Blackguard Rising

Pushing open a heavy oaken door with one hand while the other carried her helmet, Elia was greeted by a pleasant warm air that rushed to greet her from the interior of the building which was the shop of a local tailor by name of Melynn. Directed to this place by one of the guards who had been surprisingly polite and helpful, the adventurer stepped in and closed the door and she studied the place where curiously there was no one there to greet her. Lanterns emanating bright yellow-white lights hung from the ceilings above, each one generating a strong heat which she was certain was the source of the comforting warmth while wooden shelves and tables of neatly folded clothes were displayed before her.

Looking about, she wondered if perhaps the owner of the store was somewhere else within the building and she then heard footsteps from a staircase close to the counter where she heard a door open.

“Please wait right there” called a male voice and from the stairs descended a Drucharian who like the others she had seen was a pale skinned fellow with black hair that flowed down to his shoulders. Wearing dark purple robes trimmed with gold and a black leather vest over his chest, she picked up the fragrant scents of lavender about the Elf who must have been this Melynn fellow. Like many of these Elves she found him to be quite handsome and one who seemed genuinely more warm and welcoming in demeanor.

“Ah good morning” politely greeted the Elf whose mannerism put her at ease. “My apologies but I was busy finishing with something upstairs.”

“It’s nothing, I just got in” smiled Elia who simply tried to be polite as well as she looked around towards the various articles of clothing on display. “I need something for the cold.”

Reaching for the bag of gold which she had been given from the Witch King, she held it out towards the Elf who gave a sweet smile and a nod as he gently went around the counter and walked towards her with a casual stride.

“Let me have a closer look at you” the tailor then said as he drew closer and soon he stood before her and like the others of his kind, he towered over Elia but nowhere to the extent of the Witch King. Leaning over to study her, the elf tilted his head as his hands gently moved up and he asked “May I?”

Nodding silently to give her consent, Elia soon felt slender hands upon her shoulders, her cheeks which reddened as his right hand moved about upwards towards her neck while the left went higher upon her cheek which reddened at his soft, smooth touch. Briefly her mind went back to events in the past week of her captivity where she remembered one of their intimate sessions from three nights ago where she had briefly suckled on the magician’s left thumb before they had starting kissing again. In the adventurer’s mind she had replaced the necromancer’s face with that of the tailor before her but she immediately snapped herself out of it upon seeing that his eyes held no hint of carnal desire, simply one of pure professional study.

“I believe I have just the right items for you” then spoke the tailor with a nod as he stepped back and turned around towards his wares. Taking a deep breath of the warm air while mentally trying to compose herself, she did not have to wait long as the tailor soon returned to her with an olive green cloak in his hands. Deep down, she was eager to not only try out this new cloak but more as well.

Snow crunched beneath the armored boot of Elia as she stepped out of the tailor’s store, she felt warmer and more comfortable now as she wore the olive green cloak along with an added woolen purple surcoat worn over her armor which was emblazoned with an insignia that depicted a dragon curling like a serpent into a crescent moon-like shape. She had been told by the tailor that by bearing the heraldry of the Drucharian, it would be enough to let others know that she too now served the Witch King and it would be enough to let not only the guards but others know of her newfound station. The adventurer began to walk down the street towards of the so called Crimson District where she made sure to take in the sights of the city and its inhabitants.

Everywhere she looked; there were many imposing towers and spires adorned with seemingly bladed decoration and the sound of running water could be heard for there were many shallow channels by the roads where clear liquid flowed. The very air of Ammath-Lur was thick with the charge of sorcery, to the point that the adventurer could feel it in her very bones. Its streets she noticed were mostly populated, not by the Drucharian themselves but by beings from other races or undead.

Armed patrols of Drucharian soldiers and skeletons kept watch on gangs of Orcs, Goblins or Beastfolk slaves who were made to do all kinds of tasks such as street sweeping, snow shoveling or construction in the freezing cold. Here and there she would also see the clear forms of Humans, almost all men with mundane iron collars around their necks and thick winter clothing. Like the two slaves she had seen accompanying the Witch King, they looked far healthier than the other non-Human slaves and she noticed all of them even carried wooden clubs and bucklers so she assumed that they were assistants or perhaps even guards of the taskmasters.

