Legacy (D&D)

[Imperial Overlord]

I didn't understand why I had gotten such comfortable cell until the third day of my confinement. Baator's Hells, I didn't even understand why they didn't just cut my head off. It wasn't like my guilt was in question. But they didn't. Instead I got a large, comparatively comfortable room suitable for a high born noble hostage in the Tower of Scales. Magic wouldn't work inside the tower worth a damn, even if I hadn't been wearing a pair of Witchfinder's Manacles. Even a veteran pit fighter had no chance of taking the custodians hand to hand and that didn't describe me. I wasn't going anywhere.

On the third day I received a visitor and things started to become clearer. He was a young, around twenty, blond, and fairly good looking in a skinny way. He wore the brown robes of a brother of the Monastery of Saint Denis and carried a portable writing desk.

There were two custodians with him, huge men who were trained in fighters. They opened the door and let him in. "Moleck Dire," he said. "I'm Stravin Kesk. Will you talk with me?"

"I don't know. I have a fairly demanding schedule of sitting and lying around waiting for my execution."

He smiled. "Is that a yes?"

"For old time's sake, that's a yes. Don't tell me the brothers and sisters expended what little clout they had to get me this comfy cell?"

"No," he said. "This is the work of Sir Jollan. He's a said that the kingdom owed you this even if it needs to take your head."

"That's very . . . honourable of the man." It was just like the stuffy old bastard. Everything done the right way, even if it was fucking moronic to do it that way. "I still wish I had killed him."

Stravin squirmed uncomfortably. "So," I asked, "why haven't they cut my head off yet?"

"The Heiserarch objected."

"Why in the name of the Infinite Layers did he do that?"

"He doesn't want the king using you as an excuse to ignore Ecclesiastical Privilege."

"That's crazy. I haven't been inside the monastery's doors in a decade."

"Yes, but neither have some wandering clergy. Your status was never formalized one way or the other. So the Heiserarch is insisting on formal hearing to determine your status so the king can't use you as a precedent to do away with Ecclesiastical Privilege."

"So I get to live under a formal inquiry determines that I'm not an ecclesiastical, or the Heiserarch disowns me, or they try me with full Ecclesiastical Privilege before they cut my head off."

"I would expect so," said Stravin.

"So why are you here?"

"Time is short," he said. "You are a participant in some of the most important events of the last decade and a trained monastic. Your a priceless historical resource. If you would consent to sharing your memories and observations with me, they can be recorded for posterity."

"Ah," I replied. "Well, it is immortality of a sort and beggars can hardly be choosers. In this, I can hardly refuse a brother. Why don't you make yourself comfortable at the desk they have so kindly provided?" I walked over to the bed and sat on it. I was too much a son of the Saint Denis to refuse this request.

"Thank you," he said and set up his ink pot, quills, and paper. "I'm ready to begin when you are."

"Give me a moment to organize my thoughts. This will be quite chaotic enough anyway."

"Of course," he said. "Whenever you're ready."

"The beginning, I think," I said. "I'll start with the beginning."

[LadyTevar]

I'm waiting for the next chapter.

[Imperial Overlord]

Two things before I begin. One is that many of the things I've been accused or rumored to have done are true. Or perhaps half true would be more accurate. I had good reasons at the time for doing them, but you and your readers, however many of them there are, will judge for yourselves. The other is I will try to prevent this from becoming a political polemic, but politics lies at the heart of so many of my actions including the ones that sent me on this last misadventure. So I'm going to have to insist that you record what passes for my political ideology for the record. On the bright side I'm sure arguing about and tearing apart my political views will keep a lot of brothers and sisters very busy over the next century, thus demonstrating the wonders of the monastic education to those who choose to read the various commentaries that I'm sure will be written.

With that out the way we can get to the matter of my birth. I was born in the year 579, to an unknown woman and left on the steps of the Monastery of Saint Denis outside of Bedruin on the seventh day of Firefall. My father would later be revealed to be Guile, assassin and enforcer in the service of Morghul. At this time the Glooming was small and Morghul's reach was limited, but he was planning for the future. Nine months earlier Guile had been in town murdering potential threats to his master's future reign. During that time he seduced a number of women, slept with a number of whores, and committed several rapes. At least one woman he had sex with became pregnant. She may or may not have tried to abort the fetus, but such things are chancy without the services of a skilled witch or surgeon and fetus's with demon blood running through their veins, no matter how diluted, tend to be tough.

