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Remaint -> RE: ~*Getting To Know You*~ (10/7/2015 12:32:34)
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“You are gone to the highest bidder, now you’re with one that is gods worst sinner. Well, no don’t care about me. I was just the one who was meant to set you free”
Woyadei felt a shiver throughout his spine as the woman sang. Undead. Necromancy. Holy Order. In one way or the other, those unliving offered their services, or were compelled to act. His own Shuischeier holds a very long history of mercenary operations. All throughout his continent, the Dominion of Mist, slavery or organ trade was commonplace, especially in populous areas such as Karaseren or Harrowshreiken cities. The demons and necromancers who employed the usual undead tend to be termed ‘sinners’. Then there were the crusaders and paladins, whose declared mission was to ‘liberate’ all undead. None of this particularly disturbed the conquistador, but he grimaced nonetheless.
“I tried to make you a part of me, I even told you what would happen theoretically. There is something that I need to know. Why am I the one that lost it all?
There were some experiments that people, even undead people actively avoided thinking about, let alone loose a single word of it. Some dark deeds are harrowing to such a degree, it was deemed assuredly perilous to describe. The only truth, vague though it may be, is that inconceivably eldritch practices are exercised within the black mountain, Morseren. Woyadei had crossed this secret by sheer misfortune; his first duty of his unlife was to assist in disposing grisly material deemed unfit for the universities of occult sciences. He had glimpsed upon two of such frightful happenings, and limped away in forced forgetfulness.
“But every day and every time I turn around, searching for a place that I have left behind and all I wanna believe is that you could bleed”
Countless undead believed themselves cursed with such circumstance. Spawned in an unholy manner in the foreboding fog of the Dominion, conscious of their unnatural existence, it may be sympathetically comprehended why the sentient dead feels as such. They turn to look upon others of their new kind, and find no comfort in death’s unliving embrace.
“Burn with me, I’m just an empty shell. Another’s friend transformed to someone else. Take your seat, I cast a spell, so you’ll be less like you and more like someone else”
Cremation, undeath, aesthetic surgery comes to mind. Not merely whole bodies could be animated by the talented necromancers of the Mist, but damaged, lost and even burnt forms may be raised from the dead. Flame used to be an effective force against the Dominion’s inhabitants; it is no more, for countless battles against the region’s holy territory, Remilon, have lead to great mystical advances in resistance. Empty shells of discharged fire became a common sight, however.
Undeath. It’s quite easy to tell, but those resurrected tend to have altered behaviors. A person one may know, would lose much sense of familiarity once returned.
Surgery. Too often, bodies given life once more become heavily disfigured. In the interest of public decency, purpose or even art, necromancers and alchemists customise walking corpses. The operations of Morseren and Karaser are liable to be rather astounding. Unrecognisably rended carcasses could be reformed into perfect duplicates of some other being.
“Ones life is another’s dream. What someone says a myth is one’s normality…”
The occasional philosopher will state such a phrase. Contemplating the possibility would drive one mad, sane, then mad once more. There was a minor rumour floating about the lonelier regions of the Dominion, that there exists a realm without magic, with the unliving a complete impossibility. Some say the rumour stemmed from the divinations of Morseren, many ignore such a myth, perhaps out of fear; for how might one feel if their deaths were eternal?
“Burn with me”
The undead conquistador held much surprise; his glaive had fallen lax with a soft thud and he relaxed from his guarded stance. Such peculiar lyrics, a complete oddity in performance. Her change in form is a unique touch, if potentially powerful one. Woyadei could not say such an experience was entirely pleasant, but it was thrilling. The only musical acts he ever participates in were the occasional march songs his company sang, to pass time.
♪Friedericus Rex, mein Konig und Held, Wir schlugen den Teufel fur dich aus der Welt! 🎶
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