Jergmo
2009-06-28, 09:41 PM
This is a bit of a short journal from the perspective of Baldric Blackadder, a lich villain in my campaign.
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I sit here wondering why I write this as I examine my hand, a withered thing. Many times I have begun, only to forget what I was trying to achieve. I cannot smell the flower I plucked from the ground. The sensation of touch is all but gone, and I have accepted this.
I strove to attain lichdom because it allows me to maintain my distinction as an individual, unlike the feral wretches under my command. However, I fear that the hatred, the pure, focused hatred, has paid its toll. I must fight to maintain what I chose to cast aside; I have always enjoyed the bitter humor in irony.
I decided to question my second in command, Harrod. I asked him, “Where were you born, Harrod? What was your profession before you become a member of our Lord’s clergy?” Harrod looked up at me from the remains of his kill, his hardened, predatory eyes blazing as fresh blood ran down his chin.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. I insisted that it did, and a cloud passed over his face. Then, he looked down at the corpse in his arms, saying “I can’t remember anymore” before returning to his meal. This troubles me, and now that my task is clear, I will write from the beginning.
My thirst for power over death was sparked when I hadn’t seen more than eight winters. My younger brother Aidan and I were playing along the riverbank on the outskirts of town, and he drowned. It was my responsibility to watch him and ensure his safety, and I failed. My mother and father told me that they didn’t blame me, but I felt the stares of our neighbors. My powerlessness angered me, and I hated my brother for being so foolish.
My father was the owner of a prestigious tavern and was able to pay for me to have a good education. When I was thirteen, I met my mentor, Dr. Thaddrick Ruftos, a wizard of no small power, as well as a skilled alchemist and surgeon. The first war with the Daqqari orcs had begun, and my mentor needed an assistant.
I remember my old mentor very well. His eyes were blue and very piercing, and he was incredibly strong for an academic; his grip was like iron. As time wore on, I became fascinated with the anatomy of our patients. Dr. Ruftos taught me a great deal, more so than any other “professional” doctor I’d heard of could have done. Once the river was fortified, the orcish raiders couldn’t attack the port, and so the conflict was ground to a halt.
Once relative peace was attained, my studies shifted to more advanced practices. I became the doctor’s apprentice as a wizard. It took years of study, but my thirst for knowledge led me to excel. On my nineteenth birthday, I was introduced to necromancy, a school of magic which is for the most part outlawed. At last, I was on my way towards achieving my goals. It is highly dangerous to practice this art; if we were caught, we would have been locked away in the ancient prison for spell casters, Carcerus Arcanum. I knew the risks, but I would not be deterred.
My powers soon became more formidable, and my mentor trusted enough in my abilities to undergo a ritual to summon a spirit on my own. He had compiled a list of spirits that would be safe for me to summon, but I ignored it. A wave of anger and spite washed over me, and I called forth Aidan’s spirit from the upper plane of Eden; He was powerless to resist my will. He was weak, and his weakness and stupidity had brought me to shame.
It was some time before I allowed my brother’s spirit to leave, and in that time, I threw every spell at him that I could to make him suffer. He wept and pleaded, but my rage overtook me. The torture warped his spirit, and he became lost in the Shadow Realm. Years later, I retrieved his body and spirit, and to this day, he serves me faithfully as a twisted creature known as a Slaymate; I feel it’s a dreadfully stale name, but I’m afraid nobody consulted me when they were first created.
When my mentor returned, he inquired about the summoning, so I told him that it was successful. Unfortunately, he wasn’t satisfied and wished to know which spirit I had contacted. Deception was useless, and the truth of what I did came out. He was furious with me and cast me from his side but that was fine, in the end. As of today, my old mentor hides deep in a forest tending to liberated undead spawn. He and his wards are outcasts in all circles while I prosper; by disowning me, he ushered me into my next stage of development.
