Dark Jack

The Prophecy

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

Finally it came to light... Gerald knew he would have to discuss this particular topic at some point or another, and he had had a strong suspicion that not only mentioning his wife but also the intent to resurrect her would be too great a temptation for Jillian to resist. Curiosity was a powerful thing, particularly for mages, but it was also an almost universal trait that made virtually all beings in the planes fundamentally predictable if one could only find a thing that particular being was interested in. Jillian was interested in him, so naturally she would be interested in one of the core events in making him who he was.
Her question was wider than just wanting to know about his wife, however... it was about his goals. Technically he could answer her specific question very briefly without even justifying an accusation of lying or withholding details; her question was about something specific, so a specific answer would be natural. However...

“My wife is gone,” he told her, his voice a bit more bitter than he had meant it to be. He did not lapse into sorrow, however, but merely displayed great displeasure in the information he was sharing with her. “I’ve learned much since back then, and not just about necromancy. Bringing the dead back is not impossible, as has been proven by a number of resurrections throughout history, though I would certainly have been the first mortal to have accomplished such a thing... and speaking to the dead is one of the original purposes of necromancy, and completely doable. My wife is gone because the Withering killed her, and the Withering devours your very soul. Her very existence, even her dead spirit, has been erased from the planes by it.”
He took a deep breath, trying to keep calm despite the pain he felt building inside of him, and managed to maintain a fairly stoic facade. In fact the only thing that really betrayed the depth of how much the topic disturbed him was Omni, as the light in the emerald gradually increased in intensity and started fluctuating slightly, hinting at his internal struggle.
“I have many goals, Veldaine, though I recognize that not all of them may truly be possible. If there is any way at all that can possibly bring her back – even as just a dead spirit – I will find it and do so. In the absence of that...” He sighed. “I’ll settle for shaping the world into one that would please her. That means wiping the plague that killed her from existence, and it means the removal of any threat that could potentially bring her unhappiness...”
His gaze filled with grim determination and the glow in the emerald abruptly turned steady.
“If I cannot give her the world, I will take it for myself instead.”

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

The situation still felt unreal to Jaelnec somehow, perhaps even more so now that he was not only the leader again, but they were also just calmly and safely gathering firewood for some warmth and a meal before heading off to their destination. These last couple of days in particular had been some of the toughest to deal with in his life, even when compared to the trials he had been put through by his relentless master. It was still not worse than losing his parents and hometown to the crusaders, of course – an occurrence that had left him broken and empty – , but accumulatively the events of these past few days probably came in second to that. Yet oddly, he found, he did not feel hopeless or sad; frightened, yes, but not to the point of surrender. He could tell that he still had strength in reserve and that he remained capable of facing whatever he needed to face to protect his friends, and in spite of the adversity they had met on their road thus far, he still felt naively hopeful about their chances to end the Withering.
Not only that, but reaching Zerul City would not only potentially clue them in on where to continue their quest, but also allow Jaelnec to find and meet Thaler’s grandfather, who could very well be the last living Knight of the Will now that Freagon was gone. It was possible that the squire could become a full-fledged knight, which though practically was just a formal title would still be a formidable source of motivation for him. Together with Thaler he would revive the knighthood, using the obliteration of the Withering as the catalyst to regain its legendary status.
And then, on top of it all, Roct...

