Concerning [mwcard=MW1C26]Necropian Vampires [/mwcard]and the Bog Queen
A published letter from The Wanderings of Amadseer the Cursed[/size]
We made camp following the attack on the [mwcard=MW1C26]Vampires[/mwcard]. One thing you have to admit about Warlords — they know how to summon up a pretty great campsite — [mwcard=FWJ04]garrison[/mwcard], [mwcard=FWJ02]watchtower[/mwcard], the whole nine yards. We found the orcs that had been former prisoners of the vampires, struck off the manacles, and did what we could to calm the situation.
It was an odd group that found itself in the middle of the Darkfenne. An Earth Wizard from the White Spires of Sortilege, an Orcish Warlord of the Bloodwave, a Priestess of Asyra who informed us her name was Brynth, a caged [mwcard=MW1C26]Vampire[/mwcard], and a dozen brawny orcs.
Sitting there, warming ourselves around the campfire following our battle, we had little idea that we would find ourselves participants in a secret war, one that stretched from the heart of the Darkfenne, to the burning catacombs of Infernia, to the command tents of Ivarium. Or that it would once again tie my fate back to the Warlock Talos Vane and the shadowy Arraxian Crown. But I digress. Since I am compelled to write of this tale, let me tell it well, and tell it with all the learning and lore that a Wizard trained in the White Spires has at his disposal.
Let me start where my last missive ended: staring at a [mwcard=MW1E16]Force Held [/mwcard]vampire and a muck-splattered Priestess who had saved us with a well-timed [mwcard=MW1A11]Pillar of Light[/mwcard]. She wanted answers. We wanted answers. Everyone wanted answers. It was that kind of day.
*****
“Where were you taking us?” the Priestess demanded of the vampire. He had retracted his fangs, and his long claws had melted back into finely manicured fingers. His clothes, hair, beard were all perfect, as if he had not be in a fight in the middle of the swamp only minutes earlier.
He turned his dark eyed gaze on her and smiled —actually quite a charming smile. “That way.” He pointed with his eyes, since the rest of his body was quite immobile in the grip of the [mwcard=FWE04]Force Hold [/mwcard]spell. “After that, I really couldn’t say.”
Arhnoot’s [mwcard=MW1Q11]gauntleted fist [/mwcard]slammed into the vampire’s face. Hard. “I think you have this interrogation confused with a polite conversion. You forfeited your rights to cordiality when you put our guests in chains. Now answer the woman."
“Brynth,” she said, somewhat absently, her eyes still locked on the vampire. “My name’s Brynth.”
“Fine. I stand corrected. Now answer Brynth,” Arhnoot told the vampire once more.
The vampire’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A little hypocritical to speak of the evils of chaining guests while you have me restrained. Still, I get the thrust of your argument. So to speak.
“But before you strike me again, let me be more clear. We were going to walk that way until we got order to go somewhere else. Where exactly, I don’t know. I’m just following orders. I’ve always heard Warlords understood the value in that.”
“Orders from whom?” I interjected.
“The Gray Lady,” he said.
“Who’s that?” asked Brynth. “And where were you supposed to meet?”
“She’s the Queen of Necropoli, the Bog Queen,” the vampire explained. “ We weren’t going to meet her. In fact, I’ve never met Her.”
“Necropoli? The city was ruined centuries ago during the wars with Sen Ahreal. All that’s left of its former glory is dust and memory now.” (More about this:
http://forum.arcanewonders.com/index.php?topic=13190.0)
“I assure you, Necropoli lives again. Perhaps not as friendly to the living now as it once was during the height of the Frelhal Empire, but its power grows. The Gray Lady lays her plans, and directs us to expand her reach. Though she is not here, her sight is long. If we do not follow her orders and deliver her tributes according to her timetable and desires, we will be missed. And in such a case, she will turn her attentions on the three of you.”
“I’m shaking in my leather boots,” said Arhnoot. “If she’s so omniscient as you say, then why didn’t she see us coming? Or why hasn’t she sent someone to rescue you? Way I see it, you’re very, very much on your own right now.”
But despite how Arhnoot felt, to me, it was all starting to make sense. “You’re a [mwcard=MW1C26]Necropian Vampire[/mwcard].” I stated to no one particularly.