I wouldn't learn my father's identity until late in life and I'm sure that there will be many comparisons made of father and son. I'll deal with my father in detail at the appropriate place in my story, but let me say for now that we were not much alike. Our only connections of any significance were our Morghul and the power I inherited from my father.

In any event I was born and abandoned at the monastery where I was taken in by the brothers and sisters as was customary. I won't linger too much on my childhood as I'm sure there is no shortage of surviving witnesses who have the luxury of not facing an imminent execution and thus can discuss it at length. The brothers and sisters at Saint Denis were good people and the institution was at it's heart a benevolent center of learning even if it is completely corrupt. Stop staring at me like that. How much wealth does the monastery command? How much does it charge for an education? Yes, you don't know. I do. Five hawks a season and it has about a dozen ecclesiastical and private students at any one time in a facility that could give a good education to ten score. Saint Denis takes much and gives little back.

I'm getting off track. Saint Denis, for those unfamiliar with it, is a collection of rambling buildings that have been periodically added to and expanded surrounded by a stout wall. It owns the surrounding fields, which are harvested on a share cropping relationship by the locals. As fits an monastery dedicated to Saint Denis, the inhabitants were and are primarily scholars in their middle age or older who have retired from active life to take vows and the various laity who assist in keeping the monastery functioning. Adding to this are a handful of children of various ages and the dozen odd students in residence.

It's a nice place to grow up, all told. I'm sure the Abyssal taint in my blood was quickly recognized and identified as such, but being scholars instead of fanatics or ignorant peasants it was realized that although I was touched by chaos and darkness I was not fated to be evil. They did their best to raise me not be and I hope it's not a forgone conclusion that they failed miserably. I'm of the opinion that they were too successful.

At any rate in a few years I was walking and talking and not long after that I was old enough to realize that I was different from other children. My flesh was unnatural tough and I could see in the dark. Under the right circumstances my eyes would reflect a fiery orange light. I had questions, of course, and I was told I was touched by chaos and when I was older I was understood that the chaos they meant was the Abyss. Until that time I had a relatively innocent childhood exploring the monastery grounds, playing in the fields, and learning under the instruction of the brothers and sisters.

I will say now that I loved Brothers Jhona and Silba and Sister Serene dearly. Brother Octa I hated, but almost everyone hated him. I didn't like Shemel and wasn't at all surprised when he was convicted and hung for rape. I had few playmates, but many kindly aunts and uncles and what I suppose was a good childhood.

Adolescence came and that was . . . frustrating for all the usual reasons. My studies grew more intense and my demonic heritage manifested itself with greater power. One afternoon of fruitlessly fishing in the brook after being chastised by Father Duran for something I don't quite recall and ice came with my rage, sudden and deadly. A ten foot odd length of the stream turned to ice and I knew that true magic had come to me along with my demon blood.

I practiced and honed my abilities while devouring everything I could about sorcery and the Abyss. There are no locked books of forbidden tomes in Saint Denis, but there were books that were frowned upon. I devoured many of these and searched for more. I dismayed many of the brothers and sisters and my powers grew along with my mastery of dark lore.

They had hoped, I think to make me a scholar or a priest. I could pass as the first, but not the second. I didn't have a priestly temperament, being too inclined to question and search for verification as opposed to taking answers on faith. I was also, to be blunt, a bored adolescent in a place that lacked girls to chase. Wanderlust and lust are powerful motivators, especially the latter. I wanted to see the world, accomplish great deeds, and sleep with as many beautiful women as possible; which made me very typical of most boys my age.

The brothers and sisters weren't blind to both my growing power and dissatisfaction with monastic life. I'm sure they hoped I would have a nice, boring virtuous existence as some minor ecclesiastical functionary, but that clearly was not to be. On the seventeenth anniversary of my arrival at the monastery I left through the front gates. The brothers and sisters saw me off, some with genuine concern and a no few with a considerable amount of trepidation. I'm sure I exceeded their worst nightmares.