His left hand found the hilt of the sword, grasping it lightly while he gathered suitable-looking pieces of wood with his left and sticking them in his left armpit for transportation. Roct, are you here?
“I am always here, Jaelnec. I thought we had established by now that I literally cannot exist outside the sword, and have no choice but to respond when you reach out to me?” came her prompt reply, her tone sounding more genuinely curious than biting. She was silent for a moment – a sensation made different from her simply not communicating by him still feeling vaguely aware of her presence, making her hesitation almost palpable to him – before speaking again. “You intentionally avoided touching the sword for a while there. You were talking about me, were you not?” She sounded nervous.
Some of the time, he told her truthfully. Aemoten says that you absolutely can’t possess me again and that doing so is dangerous. He recounted what the Sekalyn had told him to her as best as he could.
“Oh.” She gave off a sense of quiet wonder. “I had no idea. I... I just felt as though I needed to do something. You were reaching for me so desperately back then... I didn’t know. I guess even now I still don’t understand your kind...”
Jaelnec arched an eyebrow. My kind? Nightwalkers?
“Well, yes, but humanoids in general as well, and animals for that matter. I wasn’t like your kind to begin with, and being stuck like this hasn’t exactly allowed me to develop much past what I’ve learned from my wielders. I guess that since all of my wielders have been nightwalkers, your kind is the one I understand the best.”
What do you mean, you weren’t like my kind to begin with?
Roct gave off a sense of dull regret. “I told you that I don’t know what I technically am, but I suppose what I originally was is relevant, isn’t it? I wasn’t always a sword, after all. Before Telagon forged this sword I was kept in a crystal prison, and before then... though I guess I wasn’t fully conscious or alive back then, since my body died before it was fully ready to be hatched, I was a dragon.”
“A dragon?!” Jaelnec exclaimed out loud, so startled that he forgot that he did not need to speak out loud for Roct to hear him.
“An infant White, yes. I died, as I said, but my father captured my soul before it could move on to the next plane, because he wanted me to have a chance to experience this world before moving on to the next. Sometimes... sometimes I think I would have preferred not to know this world. My time with Telagon was nice – he was a kind person and a good friend – but my time in Freagon’s hands...”
Freagon?
“I could tell you much about your master, Jaelnec, though perhaps not as much as you think. Freagon did not see me as an ally the way his father did and learned to shut me out completely very quickly after obtaining the sword. I will say that Freagon was nothing like his father; his heart was so cold that I would say he came dangerously close to fully embracing evil. Did, actually, a few times...”
Well, that was several of the questions he had for the entity answered all in one go. It did raise another one, though: How were you an ally to Telagon? Did you possess him like you did with me?
“No, I’d never forcefully possessed anyone until... you know. Usha. But being a dragon I have perfect memory, and even without taking over my wielder’s body I can still migrate part of my soul into them if they permit it. I found that I could lend Telagon certain abilities that came with my current state of existence, such as my sight. You’ve experienced it sporadically, too, when your anxiety was the greatest. Let me show you...”
Before Jaelnec could accept or deny Roct’s offer he suddenly found himself gazing upon a world that was different than the one he had seen but an instant prior, through black eyes that abruptly sported white slitted pupils. As he remembered having seen in flashes a number of times before the world became one of strange alien colors as the physical realm vanished to give way to a world of magical energy, the coursing soul and beating heart of Reniam laid bare before Roct’s ethereal vision.
Looking down at himself, even Jaelnec’s own body had turned into a contour of gray mist, whereas Roct – the sword and the creature – stood out as a bright, almost solid-looking outline of the sword in an almost blindingly pure white color.
He blinked, and the world returned to normal. He was speechless.
“I’ve also learned something similar to what some refer to as the Art of the Warden and can enhance physical attributes of my wielder if need be. I did this much in Telagon’s hands, to the point where I was often exhausted to the point of forced dormancy, but it has been a very long time since I’ve needed to use my energy for anything. I’m quite powerful right now, but I won’t be so for long if you decide to rely on me too much. Ask for it, and I can lend you whatever measure of strength you need.”
That sounds –
“No, it doesn’t. I gather energy very slowly, Jaelnec, and if you deplete the energy I have now... well, my power will not be too impressive in your lifetime. If you got your hands on that sword you used me to block earlier, however, that’s another story. I’ve never sensed such a bountiful source of magical energy before, it felt like I could keep drinking from it forever without ever exhausting it.”
That’s Angora’s sword, he told her with a frown. She’s an ally now; I can’t ask her to give me her weapon for something like that. Besides, I’m not sure I want you to be any stronger than you are now. You already possessed me and rendered me unconscious; what guarantee do I have you won’t do that again?
“Oh, I can’t do that. Well, I suppose I could if your consciousness was already trying to withdraw, but I won’t since you told me not to.”
You could me lying.
“I could,” she admitted freely, “but even then I could only ever inhabit you temporarily, and betraying your trust would most likely mean that I was discarded somewhere that I’d be unlikely to ever be found again. Since that is a fate I would do anything to avoid, it would be irrational for me to do so. Even if you don’t trust my morals, surely you can trust my common sense.”
Jaelnec sighed, still feeling uncertain about this uninvited passenger that had apparently come along on his quest but not having anything left to test her trustworthiness either.
It’s time to go back, he told her, hefting the firewood he had gathered during the conversation. We’ll talk more later. In the meantime I think you had better keep a very low profile, or I might decide that you’re too dangerous to keep around.
“I know. Eventually there is a lot that I feel you should know, but for now simply know this: the one who wielded the crystal prison I inhabited before this sword was Felgon Dragonslayer, who was Telagon’s father and Freagon’s grandfather. There is a lot that Freagon never told you. Also –”
Jaelnec let go of the sword and headed back to the camp then, intent not to let the entity tempt him into an even longer conversation than they had already had... though by the time he had found his way back to the others, it had occurred to him what Roct had said could not possibly be true. Felgon Dragonslayer, after all, died almost a thousand years ago.
It had to be a lie... did it not? Otherwise either Telagon or Freagon had to have lived for centuries longer than they should naturally have been able to.

