> Death is the final journey. Whenever forces go against this natural force, well, it is considered a force of great unnatural power. Shaping undeath is unpredictable and can lead to immense consequences.
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> For how can we shape life?
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> Third chapter from “A Treatise on Shaping”
Hek shifted his weight uncomfortably in the cold mountain air. The broadsword on his back felt heavier than usual. His fork-tongue flicked out from his maw to taste the air, it was sweet and sharp. What sun passed through the dense forest canopy felt good on his scales. A beam of sunlight warmed his head, the heat soaked into him as he exhaled in contentment.
Looking ahead he watched his client look about the area with wild-eyes. The shaper had shown herself throughout the trip to be someone unfamiliar with the rigors of travel. He sniffed in amusement, though this was usually the case with most of his wards, she treated him with a respect that was hard to find for his kind.
"Hek!" Anna called back to him. Red hair cascaded down her shoulders as she turned to face him, the midday sun causing it to flare in color as she did. "We'll be making it there soon."
He grunted in response.
"I am nervous." She said, turning back to the road. Her tone became more thoughtful as they continued. "I hope that the master shaper I am visiting will be a good teacher." A sigh escaped from her, obvious disappointment now showing as her shoulders sagged slightly.
A snort escaped from Hek, his gravelly voice cutting into the air, "In my tongue, we have a word, Tesh, it means to live strongly." He thudded his tail on the ground once, punctuating his point. "To live strongly one must do what they can with what ability they have, no regrets can be had otherwise." Hek sniffed the air and nodded.
Anna gave Hek a wide smile. He could not help but feel the warmth of it and lowered his snout in embarrassment.
" The scaleborne for a warrior-race are wise." She said, regarding him with a look of respect.
"Shaper had I not already known you were someone worthy of my respect I would have taken those words as disrespectful," Hek said, raising a hand to touch the bone crests that adorned his head. It was a sign of his pride to be born from the scales.
Raising her hands Anna said, "I meant nothing by it. You and your kin have nothing but my respect."
She was definitely an odd one this shaper.
Hek was escorting her on behalf of the academy, on the favor of an old friend from within its walls. From what he was told the roads had become increasingly treacherous. Though she had been formally trained on how to fight, Anna had not been into actual combat. The woman was a skilled shaper.
The master who was at the outpost within the Outerlands had been sent out there as a protector. Local bandits within the region had been giving the settlers their trouble, and the kingdom believed it best to send someone who could deter it.
What he had also heard was that some of the camps were also being attacked and taken care of. By what, the various settlements within the outerlands had no idea.
Dalthos stalked through the woods or moved as quietly as he could in heavy plated armor. Then again, the fact he could wear the armor at all still baffled him. The wonders of divinity for you. He mused, continuing to move toward his next target.
It had been a few months since his return to the realm of the living. A full month since he had struck a bargain with two gods. The two made an odd pair, the gods of death, and one of humor.
The deal had given Dalthos a second chance, an opportunity to rise above what he had been. And though it was not entirely what he wanted nor what he expected, well, it would work. I am going to make it work. He exhaled loudly into his helmet which made a slight rattling noise.
Stopping for a moment, he examined numerous tracks in the dirt branching off in multiple directions. Some of the tracks he had followed early had simply vanished, which told Dalthos that some of the bandits he pursued dabbled in shaping.
“These bastards are getting more clever the more of them I hunt,” Dalthos growled softly, he continued to move through the dense foliage of the woods, each footstep producing a soft click and tap.
From what he could tell, a lot has occurred since his death and the month since his return. From what news Dalthos could gather from interrogating a few bandits, tensions within the High Kingdoms were building. War some on the horizon.
An increase in attacks from monstrosities had also been reported, as well as new variants. Some of the humanoid races were also becoming more active.
A lot was happening, Dalthos had no doubts that his return was in line with the current chaos that seemed to be enveloping the land. Just another piece being moved by the uncaring hand of fate.
And the hand is pretty calloused.
His resurrection had been within the territory that was familiar to him. His keep and lands had not been far from his current location.
He had been a warlord, ruling over the peasantry within his lands with an uncaring iron fist. He had been ruthless.
