Undeath Beckons

Chapter 4 – Triash

LOADING…

FETCHING CHARACTER DATA…

CHARACTER SELECTED: BLIGHTFIRE

ENTERING WORLD…

I strode out of the Chapel with unshakeable confidence that evening. There was plenty for me to be happy about: A mission completed successfully, in every sense of the term; a new friend in Mitexi, who'd promised to meet me tomorrow and introduce me to Maximillion; and a name. Most of all a name. I hadn't felt like a real person until that moment, when I announced my title to Sarvis and the rest of the Chapel's attendants. Having a name gave me something to attach myself to. I could identify with it. Live through it. Become it.

Blightfire. So chosen because of those two ever-prominent sensations in my mind: heat and sickness. Though I could not detect warmth on my frigid, reanimated skin, my body still remembered the feeling. And though I encountered no pain or discomfort from the simple act of being inside this decaying carcass, I could recall pieces of a horrific conversion process, the agony of which had left a permanent scar on my soul. My chosen name reflected these two fleeting dreams. Blightfire. Thinking it made me feel whole again.

My next move, so Sarvis told me, should be to sleep the night and commence training first thing tomorrow. I had a long road ahead. He gave me his word that Venya would have a room for me at the Inn, and so she did. But there was something I had to do first.

"David Trias?" I asked the empty common room. "Are you-"

"Here?" David purred in a silky, sinister voice. He was standing right behind me.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Apologies. Bad habit." We took a seat at a table, and I produced the box from my travel pack. It rattled as I moved it.

"This is what you wanted me to find, isn't it?" I didn't need to hear his answer to know it was the correct artifact; the ravenous look in his eyes told me everything.

David was practically drooling. "Excellent work Blightfire." He reached out to take the box.

I pulled back a bit and covered it with my arms. "Not so fast. Some of that information, if you please. As a gesture of good faith." Never trust a Rogue, right?

David grinned wickedly at me. "Ah, yes, I suppose that would be wise. Too bad you've chosen the path of the Warlock… your keen sense of suspicion would likely make you a fine Rogue." He straightened up a bit and gesticulated as he explained: "As I told you, Dystressi is a female Rogue, about your age and build. She came down from the crypt with amnesia, same as you, as well as a tattoo identical to yours on the back of her neck. She also had a signet ring, but the symbol was not one I knew. Do you possess such a ring?"

I shook my head. "If I did, it has been lost since my demise."

"I see," David continued, "well, at any rate, she was quite an adept pupil, and took to each lesson with speed and skill unlike anything I've ever seen. She was doing in five days what it can take a new recruit six months to learn."

"Mmhm," I said with a nod.

"Unfortunately, she had a dark side as well, as many Rogues do." Was that a wink he just gave me? "A few nights ago, she broke into my private room and stole that lockbox you're now holding. She was going to trade it to members of the Scarlet Crusade-"

"The who?"

David smiled with sweet menace in his eyes. "Enemies of the Forsaken. They control territory to the southeast. Anyway, she'd been making deals with the Scarlets for some time, and was going to exchange that box for amnesty and a position within their organization, or so I believe."

I nodded again. This Dystressi, whoever she was and however she and I were connected, seemed like trouble. "What's in the box anyway?" I asked.

"I'll show you." David pointed at the lockbox and beckoned with two fingers. I carefully slid it forward; in a flash he produced a key and popped the lid open. I gasped. Such gorgeous gemstones!

"Oh my," I said, enraptured. "Yes, I can see why they'd want this."

He shut it again and continued: "Needless to say, I caught her before she could make the deal. Although she was many times my inferior in practice and training, she managed to escape from me, and fled into the occupied district. The Deathguards who went after her did not return, and the lockbox disappeared with her. I do not know where she has gone. I can only assume she escaped the valley."

Something didn't add up. "But how did you know she didn't take the box?"

There was that smile again. "Well… I didn't know for sure. But I've been keeping a close eye on the Scarlets the last few days, and the box never materialized. I would've started searching for it myself, but then you showed up."

"Ah, I see," I said. "A willing lackey to do your dirty work for you."

"Come now Blightfire," David scolded playfully. "It was a deal freely made! I had something you wanted, and you offered something I wanted. We both benefitted."

This, I had to admit, was true. "Fair enough David." I began to rise, then halted. "Can you tell me anything else about Dystressi?"