When Jaelnec came back – soon followed by Olan, each of them carrying their own stack of dry branches – it was to Iridiel apparently recounting the tale of how she had come to leave her homeland. They listened in silence, neither of them wanting to interrupt her and both interested in her story, and remained silent right until Iridiel appeared to fall asleep.
“I guess adventurers never come with happy pasts,” Jaelnec sighed, wondering to himself whether that was really true. He looked at Angora, still wanting to be angry with her for the pain she had inflicted upon himself and Thaler but finding himself incapable of harboring any ill will against her after having seen her comfort Iridiel like that.
Inelegant though the transition might seem, he figured, he had to ask her: “How did you end up possessed by the... thing? The one that controlled you?”

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

“Pelgaid City is there to act as a prison for the Black Tribunal, yes,” Gerald confirmed Jillian’s suspicion, “but the Land of Eternal Night is mainly sealed with walls and guardsmen, and once magi become powerful enough, physical obstacles like that aren’t enough to stop them.” He nodded vaguely in Crone’s direction, silently reminding the witch of how that ancient sorceress had materialized here just a bit earlier this evening.
“Liches don’t have a maximum capacity like we do, but continue to accumulate more and more magical energy the longer they live, and the original Black Tribunal has been in there for eight hundred years or so... I imagine that they must be incredibly powerful by now. Though I don’t know what countermeasure is in place to prevent Delian and the other truly ancient liches from leaving – and there must be one or we’d have had a repeat of the War of Bones – I don’t think it’s able to stop everyone from leaving. The low-level necromancers, at least, seem to be able to leave just fine. That was who taught me, by the way; low-level necromancers.”
He chuckled. “If the Tribunal could leave... I’d imagine Rodoria would be a very different place. I don’t think any of the duchies would be able to stop them.”

When Jillian questioned the circumstances under which he had learned necromancy further, though, Gerald could only shrug. “Some time after my wife died I decided for myself to research necromancy in an effort to talk to her again, at least, and potentially do even more. I can only presume that they learned of my efforts somehow despite how hard I worked to keep them secret, because they showed up shortly after I had started fumbling in the dark. Just a couple of regular-looking people in black robes, offering me to join the Black Tribunal and learn necromancy from them.” He smirked. “This was before I was exiled, mind you; my stepfather was the dean of the academy, and I, a former instructor there, was in a prime position to succeed him. Surely a former revolutionary can see the allure in potentially putting a practitioner of the forbidden arts in place as the head of the primary institution teaching new generations of mages?”
He sighed. “Truth be told, though, I don’t know with certainty why they came to me, nor what their plans for me are now. It may be that they simply do not have the presence outside of the Land of Eternal Night to spend their resources on petty revenge against me. But whatever the case may be, all I can do at this point is wait and see what they do.”

The Prophecy

Angora shook her head and kept quiet as Iridiel continued, whilst the others began to make their way over towards them, sitting at the fire.

I actually shed a tear or two in utter frustration at that. It was physically painful. I've read that post so many times while trying to write my own post, yet somehow - somehow - I've managed to miss that particular passage every single time.
Eh... so five minutes, plus a short while between them starting to gather firewood/generally removing themselves from the campsite, is how long they are meant to keep themselves occupied. Then they come back and overhear Iridiel tell the story of how she got exiled, which I suppose they would do without interrupting her simply because it would seem unusually rude to do so.

