Haldan, a small village on the road between Orchyre and Aunden
"Be more careful with her."
The voice was deep. Flat. Powerful. Even without any emotion in the words there was a certain melody to the tone, a melody that made one feel obliged to obey its message. The owner of the voice was, strangely for its deep rumble and the nascent power it projected, a man well below average height wearing patchwork robes of black, green and blood red with his face hidden by the shadow of a black, wide-brimmed traveller's hat. A further oddity, and almost comically large for the wielder if not for the threat of inescapable death radiating from its blade, was the massive battleaxe strapped to the speaker's back. It shimmered between a deep red, black and the natural colour of steel as if it were a living thing.
The man's slaves dipped their shadowy rotting heads, slowing their pace so that they could hold their victim more securely. Four of them carried her, a middle-aged woman wearing a white apron over a green tunic smeared with mud. She looked to be a herbalist or an apothecary but to the short man and his slaves it was the Charter mark on her forehead that gave her value to them. The shambling figures dropped the woman slightly, banging her already bloodied head against a rock and making her groan out in her unconsciousness. The man hissed and they cowered away from him, fearing for their already once-lost lives.
"I said be careful with her! She needs to be alive for this." They hoisted her up again and continued to their destination: a Charter stone just off the main road. Beyond it were cliffs that sunk sharply to meet the see, the sun falling below the horizon as night came fully upon them.
Finally the dark servants could do no more and laid the woman down before hurrying away from the power of the stone which repulsed them. The Dead could only come so close the stone before the power which tied them to the corpses they inhabited was disintegrated and they were hurled back into Death. Gesturing impatiently to his right, towards the stone, the man ordered a band of torch-bearing villagers to continue the grisly procession to the stone. They bore no signs of magical manipulation, apparently serving the short Necromancer of their own free will. A few glanced at the man, or rather at the bells strapped across his chest, with pale faces but they kept to their job; it was being well paid after all.
They hauled the woman up against the stone, holding in her place as their paymaster began his ritual.
The Merchant Quarter, Belisaere
"Come along, Elaeriel. We don't have time to be dawdling in a place like this."
The young woman, dressed in a fashionable tunic with tight leather riding trousers, wore no expression in response to these words, following her mother who was adorned with a more traditional dress and enough jewellery to purchase every house on the street. In her mind she questioned what 'a place like this' was meant to suggest about their surroundings but had decided immediately it was best not to bring it up. Her mother had no time for questions and expected only obedience from her offspring.
"Mother, what's the purpose of this visit?" Elaeriel asked, growing tired of being carted around the city by her mother. First it had been to a dressmaker's, then a jewellers and now they were heading towards some acquaintance of her mother. The young woman had a sinking feeling of what her mother intended, presumably trying to soften the blow by showing her magnificent dresses, necklaces and rings but unfortunately such things held little importance for someone who had had such things arrayed before plentifully her entire life.
Her high-cheekboned, sharp-eyed and equally sharp-tongued mother stopped abruptly and rounded on her young daughter to reveal a fierce expression. Elaeriel had grown used to that look in her mother's eyes, barely suppressed rage that was probably supposed to suggest earnestness but did not work on someone who had seen it one too many times.
"We're going to the Master Goldsmith's manor. It may beyond our station to consider marrying into such a family but they have funds enough to raise an army. You could hardly ask to live more comfortably than wi-"
"You can't make me." Elaeriel cut her mother off pointedly, her voice curt and just as commanding as the matriarch of their branch family. "You and father seem to forget the Queen forbade arranged marriages which either the bride or the groom were against. I will not have this argument with you yet again. I shall find my own way back."
Ignoring her mother's hissed threats, Elaeriel turned on her heel and strode into the crowds, blending in and disappearing. Her mother remained where she was, her face purple with rage beneath the white mask of makeup, surrounding by her guards on the lookout for any assassins from a rival family.
"Shall I go after her, ma'am?" One of the guards asked but the family matriarch was already moving on, continuing towards the Master Goldsmith's house.
"No, soon she won't have a choice in this. She'll see that."
