Chronicles of Espiria Season 2
Episode 20 – An Audience with the Master
Written by the Dude
Niru was hard at work in the Whispering Doom. New soldiers were needed for Thoran's army, and Niru was hard pressed to deliver them and still work on Lord Quadam's research on the Hypogeans. All this, of course, ignored the fact that he had not seen his family since the fall of the Barred Gate, which he longed for more with each passing day.
In the midst of these conflicting demands on his focus, his attention was seized by a sense of loss that suddenly befell him. He quickly examined his surroundings, but found nothing out of place. Soon, he was joined by Steixius and Sezis, Grezhul's lieutenants who had been assigned to guard Niru.
"Exalted Niru, are you all right?" Steixius asked.
"I am fine," Niru responded, "but I suspect that something is amiss. Be on the alert."
"Yes, sir." Sezis answered as the two guards shambled off.
Meanwhile, Shemira stood at the back door to her home, watching Daimon sitting at the stone table with his doll Stitchy.
"Come on, Stitchy, raise your right hand." Daimon said with some frustration in his voice.
Stitchy's arm quivered on its own for a moment, but nothing more. Ever since the attack on his home by the demonic entity from the Mortuary Void, Daimon had been trying to get Stitchy to again move on its own as it did that day; so far, however, his efforts had produced little fruit. Shemira watched her son beckon to the toy with increasing frustration, proud of his determination.
"Remember, Daimon, that necromancy is about control." Shemira offered. "You cannot be polite and expect Stitchy to obey you."
"But I don't want to boss Stitchy around like a bully." Daimon said. "If I'm mean to him, he may not like me anymore."
"Or that may be what he's waiting for. It's true that the living and Graveborn alike would be put off by domineering behavior, but Stitchy is a doll; it may be that he needs someone to dominate him."
Daimon considered his mother's advice, then turned back to Stitchy. He was about to try a more forceful tone when a sense of dread befell him. He looked in all directions, expecting to find a Hypogean nearby, but found nothing. He then looked back to his mother and found the same look of dread on her face.
"Get inside, Daimon, now!"
Daimon grabbed Stitchy and ran inside; once he was over the threshold, Shemira slammed the door and locked it with the most powerful sealing spells she could imagine.
Meanwhile, Sylvina and Isabella were hard at work in Vedan's library, searching his vast collection of arcane knowledge for any new information that might help in the war with the Hypogeans. Vedan walked in on them and found Isabella thumbing through one of the thicker tomes while Sylvina brought another stack of books to Isabella's table. While there were other rituals that Vedan wanted Isabella's help with, he consented to allow her some time to research the monsters that continued to pose a threat to their food supply.
"And how are your studies coming?" Vedan asked.
"Not as well as I would like." Isabella answered. "The wisdom you have accumulated here on necromancy is almost as comprehensive as that found in the Mausoleum, but I am hard pressed to find any information on the Hypogeans save a few spells to fight them and some vague theories on their role in Graveborn history."
Vedan thought for a moment. "Then perhaps it is time that I update my library. I am sure most of my old contacts are still alive; I will see if they have access to the information you seek."
Vedan turned to leave, but paused when he heard the clatter of books hitting the floor. He turned back to find Sylvina with knives drawn, looking in all directions as if surrounded by assassins.
"Sister, what is wrong?" Isabella asked, mildly frightened.
"I sense that danger is imminent."
Vedan sniffed the air and listened intently to his surroundings. "I sense nothing out of place."
"Nevertheless, I still sense danger." Sylvina responded without looking at her adoptive father.
"I wonder, Father, if it is a warning from Lord Quadam." Isabella theorized. "Unlike us, Sylvina has died before, so she is closer to Lord Quadam than either of us. Perhaps he is using her to warn us of something before it is too late."
What Sylvina was warned of actually began to occur half an hour earlier in King's Manse. At that time, Thoran stood on the ramparts of the wall surrounding the city, surveying the desolate wasteland that his empire had become. He would usually come here to be alone after conversing with his sister and remember what the empire was like in life. He would remember the lush green grass that once covered what had become stone-hard ground; the pleasant forest in the distance where he would sometimes hunt wild boar with his brother Edwin, now a field of rotted wood too stubborn to crumble to dust; the town off to his right that once specialized in growing the favorite fruits of the royal family, repurposed into Grezhul's personal training camp after the fruit-bearing plants had gone extinct.
This day, however, he thought not of what his empire once was, but what it could become should he fail to defend it. Grezhul stood at his side, watching his king wrestle with his emotions.
"It is quiet, Grezhul." Thoran finally commented. "Too quiet."
"The Hypogeans have allowed us brief periods of respite before, my king," Grezhul answered. "It means that they are preparing a special assault."
"This feels different somehow. Something new rises up against the empire. Be sure that you and your men are ready even for the unexpected."
