Necromancy as a Dish: News at 11
"The point of all this is that the priests of death aren't usually the evil or mischief-making types. Of course there are always exceptions but especially in this case they're very rare... Just hold on one second." I hold up my hand in front of the young bounty hunter's face to stop whatever ignorant or contrived remark he was obviously about to add to our conversation. Turning to our lovely barmaid, who, at the moment is waiting on someone a few tables over, I call to her with the jingle of a few silver pieces in my hand. By the way, that little trick always works wonders on bar wenches.
As soon as she finishes passing out drinks at the other table she walks up to me and gently plucks the coins from my expectant hand. She stares at me with a kind of impatient curiosity while I ogle her. I'm actually only stalling to make my "friend" across the table sweat a little; too impatient, that one. "If you'd be so kind as to bring us a pitcher of ale and a bottle of fine mead I'm certain that we'd be much less of a bother to you... that is, unless you'd like me to be bother you?" I smirk and chuckle as she leaves with a short sigh of exasperation. However, the joy of hitting on barmaids is cut short by the impudent stare of my companion and the exasperating conversation at hand.
"Okay, let me explain. For whatever reason, whether you take it as a sign of the apocalypse, ragnarok, what have you, the priests of death determined that the dead were rising because the border between life and death had all but collapsed. So, with all their new found knowledge of the workings of death, spirits, and the afterlife, an extremely large number of priests of death teamed up to recreate the barricade between planes. Ever since then the apparently dwindling number of priests of death have been devoted to the research and utilization of their powers over death."
As my story concludes, the barmaid places the pitcher and bottle on the table and I commence pouring. "Would you get to the point already!?" My impatient friend growls from across the table.
I lean back in my chair with a drink in each hand and stare at him amusedly for a moment. "The 'point' will arrive in due time." I admonish him, sipping my drinks as I continue. "As far as I know, the priests of death now only exist as an underground society, as things dealing with the undead are... hmm... shall we say, not accepted by, well, anyone? Not outwardly at least, but I digress.
You see, due to the mass use of necromancy for evil purposes, the undead and those associated with the undead are pretty well hated by everyone... you know this of course. Well Mordell, being the eccentric he is, took it upon himself to educate the masses about death and the ways of his priesthood.
So, Derrelleth starts by scheduling fancy dinners with various groups of the wealth and nobility across the land. At these dinners the main course is a dish called Turducken, which is a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. This is the model Derrelleth uses for his explanation. You see, our bodies (the turkey) are just a shell, a machine that allows us to affect the physical plane. Our bodies then contain an inner shell (the duck) which is what houses our spirit. This is what allows our souls to inhabit and exert control over our bodies. The soul (the chicken) is the only thing that can then stand alone as an entity, but the other two layers are necessary for that entity to exist in the physical plane.
I could go on to explain the mechanics of death and undeath using this model but you don't care about that. You want to know what this has to do with Derrillith's... let's say, unpopularity. Well, that's the second portion of his demonstration. After the dinner finishes, he takes his guests to a nearby graveyard so they can get a first hand demonstration of a priest of death's knowledge and skill. Of course, this means digging up a body, and, let me tell you, that never goes over very well."
My "friend's" frustration with me immediately turns into a look of defeat. "So, all this is nothing more than a silly spat over some question of dignity raised by this one man's treatment of the dead?"
Now it is important to note here that I have recognized my companion. His name is of no consequence. He's an annoying little upstart of a bounty hunter. Always looking to make easy money off of the alleged misdeeds of others, but ever unwilling to get his hands dirty. He's made a pest of himself in the past as I'm sure he will again.
Well, I see our conversation is ending, and so in these few moments before I answer his question I must make my move, lest I'll have to pay for my drinks. He owes me for the information I just gave him anyway. So, noticing that the drink has almost run dry, I raise up my last full cup. "Yep, nothing more. Sorry to say, he's worthless to you." With that I tilt my glass back and I don't stop till I hit the floor. My eyes roll back into my head and I'm out.