Once away from his influence, I was approached by a representative of a sect belonging to Varkesh, God of Death and Decay. They’d been watching us for some time, as my old mentor is not in their good graces. They saw potential in me, so I was taken to their underground compound near several frontier villages. It served as a place of worship, arcane study, and living quarters. The compound also had a population of abducted children who were being…re-educated about Varkesh and their church.
I’ve never been a pious man, but not many necromancers I met were. The clergy and wizards have an understanding of mutual benefit, so we were left to our own devices. I was content, for I had a steady supply of cadavers to study, as well as volumes of arcane lore. Indeed, my skills as a surgeon and thanatologist were of great use to my associates; I prepared corpses for animation by embalming, tanning, and removing obsolete organs, making the undead stronger and more resilient to the wear of time and use.
Wars and other petty conflicts came and went, but I hardly noticed; I was wholly engrossed in my work. As the years went by, I came to know my peers better; some of them were ardent debaters, and we enjoyed our sanctuary. I’d progressed to the point where I became the teacher of several apprentice wizards and gave anatomy lessons. The ravages of time hadn’t escaped me, however. I had become old, and while the physical labor I performed made me strong, my body still atrophied.
I began studying more sophisticated means of manipulating my life force. Without proper control, the magic I studied might reduce a man to a fetal state; but I was prepared, so I locked myself away so that I could perform the ritual without interruption. Several days passed as I struggled to control the energies at work. It was very taxing and I had to stop to rest repeatedly, but it became easier every time.
When the ritual finally ended, I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh in triumph, doing a foolish little dance. I was fifty-three years old, but in the span of a few days I was twenty-five again. I hadn’t bothered much with the carnal pleasures in the past, but I decided to celebrate my newfound vigor with one of my female students. It was a brief but pleasant tryst, and besides, with so much energy I could progress in leaps and bounds. A relationship would have slowed me down, particularly one with a student.
After my students finished their courses and could begin their own work, I and a few others transferred to a more powerful sect in the Daqqari region. Another war was raging, this one affecting the continent as a whole. The church of Varkesh was given plenty of opportunity to expand as the carnage brought many of all races to fear their mortality. Death was approaching their doorsteps, and the priests of Varkesh offered something their adversaries did not: control.
Many of us suspected that an outside party was manipulating the leaders of various nations to start this war, for no one war of such magnitude had ever been witnessed in millennia; its effects taxed the nations involved for years, and some still work to recover. This made things even easier for us. After the war finally ended, it was nearing my time to ascend and leave my life behind. I began making preparations.
Many phylacteries are in the shape of a metal box, but I decided to make mine more obscure; I chose a valuable tanzanite gemstone to be mixed within a cache. It wouldn’t fool someone searching for it specifically, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared should a band of adventurers stumble across my sanctum searching for treasure, as they don’t often think twice. After preparing the gemstone with spells to turn it into a receptacle, it was time to prepare the potion that would begin the transformation. The priests offered to oversee the ritual themselves, as was tradition, but I wanted to achieve my ascension on my own.
The potion is made by mixing the following components:
2 pinches of pure arsenic
1 pinch of belladonna
1 measure of fresh venom from a phase spider (less than 30 days old)
1 measure of fresh blood from a male infant
1 measure of blood of an elderly man
and pure negative energy infused within the concoction.
I made certain that the potion was mixed correctly, and then it was time for me to undergo the Ritual of Endless Night. I created a flesh puppet so that I could control it from within my phylactery, as my body still needed to be prepared after death. One of the ceremonial chambers was prepared for me while I went to gather my tools and the reagents required for the preparation. At that time, I felt supreme in my accomplishment. After sixty-three years of life, I was ready to achieve what required some others to extend their lifespan for lengthy periods of time.
I made my way to the chamber, and various members of the clergy and apprentice necromancers followed in my wake, eager to witness my ascension. I pushed the doors open and made my entrance; others had already gathered in a ring around the altar in the center of the room. The newcomers took their places while I set my tools on a table next to the altar and placed the phylactery at the end of the altar near where my head would lie. I then disrobed and lay upon the altar while the flesh puppet took its place. I laid upon the table and steeled myself before drinking the potion.
