NoOneofConsequence
First Post
Well, I'm up.
I hope it's not too rough, I kind of dashed it off.
-----
He is coming. said the raven.
“I know.” replied the necromancer, as hoofbeats echoed through the pre-dawn mist.
Will you do it?
“Of course! The Axe is for the Hero Who Will Save Us. Elward is not the One, coin or no coin!”
But the curse?
“If I feared curses, I would not have sought the necromancers’ path.”
The horses emerged from the mist, riders dressed in livery of black and silver. At their head, with his hair falling lank against his collar, was Duke Elward. In his eyes was a look of triumph, the look of a man on the threshold of his destiny. “I see you have my boat ready, dark wizard.”
The necromancer nodded. “Will you travel to the island now? Dawn is upon us.”
“Of course, I fear nothing from the lake, with you at the helm.” Elward and his men dismounted. His many retainers were each armed with a crossbow and the young Duke himself carried his family’s longsword. There was no sound as he crossed the sodden grass to where the cloaked necromancer stood at the water’s edge. When the Duke reached the wooden longboat the necromancer held up his hand.
“Have you the coin?”
The Duke held forth the gold coin. The necromancer needed no magic to recognize the accursed thing. There was a moment’s silence, as the two men regarded each other across the simple gold disc. Grey light filtered through the bitter morning air and the breaths of the two mingled in misty clouds. On his shoulder, the necromancer’s familiar shook its wings and settled its feathers.
“Well necromancer,” said the Duke finally. “Shall we go to meet the new day of my greatness?”
“Pay me the coin,” said the necromancer, his voice slightly hesitant upon the words. “And I will protect you on the journey.”
“Ho no, wizard.” the Duke shook his head. “I’ll keep the coin for the tomb, thank you. Besides, the journey is not far, my men will protect me.” He nodded over his shoulder to where the soldiers stood, crossbows in the crook of their arms. Loyal men, every one, they watched attentively as their master negotiated with the master of black arts.
Together the necromancer and the Duke stepped into the boat. Seating himself in the prow, the Duke looked across the lake to the island, while the necromancer poled the boat away from the shore. As his gaze swept the lakes surface, the water black like night sky, polished like glass, the Duke called to his men, “Keep watch men, for when I return it shall be with the power to slay the orc, and to rout his brutal empire from our lands.”
The misty air swallowed the cheers of his men, and soon the boat was in a sea of grey.
“Brave words, lord Duke.” said the necromancer. “What if you are wrong? What if you are not the man of prophecy?”
“What do I care for prophecy, wizard? On the island is a weapon of power that has waited only for one with the courage to wield it! Bugger prophecy! That’s for old women and clerics. All I care about is power!”
“But does power care for you?”
The Duke did not answer the necromancer’s question, but only snorted in reply. It was only a short while before they reached the island in the middle of the lake, but already, the sun was burning off the mist. They were still just within bow shot of the shore. The Duke leapt from the prow and waded up to the island’s edge, pushing his way through sedge grasses. The mud at the bottom sucked at his feet, though he did not care.
The island was no more than a hummock of land, barely rising above the lake’s surface. There were no trees or bushes upon it, only long swamp grasses. In the middle was a squat, grey stone tomb, with walls unadorned by any markings. From the lake’s shore it looked like an irregular rock. Standing before the tomb, the Duke turned to wave to his men, who were now visible through the clearing mist. The necromancer climbed from the boat, his raven familiar squawking once, loudly, as it was dislodged from his shoulder. The bird’s cry echoed eerily across the waters.
“Well necromancer,” said the Duke. “How do we enter?”
“Give me the coin,” said the necromancer. “I will use it to open the way.”
The duke handed the wizard the golden coin. “I pay to open the way.” he said, turning back to face the tomb, eyes searching its surfaces intently.
Holding the coin in his hand, the necromancer reached into his robes and drew forth a garrote. Before the Duke knew what was happening, the thin wire was about his throat, choking the life from his body. Desperate for air, he thrashed about, driving up sodden grass and sprays of mud and water. From the lakeside, cries went up from the Duke’s men. There was the thrum of crossbow strings, the whistle of quarrels flying through the air and the splash of bolts striking the water.
In spite of the Duke’s struggles, the necromancers grip was resolute and soon his victims strength began to wane. At last, the body went limp, but before he could release the dead man, he herd a dreadful, wet thunk and his head was filled with blinding pain as a crossbow quarrel buried itself in his skull. He slumped forward, over the dead Duke, knowing that this was how it should be, for only one could ever handle the coin and live. The necromancer and the Duke slid into the black waters of the lake, entwined like lovers, though they felt nothing for each other in life.
Before his hand finally slipped below the water, the necromancer’s familiar performed its last service to its master. With its long beak it plucked the gold coin from his hand and took flight across the water. Whether it was the sound of its wings that drew their ears, or the glint of the gold in its mouth that drew their eyes, the raven could never know. A crossbowman on the shore took the bird in the breast as it flew overhead and the accursed coin fell from its beak to the forest below.