The enslaved men were led by cruel whip wielding Drucharian women who like the one she had seen earlier were barely dressed in any clothing which made the adventurer wonder how these Elves could withstand the cold. Elia’s eyes briefly lingered on one particular Elf woman whose body was not only quite strong and athletic in build but was also shaped in a way that would easily considered voluptuous in eyes of a man and again the adventurer could again not help but feel a hint of inadequacy. Lustful gazes were cast by the men upon these Elf overseers when they could and the adventurer wondered if their bondage might not be as involuntary as it seemed.

One of the Elf overseers then began to angrily shout at a slave, a lizard-like Beastfolk whose body bore many old scars and the woman quickly lashed out with her whip. Watching the unfolding scene, Elia saw as the length of leather snaked out and tore open the scaled chest of the slave which caused it to shriek in pain before another strike tore open a second wound. Cruel laughter then came from the Orc and Goblin slaves, something that Elia expected of course but even the Human thralls seemed to enjoy this display of brutality.

In her time as an adventurer, she had seen far too many times what Orcs and Goblins tended to do to captive Humans and the memories of them were the things of nightmare. Of the Men, she was not naïve and knew far too well that in the dark underbellies of Human society, blood sports and other violent entertainments were quite common and that Man alone could be very capable of doing all manner of terrible things to one another. No longer wishing to linger any further, Elia left the slaves and their overseers before continuing her way towards the Crimson Disctrict where after about after five or so minutes of walking, she arrived at its outskirts.

It took Elia sometime to notice it but after a while she realized that among the surface of the dark towers of the city were many red things that could be found upon the walls and when she took a moment to study what it was she realized that it were roses. Growing upon thorny vines and dark green leaves were countless crimson, blood red roses which bloomed in the wintery cold upon the stone walls. Even upon the road, she began to notice fallen red petals amidst the snow and she instinctively knew that there was something unnatural at play here.

Looking about the surrounding area, she noticed that the numbers of the slaves had significantly decreased and here in the Crimson District, she beheld a familiar bustle of activity that was common in the great cities of the south. Everywhere she looked, she saw that almost everyone was Human from the paupers that begged for alms on the sides of the streets, the peddlers hawking their goods, couriers delivering packages, laborers working to maintain the area and even the brass armored watchmen that patrolled the streets. Man it seemed had found their place in this part of Ammath-Lur and it made Elia feel a bit more comfortable to be here.

Walking among the crowd, she also saw many groups of armed men who clearly were not members of the city watch. Some had the look of professional mercenaries clad in all manners of armor such as leather, plate or chainmail while others had the dirty, scruffy looks of common bandits which instinctively caused the adventurer to keep a hand close to her sword. There too were even worse off looking fellows who had the look of conscripted peasants that carried whatever farming implements they had brought with them and Elia noticed that more than a few of these armed individuals were lads not even old enough to shave.

Some gave her curious looks for it was not common both here in the Northlands and back home to see a woman clad in armor and wielding a sword. No one would have batted an eye though had she been a mage wearing robes or wearing the vestments of a priestess, even a forest Ranger or a thief was normally seen as being more acceptable. It was just one of the many things the adventurer had grown used to over the years and she brushed it off with well practiced nonchalance.

Among the bands of armed Men she also saw quite a number of outlanders among them such as tall blonde haired, blue eyed Scandians who were just as diversely dressed as the mercenaries with some even going about bare chested while only wearing trousers and the pelts of bears or wolves. A majority were of course the native Northlanders wearing their distinctive kilts and wielding claymore swords and pikes while their faces painted with woad, their numbers reminded Elia that she was the foreigner in these lands but certainly not as much as the Scandians. All of them like her carried some symbol of their allegiance to the Drucharian such as tabard, an armband, a necklace, brooch or some other item that depicted the crescent shaped dragon insignia that Elia now wore.

Soon Elia came to a stop in front of one of the dark towers where there was a metal pole jutting out at end of a street intersection and dangling from chains upon it was a wooden signboard depicting a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese and a goblet of wine with roses decorating the edges. Foreign letters she could not understand were printed under the items on the board but its meaning was clear as she then looked left and right and saw more signs which indicated that there were several more establishments in the area. Well finally the adventurer thought for after a week of captivity with nothing but dry biscuits and cold water, she craved for some real food and a stiff drink.