You see, raising my cup was to signal the barkeep, a good man who knows me well, that my companion is paying. So, by forcing myself to pass out, that idiot of a bounty hunter will be stuck with the bill and I'll be carried off to my room for some much needed rest.
As soon as she finishes passing out drinks at the other table she walks up to me and gently plucks the coins from my expectant hand. She stares at me with a kind of impatient curiosity while I ogle her. I'm actually only stalling to make my "friend" across the table sweat a little; too impatient, that one. "If you'd be so kind as to bring us a pitcher of ale and a bottle of fine mead I'm certain that we'd be much less of a bother to you... that is, unless you'd like me to be bother you?" I smirk and chuckle as she leaves with a short sigh of exasperation. However, the joy of hitting on barmaids is cut short by the impudent stare of my companion and the exasperating conversation at hand.
"Okay, let me explain. For whatever reason, whether you take it as a sign of the apocalypse, ragnarok, what have you, the priests of death determined that the dead were rising because the border between life and death had all but collapsed. So, with all their new found knowledge of the workings of death, spirits, and the afterlife, an extremely large number of priests of death teamed up to recreate the barricade between planes. Ever since then the apparently dwindling number of priests of death have been devoted to the research and utilization of their powers over death."
As my story concludes, the barmaid places the pitcher and bottle on the table and I commence pouring. "Would you get to the point already!?" My impatient friend growls from across the table.
I lean back in my chair with a drink in each hand and stare at him amusedly for a moment. "The 'point' will arrive in due time." I admonish him, sipping my drinks as I continue. "As far as I know, the priests of death now only exist as an underground society, as things dealing with the undead are... hmm... shall we say, not accepted by, well, anyone? Not outwardly at least, but I digress.
You see, due to the mass use of necromancy for evil purposes, the undead and those associated with the undead are pretty well hated by everyone... you know this of course. Well Mordell, being the eccentric he is, took it upon himself to educate the masses about death and the ways of his priesthood.
So, Derrelleth starts by scheduling fancy dinners with various groups of the wealth and nobility across the land. At these dinners the main course is a dish called Turducken, which is a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. This is the model Derrelleth uses for his explanation. You see, our bodies (the turkey) are just a shell, a machine that allows us to affect the physical plane. Our bodies then contain an inner shell (the duck) which is what houses our spirit. This is what allows our souls to inhabit and exert control over our bodies. The soul (the chicken) is the only thing that can then stand alone as an entity, but the other two layers are necessary for that entity to exist in the physical plane.
I could go on to explain the mechanics of death and undeath using this model but you don't care about that. You want to know what this has to do with Derrillith's... let's say, unpopularity. Well, that's the second portion of his demonstration. After the dinner finishes, he takes his guests to a nearby graveyard so they can get a first hand demonstration of a priest of death's knowledge and skill. Of course, this means digging up a body, and, let me tell you, that never goes over very well."
My "friend's" frustration with me immediately turns into a look of defeat. "So, all this is nothing more than a silly spat over some question of dignity raised by this one man's treatment of the dead?"
Now it is important to note here that I have recognized my companion. His name is of no consequence. He's an annoying little upstart of a bounty hunter. Always looking to make easy money off of the alleged misdeeds of others, but ever unwilling to get his hands dirty. He's made a pest of himself in the past as I'm sure he will again.
Well, I see our conversation is ending, and so in these few moments before I answer his question I must make my move, lest I'll have to pay for my drinks. He owes me for the information I just gave him anyway. So, noticing that the drink has almost run dry, I raise up my last full cup. "Yep, nothing more. Sorry to say, he's worthless to you." With that I tilt my glass back and I don't stop till I hit the floor. My eyes roll back into my head and I'm out.
You see, raising my cup was to signal the barkeep, a good man who knows me well, that my companion is paying. So, by forcing myself to pass out, that idiot of a bounty hunter will be stuck with the bill and I'll be carried off to my room for some much needed rest.