The sensation that followed was indescribable as the powerful poisons and energy entered my body, ending my life. My spirit was torn from my body, and for a few fleeting moments, I felt lost and disoriented. The magic of the phylactery drew me in, and it took time to re-orient myself to my surroundings, as I no longer possessed a body. I saw through the puppet’s eyes and began manipulating it so that it took my old form. It was a superficial sense of familiarity, but it was less unsettling. The same couldn’t be said for those witnessing the ceremony.
I soon became accustomed to manipulating the puppet’s movements and took up my scalpel, making an incision along my body’s abdomen. First, I had to remove the organs that would no longer be necessary, and then I went through the process of tanning the hide. Once that was finished, all of the blood was drained from the body and filled with preserving fluids. It was a simple enough procedure, as I had performed it on many bodies over the years. Then, after the puppet sewed up my abdomen, I began the process of spellcasting to prepare for my spirit and body to be reunited and for my spirit to reach ascension. As I did this, the puppet poured the various concoctions I had prepared into my body.
Once those preparations had been made, I began casting the spell that would finalize the ritual. It was complicated even for my level of power, but it succeeded. At its completion, I could feel myself lifting from the phylactery, but I didn’t immediately return to my body. As my spirit rose, I felt a part of my being removed, and at first the sensation of loss was painful, but once it had gone, I attained a sensation of pure understanding. From that moment on, I possessed a complete connection and understanding of the negative spectrum, and the power at my command was literally infinite; it needed only to be unlocked in time: and then I was connected to my body again, testing it cautiously.
The gathered mass looked on in awe as I rose and donned my robes. I surveyed them slowly, and I knew that I was above them all. Few of those gathered could ever hope to come close to achieving my level of power and understanding. I tapped into my power and they cowered in awe. I could feel the pure horror they felt as the aura of negative power washed over them; they reeked of it. And I was complete.
The Varke****es remain useful, so I work with them still until my path to power brings me to even greater heights. The horizon presented before me is never-ending.
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I sit here wondering why I write this as I examine my hand, a withered thing. Many times I have begun, only to forget what I was trying to achieve. I cannot smell the flower I plucked from the ground. The sensation of touch is all but gone, and I have accepted this.
I strove to attain lichdom because it allows me to maintain my distinction as an individual, unlike the feral wretches under my command. However, I fear that the hatred, the pure, focused hatred, has paid its toll. I must fight to maintain what I chose to cast aside; I have always enjoyed the bitter humor in irony.
I decided to question my second in command, Harrod. I asked him, “Where were you born, Harrod? What was your profession before you become a member of our Lord’s clergy?” Harrod looked up at me from the remains of his kill, his hardened, predatory eyes blazing as fresh blood ran down his chin.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. I insisted that it did, and a cloud passed over his face. Then, he looked down at the corpse in his arms, saying “I can’t remember anymore” before returning to his meal. This troubles me, and now that my task is clear, I will write from the beginning.
My thirst for power over death was sparked when I hadn’t seen more than eight winters. My younger brother Aidan and I were playing along the riverbank on the outskirts of town, and he drowned. It was my responsibility to watch him and ensure his safety, and I failed. My mother and father told me that they didn’t blame me, but I felt the stares of our neighbors. My powerlessness angered me, and I hated my brother for being so foolish.
My father was the owner of a prestigious tavern and was able to pay for me to have a good education. When I was thirteen, I met my mentor, Dr. Thaddrick Ruftos, a wizard of no small power, as well as a skilled alchemist and surgeon. The first war with the Daqqari orcs had begun, and my mentor needed an assistant.
I remember my old mentor very well. His eyes were blue and very piercing, and he was incredibly strong for an academic; his grip was like iron. As time wore on, I became fascinated with the anatomy of our patients. Dr. Ruftos taught me a great deal, more so than any other “professional” doctor I’d heard of could have done. Once the river was fortified, the orcish raiders couldn’t attack the port, and so the conflict was ground to a halt.