Braziers crackled and burned with enchanted flames within the dark interiors of the palace where a large entourage of courtiers and envoys patiently waited for the attention of the Witch King who sat upon a throne made from lacquered ebony wood that had been carved into draconic shapes while furnished with purple silken cloth and cushions. Long flowing robes of dark purple embroidered with golden draconic imagery was worn by the Elven ruler while his cloak of black feathers still rested upon his shoulders and in his right hand he held the hilt of his enchanted two handed sword which gleamed with arcane power. The very floor and walls of the palace were carved from what would have looked like polished obsidian where there was a mirror-like sheen to its surface which reflected the glow of the lights yet to the eyes of the Drucharian, it was a far cry from the great throne room from the capital of their homeland.

Human slaves bearing platters of cold cut meats, cheeses, pies, pastries and hot tea attended to the guests with the steaming beverages being greatly appreciated for its warmth. Among the Drucharian nobles, there was game many liked to play which involved trying to get the Human guests to eat any of the meat or dairy items for everyone here knew it was not from cows, goats or other usual livestock animal where even the ones that contained eggs did not come from common fowl like chicken or duck. Those Humans who did eat were watched by the Elves with amused expectation for any potential reactions.

Before the Witch King was a well groomed red bearded Human man of middling years who knelt with left knee bent as he gave his message to the Elven ruler. Dressed in courtly attire of aquamarine colored clothes with a thick fur cloak over his shoulders, this particular emissary had been sent by the Lord of Circinn, Diuc Robert mac Solein whose lands had recently suffered from a poor harvest. The Witch King’s eyes were upon this man before him whose head still remained bowed and he had already come to a conclusion of what must be done.

“Tell the Diuc that he will have our aid” announced the Witch King which caused the emissary to look to him with genuine gratitude upon his bearded face.

“Thank you, your grace” then said the emissary. “When can we expect the food to be delivered?”

The Witch King then gave a sly grin which caused many of the Drucharian courtiers to chuckle for they knew their lord and his ways when dealing with matters such as this.

“The Drucharian will not be sending food” was the monarch’s response and that look of gratitude on the emissary’s face suddenly dropped, his expression was replaced with one of confusion but the Witch King quickly raised his left hand with palm facing the man and continued. “Rather we will take in all those who cannot be fed.”

“B-but your grace!?” questioned the envoy with further confusion “there are thousands who are starving! Our children are but skin and bones!”

“And we will provide succor to all” confidently replied the Drucharian monarch. “You have my word that when this war with the Ashalari will is over, your people will be reunited.”

The eyes of the court soon fell upon the emissary who spent a moment to consider the Witch King’s words. It was quite visible to see the disbelief in the man’s expression for the realm of Circinn was far enough to the east that it would take two weeks by foot to get to its border, more so now that winter had come. Among the benefits of swearing fealty to the Drucharian was that they had many methods of rapidly transporting goods along with large groups by magical means.

“I will take your word back to my liege, your grace” the emissary calmly then said with a tone of weary resignation in his voice. The Witch King then gave a quiet nod and the bearded man stood up, bowed one last time before turning around to head out of the throne room while accompanied by Human Knights wearing the blue and white cross heraldry of Circinn. Anxious looks came upon the faces of the other Human envoys for they all wondered who would be called next and the Elven ruler then called for the next supplicant.

Stepping forward then came a rather a rather fat, seemingly hairless little man wearing gaudy frilled clothing, his height and appearance made some of the Elves in the meeting wonder if the man must have Halfling blood in him. Dressed in a white silken doublet worn over puffy carmine trousers, this little man drew the ire of many of the Human guests for they knew that he was not a Northlander native, more so because they recognized the golden lion insignia worn over his heart which signified his allegiance to the Kingdom of Londe. The Drucharian had learned that this nation in particular was an old enemy of the Men of the Northern Realms where before their arrival and that of the Ashalari had been responsible for the sending many of the Northlanders fathers and grandfathers to the grave in a bitter, generational war.

The envoy of Londe was accompanied by four armored knights who knelt in respect towards The Witch King, they did not wear helmets and all could plainly see that the bodyguards were far more concerned with the Northlanders for all of the Humans guests had been allowed to keep their weapons which caused an eager anticipation among the Drucharian if any of the Men might try to spill one another’s blood.

