered so densely around the king, that the viridescence pulses around him.
"I just wanted him to go peacefully. He'd earned that much hadn't he? Instead, clearly too much was expected of you all. Yeva, I don't even, you went straight to Juhanni's lap as soon as you entered the room. Aurel, don't look so humble, everyone knows you definitely asked him about any valuables you could take. Even Juhanni, just had to taunt him in his final moments. Yet, you scoundrels have the nerve to be shaken by a lil movement. Are you looking down on me?"
The sovereign turns toward Vigsunn. "Open!" accompaning the demand, is the scimitar suddenly pressing against the bottom of the Zeelan's jaw. Unlike his thrashing, remodeled tail Vigsunn offers no resistance, and slowly eases his mouth open.
"You showed up here believing you were suddenly above us all. A foolish delegate. You may very well be the most talented Zeelan in twenty elapse, but you're not an elder. I am aware of how everyone beneath your elders are disposables. Yet, you dare walk in here looking down upon a king. Even going as far, as believing that, you could have dealt with my sword." He glances at the former champion of Durskrieg. "You've never stood a chance agaisnt either the one I command or the one in my hand. Such fatuity, requires a reminder, no? Otherwise, we've seen your ego overencumbers you." The blade taps Vigsunn in the palatum, as the king nods to himself. "Yes, it's better if you remember your just a lizard, after all."
Vigsunn doesn't even blink, as the weapon swiftly descends. Blood splatters, once more, but without staining King Trygg. Tension spills from both the victim and offender for less than a moment. Pain and disgrace claim victory over Vigsunn, and he wails with his newly-split tounge vacillating to-and-fro.
"With lesson learned, allow me to remind you. The king's weapon is only that. A tool. Just because one does not take action, do not mistake that for inability. Assigning value and roles to his people is a king's burden. Know your place! This man's role was to be sheathed for he began to outshine his purpose. Should he not have accepted his final task, I would have subdued him, myself. Never, would the responsibility have fallen to a mere emissary of another people."
"ISN'T THAT RIGHT, MEN!!" Trygg glares upon his ally and subordinates, once more.
Thud! Thud! Thud! The butts of at least thirty spears shake the halls.
"WHO IS OUR STRENTH?!"
"Trygg! Trygg! Trygg!"
"That We All Become Giants! WHO CARVES OUR PATH!"
"Trygg! Trygg! Trygg!" Armor rattles as the rhythm picks up. The sounds of another seventy spears appear to have joined the chorus.
"May We All Pave The Road! WHERE DO WE STOP!"
"Trygg! Trygg! Trygg!" The entire palace quakes as the symphony of hundreds of soldiers slap spears or boots to the ground in resounding unison.
"FOLLOW ME TO ETERNITY!!" Everyone kneels before him. Even the spasming Zeelan, recovers enough poise to kneel, respectfully.
"TRYGG! TRYGG! TRYGG!!!" All of the thumping stops before the last shout, but it still manages to be louder than all of the preceding racket.
"Well, now that the men are all excited, we've at least gotta go for a stroll. Let's go enjoy some southern sites. You know, as long as, our southern border doesn't make you nervous." Trygg smiles.
"What could go wrong with you leading us? I won't miss out on easy profit," Aurel stands, followed by the rest of the group. The excess arcana dressing the king dissipates, and everyone inhales in relief.
The king nods, after measuring his comrades gazes,"Indeed, now that we've cleaned our own house. S'bout time we enjoy a bit of someone else's prosperity."
"And take a lil for ourselves, my lord?" Juhanni supplies.
"Of course, isn't sharing a neighborly custom? Lets go uphold some tradition," Trygg leaves the room laughing, and none hesistate to follow.