Once relative peace was attained, my studies shifted to more advanced practices. I became the doctor’s apprentice as a wizard. It took years of study, but my thirst for knowledge led me to excel. On my nineteenth birthday, I was introduced to necromancy, a school of magic which is for the most part outlawed. At last, I was on my way towards achieving my goals. It is highly dangerous to practice this art; if we were caught, we would have been locked away in the ancient prison for spell casters, Carcerus Arcanum. I knew the risks, but I would not be deterred.
My powers soon became more formidable, and my mentor trusted enough in my abilities to undergo a ritual to summon a spirit on my own. He had compiled a list of spirits that would be safe for me to summon, but I ignored it. A wave of anger and spite washed over me, and I called forth Aidan’s spirit from the upper plane of Eden; He was powerless to resist my will. He was weak, and his weakness and stupidity had brought me to shame.
It was some time before I allowed my brother’s spirit to leave, and in that time, I threw every spell at him that I could to make him suffer. He wept and pleaded, but my rage overtook me. The torture warped his spirit, and he became lost in the Shadow Realm. Years later, I retrieved his body and spirit, and to this day, he serves me faithfully as a twisted creature known as a Slaymate; I feel it’s a dreadfully stale name, but I’m afraid nobody consulted me when they were first created.
When my mentor returned, he inquired about the summoning, so I told him that it was successful. Unfortunately, he wasn’t satisfied and wished to know which spirit I had contacted. Deception was useless, and the truth of what I did came out. He was furious with me and cast me from his side but that was fine, in the end. As of today, my old mentor hides deep in a forest tending to liberated undead spawn. He and his wards are outcasts in all circles while I prosper; by disowning me, he ushered me into my next stage of development.
Once away from his influence, I was approached by a representative of a sect belonging to Varkesh, God of Death and Decay. They’d been watching us for some time, as my old mentor is not in their good graces. They saw potential in me, so I was taken to their underground compound near several frontier villages. It served as a place of worship, arcane study, and living quarters. The compound also had a population of abducted children who were being…re-educated about Varkesh and their church.
I’ve never been a pious man, but not many necromancers I met were. The clergy and wizards have an understanding of mutual benefit, so we were left to our own devices. I was content, for I had a steady supply of cadavers to study, as well as volumes of arcane lore. Indeed, my skills as a surgeon and thanatologist were of great use to my associates; I prepared corpses for animation by embalming, tanning, and removing obsolete organs, making the undead stronger and more resilient to the wear of time and use.
Wars and other petty conflicts came and went, but I hardly noticed; I was wholly engrossed in my work. As the years went by, I came to know my peers better; some of them were ardent debaters, and we enjoyed our sanctuary. I’d progressed to the point where I became the teacher of several apprentice wizards and gave anatomy lessons. The ravages of time hadn’t escaped me, however. I had become old, and while the physical labor I performed made me strong, my body still atrophied.
I began studying more sophisticated means of manipulating my life force. Without proper control, the magic I studied might reduce a man to a fetal state; but I was prepared, so I locked myself away so that I could perform the ritual without interruption. Several days passed as I struggled to control the energies at work. It was very taxing and I had to stop to rest repeatedly, but it became easier every time.
When the ritual finally ended, I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh in triumph, doing a foolish little dance. I was fifty-three years old, but in the span of a few days I was twenty-five again. I hadn’t bothered much with the carnal pleasures in the past, but I decided to celebrate my newfound vigor with one of my female students. It was a brief but pleasant tryst, and besides, with so much energy I could progress in leaps and bounds. A relationship would have slowed me down, particularly one with a student.
After my students finished their courses and could begin their own work, I and a few others transferred to a more powerful sect in the Daqqari region. Another war was raging, this one affecting the continent as a whole. The church of Varkesh was given plenty of opportunity to expand as the carnage brought many of all races to fear their mortality. Death was approaching their doorsteps, and the priests of Varkesh offered something their adversaries did not: control.