[Imperial Overlord]

A picture of the sorcerer as a young man. I was taller than most and slim, with dark hair and a light tan. My eyes were dark, but occasionally reflected the glow of a fire even if none was present. I wore a good pair of boots, a sturdy pair of breeches, and a new tunic. Extra clothes and some food were in my backpack and I had a modest purse full of silver shields. As for weapons I had a poniard, a traveller's staff, and my own magic. I had a heavy wool cloak to ward off the cold and the wet, but the day was both sunny and warm.

Most of the monastery turned out to wish me well and give their good-byes. I had been troublesome, particularly in the latter years, but well liked. I was deeply touched by the display of affection, but my place was no longer there and we all knew it. After some awkward embraces, kind words, and well meant advice, I walked out the doors and onto the road. The whole wide world awaited.

I headed up the road to Bedruin to see the wonders of the fabled wonders of the big city and find my true destiny. I was still young and my head was filled with fantastic visions of glory, fame, wealth, and high adventure. And the love of beautiful women.

Reality intruded rather quickly. Bedruin could fairly be called a large town or a small city. The first thing to hit was the smell from its filth filled gutters and unwashed bodies of the poor. There were magnificent houses and beautiful temples and shops in some parts of the city and decaying tenements and run down storefronts in other parts. I had lived a sheltered existence and the reality of poverty and squalor hit me like a hammer blow.

After a while I got hungry and ended up buying a small bundle of apples and munching on two of them. The rest went into my pack. The day drew to a close and I made the serious mistake of trying to conserve my coin by taking my meal in a somewhat rundown tavern. The place was half full and the locals were rough types, ex-soldiers, dockworkers, and criminals. It was a good place to get into trouble, but my upbringing had been too sheltered for me to realize this. I was about to learn in a hurry.

I flashed too much money fumbling for coin to pay for a bowl of stew, some bread, and ale. Two nasty looking and worse smelling locals tried to entice me into a dice game, but I declined. They got pushy and I didn't back down but they did. I finished my meal and got up to leave. It was night by this time.

The two had already left, but they hadn't gone far. Two more of their friends waited a moment and then followed me out. The streets were pretty dark, but I can see in the dark like an owl. I saw the two rush me from the alley mouth and heard the two behind me. I struck the man in the lead in the shoulder with a shadowblast, which left him writhing on the cobbles. The other two hit me from behind.

If I had been purely human my life would not have taken me here, but if I had been totally human I would not have survived. One of my attackers jammed a knife into my kidney, only to have the blade slide across my flesh opening a shallow cut. I half turned and stuck my blazing hand into his face. The fire bolt flew several inches to melt his face, boil his eyes, and set his greasy hair alight. He fell screaming.

The other villain coming out of the alley took the opportunity to smash me in the head with a short wooden club. It hurt and staggered me, but neither cracked my skull nor laid me out. I grabbed my dagger and spun, stabbing him in the guts and ripping up. Blood gushed over my hands and he fell. I spun to deal with the last of my attackers but he was already running away.

I had just killed three men in a handful of seconds. I was absolutely horrified to take their lives and I had never felt more alive. My blood surged in my veins and I felt like a hero of old, except for the fact that my belly was churning. I had been out in the world less than a day and I was already a killer three times over.

[LadyTevar]

I think the Scholars were teaching far more than penmanship at the Monastery...

[Imperial Overlord]

My hands were sticky with blood. I had never killed a human being before. I had smashed rocks and rotted logs with bolts of fire and shadow and slain vermin and small game, but never men. I had opened a man's belly with hands that had never trained to use a weapon in battle. And I had loved it.

I felt the revulsion with taking a human life, the thrill of combat, and the joy in killing all at one time. I felt sick and dizzy. I vomited the stew I had so recently purchased all over the cobblestones. I got a hold of myself then and fled into the night. I ended up cleaning myself up in a public fountain and spending the rest of the night in a state of near panic.