"As we always are, my king."
At that moment, the dull peal of a funerary bell rang through the streets of King's Manse. The Eldritch Council had summoned Thoran. Thoran made no attempt to hide his frustration.
"What could those busybodies possibly want?!"
Thoran and Grezhul made their way to the council chamber. When they arrived, they were surprised to find that none of the council members were present. Instead, they found an amorphous phantom hovering in the center of the chamber where Thoran usually stood. This phantom seemed to fade and reappear frequently, as if maintaining its place in this world was a challenge for it. Whatever its physical form or appearance, Thoran could sense great power emanating from the spectre, but could not guess at its identity. The same could not be said of Grezhul, however. He fell on one knee the moment he sensed the phantom's aura, for he remembered like it was yesterday what it was like to be in the presence of his primary benefactor.
"Lord Quadam, we are honored." Grezhul said with his eyes on the floor.
Quadam seemed to nod at Grezhul in recognition, then turned his attention to Thoran and spoke with the voice of millions.
"King Thoran, I speak with you directly because I have made a decision that will alter the course of the empire forever."
"And that is?" Thoran asked.
"We are going to ally ourselves with the Hypogean Hoard."
Thoran and Grezhul shared a confused glance as they tried to process Quadam's proposal.
"You intend to join our forces with the Hypogeans?" Thoran asked, incredulous.
"I do, Thoran."
"The same Hypogeans that plot day and night to wipe the Bantus Empire from the face of Espiria?!"
"Do not think that I reached this decision lightly, Thoran. I have considered this course of action long and carefully, and determined that this is the best path for Graveborn kind."
"The best path?! They will wipe out the human cattle that we use to renew ourselves and replenish our numbers, then they will come for us when we have served our purpose to them!"
"I have thought of that, Thoran. My best necromancers have been working tirelessly to find ways to adapt our methods to the Hypogeans. Your friend Niru has found a way to resurrect a Hypogean as a Graveborn, and only yesterday successfully extracted their life force in a way that we can use. I understand that their life force is even more nourishing than that of humans."
"But they still cannot be trusted! Niru never found a way to bring the resurrected Hypogeans under our thumb!"
"This problem was solved by the alchemist Silas. It is a crude solution, but it seems to work, and we can always improve on it with time."
"Silas?!" Thoran scoffed. "I would not trust that mad tinkerer with the safety of a rose bush, much less the Graveborn legions!"
"I trust him not only with their safety, but the future of all Graveborn kind. Imagine, the raw power of a Hypogean, blessed with the refined magic of the Graveborn and commanded by the immortal Quadam, through my trusted mouthpiece, King Thoran! Once the war ends, we will have access to a new breed of cattle that produce greater life force and stronger Graveborn! Our kind will never want again!"
"Lord Quadam, I understand the desire for more power to preserve the empire, but an alliance with the Hypogean invaders is madness! Even as Graveborn, they will seek the end of the empire and join the whole of Espiria under their degenerate banner! Silas makes many grand promises, but he is unruly and defiant, and I do not trust him to reign in the Hypogeans for our purpose! If you do this, you will rule this world, for none can oppose you; but it will be a world devoid of all life, Graveborn or otherwise!"
Quadam hovered before Thoran in silence for a moment before responding.
"You are so certain that an alliance is a mistake?"
"I am, Lord Quadam."
Quadam was silent again as he considered Thoran's plea.
"Then I am sorry, old friend."
Without warning, necromantic lightning struck Thoran in the chest, throwing him against the wall and dazing him. Grezhul was at his side in an instant, one sword drawn to defend his king, his free hand ready to help Thoran to his feet. Thoran looked at his hand as he tried to stand and found the tips of his fingers crumbling to dust.
"I am sorry, old friend, but this alliance is too important to Graveborn kind. We must ascend as Hypogeans or we will fall at their feet. You have served the empire well for centuries, Thoran, but I cannot allow you to interfere at this critical junction in our history."
Another bolt of lightning struck Thoran in the chest. dazing him all over again. Grezhul stood between Thoran and Quadam, fully prepared to take any more bolts himself. Quadam responded by throwing Grezhul aside and casting another bolt at Thoran. This final bolt was the last as Thoran crumbled to dust. Grezhul knelt before the still ash that was once his king and stared in disbelief. He had failed. Again. And this time, the murderer was the same man who had granted him the power to raise his king the first time.
Grezhul stood and drew his swords, prepared to lay down his life in a vain attempt to avenge his king, when a still small voice echoed in his ear.
"...Grezhul..."
Grezhul looked around, but saw only Quadam.
..."Grezhul..."
"My king?" Grezhul whispered.
"...You can no longer help me...Your enemy is beyond your power to harm...You must flee..."
"But..."