I hope it's not too rough, I kind of dashed it off.
-----
He is coming. said the raven.
“I know.” replied the necromancer, as hoofbeats echoed through the pre-dawn mist.
Will you do it?
“Of course! The Axe is for the Hero Who Will Save Us. Elward is not the One, coin or no coin!”
But the curse?
“If I feared curses, I would not have sought the necromancers’ path.”
The horses emerged from the mist, riders dressed in livery of black and silver. At their head, with his hair falling lank against his collar, was Duke Elward. In his eyes was a look of triumph, the look of a man on the threshold of his destiny. “I see you have my boat ready, dark wizard.”
The necromancer nodded. “Will you travel to the island now? Dawn is upon us.”
“Of course, I fear nothing from the lake, with you at the helm.” Elward and his men dismounted. His many retainers were each armed with a crossbow and the young Duke himself carried his family’s longsword. There was no sound as he crossed the sodden grass to where the cloaked necromancer stood at the water’s edge. When the Duke reached the wooden longboat the necromancer held up his hand.
“Have you the coin?”
The Duke held forth the gold coin. The necromancer needed no magic to recognize the accursed thing. There was a moment’s silence, as the two men regarded each other across the simple gold disc. Grey light filtered through the bitter morning air and the breaths of the two mingled in misty clouds. On his shoulder, the necromancer’s familiar shook its wings and settled its feathers.
“Well necromancer,” said the Duke finally. “Shall we go to meet the new day of my greatness?”
“Pay me the coin,” said the necromancer, his voice slightly hesitant upon the words. “And I will protect you on the journey.”
“Ho no, wizard.” the Duke shook his head. “I’ll keep the coin for the tomb, thank you. Besides, the journey is not far, my men will protect me.” He nodded over his shoulder to where the soldiers stood, crossbows in the crook of their arms. Loyal men, every one, they watched attentively as their master negotiated with the master of black arts.
Together the necromancer and the Duke stepped into the boat. Seating himself in the prow, the Duke looked across the lake to the island, while the necromancer poled the boat away from the shore. As his gaze swept the lakes surface, the water black like night sky, polished like glass, the Duke called to his men, “Keep watch men, for when I return it shall be with the power to slay the orc, and to rout his brutal empire from our lands.”
The misty air swallowed the cheers of his men, and soon the boat was in a sea of grey.
“Brave words, lord Duke.” said the necromancer. “What if you are wrong? What if you are not the man of prophecy?”
“What do I care for prophecy, wizard? On the island is a weapon of power that has waited only for one with the courage to wield it! Bugger prophecy! That’s for old women and clerics. All I care about is power!”
“But does power care for you?”
The Duke did not answer the necromancer’s question, but only snorted in reply. It was only a short while before they reached the island in the middle of the lake, but already, the sun was burning off the mist. They were still just within bow shot of the shore. The Duke leapt from the prow and waded up to the island’s edge, pushing his way through sedge grasses. The mud at the bottom sucked at his feet, though he did not care.
The island was no more than a hummock of land, barely rising above the lake’s surface. There were no trees or bushes upon it, only long swamp grasses. In the middle was a squat, grey stone tomb, with walls unadorned by any markings. From the lake’s shore it looked like an irregular rock. Standing before the tomb, the Duke turned to wave to his men, who were now visible through the clearing mist. The necromancer climbed from the boat, his raven familiar squawking once, loudly, as it was dislodged from his shoulder. The bird’s cry echoed eerily across the waters.
“Well necromancer,” said the Duke. “How do we enter?”
“Give me the coin,” said the necromancer. “I will use it to open the way.”
The duke handed the wizard the golden coin. “I pay to open the way.” he said, turning back to face the tomb, eyes searching its surfaces intently.
Holding the coin in his hand, the necromancer reached into his robes and drew forth a garrote. Before the Duke knew what was happening, the thin wire was about his throat, choking the life from his body. Desperate for air, he thrashed about, driving up sodden grass and sprays of mud and water. From the lakeside, cries went up from the Duke’s men. There was the thrum of crossbow strings, the whistle of quarrels flying through the air and the splash of bolts striking the water.
In spite of the Duke’s struggles, the necromancers grip was resolute and soon his victims strength began to wane. At last, the body went limp, but before he could release the dead man, he herd a dreadful, wet thunk and his head was filled with blinding pain as a crossbow quarrel buried itself in his skull. He slumped forward, over the dead Duke, knowing that this was how it should be, for only one could ever handle the coin and live. The necromancer and the Duke slid into the black waters of the lake, entwined like lovers, though they felt nothing for each other in life.
Before his hand finally slipped below the water, the necromancer’s familiar performed its last service to its master. With its long beak it plucked the gold coin from his hand and took flight across the water. Whether it was the sound of its wings that drew their ears, or the glint of the gold in its mouth that drew their eyes, the raven could never know. A crossbowman on the shore took the bird in the breast as it flew overhead and the accursed coin fell from its beak to the forest below.