“His royal majesty, King Edwin the IXth, King of Londe, Master of Mersia, Reclaimer of Northimbre, Guardian of the Eastern Sea and Breaker of the Northerners extends his greetings to the Witch King of the Drucharian” announced the envoy of Londe with a flourishing bow, his mention of the last title caused the Northlanders in attendance to bristle at the slight but they kept their composure while in the presence of the Drucharian nobles.

“And I, Naranair Lord of the House of Arrenak, Witch King of the Drucharian, Voivode of the Sunless Oblast, Warmaster of the Undying Host and Archon of the Black Hand of Svellrheim graciously welcome you” replied the Elven monarch in a calm professional manner while his right hand ever so slightly tightened his grip upon his sword, not for the envoy of Londe but to the Humans who had sworn fealty to him. As amusing as it would have been for him and the other Drucharian to watch the Northlanders try to kill the delegates from Londe, it simply would not serve their long term plans for this land if that happened.

Bloodshed was not the only tool of conquest in the Drucharian’s arsenal and there were far greater victories that could with a silver tongue. It was a tool they had used countless times in the past and they were confident that in time, Londe like the rest of the nations of this world would bow before The Witch King.

Looking down with a mix of confusion and outright hunger, Elia sat down by a wooden table where upon it she beheld a steaming bowl of stew that looked quite hearty and she could not help but be puzzled by the reactions of those around her. Within the interior of a stone tower that had been converted into an inn, there was a blazing hearth with a cooking cauldron at the center of the rather spacious common area where tables were arranged around it and there were lit torches placed in iron sconces along the walls which provided some more warmth. The establishment looked to be more than half filled with patrons, armed Human men mostly who had the rough looks of hardened mercenaries along with day laborers.

The staff of the inn was composed of the innkeeper, a burly aging Northlander man with the grizzled look of a former warrior who was blind in his left eye which had a scar running over it as well and there were a pair young lads of teenage years who resembled the innkeeper that must be his sons. There was also an older woman behind the bar with the innkeeper busily cleaning plates and utensils by a tub, this person Elia was certain was most likely the mother in this family. Having noticed the quality of their clothing and their very appearance as well, Elia realized that even they seemed far better fed than most commoners one would see back in the south.

Having visited three prior separate establishments, Elia had been appalled by the overall food prices here in the Crimson District as far as the meat items were concerned and had settled with this one out of resignation. It was outright daylight robbery to see how much chicken, pork, beef or mutton cost while the seafood such as salmon, eels or herring were somewhat better; if still ludicrously priced. The only meat that seemed reasonably affordably was a so called “Mystery Meat” item and when Elia asked what it was; she had been told it was best not know.

The adventurer had also noticed that among the Human patrons having their meals here that almost all of them seemed to stick with items such as bread, fresh fruit or pickled vegetables. Even at one table where there was clearly a richly dressed fat merchant accompanied by a pair of armed bodyguards, she saw that they did not touch whatever was being cooked in the cauldron upon the hearth. In her own travels the adventurer had known of unscrupulous food sellers serving dogs, cats or even rats while pretending it was something more palatable yet when she bothered to check this one, she was certain that this was not the case.

Having peered inside to see what was being cooked it smelled quite heavenly and the adventurer even saw large chunks of red meat floating in a thick white broth that looked heavy with cooked eggs along with vegetables and herbs. Not quite sure what the fuss was even about, Elia had ordered a bowl of the stew and some bread and now here she was with what looked like a very hearty meal. The other patrons who bothered to look her way gave her varying expressions which ranged from amusement, disgust, pity and even outright horror which made her a bit confused and somewhat wary.

Taking a wooden spoon in her right hand, the adventurer scooped up a steaming spoonful of the broth and gave it a try which much to her delight was as delicious as it looked. Tasting sage, thyme and only a light amount of salt, she detected that what must be the eggs tasted similar to those of ducks along with a heavy beef-like taste to it which she found enjoyably savory. Eagerly then scooping up a piece of the meat and giving it a try as well, its texture and consistency reminded her of a piece of boiled chicken yet it was the source of the beefy taste.