I secured lodgings the next day at a somewhat rundown boarding house run by a sweet old lady with a backbone of the finest steel. I slept most of the day and went looking for work during the day after. I was expecting something heroic and noble that really needed doing. I found no such thing. There was no urgent help required that the city watch or unemployed veterans were not capable of performing and there were no groups of heroes gathering in taverns bemoaning the fact they were missing a mage or one more member to turn an unlucky number into a lucky one. Desperate maidens and dying men with cryptic utterances upon their lips were also in short supply.

My magical talents were mostly suited to violence. I lacked the small practical, commercial magics of a hedge-wizard or merchant mage. I was husbanding my purse carefully, but what little wealth I had was dwindling. I started to get nervous.

Fortunately a solution presented itself when I was passing an expensive cafe and noticed the would be merchant princes were enjoying iced desserts. Of course, it turned out there were already several wizards producing ice for money, but I was able to freeze a considerable amount of water which made my services attractive if not unique. I negotiated a reasonable fee my money problems were over.

For the next month and a half I lived frugally but well. I had no expensive indulgences and my purse grew. Women and girls caught my gaze often and more than once I considered buying a whore. I was seventeen Stravin, and a virgin with money in my pocket and free from the rule of the monastery. Of course I was thinking of women. I wasn't and I am not a eunuch.

I made a few approaches, but I didn't get much further than smiles and a few pleasant conversations. I wasn't a great prospect at that point, even if I was employed and good looking. I'm sure I would have gotten somewhere if fate hadn't intervened and by fate I mean Lord Aislin.

Aislin had recently purchased the ruined and reputably haunted Elstrath Manor at a price that was just a bit better than outright theft. Aislin, being no fool, believed the stories that the Manor was haunted and hired a priest to sanctify the ruin and drive out any evil spirits. Let me stop here and comment on priestly magic. It's hard, damn hard. Gods are willing to grant the imperfect and often somewhat corrupt servants power to change the world in the understanding that they use it to promote the god's agenda. And close your mouth Stravin. A god of the good and righteous often has servants with feet of clay. More on that later, I'm drifting off point.

Anyway, being able to receive power from the divine is different than being able to receive it without burning out your brain. Clerical magic is . . oh there's no nice way to put it, it's easy compared to wizardry, but that doesn't mean it isn't demanding. Your average ecclesiastical can't manage much in the way of miraculous feats and being adept at theurgy doesn't necessarily make one cleric holier or wiser or a better leader than another, although the iron will required to become a skillful theurgist certainly helps. Anyway, Aislin knew that much and his exorcist wasn't the nearest available priest with a light purse, but a church specialist. The man knew his business and with him came a half dozen of Aislin's toughest retainers, all of them hardened veterans who had not broken in the face of magic. It was the smart play and should have worked.

Lord Aislin got four broken men back. The fate of his two other men remained a mystery, but the priest's head and miter now adorned the top of the battered scarecrow. Lord Aislin wasn't a man inclined to give up and the Church of Pelor wasn't inclined to look the other way either. A very large amount of money was offered for someone to destroy the haunt at Elstrath Manor and word got around quickly. Since I was eager to excitement, wanted to be a hero, and very sure of my abilities I was hooked like a fish.

[Imperial Overlord]

Lord Aislin was a man about ten years my senior with a reputation for shrewdness. He had inherited his title and fortune when the Red Death had killed his father four years ago and he had about doubled his wealth since then. He was already known as a good man to have in your corner and a bad man to have as an enemy. The fact that he managed to survive this debacle and will probably come out ahead is proof enough of that.

I met him at an establishment called the Golden Feather. His beard and hair were neatly trimmed and he wore a black tunic with the red wyvern of his house emblazoned upon it. He drank white wine and ate a creamy white soup while I performed parlor tricks to demonstrate I was worth his time.

He wasn't impressed, but he was willing to give me a chance. Fifty hawks were mine if I could clear out the haunt. I agreed, confident that my abilities exceeded those of an exorcist for hire. Gods above and below, I could be pretty dumb back then.