David shook his head, and replied, "Only this: she was looking for others with the tattoo like hers. You may be the only one… or you may not. I don't know. But she is a force to be reckoned with, Blightfire. If you do encounter her, do not underestimate her cunning."

I performed the Forsaken salute, thanked David for his time, and retired to my room. All this new information was making my head spin. Who or what was the Scarlet Crusade, and why were they so dangerous? Moreover, was Dystressi really a traitor to the Forsaken? Why? And what loyalties did she truly hold? What was our connection? Many unanswered questions to add to my growing list of wonderings. Still, nothing that couldn't wait for morning. I fell into a deep sleep.

The next day, I met Mitexi for breakfast outside the Inn. She'd managed to acquire some surprisingly tasty cave mold for us to eat, washed down with refreshing spring water. Her excitement overshadowed my own: clearly she was eager to show me off to Maximillion. I wondered if perhaps the novelty of another Warlock was what drew her to me… but that was negative thinking at its finest. Her friendship was genuine. I had no reason to believe otherwise.

We made our way to the cemetery behind the Chapel. It wasn't much to look at: just a few moss-covered stones and some open graves. The air was cool and smelt of pine. I wondered why Maximillion was not welcome inside the Chapel with the other magic trainers. This question, at least, would soon have an answer.

Maximillion was a green-haired Forsaken with shifty eye orbs and a partially broken jaw. His bony shoulders stuck out of his red robes like fins on the back of a shark. He wielded a ramshackle staff held together with twine bindings. I was, admittedly, not very impressed upon first meeting him. But I put on my best face and performed a firm Forsaken salute, which he returned.

"This is her, master," Mixtexi gushed. "This is the one I was telling you about! Meet Blightfire!" She was giddy with excitement.

"A pleasure," I said cordially.

"So, you fancy yourself a Warlock, do you?" he rattled, his voice creaky. He looked me up and down, taking in my features. "Yes… I can sense it. You have the innate gifts needed for the role. But do you have the will? The lust for power?"

"The… lust?" I asked warily.

Maximillion seemed to ignore my question, and instead began a speech: "An awful predicament we find ourselves in, isn't it Blightfire? Plagued by the Foul Prince. Ostracized and spurned by our loved ones. We finally have our own will thanks to the beautiful Sylvanas, but what does that afford us now? Slaves to a different master is still a slave, or so I say."

I raised an eyebrow. "Um, what-"

"But what if we were the masters? Yes, you know what I mean, don't you?" He tilted his head at me meaningfully. "It is that type of control—that type of power—that drives us. We seek to have creatures serve us."

Much to my surprise, I… agreed with him. I did want that kind of power. Though I knew not from whence the feeling came, I could sense it churning inside me: that desire to rule. To command. To control. "Yes… yes I see," I mumbled.

He gave Mitexi a nod. "We Warlocks know we are more powerful and deserve more respect than others give us… and so now we look to take it."

"Aye," Mitexi agreed. I spotted a calculating gleam in her eye. So she did have a dark side after all. How interesting.

Maximillion held out a decrepit hand. "If you wish to pursue this path, Blightfire, then consider me an ally in the struggle—the struggle for our own freedom. The freedom to seek our own allegiances. I will teach you all I know, in return for your temporary loyalty to me as your master."

I mulled this over. On the one hand, it was evident I was a Warlock, through and through. Those spells I'd used to save Mitexi were still at the back of my mind, just waiting to be pulled out again. No other path would suit me. And it was certainly true that, until I had a clearer picture of what I'd been up to when I was alive, I was stuck down here at the bottom of the Forsaken food chain. On the other hand, I didn't want to get into something I couldn't get out of. I valued my independence, limited though it was, and signing up for training seemed very much counter to my goals. But hell, once again I had to remind myself of an obvious fact: what else was I going to do?

I shook his bony fingers, bowing slightly as I did so. "I shall obey your commands, master."

Maximillion smiled widely. "Excellent. Most excellent. Welcome to the Dark Coven, Blightfire. We shall begin your training immediately."

Mitexi had informed Maximillion of my existing powers, but he wanted to see for himself, so our first order of business was some basic displays of aptitude. There was an enchanted dummy in the cemetery for exactly this purpose. I showed him Shadow Bolt, Immolate, and Conflagrate, as well as Curse of Agony and Corruption. After watching Mitexi and me take turns casting spells for a while, Maximillion stopped the exercise and pulled me aside.