*heaves a sigh so deep that it makes the drapes flutter* I think I can work with that... Honestly, I don't know why this particular post is so difficult for me.

The Prophecy

Okay, I have tried and tried - I have struggled desperately - to make your post work, Legion, but no matter how many pages I write, scrap and start over, no matter how much I think about it, I just can't come up with a scenario that is actually believable and makes sense that would accommodate your post. No matter how I look at it, it still seems absurd that Angora and Iridiel (which notably is forty percent of the characters present in the scene; sixty percent if one includes Domhnall, who was involved at the end) carry on with a long, seemingly private and rather relevant conversation beside the campfire where Jaelnec and Olan are probably present too.
The nightwalkers just sitting there creepily listening to their conversation would not only presumably be disruptive of the conversation, it would also be uncharacteristic for both of them to do nothing but listen through the entire thing; Olan almost certainly would have inserted himself into the conversation and Jaelnec would probably have been liable to leave and give them some privacy, unless he joined in too. The nightwalkers just talking to each other by the campfire is a similar issue with participants from either conversation being able to overhear the other, meaning that keeping the conversations separate would be a struggle in and by itself, and that is without even considering the fact that Domhnall is there, too, somewhere. If the nightwalkers weren't nearby, on the other hand, you'd think that would be its own kind of disruptive altogether unless Angora, Iridiel and Domhnall really just don't care about them in the least... and that doesn't even begin to deal with why the nightwalkers wouldn't be nearby. They already gathered firewood by that time (or at the very least would finish doing so during the conversation), and I can't think of a reason important enough that Jaelnec and Olan would delay going back to the others to have a long talk about that could buy the others the time they need to finish their talk. Eh...

So yeah... I've been banging my head against the wall for days now, and I can't come up with something plausible. Is there any way that you could possibly edit your post to reflect that the nightwalkers exist?

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

There was no denying the growing sense of anxiety Jaelnec felt from the moment Aemoten uttered the words that once again placed the squire as leader of a group, not with how catastrophic his first experience bearing the burden of leadership had proven for everyone involved. He tried his best to simply push it aside and ignore the feeling, making sure to keep his naughty left hand away from the hilt of Roct while expressing nothing with his mien or body-language but confidence. They were not going to be apart for long, after all; they would in all likelihood be reunited later that day, and then everything was going to be better. Aemoten was going to resume the position as leader, they would all have proper beds and safe places to sleep, they would get to learn how Meila’s father had managed to recover from the Withering, and they would all be able to rest and heal while in the safety of one of the major cities of Rodoria. Everything was going to be fine.
Still, it was with a heavy heart and deep worry that Jaelnec watched the Sekalyn ride off atop his strikingly loyal dekkun, and despite his opinion of the god and unwillingness to rely on him he offered a silent prayer to Laon to keep the three of them – Aemoten, Thaler and Etakar – safe until Jaelnec himself could be there to protect them. Who knew, maybe being alone with each other for a bit would be good for the daywalker and the man who loved her.

And then he was left alone with Domhnall and Olan. The young nightwalker suddenly felt incredibly awkward standing before them like this, alone and presumably under careful scrutiny by those who would eagerly await their chance to criticize and overthrow his leadership rather than simply being a pillar of strength to reinforce Aemoten’s position. What was he supposed to do or say just about now? How had he gotten this meek in the short time since stepping down as leader? How –
“We should probably gather a bit of firewood or something, you know?” Olan rescued his younger kinsman from his own crippling sense of insecurity by saying, looking around at nothing in particular. “Maybe get some food ready. All this talking about eating has gotten me a bit hungry, I think...”
“Yeah, good idea,” the squire agreed, flinching as he noticed that his left hand had strayed dangerously close to Roct again. “The faster we get everyone in a condition to travel, the sooner we can work on catching up to Aemoten and Thaler.”