Many of us suspected that an outside party was manipulating the leaders of various nations to start this war, for no one war of such magnitude had ever been witnessed in millennia; its effects taxed the nations involved for years, and some still work to recover. This made things even easier for us. After the war finally ended, it was nearing my time to ascend and leave my life behind. I began making preparations.
Many phylacteries are in the shape of a metal box, but I decided to make mine more obscure; I chose a valuable tanzanite gemstone to be mixed within a cache. It wouldn’t fool someone searching for it specifically, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared should a band of adventurers stumble across my sanctum searching for treasure, as they don’t often think twice. After preparing the gemstone with spells to turn it into a receptacle, it was time to prepare the potion that would begin the transformation. The priests offered to oversee the ritual themselves, as was tradition, but I wanted to achieve my ascension on my own.
The potion is made by mixing the following components:
2 pinches of pure arsenic
1 pinch of belladonna
1 measure of fresh venom from a phase spider (less than 30 days old)
1 measure of fresh blood from a male infant
1 measure of blood of an elderly man
and pure negative energy infused within the concoction.
I made certain that the potion was mixed correctly, and then it was time for me to undergo the Ritual of Endless Night. I created a flesh puppet so that I could control it from within my phylactery, as my body still needed to be prepared after death. One of the ceremonial chambers was prepared for me while I went to gather my tools and the reagents required for the preparation. At that time, I felt supreme in my accomplishment. After sixty-three years of life, I was ready to achieve what required some others to extend their lifespan for lengthy periods of time.
I made my way to the chamber, and various members of the clergy and apprentice necromancers followed in my wake, eager to witness my ascension. I pushed the doors open and made my entrance; others had already gathered in a ring around the altar in the center of the room. The newcomers took their places while I set my tools on a table next to the altar and placed the phylactery at the end of the altar near where my head would lie. I then disrobed and lay upon the altar while the flesh puppet took its place. I laid upon the table and steeled myself before drinking the potion.
The sensation that followed was indescribable as the powerful poisons and energy entered my body, ending my life. My spirit was torn from my body, and for a few fleeting moments, I felt lost and disoriented. The magic of the phylactery drew me in, and it took time to re-orient myself to my surroundings, as I no longer possessed a body. I saw through the puppet’s eyes and began manipulating it so that it took my old form. It was a superficial sense of familiarity, but it was less unsettling. The same couldn’t be said for those witnessing the ceremony.
I soon became accustomed to manipulating the puppet’s movements and took up my scalpel, making an incision along my body’s abdomen. First, I had to remove the organs that would no longer be necessary, and then I went through the process of tanning the hide. Once that was finished, all of the blood was drained from the body and filled with preserving fluids. It was a simple enough procedure, as I had performed it on many bodies over the years. Then, after the puppet sewed up my abdomen, I began the process of spellcasting to prepare for my spirit and body to be reunited and for my spirit to reach ascension. As I did this, the puppet poured the various concoctions I had prepared into my body.
Once those preparations had been made, I began casting the spell that would finalize the ritual. It was complicated even for my level of power, but it succeeded. At its completion, I could feel myself lifting from the phylactery, but I didn’t immediately return to my body. As my spirit rose, I felt a part of my being removed, and at first the sensation of loss was painful, but once it had gone, I attained a sensation of pure understanding. From that moment on, I possessed a complete connection and understanding of the negative spectrum, and the power at my command was literally infinite; it needed only to be unlocked in time: and then I was connected to my body again, testing it cautiously.
The gathered mass looked on in awe as I rose and donned my robes. I surveyed them slowly, and I knew that I was above them all. Few of those gathered could ever hope to come close to achieving my level of power and understanding. I tapped into my power and they cowered in awe. I could feel the pure horror they felt as the aura of negative power washed over them; they reeked of it. And I was complete.
The Varke****es remain useful, so I work with them still until my path to power brings me to even greater heights. The horizon presented before me is never-ending.