Elstrath Manor was about a day's walk from the city. I spent the night in a roadside tavern and then traversed the rest of the distance in the morning, arriving before noon. The forest had overgrown much of the manor grounds and weeds had taken over the fields. Crumbling walls marked the boundaries of the manor and the main house itself was a gutted shell. It was somewhat sinister, but more tragic than frightening. Then I got closer.

A scarecrow hung in what would have been the front garden. Crows perched on the shoulders and tore at the rotting human head that crowned the strawman. On the ground was as priest's miter, smeared with dirt and blood. The crows took to the air as I approached.

There were clumps of bloody bones in the high grass near the scarecrow. I gave them a wide berth and invoked wards to shield me from harm. The head on the scarecrow rotated to follow my movements, staring at me with empty eye sockets. It slid off the crosspiece and lurched toward me.

This really didn't surprise me in the least. You didn't have to be a superstitious peasant to beware the evil scarecrow. I hit it with a firebolt and it went up like a torch. It staggered a few steps through the high summer grass and then collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. That's when the skeletons got up.

They were freshly dead, still smeared with clotted blood and a few strips of dangling meat. The closest I hammered with etheric bolts, blood-red missiles that shattered it's skull and spine. It collapsed, but unfortunately that left the other three.

One clawed at me, but didn't do any harm. I swung my staff clumsily at it and batted it away while another raked me ineffectually. The lack of injuries wasn't reassuring me. I swung hard and battered it away and then again, almost in a panic, and knocked it's head off. It collapsed.

I recovered my composure slightly. With my staff I had reach and I could hurt them a lot easier than they could hurt me. I battered both of the skeletons to pieces with a flurry of hard blows that left me panting. I looked up and I saw shadows moving inside the house.

I backed away from the house and they came out through the windows and the doorways. They had been men once, but now were something other. They were pale and emaciated, with talon-like nails and clumps of hair falling out. They wore ragged and rotting clothing. They had been men and women once, but they were that no longer. At the time I didn't know what they were, but they were the degenerate remnants of men and women who had eaten human flesh and dwelt in areas steeped in dark energies. They were ghouls and although I didn't know it at the time, they had been drawn to lair in the manor and feed the darkness within by Morghul's art.

I retreated, striking the lead ghoul with a volley of etheric bolts that ripped open it's chest. It fell to the ground with dark blood pouring from it's wounds. The closest two ghouls pounced on it and began to feast on its dying body. It wailed in pain and dismay as its former comrades devoured it alive. It remains one of the most hideous things I have ever witnessed.

I didn't stop and watch. I struck the next one with with a blast of crimson flames and sent it screaming and rolling in the grass. The next reached me before I could unleash more magic and I smashed it over the head with my staff. It blocked with its right arm. Both the arm and my staff broke. I kicked it in the sternum hard and it fell over. I tore open the next one's legs and chest with etheric bolts and backed away. Another ghoul rushed me and I burned him down.

The others hung back and decided against continuing the rush. They grabbed their dead and dragged them back into the ruin. Then came a wailing that froze the blood. A mass of formless grey mist flowed out of the ruin, taking shape in front of the ruin. Frost grew on the grass and the stone around it, despite it being noon in late summer. The mist took on the appearance skeletal face appeared and then bony hands protruding from a ragged robe. The haunt had awoken and it was swollen with power drawn from the Gloom. I had no idea how badly I had just stepped in it.

[Imperial Overlord]

There are three reasons I survived this debacle. The first was that as a sorcerer I was somewhat resistant to the debilitating effects of the Glooming on both my mind and body and my demonic heritage rendered me mostly immune to it's negative effects. In fact, I had no idea that it even existed at the time. Second, the Glooming does not negatively affect arcane magic the way it impedes theurgy and divine blessings, leaving my powers untouched. Thirdly, I had elected to investigate the manor at noon on a cloudless day. Direct sunlight significantly weakened the haunt and so I lived where others would have died.

I didn't wait for things to go further down hill. I unleashed a volley of etheric bolts that blasted swirls of ectoplasmic mist away from the haunt's body. It wailed and gods what a terrible thing that was. It sent ice creeping up my spine, turned my legs to jelly, and nearly paralyzed me with terror. It was worse than watching the ghouls cannibalize their own. A lesser mind might have broken.