Whatever was this mysterious meat, she found it much to her liking as she eagerly consumed the stew along with a loaf of bread and a tankard of ale that soon left her warm and contented. Some of the patrons looked at her with the same expression with some shaking their heads in pity before returning to their meals. Not really getting what was wrong; Elia turned her mind to the drink and enjoyed herself for the moment.

Despite the gloomy construction of the building itself, the inn was pleasantly warm as the air was filled with the smell of wood smoke. The patrons of the establishment were surprisingly not as rough or rowdy as she expected and they seemed content to quietly keep to themselves which was just how she would prefer it. The front door of the inn then opened to briefly let in the outside chill and Elia, along with the other patrons turned their heads to regard the newcomer and she beheld a tall slender figure that seemed to suddenly silence the men within.

Gently closing the wooden door and entering the establishment was a Drucharian woman, but this one was actually modestly dressed. Bearing the same pale white skin and long black hair like almost all the others she had seen, the Elf woman wore a low cut white blouse that generously revealed amply shaped breasts drew the attention of the men and over the garment was a dark purple corset-like piece of clothing with a skirt that reached to little above the knees and she wore long black leggings and boots where it was impossible to tell where it started or ended. What drew Elia’s attention was that the Elf woman carried a harp in her hands and upon her back was longbow with a quiver of arrows on the side of one hip and a dagger in the other which made the adventurer realized that this must be a Bard which immediately put her on edge.

It was very common in many realms for lords to engage in all manner of underhanded methods for filling the ranks of their armies. Some engaged in press ganging, others might make false promises of wealth and glory but perhaps one of the most curious was the use of Bards to charm potential recruits. Elia did not know if it was through magic or some other means but she had seen how poor hapless fools could be sent singing into the path of a raging Minotaur with nothing but pikes in hand; only realize their folly once the bloodshed began.

Quietly sauntering to the eastern corner of the establishment where a wooden platform had been placed for performers, the Elf woman’s hips swayed in a manner which further drew the interested eyes of the men. There was a confident stride in the way the Bard walked, as if knowing the patrons would not dare do anything to cause her harm. As the silence continued within the tavern, save for the crackling of the flames, there was a long suspenseful moment of anticipation which would be broken by the plucking of the strings.

A sweet lilting song in a completely alien language flowed from the lips of the Bard, one filled with sadness, grief and loss which captured the breaths of all who heard it. For a moment, the entire world had melted away and all Elia knew was the Bard upon the stage whose unknown words began to fill the head of the adventurer with images of destroyed cities, of bones left to rot and the pain of those who were left to endure such a tragedy. The song then began to slowly but subtly shift in its tone, becoming more angry, bitter and vengeful.

In the mind of Elia, she imagined a tragic tale of a once peaceful land that had been visited by violence. There was something about it that brought an image of betrayal and hatred yet from this tragedy there came strength and a resolve to avenge oneself, no matter the cost. Its tune then began to shift and her mind; she saw forgiveness, of a mending of the cause of the pain as if two broken halves of an object become whole once more.

Elia did not know how long it went as she quickly lost herself in listening to the voice of the Bard and she knew that so too did the rest of the Humans in the inn. Finally the song then became angry and vengeful once again as if another betrayal had happened but it held a note of defiance within it. Within, she felt genuinely moved with tears almost ready to well up behind her eyes while also feeling a sense of pride at the unknown verses.

Eventually the song came to a finish as the Bard’s fingers stopped plucking the strings of her harp and again there was silence within inn which would be broken by the beginning of a slow clapping that would erupt to applause. Elia’s senses returned to her as if she had been in a trance and she politely joined the cheer of the patrons while looking about to see the general expressions of the other patrons. Hardened warriors wiped their eyes as others applauded with genuine praise towards the Elf woman who merely bowed while taking in the attention.

Soon the Bard would begin playing another song but one without any words to it as she plucked the strings of her harp again to create a soothing melody which gave the inn a more relaxing atmosphere. The patrons would return to their meals or drinks and Elia leaned back upon her chair where she thought that perhaps things within Ammath-Lur would not be so bad after all if she could enjoy moments like this. If she could just find some good lodging then the day could be considered a good one as far the adventurer was reckoned.