I really hadn’t believed that they existed — this new breed of “living vampire”. I had attended an address in Sortilege perhaps a year ago given by an aging member of the Aenther Order who had been wholly convinced they were real, but I remember leaving the session unconvinced. I’d heard the old codger had died a few days later, and there were rumors that he had been done in by his pet theory, but Sortilege being Sortilege, I had already moved on to the next shiny ball of foil. (See
http://forum.arcanewonders.com/index.php?topic=1722.0)
“Whatever,” said Arhnoot with typical Bloodwave concern. “Necropian vampire, Forstmark vampire, Voltarian vampire — who CARES what flavor of bloodsucker he is. What seems important to me is what his Gray Lady wants with a steady stream of orcs and priestesses, and Akiro knows who else.”
“I was taken by some of the vampires you killed,” said Brynth.”They were posing as pilgrims to the Temple, and when we gave them shelter for the evening, they broke into our sleeping quarters, stunned and hooded me, [mwcard=MW1C24]mana leeched [/mwcard]me, and then led me away into the night. We met up with this fellow and his orcish prisoners a few days later, near the outskirts of the Darkfenne.”
“What did they tell you about why you were taken?”
“Not much. They seemed to be able to speak to each other mind-to-mind. I will say they seemed much more concerned about that body they’ve been carrying around than myself of any of the orcs.”
“Who is it?” I asked the Vampire.
“No one really. Just a supplicant of the Gray Lady who gave her life in service to the greater good of Necropoli. Like the orcs and Brynth, we’re under orders to take her with us as well.”
“I’ve decided I really hate it when you use my name,” said Brynth. “'Priestess of Asyra’ is fine if you must refer to me at all.”
“You Priestesses seem to have some power over death,” said Arhnoot. Why not take a look at the body and give us your professional opinion.”
We shackled the vampire with some of the chain and manacles and went to take a closer look at the body. It was covered in a light grey veil, heavily embroidered in a spidery script of silver thread. We pulled it back to reveal the body.
“Quite dead,” Brynth pronounced as a wave of stench emanated outward. “I’d say the veil keeps the decay at bay, and cloaks the scent. Probably a good idea, since I understand a lot of creatures in these parts hunt based on it.”
It had been a woman once — a good long time ago. Her bare skin was dried and desiccated, the ruins of her hair tattered and sparse like an old, overly used broom. It was the tattoo that got the most attention though.
“By the Sheltering Light.” Brynth whispered. There, just below the corpse’s right palm was the Crescent Celestia, the holy symbol of Asyra. She held up her right arm to show she had a similar marking. “This was a Priestess of Asyra.” She looked down at the lifeless hand she was holding. “I have a sick feeling that this was to be my fate.”
We were caught up in her revulsion and her outrage, so much so that what happened next caused us all to jump. Even the Orc.
The dead, rotting, lifeless hand, sprang to life, wrenching free of Brynth’s grasp, and instead clutching her wrist.
The dead eyes flared to life, though they stared straight ahead, and the taught muscles of its face spasmed in a rictus of movement. And then it spoke, though the words seemed to originate from a great distance away, not from the ruins of the corpse’s vocal chords.
“You are to proceed to the sunken temple with the new arrivals. Once there, deliver them to Sorala. She will see that you are taken care of. One thing more — there are reports of unwelcome visitors in the area. They may be mages. If possible, bring me their bodies. Dead is always acceptable.”
A pause. Then: "See that the woman is not harmed. If you do not arrive at the gates by dusk, we will assume you have failed and will find and collect your bodies for punishment.”
With that, the body went limp.
Brynth’s eyes met ours. Now that we had some answers, the question was the plan of action.
Which is to say, that there are many diverse and interesting things in the world, none of which are comparable to the might and power of the Arraxian Crown. Those who would trifle with the power of Warlocks must forever learn this fundamental truth.
--Amadseer the Cursed, Wizard of Sortilege
Amadseer is a Wizard of Sortilege, driven by Dark-compulsion to wander the land, following a string of highly humiliating Seeking Dispels (and accompanying jeers) that he successfully cast in a public duel with the Warlock Telas Vane. Now, unable to help himself, he writes of his travels wherever he goes, the creatures he encounters, and the lore with which he comes into contact. Such is the nature of his compulsion that he must publish all of his missives, and end each work with a short paragraph singing praises to the Arraxian Crown, and warning all about the follies of underestimating a Warlock.
