Motes of dust floated listlessly through the air above the countertop of the cluttered, chaotic, eclectic store called Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles. An old wooden chair creaked and groaned against the dusty floorboards as the red-haired Caster stood and stretched out a satisfying crack of bones, stiff from sitting for too long. He dusted off his flowing black robe and turned to Ben.
“So that you know, Master Durrene is… was very pragmatic in his dealings. I’m afraid he’s not the same man he once was.” Kieran paused to lick his sharp teeth under closed lips; his eyes wandered off to the front door, seemingly to formulate his words. “I think it’s best to meet him and decide how best to deal with him yourself.”
Ben frowned. “I’m still not past the whole ‘fresh corpses of Old Worlders’ thing yet. How were you involved in all of this?”
“Me? Not at all, to be honest,” Kieran said as he met Ben’s gaze with a shrug. “I’ve only taken an interest in Old World research recently as the reason for seeking an apprenticeship with the Archmage was to improve my craft. Master Durrene’s passion is… infectious, one could say.”
The young man sneezed, and the Caster winced at the light spray of mucus on his immaculate robes.
“Sorry,” Ben said sheepishly before placing a hand on his bearded chin and narrowing his eyes at the handsome man. “Okay, let’s take a step back for a moment. What is a Necromancer?” he asked.
Kieran tilted his head with a furrowed brow as if he considered whether or not the question was genuine. Understanding bloomed in his dark eyes, and he grinned. “Ah, so I take it Necromancers didn’t exist in the Old World? Does that mean you didn’t have to burn or behead your cadavers? What about-”
“Kieran,” Ben interrupted with a raised hand. “Big gaps, remember?” he paused and closed his eyes to try and search among the fragmented memories of different lives. “I don’t think so. From what little memories I have, the word doesn’t ring a bell, and if it's related to magic, then I’m pretty sure it didn’t exist in my world.”
Kieran hummed thoughtfully and mimicked Ben’s chin-stroking. The contemplative pair was interrupted by a patter of light footsteps on the creaking staircase behind the counter. Ben saw a pale, dainty hand wrap around the doorframe. Ann’s head leaned out as her thick blonde braid swayed before her.
“My heart,” she said, her brows slanted suddenly, and she rushed to the young man’s side before cupping his temples with warm hands and inspecting his forehead. “What happened?” she asked with consternation before her brows furrowed.
“Ah. It’s nothing, just a-” he tried.
“And you have a fever,” she interrupted before huffing. “It would appear that your escapades in the rain weren’t, perhaps, the most sensible thing to do?” she asked rhetorically.
“Annie, I’m fine. It’s just a cold,” Ben said as the short Keeper let go of him.
The Keeper considered him with narrowed blue eyes, her hands in fists on her hips. “As you say. I suppose it’d be safe to assume that you won’t be needing my Aura to speed your recovery. It’s just a little cold, after all.”
“Well… I didn’t say th-”
“Of course,” the Keeper interjected before turning to the staircase. “We should leave soon. There are dry clothes for you upstairs. Please let me know once you’re ready to leave,” she said, ignoring any protest from the young man. She promptly left for the store's second floor; heavy stomps of footsteps on the creaking wooden stairs were the punctuation to her displeasure.
Ben sighed and turned to find an unoccupied counter. He thought that Kieran must have left, probably recognizing the impending disaster. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt the Keeper’s presence as if it were a radiating figure above him. He leaned into their bond and was overwhelmed by the emotions of frustration, defiance, and…
Jealousy?
Ben clenched his teeth at the grating feeling and wondered why the Keeper would be jealous. Not that they were romantically involved, yet he had made peace with her fanatic obsession with him, and he could logically deduce that she’d get jealous at the idea of him receiving attention from another woman. He instinctively reached out to the source of frustration and felt as if he could strangle the emotion with his will alone. He flinched and snapped open his eyes.
Don’t you dare.
He warned himself. The thought of manipulating Ann made his stomach churn, yet he was morbidly curious as to the extent to which he could control the woman. He could remove all traces of defiance toward him. Make her obedient. She’d be a good subject, and he’d never have to deal with betrayal ever again.
Ben frowned and bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. Immediately, as if cold water had woken him from a spiraling nightmare, his head felt crisp and clear, and disgust filled his stomach at the thought of taking Ann’s free will from her.
Is this what it means to align with Domination? No, that can't be right.
He thought as he stood alone in the cluttered room. The shadows cast by an orange lantern seemed to grow taller, and he felt the beast’s breath on his neck. The heat of anger flushed his cheeks.
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That was you, wasn’t it?
He willed his thoughts in a challenge toward the entity, yet he received no reply, and the shadows in the room seemed to recede at the question. His heart thrummed in his chest, and he hadn’t realized that he was breathing heavily. A pulse of concern smothered the negative emotions through his Keeper’s bond, and Ben grimaced. He resolved to raise the issue with the entity later that night.
He made his way up creaking stairs to find Ann in front of a low crackling fire. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the Keeper's long white robe dipped a bit lower from her neckline than the previous one he’d seen upon awakening in Kieran’s townhouse. He saw an angry scar of waxy, discolored skin on her chest above her breasts, and he clenched his jaw and felt shame at the turmoil of control and manipulation he had felt moments before. His nails began to dig deep into his palm, clenched tightly into a fist. The knuckles on the hand that held the beautiful weapon grew white, and he closed his eyes.
