POV Begrim
A soft wind kissed my skin as I walked down the dreary tunnels of my laboratory and into the barrow. In darkened rooms my failed experiments lay forgotten. The soft groans and shuffles of my more successful experiments filled these ancient tunnels I had repurposed to my use.
The old magika that had filled the air had been turned to my purpose, now serving my design. I chuckled softly, I was so close, so close to cracking the mystery. I glanced at the shambling zombie at my side.
"Soon we'll be reunited, sister." She didn't reply. No more than a gasp of air that slipped from her punctured lungs.
This was no true resurrection for my sister. I'll show those fools at the guild what true resurrection entailed. So what of the price? A peasant's only purpose in life is to serve their masters. Those useless grub worms that leech the beauty of the land and try to cultivate it to pay the most reasonable of taxes. They disgust me.
"I just need more souls…" I muttered quietly as I entered the final chamber where an imposing undead stood vigil over a well preserved corpse. This was to be her body, some stupid hero of old no one remembered.
The transfusion of power was beyond my abilities, as such I would use the souls harvested by my undead to fuel my sister's rebirth. I took a long look at the beautiful body my sister would soon inhabit. Soft pearl white skin, flowing auburn hair…
"Stay here Karol I'll be back soon…" My voice drifted off for a moment as I thought of what we'd do once we were finally reunited.
"It won't be much longer." I promised the decayed remains of my wonderful little sister."
I strode from the antechamber, summoning my minions to me as I passed them. Soon the horde swelled as the dead rose from the barrows once again. I felt my magika being taxed heavily by the restless dead. I could feel their anger, and their hunger.
I finally stepped out of the borrow and moved to my little camp. Donning my equipment once again as I looked at the fresh corpses of the foolish adventurers that had tried to stop me. I drew my cloak tight as I donned my Deathmask, becoming the Necromancer Morgan.
I felt my magika take on a deathly energy and my control of the undead eased. It had taken many months to discover how this deathmask worked. With it I was unstoppable. I wondered how I looked? Perhaps as a herald of the dead? Maybe I should acquire a staff to complete the look? Now that this foul personality wouldn't foul my sister's rest I could relax and easily be who I wished.
I stooped over the corpse of the magic wielder of these adventures, perhaps he would have something of use? A small mirror of silver, a few healing potions and a crooked wand was all my searching yielded. It was a shame I could not decipher what the wand was meant to be used for… but as I focused my magics upon it, funneling it through the deathmask I corrupted it. I grinned, a wicked thing as the crooked wand took a more gnarled appearance as the necrotic magics corrupted it.
I cast my eyes upon the darkening sky and cackled as I let my minions roam free of their barrow and place of entombment. Soon the terrified screams of the filthy peasants of this pathetic village rose like the music my ears had yearned for.I walked the streets, casting the occasional spell, knocking down walls of the houses that the peasants hid inside so my dead could harvest their souls.
With each scream, with every life bleeding into the mud I could feel the souls of the dead being drawn to me, being absorbed by my life force and refined as fuel. I cackled, savoring the terror in the air. Soon all but a few were left alive, which I had my minions surround.
I walked slowly up to them, enjoying the sight of those slaughtered. Those that hadn't helped my dear sister, that turned their backs on us. Finally this sun was cleansed with their blood. Now this town was sacred but for the few remaining sinners. But they had but one service yet to fill so that this land may be cleansed of their sins.
I looked at the three trembling figures before me and bathed in their fear for a long moment before I broke the silence. "You that act as my messengers shall be spared this once."
"Why?" The young woman, my former neighbor asked with fear stricken eyes as she pushed her little boys behind her.
I chuckled. "Word of my greatness will not spread if there are no survivors. This petty queendom must realize the error of its ways."
I savored the terror in the mother's eyes. "Start running."
I walked a few of my slower minions to start pursuing them after they had gone but a few steps. I smiled as they ran, easily outpacing the pursuit. But now… I looked over the multitude of corpses with a devilish grin. My strength would grow from here, with these fresh dead adding more power to my ranks.
I started the process of converting the dead, having my minions bring me the corpses of those recently slain. It took but an hour for all of the dead to rise again, and with this fell task complete… my army marched.
The next village would fall, their people culled and added to my ranks. Then the next and the next. I particularly looked forward to raising the dead adventures from the guild branch the next town over. They would certainly make for a mighty vanguard.
I will make this queendom bow before me. My might over this petty land will be know, the name Begrim will strike terror into my foes… all for abandoning my sister.