Through the most brutal means, he had carved his domain, accomplishing it by spilling as much blood as possible. His conquest had been violent and destructive.
Any outpost that did not have explicit protection was either in his control or under constant threat from his forces.
But his death had drastically changed things.
The gods had informed him that his absence resulted in an immense power struggle. Neighboring warlords now moved to take a slice of the realm, fighting with each other like a pack of hungry wolves. Meanwhile, petty bandit lords picked at the scraps.
While he had been alive at least the chaos had been kept to a minimum. Now it was nothing more than pure anarchy. Dalthos had work to do, he had to clean up a mess that was largely due to him.
Pathetic. On my end and theirs. Dalthos thought while hefting the massive warhammer from his back.
Though he could not feel the weight of the weapon in his hand, he knew the weight of it from the impact it made on a living being’s body. It was a weapon gifted to him by his patron gods. The metalworking and design of the hammer were superb. On the sides of the hammer’s head were two grim motifs of devilish-looking skulls. Their mouths agape in an almost smile displaying a row of fangs.
Dalthos liked the heavy appearance, it helped with intimidation.
As he continued his walk through the slowly darkening forest, a twig from somewhere behind him snapped.
Whirling around, Dalthos had his hammer raised at the ready to meet his potential foe.
After a few tense moments, a small figure emerged from behind a tree. Trotting towards Dalthos was the skeletal form of a cat. Orbs of soft blue light glowed within the empty sockets of its skull.
Dalthos grunted and relaxed at the sight of his traveling companion, “Well met, Sir Cat, I wondered where you wandered off to.” He continued to move in the direction of some distinct tracks.
The undead feline caught up to him and began to match his pace. It tilted its head up to him and responded to him with a rasp and a few clicks of its bony mouth.
Stolen story; please report.
Up above the light of day now faded away quickly, the darkness of the forest growing with each passing moment. Shadows stretched outward as the sunlight retreated from the world.
Within a few moments, Dalthos could hear the clamor of a camp. Rowdy voices, the clang of tools, and various other sounds drifted through the air towards him.
He took a deep breath and stopped his advance. Then started the process of feeling for the flow of will within the area.
Still a novice in shaping he searched for the spark needed to ignite his control of the energy, it took a moment to find. Moving a hand out in front of him, Dalthos began summoning forth the will surrounding him. From behind him, a thick mist began to bubble forth, it billowed around his legs and began to wash against the trees.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Dalthos felt the weight of the weapon in his hands. It was a comforting sensation to him. He strode forth into the encampment.
A nearby sentry patrolling the perimeter of the camp called out to him, surprise coloring his voice.
Ignoring him, Dalthos continued to walk further into the bandit camp. The mist trailing behind him like
More yells of shock rang out as he passed by groups sitting by fires or those standing around tents, fear and confusion surged through the place like a monstrous wave.
The armor plate he wore gleamed wickedly from the glare of the nearby dancing flames.
Dalthos moved towards the center of the camp where he found a much larger tent. Around a fire set before what appeared to be the leader’s tent were several individuals, one of them was a green scaleborne. Who wore ragged clothing and had a thick iron band clamped around its neck. It gave him a look that was both a mixture of several emotions: sorrow, anger, and fear.
Its horns had been chipped and filed down. Dalthos could see a few more in the camp in a similar condition along with a few humans as well.
How quaint, they are also slavers. All the more reason to remove them from the area. He thought to himself, still feeling a sense of irony regarding those very thoughts.
From within the larger tent emerged two looming figures. One was a man wearing a variety of different pelts, one of them seemed to be a small plated hulk. The large scales themselves offered as much protection as the heavy armor he wore it over. The man’s helmet was enveloped by the upper jaw of a bear pelt.
The other figure who emerged was even larger, it was the biggest scaleborne in the camp. Standing taller than Dalthos by a few heads, the creature was imposing with its height and muscular build.
The two horns on its head were not filed down to the scales but were allowed to be bony stumps. It had scales that were dark orange, the coloring reminded Dalthos of a setting sun.
Many others within the camp now stood, weapons were slowly drawn and held intense anticipation. Still keeping their distance some of them now encircled Dalthos, worry and unease filled their faces.