He spoke in a low voice, saying, "Listen, Blightfire. I will be honest with you: your abilities are far beyond Mitexi's. Are you certain you did not have any prior training?"

I shrugged, trying not to look too pleased with myself after hearing his compliment. "I cannot say for sure. I don't remember what I did when I was alive."

"There's no way you were anything but a Warlock before now. You have a mastery of techniques that most among our class take years to achieve."

I beamed. "Thank you, master."

"However," he continued, almost hesitantly, "while it is clear you are ready to learn your first demonic summoning ritual—assuming you don't already know it—I'm afraid I cannot bring myself to deal such a blow to my other loyal student, Mitexi."

"Oh?" I cocked my head at him. "What do you mean?"

"Mitexi has been working with me for over a month now. Although her casting speed is excellent and her drive to learn is strong, she simply does not yet possess the necessary level of finesse to control a demon, even one as small as an imp."

I nodded, and replied tactfully, "I understand. When can I learn this spell, then?"

"Oh, very soon. I don't mean to keep it from you for long. But imagine how she'd feel if you got to do it on your first day, when she's been trying for weeks? It would crush her."

This didn't sit well with me. Yes, I didn't want to alienate my new friend—my only friend—but would she be the barrier to my progress? I was clearly the superior Warlock. Why should I let her hold me back? Oh well. No other choice. I grumbled an agreement and returned to the drills.

We spent the rest of the morning sparring and attacking the dummy. Maximillion guided my tactics, coaching me on the best order in which to use my spells, and how to make the most of their limited durations. After a break for lunch, Mitexi and I ventured out into the occupied district to slay some Scourge. It was very enjoyable, I must say. We returned to Deathknell that evening, our bags bulging with pilfered supplies and various knick-knacks looted off the mindless undead. Mitexi lived in a small apartment next to the Inn; to celebrate our first day out, she invited me over for a drink.

"Cheers!" she cried gaily, clinking her glass against mine. We guzzled the first round and pulled another. The wine felt strange against my throat, but the buzz was a welcome respite from my nagging thoughts, and I gladly gulped down a second cupful. The room began to tilt very minutely to the left.

"Sho Mitexi," I said. "What'sh it like living here in Deathknell?"

"Oh, it'sh not sho bad!" she answered hazily. "I like it, usually… hic!" She giggled. "But shometimes it's hard, you know? Being alone."

"Yeah."

"Like, it'sh not sho bad when I'm out training, but when I'm here at night, I jusht… I remember them. My kids. My hushband." She laughed out loud. "Ha! I said 'hush' band!"

I chuckled, for her sake. Maybe I needed another one before that would be funny. I remedied the problem, and increased the tilt of the room by a few more degrees. "Any good town gosship I should know about? …hic!"

Mitexi nodded, her thick black hair bobbing wildly. "Oh yesh. Plenty of gossip here, even among us Forshaken." She leaned in closer. I could smell the wine on her breath, along with a variety of molds and other decaying items. "For example, Kayla Shmithe… who hasn't that Warlock shlept with?"

I laughed at this. Good, I'd had enough now. "Yeah? The girl with the imp in the Chapel?"

"Yesh! She's a huge shlut." Mitexi polished off the remainder of the bottle. "You want another glassh? …hic!" She was in the midst of opening a second Pinot Noir.

"No, that's okay. Thish should be fine for me," I told her, already beginning to think about heading home. I didn't want to overstay my welcome, nor was I entirely comfortable being around Mitexi yet. I needed time to reach that point.

"I mean, I realize how much work it is for us Forshaken to… you know… but even sho, plenty of guysh are happy to take a ride when it'sh offered. Joshua Kien's done her, Deathguard Philip'sh done her, Archibald Kava had her at the Inn…" She laughed to herself. "I mean shit, one time I caught David Triash fingering her behind the shtables!"

I spat out a burst of the water I was drinking, causing Mitexi to laugh uproariously. "Sheriously?" I finally managed to say with a grin, sobering slightly at the mention of David. My, did that man get around! He seemed to have his hand in everything here, pun fully intended.

Mitexi giggled again. "Of coursh, I'm not without my own… indishcretions." She winked an eye orb at me.

I laughed. "Who've you shacked up with, Mitexi?"

A sly smile. "Oh, I don't know if we're closhe enough friendsh for that yet!"

"Very well," I answered with a grin.

Mitexi lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper. "Shpeaking of David Triash… I do have another piece of newsh about him… hic!"

I perked up. "Yes?"