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

A powerful twitch went through Gerald’s entire body when Jillian suddenly reached out and grabbed the tip of his staff, and he winced visibly with the sheer force of will it was necessary for him to muster in order to prevent himself from reflexively yanking Omni from her hands and probably knocking her on her head with it for good measure. Omni was his, part of his mind insisted; something precious that belonged only to him, and which only he was allowed to touch and manipulate. This was a sentiment he would have to get past if they were going to use the artifact to teach Jillian with, obviously, which was why he even made the effort to stop himself.
It felt like it had been so long since he had been close to another person like this... not in a romantic or sensual fashion, but in a position that to such an extent required him to suspend his own distrust toward the world and everyone in it. The last several years, he started to realize, had taken their toll on him in more ways than what had been inflicted by the Withering in that the loneliness of his near-complete solitude had rendered him so afraid of getting close to people. It was a necessity and a conscious decision that he had to remain alone, of course, but that was a choice; not being able to do so was a weakness, not a strength, and to achieve his goals he could not afford weakness of any kind.

“I didn’t,” he told her, ignoring his own reluctance to let her touch his staff and instead concentrating on answering her question. “I never went to the Black Tribunal – in fact this is the first time I’ve even visited Pelgaid – and I have never met or seen Delian Gilmah. They came to me.” He sighed. “I didn’t steal Omni, and to be honest I don’t even know for certain how I came to have it at all. It may be that Delian has managed to craft more than one and is giving them to all of her necromancers – though none of the ones that came to instruct me had one – but I don’t know. All I can really say for certain is that one day, months after I had been exiled from Zerul and I’d found my new home in Nemhim, it just... showed up.” He shrugged. “I just woke up one day and there it was, just randomly lying there below a closed window. I can’t explain it, but ever since then it’s been mine, and no one has come to claim it, which I guess means that they either want me to have it or they don’t know that I have it.”
He allowed a small tickle of magical energy to flow into the staff, causing the emerald at the tip of the staff to emit a soft, gentle light. “But yes, given that I cut all contact with them and give them nothing in return for the time and resources they invested in training me as a necromancer, I’d imagine that they aren’t entirely pleased with me.”

The Prophecy

Would if I could... Insomnia is kicking my ass this week.

The Prophecy

I apologize if that post just now was somehow sub-par, messy or somehow wrong, but I haven't slept for over forty-eight hours and I'm getting a little lightheaded. Still felt like seizing the opportunity to post, so here we are.

The Prophecy

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

“It probably won’t be that bad,” Gerald felt the need to point out in regards to Jillian’s family potentially having to move to escape their reputation as one that had fostered a witch and a murderer. He could still make no promises as to whether they would be hurt, but... at least they were unlikely to get killed. Hopefully Jillian had managed to wipe out the witch-hunters in their last encounter, in which case no one would be left to do anything too sinister and dastardly against her family. “It would have been worse in any other duchy, actually; in Zerul they at least have plenty of mages around that can confirm that their goods aren’t cursed, so once the official search is over most people will probably not be too bothered.”
At least Dennis Remdal and whatever other noblemen and politicians included in the list of subjects that could have staged the destruction of the Voice of Reason were highly unlikely to do anything. Especially Dennis, who tried so hard to seem nice and be popular, and who aimed to eventually fully take over the duchy once Marcus died and his only heir had been married off to Pelgaid... or who, at the very least, would want his son to do it.
Despite all their flaws, these people were not stupid; they were not going to endanger themselves just to hurt what was potentially the last surviving member of a small revolutionary group.

After a bit of silence during which Gerald drained the remainder of his tea, Jillian appeared to return to the topic of necromancy, causing the man to raise an eyebrow attentively, only for his eyes to be drawn downward when she stretched her legs out in front of her, which made him quickly avert his gaze from her entirely. While it might have seemed like a bashful thing to do it was nothing of the sort, really; under most circumstances the withered little man would likely have enjoyed the sight of her bare shapely legs as much as most healthy men and would have gawked at them shamelessly, but... her feet were naked. That was why he looked away.
Gerald found bare feet repulsive.
“It is about that,” he confirmed her assumption about necromancy, “but... can you tell what your energy is doing?” Experimentally he set aside his cup and held up his hands in front of himself with the palms facing one another and, imperceptibly, started weaving tiny flows of magical energy between the two like threads in a rope. By the time he lowered his hands again he realized that he had just been sitting there staring at his hands for more than ten seconds, too focused on casually demonstrating the subtlety of magical energy to continue speaking.
“Reanimation isn’t the skill you really want to learn as much as a means to an end. Your magical senses won’t get sharper from nothing, and manipulating energy within your own soul is a different experience from manipulating it remotely, so being able to sense one sharply doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to do the other.”