I screamed in fear and revulsion and fire jetted from my hands. More ectoplasmic mist boiled off the haunt's body and it wailed again, but I was somewhat prepared for it. I faltered, but did not break. It swooped towards me and I unleashed a volley of etheric bolts that tore it to shreds. Wisps of ectoplasm dissolved in the sunlight and then it was gone.

I scavenged up a stout piece of wood from the scarecrow crossbow to use as a long club/short staff and rested for a bit before I resumed monster hunting. The ghouls ran before I could get to them; I could hear them scampering out the back. The inside of the manor was vile. Gnawed bone, scraps of carrion, and dung were everywhere along with rotted cloth, bugs, and the remnants of furniture.

In the center of the largest remaining room, which was lacking a roof like the rest of the house, a mostly intact table served as some kind of altar. Coins and jewelry had been piled on top, creating a small trove of plunder. I hesitated before approaching and then attuned my senses to detecting magic. I suspected a trap. I didn't find one, but I did see the Glooming.

It was a pall of dark magic that covered the manor grounds and a bit beyond like a dark cloud. It's dark energies saturated the area, sapping the vitally from living things and weakening powers of light while giving strength to those aligned with it. At the time I thought some evil priest or wizard might have cursed this place, but that wasn't the case. Morghul was projecting his strength beyond his domain, strengthening those who would ally with him and expanding the influence of the dark places of the earth.

I studied the Gloom for about half a minute, gathering a very basic and incomplete understanding of the phenomena before I filled half my backpack with the loot. I spent another day and a half going back to Bedruin and then contacted Lord Aislin. He insisted that I show one of his retainers and two men at arms around the place as proof that the deed was done, which wasn't an unreasonable demand. When we returned I got paid.

I also returned the priest's head to the church of Pelor, which was the only body part I could identify as his. The church paid a modest reward and gave him the full funeral rights and a blessing. All told, this venture had left me swimming in cash.

I burnt through a quarter of it in about a month, which took some doing. Some of it was on women of negotiable virtue and alcohol and useless trinkets, but a respectable amount was on more practical items. I was no warrior, but a solid iron bar was a weapon I could handle and inflicted a fearsome amount of punishment when applied with sufficient force. Alchemical concoctions were added to my arsenal along with several expensive reagents that would enhance several of my spells. My wardrobe also underwent a substantial improvement.

My success did not go to my head. I remembered quite clearly the haunt advancing on me, wailing horribly as I did my best to rend it with my sorcery. My abilities were as strong as ever, perhaps stronger, but it been made quite clear to me that despite my power I could still easily be slain. I resolved to get reliable partners if I was to continue in this line of work.

As luck would have it, someone who fit that description was already looking for me.

[Fiji_Fury]

Fascinating story thus far. Is it set in any particular D&D setting or one of your own design? I recognize Pelor from 4th Edition as well, so are you making use of the ruleset from that edition or a previous one? Or something else blended with your own ideas?

[Imperial Overlord]

Fascinating story thus far. Is it set in any particular D&D setting or one of your own design?

Own design

I recognize Pelor from 4th Edition as well,

He goes all the way back to 1st edition Greyhawk.

so are you making use of the ruleset from that edition or a previous one? Or something else blended with your own ideas?

I try to avoid thinking in rules when writing, but 4th edition is a board game with some RP elements. When I disintegrate something, it's disintegrated, not taking half the hp of a 5th level bugbear. The story is closer to 3.0/3.5.

[LadyTevar]

I have to wonder how his partner will be.

[Imperial Overlord]

I was eating at the Cup and Bowl when he found me. It's a nice tavern which serves good food in generous portions at reasonable prices. It does good business with the tradesmen and artisan crowds and the silver must have flowed into Dromor's pocket. I was enjoying a late lunch or early dinner, however you wan to put it, when a hero out of legend walked into the place.

Everyone turned to watch him. He was tall and handsome, but with a rugged look that made him look tough not pretty. He wore full plate that carried the marks of hard use and repair. He had a half dozen inches on me and probably weighed half again as much. His face was tanned and his hair was pale blond. His eyes were dark and hard. He walked to my table.

