Travellers

The Dance

The Druid, Runic Mist, knelt at the alter devoted to his Goddess, Tunare, in his little hut in the Eastern Commonlands bordering the busy port city of Men, Freeport. Many small statues and other works of art relating to Tunare covered so much of the alter that barely any of it's wood could be seen. He centered himself deeply with the image of Tunare, allowing no visual distraction nor the slight sounds of the nearby city to draw his attention. He clasped his hands, leaned forward, closed his eyes, and started to pray.

"Blessed Tunare, Mother of Norath and Goddess of all living things, your humble servant, Runic, thanks you for all your blessings and continued life. May all my works further enrich your lands. I thank you especially for continued life. As one of the Guardians of Life, I cannot let any harm come to Norath, and as such, she will not let any harm come to me. I ask you, Tunare, one last question before my rebirth; why has this Barbarian been allowed to slay me?"

Before Runic was able to finish his prayer, the Barbarian he spoke of that had been standing behind him, sword drawn and blade tip dancing inches from his back, plunged the sword deep through Runic's back, the blade exiting his chest and upsetting the items on the alter.

"Praying time is over, human druid. May the Prince of Hate steal your soul."

Runic's blood poured out over the sword's blade, down the alter, and through the cracks in the floor boards. There it pooled, and over a short time, Norath drew it in.

The Barbarian braced his foot against the back of the corpse, and withdrew his sword with such a heave that the body was flung forward, knocking the alter over and shattering what remained of the ornaments. He wiped the blood of the sword on his tunic, and returned it to its sheath.

He grabbed the body by the back of its collar, and dragged it outside into the afternoon sun. Four other Barbarians, two more warriors and two shamans, all followers of Innoruuk, the Prince of Hate.

"The last protector of Norath has fallen. Freeport will be ours, once again."

Not far off, Racus watched from behind a tree. If he was to be spotted, he would be killed, he was sure of it. His own dark powers were formidable, but not against five others at his own skill.

"Blessed Tunare has seen another of her followers slain. Another of too many, I should think. But these Barbarians don't know of her gift to them."

He watched the group drag the body up a nearby hill. At the summit was a set of tall standing stones, known as a Druid's Ring. Two other druids lay near death, bodies twitching minutes before their own time to come. The tossed the body to the side, drew their weapons, and proceeded to break the stones.

Racus stepped silently from behind the tree, careful to stay in it's shadows, and watched, fascinated.

"Hundreds of years, content it was supposed, Barbarians lived in the frozen north. And now they desire to come back? Their ways would not be a welcome intrusion by the other races. Their magics of channeling their dead ancestors was what isolated them in the beginning. Even the warriors adopted shamanistic ways."

He watched for a minute more, moving closer to the hut.

"I see the second druid finally made it to Tunare. She lies still now. Good. The less the better."

The cover of trees was growing thin. "Shadows conceal me."

He finished the walk to the hut in the open, yet hidden from sight. The door was hanging open, and he entered the hut.

Potions lined shelves all around, as well as tied stalks of plants and a few old scrolls. But none of these interested him.

"He guarded something. He died because of this."

His eyes barely looked over the drying blood on the spilled alter, seeking something secret. Not in the floors nor the walls; to be hidden in a hut such as this would be folly. Nor the furniture, as would be the first things to be searched. So where?

He turned in place three times before cursing the noise of the city. Still nearly a league away, and yet it's din could be heard. The noise wasn't loud, it was just... pervasive.

And then he stopped.

Not hidden away from eyes, hidden in front of. Where better to hide something than in the open, where least expected.

He shut his eyes. He knew what to find in a Druid's hut, having been in many before, being involved in the deaths of many Elvish druids. Even though this one was human, the characteristics remained the same. No matter the race, a Druid was a Druid.

He opened his eyes, and looked for what shouldn't be there.

The Barbarians, pleased with their work, killed the last druid and headed to the mountains in the south. A pass ran through the mountains, leading to the Desert of Ro. There, more of the followers of Innoruuk, waited. It would be a day's journey to reach them, and their rations were low, so they hunted and foraged for food. Clouds were forming, and they knew that rain would fall soon. They could collect and save the rain water for their journey.

All was silent, for he had no ears. All was dark, for he had no eyes. All was nothing, for he had no body, except for his mind. He felt his confused thoughts swirling, unfocused, and knew this to be the rebirth.