She leaned even closer. Now she was practically licking my ear. "I heard that the girl he wash training, Dyshtresshi, washn't really a shpy." She hiccupped. "I heard… that David Triash… hic! I heard that he wash the shpy!" Her slurring was getting worse. I could see why: she'd chugged half the bottle of Pinot when I wasn't looking earlier. Sheesh.

"Really?" I asked, surprise clearly printed on my face. "Who told you that? And how do they know?"

"Caretaker Caice. He shed he shaw David and shome Shcarlets talking… hic! And shwapping papersh or shomething… hic!" Mitexi began to sway back and forth like a ship at sea. "Oh, wowie… I may have had a bit too much wine…"

Much to my dismay, I very soon discovered that Forsaken are still vulnerable to the effects of high alcohol consumption. As I helped Mitexi to the sink and held her hair back so she could continue vomiting, I pondered the information she'd so freely provided me. David Trias, a spy for the Scarlet Crusade? That would mean he lied to me about Dystressi. It would also mean he was the true traitor, and if word were to get out, he'd be strung up from the nearest durable tree branch in a heartbeat.

Dystressi was becoming more of an enigma with each passing moment. If David lied about her, then perhaps she'd been trying to expose him, and he'd run her out of town. Regardless of why, I knew two things for sure: one, that I wanted to find this girl, if for no other reason than because she might know something about who I was; and two, that I was going to speak to Caretaker Caice first thing tomorrow. Mitexi would be in no condition to train in the morning anyway.

She wasn't. I went back to check at daybreak, and found her still out cold in her bed, where I'd left her. I reported this fact to Maximillion, and he granted me a few hours for myself while she got her rest. I immediately began scouring the town, searching high and low for Caice. I'd never met him before, so I asked everyone I could see. Eventually, Deathguard Oliver informed me of Caice's whereabouts.

I trekked back up the hill toward the Crypt—shivering a little at the memory of my awakening there just a couple days prior—but this time hung a left, and found myself standing before a shriveled old Forsaken man. He was shorter than me, with several prominent teeth missing, wrinkled gray skin, and a few hideous tufts of dirty yellow hair bursting from the sides of his skull. His weathered fingers clutched a glowing lantern.

"My bones are weak," he began, his voice dry as a dusty tomb, "my eyes see only darkness, and my body feels only pain; but these things are good because my will is my own."

"Uh…" I said. "I'm Blightfire."

He looked me up and down. "Eh? And what do you want?"

I decided to jump right into it. "I'm here to gather information about David Trias."

Caice studied me carefully. "David Trias?"

"Yes, the Rogue trainer from Deathknell? I was told you'd seen him," I lowered my voice, "consorting with Scarlet Crusade agents."

"Oh! Eh… I may have seen that, yes. I may have not."

I was growing a bit impatient. "Look, do you have information to share, or are you going to keep spouting nonsense?"

Caice's gaze drifted vaguely to the side, as if he were reminiscing. "Your undeath is not the end of your life, but the beginning. It is up to you to decide where your fate lies now."

I gawked at him. "Pardon?"

Suddenly he leaned in, very close, close enough that I could smell mildew and liquor on his breath. "Five nights ago, I saw David Trias leaving the Inn in the company of Scarlet Messenger Meven Korgal." He rocked back again, smiling crookedly.

"Thank you," I told him. "I appreciate your help."

"Terror, darkness, power? The Forsaken crave not these things; the Forsaken are these things." He burst into a cackle, and didn't stop even as I backed away, turned on my heel, and hurried to town. What a curious man. Batshit insane, yes, but perhaps by choice rather than circumstance.

This new piece of information was simultaneously helpful and crippling. So David Trias was engaging in some kind of enterprise with the Scarlets. Was he trading Deathknell's secrets with them? Or was he wrapped up in a larger scheme, one that would ultimately bring about their downfall? I couldn't be sure, and until I was, my options were limited. It was then that something caught my eye: a large Wanted poster tacked to the wall of the general store.

I perused its text with interest. "Wanted Dead or Alive: Meven Korgal. Messenger for the Scarlet Crusade encampment in the northeastern valley. Has slain countless fresh Forsaken recruits, and several Deathguards. Reward offered. Contact Deathguard Saltain." There was a sketched portrait as well, showing a well-built man with large chops and an angry glare. I studied this a moment. Yes… an idea was forming. A wild idea… and it just might be crazy enough to work.