"Be more careful with her."
The voice was deep. Flat. Powerful. Even without any emotion in the words there was a certain melody to the tone, a melody that made one feel obliged to obey its message. The owner of the voice was, strangely for its deep rumble and the nascent power it projected, a man well below average height wearing patchwork robes of black, green and blood red with his face hidden by the shadow of a black, wide-brimmed traveller's hat. A further oddity, and almost comically large for the wielder if not for the threat of inescapable death radiating from its blade, was the massive battleaxe strapped to the speaker's back. It shimmered between a deep red, black and the natural colour of steel as if it were a living thing.
The man's slaves dipped their shadowy rotting heads, slowing their pace so that they could hold their victim more securely. Four of them carried her, a middle-aged woman wearing a white apron over a green tunic smeared with mud. She looked to be a herbalist or an apothecary but to the short man and his slaves it was the Charter mark on her forehead that gave her value to them. The shambling figures dropped the woman slightly, banging her already bloodied head against a rock and making her groan out in her unconsciousness. The man hissed and they cowered away from him, fearing for their already once-lost lives.
"I said be careful with her! She needs to be alive for this." They hoisted her up again and continued to their destination: a Charter stone just off the main road. Beyond it were cliffs that sunk sharply to meet the see, the sun falling below the horizon as night came fully upon them.
Finally the dark servants could do no more and laid the woman down before hurrying away from the power of the stone which repulsed them. The Dead could only come so close the stone before the power which tied them to the corpses they inhabited was disintegrated and they were hurled back into Death. Gesturing impatiently to his right, towards the stone, the man ordered a band of torch-bearing villagers to continue the grisly procession to the stone. They bore no signs of magical manipulation, apparently serving the short Necromancer of their own free will. A few glanced at the man, or rather at the bells strapped across his chest, with pale faces but they kept to their job; it was being well paid after all.
They hauled the woman up against the stone, holding in her place as their paymaster began his ritual.
--------------
The Merchant Quarter, Belisaere
"Come along, Elaeriel. We don't have time to be dawdling in a place like this."
The young woman, dressed in a fashionable tunic with tight leather riding trousers, wore no expression in response to these words, following her mother who was adorned with a more traditional dress and enough jewellery to purchase every house on the street. In her mind she questioned what 'a place like this' was meant to suggest about their surroundings but had decided immediately it was best not to bring it up. Her mother had no time for questions and expected only obedience from her offspring.
"Mother, what's the purpose of this visit?" Elaeriel asked, growing tired of being carted around the city by her mother. First it had been to a dressmaker's, then a jewellers and now they were heading towards some acquaintance of her mother. The young woman had a sinking feeling of what her mother intended, presumably trying to soften the blow by showing her magnificent dresses, necklaces and rings but unfortunately such things held little importance for someone who had had such things arrayed before plentifully her entire life.
Her high-cheekboned, sharp-eyed and equally sharp-tongued mother stopped abruptly and rounded on her young daughter to reveal a fierce expression. Elaeriel had grown used to that look in her mother's eyes, barely suppressed rage that was probably supposed to suggest earnestness but did not work on someone who had seen it one too many times.
"We're going to the Master Goldsmith's manor. It may beyond our station to consider marrying into such a family but they have funds enough to raise an army. You could hardly ask to live more comfortably than wi-"
"You can't make me." Elaeriel cut her mother off pointedly, her voice curt and just as commanding as the matriarch of their branch family. "You and father seem to forget the Queen forbade arranged marriages which either the bride or the groom were against. I will not have this argument with you yet again. I shall find my own way back."
Ignoring her mother's hissed threats, Elaeriel turned on her heel and strode into the crowds, blending in and disappearing. Her mother remained where she was, her face purple with rage beneath the white mask of makeup, surrounding by her guards on the lookout for any assassins from a rival family.
"Shall I go after her, ma'am?" One of the guards asked but the family matriarch was already moving on, continuing towards the Master Goldsmith's house.
"No, soon she won't have a choice in this. She'll see that."