And then he felt. Tingling at first, then great pains. Then extraordinary pains grew from the base of his neck and downward as his body was renewed.

And tremendous sound, like the deepest waterfall, the tallest mountain slide, or the hottest volcano.

And colors, brighter than anything he had seen before, surrounding him, flying past him.

And he felt weight, and knew he was falling.

To the biggest light in front of him.

To his rebirth.

Then trees, sky, grass, and he landed hard. His rolled over, naked and new to the world, but alive and whole.

Out of breath, Runic lay on his back, staring at the blue sky. Clouds crept in his vision from the West, and the wind from the same felt damp. A big storm was coming, but for who? Tunare sent this. Was it for him? Someone else? A gift? A warning?

He got to his feet, located his old body, and proceeded to undress it.

So that was the rebirth. Tunare bless me, I never want to go through that again.

He examined his tunic, and tossed it to the side. It was too damaged to be repaired, and he was certain that the people of Freeport would balk at a person wearing clothes soaked in blood, even if they didn't know that it was his own.

His previous body now naked, he spoke to it. "May Norath take you back from where you came." Then he turned around, and headed for the city.

Racus emerged from the hut, holding a doll. It wasn't in the form of anything specific, and that was what gave it away. A druid never has anything that isn't specific to plants or their magic powers.

He brushed the dust off it, admired its face for a moment, then threw it down, smashing its clay body.

He picked through the clothes and broken pieces carefully, then found what he was looking for, and was surprised.

Green light glinted off it's surface, the way an emerald would do, but there was a sheen to it that wasn't natural.

Still squatting, he held it up to the sun, closed one eye, and tried to discern if the difference was anything physical. A moment later, the clouds covered the sun, and the lands grew darker.

"A heavy storm approaches. Good. Tunare may cry for her fallen chosen. I imagine her pain must be like a knife through the heart. But even if she sends the mightiest storm, I still must be allowed to 'twist the knife'."

He pocketed the emerald, walked up to the summit of the hill, kicked the lifeless arm of a female druid that had been run through with a spear, and admired the Barbarian's handiwork.

"They do have great physical strength, and their weapons must be of superb quality to damage these stones as such. Surely this Druid Ring is useless now."

He raised his arms overhead, his black robes exposing bare arm except for three rings and a bracelet of gold and onyx.

"Let these new Ruins be a place of dark powers," he spoke louder, his voice deeper and sounding as if from the deepest of graves. He looked over the three dead bodies, and chose one, Runic's. His naked body was slowly being swallowed by Norath.

"I claim this one as my own! Norath shall not be receive it as promised through the agreement of Tunare and her Druids! His body will be a servant to me."

Dark green light erupted from his hands and the spot where the corpse lay. There was a moment where the corpse did nothing, then Racus shouted at the body, "I am Racus, a necromancer! Death is my domain! You shall not impede my raising of this body!"

The last shout was great, a command to the body, "'Wake, the dead!"

With that, the color surrounding his hands changed to violet, then covered his body. When the aura reached his feet, it spread outward, covering the whole of the hill. With the color came death, and the grasses and trees died.

The first rain drops landed on Racus' head.

"Tunare brings this storm for me, I see. They are signs of warning. But I shall turn them to tears of sorrow! Watch, Tunare!" he shouted to the sky as the clouds opened up, sending a torrent. "Watch as I take this body from Norath!"

The lights became green again, and the ground spewed the corpse out of itself. Then blazing white light entered the corpse's head, and its eyes opened.

"Arise, Jakobar. I am through with raising the bones of the dead. They lack substance, and have no character. The freshly dead, still wearing their faces are now mine to command!"

The rains poured harder, but Racus paid no attention to it.

Jakobar slowly lifted himself off the ground, and stood up tall.

Racus lifted his hand to Jakobar's face, and stared in his eyes. They were glossy, with no sign of life behind them. "A good warrior you will be. I am certain Tunare has left you with no magic, but that still suits me. Your very existence will be an assault to this very existence. If only Runic could see you now. Follow me now, Jakobar."

Racus headed down the side of the hill, his Death Spread decayed, leaving dead and rotting plants and insects behind.

"We must head to Freeport. Maybe not to warn, maybe not just to watch, but go we must."