Realizing that he probably was not making too much sense to someone not a necromancer or a warden – or even a sniffer, for that matter, though they were ironically blind to their own energy – Gerald scratched his chin and heaved a sigh. Then he had an idea.
“Let me try again. When we sense magic, you and I probably sense the same thing, only I know how to interpret it better and analyze it in greater detail. That extends to your own magic, too; you need to understand how your energy feels and behaves before you can learn to tighten control of it and recognize patterns in the energy of others. But on its own...” He reached his hands out in front of him again, only this time grasping an invisible object and making vaguely circular motions with both of them, closing and opening his fingers with even intervals so that it happened the same time with every circular motion. “...you can thrust energy into the air and make it do stuff to your hearts content, but you won’t actually gain much insight into what you’re doing or how well you’re managing. Corpses...” He stopped gesturing pointlessly with his hands and picked up his staff from beside him, bringing it up in front of himself and resuming the hand-motions from before, only this time using them to nimbly twirl the staff around. “...are puppets that can tell you what your energy is doing. You learn what it feels like to bend limbs the right way, then how to coordinate the limbs, then to control facial expressions. Animating a corpse is a way to see your energy, and once you know how fine control feels, you won’t need to see it anymore.”
He stopped twirling his staff around and made to put it away, but then stopped himself as he stared at it, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Actually... maybe we won’t need corpses. Omni responds to and changes according to magical energy; maybe we could use it instead.”

The Prophecy

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

“Thanks,” Gerald figured was probably the polite thing to respond to the witch’s offer to teach him whatever she knew, even though he sincerely doubted that she had any practical knowledge that would actually be useful to him. He still did not approve entirely of black magic, its ease of use and its difficulty to control, and could simply not see any real advantage to using it instead of arcane magic, barring the need to blurt spells quickly and thoughtlessly, which he would not want to do anyway.
“I hope you realize that, even if you succeed in learning it, necromancy is a slow skill to obtain; it probably took me several years before I got to the point where I felt justified in calling myself a necromancer. We will also need materials... for practice.” He decided to leave the nature of those materials unsaid, as he figured she could probably guess what they were. “Without them we could practice controlling the flow of energy within yourself, but doing that alone would get you no closer to being a necromancer than a warden.”

When it came to Jillian’s family, though, Gerald was not entirely sure what to say or think. Jillian had been part of a coven plotting to change the country, after all, which would most likely cast suspicion on anyone associated with any member of the coven as well. There would be investigations, interrogations and they would most likely end up under surveillance, but other than that? If they really had no connection to the Voice of Reason aside from being related to Jillian and were not even magi, there worst that could happen legally was that some bad rumors started going about, affecting their business negatively. The problem was that the one that orchestrated the destruction of the Voice of Reason – most likely Dennis – had already proven ruthless and willing to skirt the law to achieve what he wanted. The fact alone that witch-hunters had been employed to catch Jillian and Vince was a bad sign, since witch-hunters were people that walked the line of what was legal and illegal, since even practitioners of the forbidden arts generally were not subject to death penalty and could not be killed except in self-defense or if they were rendered outlaws... Even if the mastermind behind it all did not tell them to, any surviving witch-hunters from the band might decide to harass the Veldaines on their own.
“I don’t think they can do much if they really aren’t involved,” he ended up telling her, thinking that it was better not to worry her needlessly. “At worst they’ll take a hit to their reputation, I think, and maybe have some of their merchandise destroyed in a faux search for cursed items, but legally they’re safe.” Whether “they” were bold enough to do something overtly criminal just to get to Jillian, however, was a different matter entirely.

The Prophecy

Thought as much, but figured it could be explained without having to change anything. Truthfully there's probably a handful of others in Zerul alone who has enough of an interest/desire to maintain the ban on the forbidden arts to stage the murder of the Voice of Reason, but Dennis Remdal is doubtlessly the most powerful and most likely suspect.