CY 625 - During the Reign of King Kilkennard II
According to Dunesberry:By the Light of St. Cuthbert we will cleanse this tower of the unHolyness that has inhabited it and befouled the land.We go up the stairs in the back and come upon a richly appointed room. Marred somewhat by the dead corpse of a woman upon a table in it. At some point she started shrieking about intruders and when I entered the room there where two undead coming down from the next level and the thief was over the dead woman with a strange look and an awkward bulge.The undead quickly killed one of our Halflings, and resisted my attempts to turn them, it seems my faith was put off by the shame radiating from near the table with the dead woman.I moved as faith and dictates of the Justice Maker move to to engage in fighting with the undead, and strike a solid first blow, but everything is blackness after this.I am brought too by a vile vile man with a syringe and a foul odor, my companions around me. By the Light of St. Cuthbert I have survived my ordeal but the source of the undead is this same cornstalk of a place man. One shudders to think the perversions of nature that have been created at the hands of this man. He is being questioned by my compatriots while I examine his box of syringes, I move to take them when he gives a great cry and grabs the box and by some foul magic disappears. Several of my fellows seem to be very afraid of offending this evil man and want to fawn over him, returning the spoils of war and caring not about the pain, suffering and general evilness caused upon the people by this man’s foul acts.The thief has cries of the greatness of the necromancer’s power and doom upon the entire party. One would think he has forgotten which side the light lies on, though even the elf seems bent on returning his tomb of spells to him. This confuses me as such a great treasure could feed and better the lives of many of the poor and unfortunate among us. We have split the other things we have found within the lair and I have only taken a pittiance which I will donate when we return to town, as is right as my way has been blessed and I am able to continue to serve. There seems to be very fine projectiles, a nice suit of armor and two potions which I identify for the group. These are distributed, with the new fighter (Fang something) taking the armor, and the projectiles (perish the thought of not being able to engage in righteous combat) being distributed to those that would use them (I try not to judge their cowardice, but I sometimes fail in this act of humility). We will see what the morrow brings, as the tower is clear and the Mine owners must be our next stop, as we have the information of them and the cult from the evil Necromancer.
Great recollection - Onward to the mines!!!
Senegal looked ahead at the strident march of the holy man and tried to find a word in the Common Tongue to describe the situation as clearly as possible. The one word that seemed appropriate was ungrateful. In order to prevent the loss of the front line Senegal had handed out 6 healing potions. When the Cleric was unable to turn the admittedly large undead, it became clear that they couldn’t leave things to chance. So, Magic Missile scrolls were used to quickly dispatch them. All at high cost. Some 3,000 gold pieces spent, more than half at the Church of St. Cuthbert. Perhaps such funds could be used for the poor and needy instead of Senegal’s Wing of the new Rectory.There were two other important things Senegal had noted. The Necromantic Consultant of Smenk had raised two people from the dead, without clerical assistance, including our own cleric. And he had clearly been revealed as a useful idiot or pawn of someone else. While the vile nature of his work was noted, there was clearly some merit in building bridges with him, not completely discounting his value. A raise dead that doesn’t involve the Church, well that was special. And he was helping to address a threat to one of the mines. A reasonable case could be made for caution.
The raise dead injection
Senegal looked suruptitiously at the backpack stuffed with the lab notes and experimental information. He looked at the spell book. The curiosity was eating away at him. At the Grove the masters had often mentioned that Necromancy and Healing were closely tied schools of magic, and therefore held great danger. The power over the dead could corrupt those who had good intentions in healing the living by offering power over the living. He began to wonder. As a truly useless idiot that necromancer had been, it had the implication that he wouldn’t have cared much for boundaries and therefore might have dipped into powerful magic best left unused. Senegal adjusted his mask. If there was one thing he had learned, it was a sense of boundaries. The sooner he could he could study and copy the spell book the better.
Maybe this tome is only a decoy? Maybe he cares not for it?
"Evil, which cannot be removed, must be eliminated." I think we have managed that.
From the sacred tome of "Common Sense?"
A macabre scene of dinner guests and a severed head that screamed rattled Hex's soul thus causing his hands to shake. Or maybe his hands shook as he recalled his brush with the deadly claws of a troglodyte brought back to life by dark magic. Or perhaps it was the horror of witnessing Flynric's glorious charge ended at the point of a steel weilding zombie Bug Bear. Or maybe it was the corpse of the battle crazed priest who shared Flynric's fate that was the cause of these tremors. Or lastly, maybe he was questioning his own sanity for leaping into that mayhem, embracing the cold hug of death, and living to tell about it. His hands made the sign of the moon and he began to pray as the monks had taught him. He thanked the moon, that brings into the light, creatures of the night. He thanked the moon that the tatooed holy runes protected him in his time of need. Lastly he wondered if he was indeed the chosen one. That final thought steadied his jitters.
Is he the "Chosen One?"