I was trying to enjoy a cup of wine and nice stew of potatoes, carrots, beef, and peas with a few pieces of fresh bread to mop it up with, but that changed with he came towards me. I didn't need any help to know he was trouble and gods above and below that is an understatement.

He sat down without being invited. "You're Moleck, right?" he asked. I didn't go by "Dire" then. That came later.

The power was surging through my body. "Yes. And you are?"

"Helvian Gatt."

At the time the name meant nothing to me. "What can I do for you?" I asked politely.

"Are you the guy that cleared out Elstrath Manor?"

"That would be me."

"I could use your help."

"I'm listening."

"Are you familiar with the Crypt of Bovida?"

"Yes. Bovida was the head of the Sunset Cabal, before if became the Sunset School. They were war mages in the service of the Neridian Kings. The Tarentiens didn't trust them so they went from being the king's fist to a mage school, although the last couple of kings have made use of a few of them. Bovida died in the Battle of Three Armies and the Sunset Cadre took heavy casualties, but they pretty much won the battle for Herzos the Second. Why?"

"Do you always show off kid?"

I considered my reply. "Sometimes. Is this conversation actually going anywhere?" He was beginning to annoy me.

"There is shadow around the Crypt and undead raiding the area," he replied. "I think the undead are based out of the Crypt. I can't handle it alone."

"You want my help."

"You cleansed the manor. I felt the remnants of shadow there." He meant the Gloom of course, but there was a lot of stuff we didn't know back them. It wasn't like Morghul's servants were handing out pamphlets with the proper names of all of his tricks listed for our convenience. Baator's Hells, we didn't even know it was Morghul at this point.

"You obviously know who I am. Why should I trust you?"

He pulled out a medallion from underneath his armour. It was platinum and engraved with the lightning bolt of Heironeous. There's an old saying that goes "those who want to fight for the right cause follow Herioneous and those who want to win the fight choose Hextor." Not that either god had very many followers around here.

He wasn't wearing his gauntlet. He pulled out a dagger and slit the palm of his hand. He put down the blade and took up the medallion. "Mighty Herioneous, I beg thee to heal my wound." The flow of blood stopped and the wound closed. He looked at me. "Convinced?"

"What in Pelor's name is a paladin of Heironeous doing in this country?"

"Being something other than the Hieserarch's fist," he replied. "Most of the shitheads who pass as paladins in this country just take orders from whoever is higher up the ecclesiastical chain, which means they're busy protecting the church not the people. Fucking useless pieces of shit. This is why religion should never be allowed to get it's hands on power."

No, I'm not lying. He might not have used those exact words, but that was pretty damn close to what he said. Baator's Hells, I was raised in Saint Denis. Do you think I acquired a case of anti-clericism from the monks?

I'm sure my surprise was completely visible on my face. "Not expecting that answer, eh? Pelor is a good god so I'm sure it's just fine that his followers get a shitload of power and wealth. By the god, does no one ever think about what happens to a religion when you institutionalize it and make it a top down hierarchical system. Fuck, you might as well throw down the flag right there."

"Just because they do it differently wherever your from doesn't mean-"

"What would you know about it boy? You've lived in a monastery until three months ago. You have no fucking clue about the world."

At this point I wasn't much interested in arguing with him. He was a paladin after all and the whole "best way to run a religion" argument didn't matter much to me. So the followers of Heironeous did it differently in Chaldrea. Big deal. I turned out all right, right?

I was more than a little bit naive, but we'll let that go for now. He calmed down a bit. "You don't give a fuck, do you? Wait until you see more of the world. Are you in?"

I was considering the matter. No talismans of true power would be buried with the wizards, but personal items including lesser talismans might have been buried with them. Depending on what kinds of undead were haunting the tomb they could be used against us. Of course, all that wealth was attractive, but the what really made the difference was that Helvian had come here to ask me for my help. There's nothing a teenager wants more than respect and Helvian was offering that by the bucket loads.

I didn't think of myself as a hero either, but I didn't like the idea of undead raiders tearing up the countryside and killing whatever poor bastards they could get their claws into either. "Alright," I said. "I'm in."