"Go to my sister's side! That is an order!" Thoran shouted in Grezhul's ear. "Protect her as you would me! Get her to safety, wherever that may be! I will buy you whatever time I can, but you must hurry!"
As Thoran spoke, the ash on the floor began to stir. Slowly, it reformed itself into the shape of King Thoran as if by sheer force of will. Once he was fully assembled, he let out a war cry that would freeze most living men in terror, then charged at the phantom of Quadam. Grezhul did not stay to watch; he knew what chances Thoran had against Lord Quadam.
As Grezhul ran down the corridor on his way to Theowyn's chamber, he encountered his guards.
"Guards, with me!" he shouted.
To his surprise, the guards ignored Grezhul's summons, instead actively blocking the passage with weapons drawn.
"I am sorry, Captain," one of the guards said, "but Lord Quadam has ordered your destruction."
Grezhul nodded in understanding, then drew his swords. The guards charged him, hoping to end his life quickly; instead, Grezhul cut them all down in a matter of moments, then continued on his way.
Meanwhile, another group of guards arrived in the council chamber with the rampaging Thoran, who was slashing bravely but wildly at the incorporeal phantom of Quadam. Thoran noticed the guards as they entered the chamber and charged at him; this was a foolhardy move on their part, for Thoran was already in a berserker mindset. He cut through the guards in moments, prompting the next wave to hesitate and show a measure of caution. Rather than wait for the next wave to attack, Thoran charged them with another battle cry.
Finally, Grezhul reached Theowyn's chamber. Due to the urgency of the situation, he neglected to knock first, instead bursting in unannounced. Even so, he found her in the same position as always, weeping into her hands while seated on her couch, only this time, monstrous green arms born of her endless sorrow protruded from her back. They quickly vanished as Theowyn realized the identity of her intruder.
"Gareth? What is wrong?"
"My lady, we must flee the palace!"
"What is wrong? Where is Thoran?!"
"I will tell you on the way, but we must hurry!"
Grezhul took Theowyn's hand and led her from her room. As they moved quickly but cautiously from one corridor to the next, Grezhul relayed what he had witnessed in the council chamber.
By this time, more guards had stormed the council chamber in the hope of overwhelming Thoran; these all proved to be little more than sport for the enraged monarch. Though gifted by Quadam with added power, they could not match the raw fury of Thoran and fell before his blade as many as five at a time like bamboo before a samurai.
When Grezhul reached the point in his story in which Quadam attacked Thoran, Theowyn stopped in her tracks, allowing her phantom hand to phase through Grezhul's.
"Lord Quadam did what?!" she asked, incredulous.
"I could barely believe it myself at first, my lady. But Thoran's final order was that I take you to safety, so please, let us keep moving!"
At that moment, more guards rounded the next corner and blocked Grezhul and Theowyn's path. Grezhul stepped between the guards and Theowyn and readied his swords.
"Stay behind me, my lady."
Theowyn did not obey. She let out an ear-piercing banshee wail and charged at the guard in front. Rather than the swift death that Grezhul feared for Theowyn, she dove into the guard and slowly took possession of his body. Once fully under her control, the guard turned and used his centuries of training and experience against the others. Thanks to the element of surprise, it was mere moments before the guards were laid waste. Theowyn then threw the body of the guard out a nearby window before returning to Grezhul's side.
"Are you alright, my lady?" Grezhul asked, shocked and concerned.
"Just get me out of here." Theowyn responded with a tinge of malice.
Thoran, meanwhile, was examining his surroundings. Surrounded by the mangled bodies of his guards, he was having difficulty telling if any still had fight left in them. Presently, he heard a slow clap emanating from the center of the room; the source was Quadam.
"A glorious final battle, King Thoran, worthy of a song to be sung by your successors."
"Your praise rings hollow, knowing that you were the one who ordered my execution!" Thoran shouted.
"I will give you that, old friend. I had planned a quick death for you, but upon seeing you pull yourself back together, I decided that you deserved a demise more befitting your warrior's nature. Now that you have had your honorable last stand, however, your time has come. This alliance must happen, and neither you nor your bodyguards can be allowed to interfere. Your body shall be destroyed once and for all, and your soul cast back into the Underworld, never to return."
As the necromantic blast struck him and annihilated his flesh, he found peace in the knowledge that Theowyn would not share his fate so long as Grezhul lived.
The death of King Thoran was felt throughout all of Graveborn kind. Niru felt it as a sense of deep loss. Daimon and Shemira felt it as a nameless dread. Sylvina sensed a plot on her and her sister. But most of all, Grezhul and Theowyn felt it for what it truly was: another betrayal by a man that they once called friend. As they escaped out the main gate of King's Manse, Grezhul swore as he swore when he was resurrected: Thoran's murderer would not escape justice.