“People have been crowding me recently, I am beginning to sense a pattern.” Dalthos said casually, “I am here to ask that you leave.” He shifted the weight of his hammer and commenced absently twirling the head of his weapon. A few nervous whispers rippled through the surrounding crowd.
“Quiet!” The man with many pelts roared, “You are a fool to have walked into our camp. We are prepared for you, monster.” He snarled as he moved forward menacingly, pulling a longsword from its sheath on his waist.
The scaleborne regarded Dalthos with a bored expression, waiting for orders to be issued from his master.
“Are you the leader of this camp then?” Dalthos said, ignoring the show of intimidation.
A scream of rage came from the man as he charged.
--
Anna was anxious.
This was her first time having left the comfort of her homeland, she found herself missing the academy walls.
Though the thrill of travel had done a lot to keep those fears at bay.
But now that she neared their destination that worry had come back. Dusk had settled on them and they now walked a road that appeared heavily used. They had passed those from the outpost, who with hesitant and terse words told them how far they had to go.
Paying the reactions no heed, Anna and her companion continued onward.
Anna had been told that her new teacher, Master Sion, was someone skilled in the art of combat shaping. But he was someone who could only channel through a catalyst, the lowest form of shaping.
She sighed out loud.
A grumble came from behind her. The emerald green scaleborne who was traveling looked at her with his head tilted.
“Feeling more nervous, that is all.”
Hek nodded his head in response and continued monitoring their surroundings. He had kept vigilant since hearing about the civil unrest in the area.
Within the Outerlands, many of its regions were often overseen by warlords. These self-proclaimed rulers were merely glorified, bandit lords. And though the region in which they oversaw had a substantial monstrosity presence it held vast amounts of resources, one of which included minerals rich with Will.
In most cases, the surrounding kingdoms to the south of the Outerlands either made treaties with the warlords or simply sent their people up north to establish outposts.
An arrangement that was tenuous and fragile. The feeding frenzy for the territory that ensued after one of the warlords was killed was a perfect example of it.
The two of them soon entered into a clearing within the forest. A large area of it was filled with ancient tree stumps, reminders of the forest that was once there.
At the center of the clearing stood the outpost, its walls emitted the glow of the life within.
A gust of wind blew the smells of civilization towards them. Anna could smell woodsmoke, the cooking of food, and the faint putrid scent of waste.
Yeah, smells like home.
The rough voice of Hek interrupted her thoughts, “Anna when are we to meet your teacher?”
It did not cease to impress her at how well Hek spoke the Kaldren language. Many of the scaleborne within the capitol were timid due to being born into slavery. They hardly spoke and avoided most contact with anyone else; however, those like Hek who came from their desert homeland held onto their pride.
“In the morning, we are to head to the Twin Raven Inn for lodgings,” Anna said, recalling the letter sent to her from Master Sion.
Hek nodded and simply kept walking.
-
This was not what I expected. Anna thought staring at the drunk individual splayed out on the floor of the tavern.
Having only just walked into the tavern they were informed by the innkeeper that Sion was present. After which they quickly discovered that her new teacher was the town alcoholic. The man was already deep into his drink when the two of them arrived. He now lay within what appeared to be a puddle of his vomit and spilled drink.
The man’s appearance was extremely disheveled. His black hair was unkempt. Though his face was turned from them, Anna could also see that his beard was wild and not groomed well. A long coat he was wearing was covered in stains of varying colors.
A pungent odor wafted up from him, causing Anna to cover her nose.
“So, we have found him.” Hek began, speaking slowly as he eyes the unmoving form of Master Sion. With a claw the scaleborne prodded Sion. The man groaned loudly but otherwise did not respond further.
A pained expression currently painted Anna’s face, she gave Hek a stiff nod.
“It would seem so.”
“Not the ideal image for a teacher.” Hek observed, his tongue licking at the air, “He has had many drinks. It is surprising he still breathes at all.” Nodding towards him, Hek continued, “I bet this man could compete in a drinking contest with the hardiest of my kin.”
Taking a deep, Anna strode forward to shake her would-be instructor. She took him by the arm and shook him vigorously. Another groan emanated from Sion but still, he refused to acknowledge the world.