[LadyTevar]

0_o

Ok.. that sounds like the kind of Paladin Nitram would make.

[Imperial Overlord]

We hit the road the next day. Helvian did not ride a shining white charger, but instead a sturdy grey gelding that looked most unheroic. He continued to not talk like a hero out of legend. Yes, I know I said I would try to keep my heretical beliefs out of this, but I really must briefly touch on them in order for my story to make sense at all.

Essentially, Helvian had a direct connection to the god. Since the god outranked all priests and imbued Helvian with superhuman power, Helvian felt that he was answerable to the god and his own conscience, not a hierarchy of priests. Beautiful cathedrals, silk vestments, illuminated manuscripts; all those things were luxuries to him and one did not spend the wealth entrusted to the faith on luxuries instead of the faithful. He was compelling. More than that he was convincing.

The young are often idealistic or naively cynical. I was both and he could speak, gods above and below he could talk. I hung on his every word.

The first day we ate dinner and slept at a roadside inn, the King's Kettle. It's a nice place, sees a lot of traffic. I highly recommend it. The next day there were ominous looking clouds and it started raining by noon. It went from light showers to a miserable full downpour by mid-afternoon. Gods it was miserable.

Mercifully the road we were on went through the woods at this point, so we were able to take shelter under a tree. The wood was too wet for conventional fire starting methods to work, but brute sorcerous power worked just fine. We started getting less miserable. Helvian educated me in the art of constructing a lean to out of available branches. We were almost comfortable.

We settled down to get some sleep and managed to do so. It was almost dawn when they came. They were easy to spot, luminous in the darkness. Hideous green corpselight in the form of men wearing ancient war gear of bronze scales and coats of mail. They bore round shields and single handed swords, spears, and axes; designs used in an earlier age.

I was half awake when I saw them. I bolted awake and shouted in a somewhat unmanly and panicked manner for Helvian as I hurriedly invoke wards in my own defence. They were coming through the trees and getting closer every moment.

As I've mentioned, I see very well in the dark. They were dead men wearing armour and bearing weapons from ages past. Their flesh had long ago withered away, but their bones were now covered in semi-transparent ghostlight and ectoplastic skin and muscle. I saw the translucent faces of dead kings worn like masks over their death head grins of yellowed bone. They were terrifying like nothing I had ever seen.

Helvian strode forward, calmly and resolutely. They outnumbered him six to one and I was almost gibbering in fear and yet he advanced. In his right hand was a terrible spiked mace and in his left a war axe. Somehow, my presence of mind returned. I struck with fire.

I aimed at the wight on Helvian's left. The fire bolt broke his ancient shield into flaming cinders. The second turned his hauberk cherry red and caused the dead lord to moan in pain. The third struck in the same place and he fell. Helvian closed, outnumbered five to one.

Helvian wore full plate, but he was damned fast. His mace smashed the shield wight on his right and sent it staggering back as the blade of his axe and the head of his mace shown like newborn stars. He spun to the next on the right and sheared off its right arm with his axe and shattered it's left shin. He was already turning towards the third before it hit the ground.

The two on his left joined with the third to take him from behind. Then I struck. My powers had grown since leaving the monastery and being tested at Elstrath. Like a muscle, my sorcery grew with exercise. Violet lightnings flashed from my fingers and struck the three wights. The howled and tumbled across the ground. They rose, unsteadily and smoking, but that was too late. Helvian was upon them, his weapons shining with Herioneous's power. He smote them and they lay still.

He checked to make sure that the undead were truly dead and then walked back to me, his weapons now apparently mundane. "Well done," he said. "Glad you had my back."

He had charged six undead and he was telling me well done? I didn't much feel like I deserved it and I felt immensely proud at the same time. "You did the hard work," I managed.

He shrugged. "I spend my whole life waiting for moments like this. You were raised to copy manuscripts." He put his hand on my shoulder. "You did well, be proud, but this, this is just the beginning."

I would have just about followed him into Baator's Hells at that point, but when I did walk into evil's maw, I did so alone.

[The Grim Squeaker]

Nice story, I love sorceror's and nice classic Paladin. I like it