Soft steps echoed across the hall leading to the throne room of the palace which was lit by braziers of enchanted flame as the Necromancer, Kellanion answered the summons of the Witch King. Having just bathed and now dressed in clean modest robes of purple embroidered with brass colored thread which formed into draconic shapes, the magician’s presence was noticed especially by the guards of which were all undead. Clutching halberds in gauntleted hands and clad in black plate armor adorned with small blades with red scarves around the neck, the fleshless skulls of these undead knights silently turned to face him and they bowed in obedience for they could sense his power as a Necromancer.

Not paying much heed to the animated constructs, he kept his attention to the entrance of the hallway with an impassive face where in the distance he could see the gathered audience around his lord. Entering the throne room with a confident stride, Kellanion quiet entrance went unnoticed by most, save of course for the Witch King who sat upon his dark throne and even from a distance, he could feel the weight of his liege’s gaze where had he been a foe or even a potential one then he would have begun to feel an unnatural dread in his heart. Of course as a loyal servant, he felt no such fear for his presence along with every other Drucharian that made up the Obsidian Court were chosen for their loyalty and shared sense of duty to their people.

Passing by crowds of foreign envoys who immediately made way once they noticed that he was an Elf, his presence was soon noted by some of the other Drucharian courtier who gave silent nods of acknowledgement as they mingled with the Human guests. The dignitaries would not have known it, but behind the smiles, the charms and sweet words every member of the Obsidian Court worked in unison to gather what information they could where every scrap of information, no matter how seemingly trivial was something which they could use in some shape or form. Kellanion of course had little interest in such methods of information gathering for he preferred to speak directly to the dead which tended to be far more honest when under his control.

Soon he stood before the throne of his sovereign who had just finished speaking to a Human emissary dressed in a manner that suggested that suggested that the man was from one of the Northland kingdoms. The eyes of the court and the Human visitors soon were drawn to Kellanion whose attention was upon his lord who sat with one hand upon the hilt of an enchanted sword, one of many powerful weapons his liege tended to keep around along with others.

“My dread sovereign” calmly spoke Kellanion who spoke in the native tongue of the Drucharian people to ensure that only the Witch King and the rest of the Obsidian Court would understand his words, not the Humans who had gathered here. Bowing his head in respect to his king; the Necromancer did not kneel for such was the way of the Drucharian as the act of bending the knee was reserved for the lesser races. He then lifted his head to meet his lord’s gaze.

“I have read your report” spoke the Witch King in an authoritative tone while also using the Drucharian people’s own language. “While the forces you have raised will be valuable in this war, I am far more interested to know of the state of the Southern Kingdoms.”

“The Human Kingdoms far to the south are mostly either unaware of our war with the Ashalari Empire or they simply are more concerned with threats closer to home” replied Kellanion with honesty. “There is no unity among them and when the time comes for our dominion to extend further south, there should be no concerted resistance among them.”

Despite his time spent gathering treasure and raising the dead in that old monastery, there was much Kellanion had learned by asking the deceased for the Iron Forest held many bodies with more than a few from unfortunate souls who had been met their ends a mere few days before his return. There was much the dead told him about their homelands, their leaders as well as their lives. Even the meddling adventurers who had come his way had been a useful source of information and he had no doubt that at least some of them would still be around somewhere in Ammath-Lur.

In response the Witch King nodded with a contemplative look upon his face and Kellanion wondered if his lord would stay once the Ashalari Empire were defeated or if he would assign someone from the Obisdian Court to lead any further conquests of this world. Briefly looking to the sides to see the other courtiers, the Necromancer knew that the same thought crossed the minds of the others for many were eager to have a chance to carve out their own domains. Of the Humans, they seemed confused of course for none knew the Drucharian’s tongue which the Elves did not share during their conquests.

“For now, you are to stay here within Ammath-Lur” the Witch King then spoke. “Gather what forces you need and be prepared for when I have need of your service once more.”

“As ever, I live to serve your will” dutifully replied the Necromancer who was eager to rejoin the war against the Ashalari Empire. Already he had mentally begun to compile a list of what he would need for a new army as well as what supplies and equipment he would need to requisition. The Necromancer also needing living, breathing competent soldiers who would be far more capable acting independently compared to any possible undead minion he could muster.

It would be good he thought to finally make full use of his powers once more. A cruel grin came upon the Necromancer’s lips as he thought of the death and destruction he would bring and the legions he would raise from the grave, all for the Witch King and the Drucharian.