The frustration Anna felt began to swell into anger. Taking hold of the will around her, she began to push energy into her hands. With a firm grip, she began to surge the crackling energies from her hand into Sion’s body.
An agonized yelp came from Sion as he jumped up from his chair. The mess of a man looked about the room in utter confusion.
Not hiding her disappointment, Anna cleared her throat and began speaking, “Master Sion, I am the student who has been assigned to you from the academy. Anna-...”
He gave her a lost expression as she spoke, and before Anna could finish a jet of bile erupted from him. After a fit of wet coughs, he dropped back onto the floor with a resounding thud.
Shaking with rage Anna strode toward the unconscious body.
A firm hand gripped her shoulder, a slight pain accompanied the grasp.
“Hold Anna, you would do something you may regret,” Hek said, loosening the grip of his hand. His eyes were traveling the tavern. Some of them standing and watching the situation.
The innkeeper, a rugged and portly looking man stepped forward. His eyes moving between Anna and Sion on the floor.
“What business do you have with him?”
It all happened mere seconds after the first blows were struck.
Dalthos sent the bandit leader sprawling with a powerful kick. And with a wide roundabout swing of his massive weapon battered two men who were lunging at him. His hammer’s impact rang out like a bell, as both bone and metal crumbled from the collision.
Heavy mist now rolled across the ground and from the trees came an ominous rattling noise. Screams of terror filled the camp followed by the clang of weaponry. His armed forces had arrived.
Emerging from the mist-filled forest walked a dread visage, one of death.
Armored skeletons poured into the camp and ruthlessly attacked any bandits they saw.
Dalthos undead soldiers were clad in mismatched armor and equipped with a variety of weapons. Some of them were damaged from previous fights with their bony frames having been broken or chipped away.
The bandit lord looked around wildly. His eyes locked onto the form of Dalthos.
“You monster! I did not want to believe the reports. The man turned to the red scaleborne, “Raise your weapon you brute!”
With a conflicted expression the creature looked around at the unfolding situation.
“You were cruelly made a slave. If you raise no weapon towards me, I shall give you the freedom to leave.” Dalthos said with a firm voice. Then looking around, projected his voice outward. Lightly shaping his voice to become as loudly as he could make it, “For all those unjustly made to serve, if you lay down your arms. I will not attack you!”
Some of the bandits immediately threw down their arms and fell to their knees.
“Cowards! Get up and fight!” The leader yelled to everyone, then turning to the red scaleborne roared, “You! I order you to move your scaly ass!”
Beside him the scaleborne looked at Dalthos and nodded, rapidly moving its tail to sweep the legs out from under the man.
A figure walked over to Dalthos’ side and stopped. Dalthos turned to face his servant. It wore a hood that mostly obscured the exposed skull of this particular undead, and unlike the others, it wore what appeared to be well-maintained leather armor. It held a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other.
“Sir, most within the camp have been killed, subdued, or were unwilling to fight.” The skeleton said in a raspy voice.
“Very good Kestor, now let’s make sure the innocent are accommodated.” Dalthos waved a hand toward the slaves, who currently stared at him with horrified expressions. Some sobbed, convinced that they would soon meet some terrible end.
“And as for the dead?” Kestor inquired, using a boot to kick a nearby corpse.
“Gather them, I will attempt to bring back a few later.” Dalthos then raised his hammer and viciously swung into the side of the leader. A thunderous crack sounded as the hammer connected, sending the man flying to the side. He landed in a crumpled heap several paces away. His body spasmed a few times before going silent.
Kestor gave a light salute before walking away to execute his tasks. The other undead had stopped moving and now silently waited for new orders. Each staring at the world through black voids, cold and endless.
The red scaleborne eyed him, his body tense from the explosive display of violence.
“What are you going to do with us?” It said, voice laced with suspicion.
“Let you go free,” Dalthos responded immediately, he slung the hammer onto his back. “Or do as you wish.”
With widening eyes, the scaleborne looked at Dalthos with surprise. It was processing what it had just been told.
“Who are you?” It asked, looking at him with awe.
Trotting over to him, Sir Cat rubbed its skeletal form against his sabatons. The bone clicking softly against the steel exterior.
“I am simply Dalthos.” He said, nodding to the scaleborne before moving away to inspect the camp.