“Ben… my heart. Forgive me for my impudence,” said Ann in a soft voice.
The young man's eyes opened to find the woman’s closed and her head dipped in deference.
She thinks I’m angry at her.
“Annie. Stop, please. I’m the one who should be sorry,” Ben said as he placed his halberd next to the fireplace and sat opposite her.
The blonde-haired woman opened her eyes to meet his gaze questioningly. “No, my Champion,” she said with a warm smile. “Mold me. Use me as you see fit. This is my purpose.”
The hairs on the back of his arms stood on their ends, and he felt a scuttle of terror run down his spine.
“What?” he asked, as the emotion he experienced couldn’t be put into words.
“I mentioned a while ago that I was selected to be a Keeper as a girl,” she dipped her head and continued. “After the High Priest discovered my gift of prophecy, I underwent shaping in seclusion under the Speakers of Illephrre. I lived deep within the Temple for ten years and three days and didn’t see the sun until my twenty-sixth summer.”
Ben’s eyes widened, and he began to feel light-headed.
Ann’s smile didn’t waver. “It’s been many years since I’ve felt the hand that shapes and molds. That is, until a moment ago.”
“Ann, I…” Ben trailed off.
“I’m glad you’ve come so far along your Path, my Herald.”
The world seemed to shift like cogs in a clock, and an indiscernible weight pressed against his being.
Approaching footsteps interrupted the conversation, and the young man turned to look up at a casually dressed Ainsle. She wore the same black leather trousers, knee-high boots, and loose white shirt he had seen her wear the day prior. Her grin was absent, and her blue eye regarded the pair thoughtfully.
“I’m gonna head out for a bit. Come and join us later at Dock Rat’s Balls when you’re done interrogating the bastard,” the Berserker said without waiting for a response, before she turned and left the shop.
Ann regarded Ben with soft blue eyes and what he interpreted to be a knowing smile. “I can see you’re conflicted. Perhaps you could make some time for me tonight? I’d be happy to explain how I was made for you.”
The words echoed in his mind. And the young man felt a disturbing chill caress his neck. He sat with a slackened jaw, unable to think of a reply.
“Let’s get you changed, my darling,” the blonde-haired woman said in a sing-song voice.
Ben felt disconnected as the woman began to dote on him. He wrestled with the implications of her words. He regarded the Keeper as she peeled off the soggy gambeson, tunic, and trousers from his thin frame. She dried his clammy skin with a soft linen towel, and he felt the radiant caress of her regenerative Aura; all traces of the cold he had begun to suffer vanished. He took the clean clothes from her hands, receiving a mild protest in return.
He began to see her affections in a different light. The thought that the short woman had been essentially groomed or brainwashed into being a subservient companion for the figure of an obscure prophecy left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ben began to feel overwhelmed with the day's revelations; suddenly, the trip to the temple didn’t seem as appealing as it had before learning the names of the Gods, the stress of the Inquisitor’s appearance, and hearing of the abuse his Keeper had willingly suffered.
He wrestled with the thought of postponing his trip to the temple, yet he decided that he wouldn't let the dwindling opportunity pass him by again. He mustered his resolve and got dressed. Ben wore a clean white shirt, dark brown trousers, and matching leather boots. Ann had given him a belt to affix his coin pouch and a plain, sheathed dagger to. He turned to the beautiful short, blond woman and met her soft blue eyes as she draped and wrapped a simple black cloak around his shoulders.
“Let’s have a sit down later, okay?” he said.
Ann nodded. “Of course, my heart. I look forward to it,” she said with a coy smile, yet Ben couldn’t bring himself to play along. She seemed dejected as her smile wavered, yet the Keeper maintained her composure and gestured to the stairway with an open palm. “Shall we?”
Ben returned the nod and followed the short woman down the creaky stairs and into the street. The Keeper had stopped to lock the front door of Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles, and while the young man waited for her to finish her task, Kieran seemed to appear out of nowhere in particular.
“Ready to go?” the red-haired Caster asked.
“Yeah, Ann’s just locking up,” he replied.
“Ah, thank you, Miss Blackwood,” Kieran said to the Keeper, who smiled in acknowledgment. “It’s a short distance to the temple, but I believe we have some time to talk before we get there.”
Ann joined the men while stuffing a sizeable rusty key in her small satchel tied to her belt, and the trio began their walk to the temple.
“Regarding Necromancers,” Kieran began, as if their prior conversation hadn't been interrupted, “ours is a Path of Casters who specialize in magic that affects both the living and the dead. It’s fundamentally rooted in life magic, contrary to what most believe, yet instead of using mana to rejuvenate or heal living tissue, it’s used to reintroduce life essence into vessels that no longer hold the spark.”
Ben remained quiet as he listened to the handsome Caster’s lecture. The only experience he’d had with the undead was back at the outpost in Moonvale, and those had been terrifying creatures. Kieran continued:
“In fact, you’d notice the color of offensive Necromantic spells often take on the hue of those thought to be the exclusive domain of the school of Healing and Rejuvenation. Master Durrene has published several works disproving the common misconceptions of the application of Necromancy solely for the purpose of raising hordes of undead slaves or soldiers. Hence the title of Archmage was granted to him for his significant contribution to arcane society…”
Kieran’s words became an indecipherable drone in the background as the trio approached the Temple of Iorilai. The growl of the beast within him deafened his ears to the outside world.