The Playful Necromancer - Episode 0
A retelling of Bu’Rak’s story, told from his point of view, by Thom Volkmarl, Apprentice Bard of Tarth.
A frail elderly body stood above my fragile, barely seven-year-old head, and speaks in riddles.
Even a person who is pure in heart, having no foul deeds on their hands, may become another when life seems bleak and fear is present.
I was told that the kooky old crow who stood over me as a child was nothing more than a rambling, frantic old shaman who had lost their way. That is what most people said. Others, however, warned me of the curse bestowed upon my life. They told me to mind my fears and never let them get the better of me. To this day, I still do not know what those words meant or if the curse is real, if it was a curse at all…
I, Bu’Rak, was born into a small, but mighty tribe of Orgra at the base of the Ashland Heights. My tribe was familiar with the world of humans but did not trust their way of life. We did, however, appreciate the value of gold and what it could offer us, so many of us went to seek wealth outside of the village. Being Orgra, being an escort or bodyguard was a natural. Most humans feared us and dared not approach, unless they were desperate, so we started offering our services as protectors to wealthy, wandering merchants along the desert trading routes.
It was in the city of Zynn where my parents encountered the old crow that spoke in riddles. I remember well; we had just finished a contract escorting a human to the city. He was traveling with a few Canibris packers and another human and they were hauling what looked to be weapons and armor from a Dwarven culture. Wares like that were hard to find, even then. A woman approached our client, accusing him of murder and theft (likely for the Dwarven wares) and spit curses at him in a strange tongue. The client ordered my father to deal with the woman but, as with most humans, she turned and fled the scene as he approached. Orgra tend to be intimidating on their own, but when they are carrying an ax taller than the average man and wearing a hood made from the bones of slain animals, they are terrifying.
That night, the crow appeared, waking me up in the dark and chanting like a mad person. It has been many countless years since that day and I have moved on, nearly forgotten about the cursed words. I am now, much like my father, a hired bodyguard, currently in Tarth and looking for more work.
Today, however, seems like a great day to go hunting so I have wandered into the Aryn Forest.
***
Your trip from Tarth was uneventful. You had crossed the river at the Bridge of the Unseen and headed east, into the Eryn forest. There was a slight breeze from the south, warmed by the hot sands of the Drazors, that carried the smells of the water and sand off the Gall Inlet and into your nostrils. Birds could be heard chirping in the trees, the occasional forest animal scurrying about wrestled the bushes and grass. It was, and still is, a beautiful and quiet day.
After some time of walking through the lush, green trees – each and every one of them bristling with potential – I decide it is time to take a short break. I am a mere stones-throw away from the base of the Eryn mountains and, guessing by the peaks above me, the city of Stylax is just on the other side; though it would take a great number of days to travel over the rough and frigid peaks to get there. It has been a while since I’ve eaten and my desire to consume yesterday’s dehydrated lehma strips outweighs my need to take another step, so I halt my trek and unload the weight from my legs for a spell.
The wind gently pushing its way through the trees, makes a soft hissing noise while the sun bears down upon my shoulders. This is a good life and a good place to be, with all things considered. The moments I take to rest offer up the opportunity to survey the world around a little better. The trees are less dense here than most of the rest of the forest, allowing the skies to be revealed above. Above me, smoke can be seen rising above the crowns of the trees. And, by the looks of it, it is quite a large fire. Maybe it is a camp or a forest lodge, it is hard to say but also not important right now. The world stands still while I consider all possibilities of my future, my dreams, my desires. Nothing can get in my way.
Today is a turning point in my fate, my wyrd, though I do not know it. Today, while casually strolling through the forest to the south-east of Tarth, a chain of events begins to unfold that I, nor anyone else, could have foreseen or even imagined.
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