Arctheria Book One: The City of Machines Chapter 3
Back to Arcanon, where things start happening!
Chapter 3: Not for all the Ale in the World
The City of Arcanon, Capital City of Arca. Arc Keep. The United Council Meeting Chambers
Milgrew tapped his fingers on the table. Sitting at the council table, waiting for a session to begin was, most of the time, mind numbingly boring. With instant transportation portals set up between every capital district in Arca, it still took too damn long to convene a council session. There were other places Milgrew would rather be right now, but at least he had ale to keep him company. Contrary to popular belief, not all dwarves were heavy drinkers; some could barely even handle a flute of elven champagne before falling over and having the healing mage cast a “hangover cure” the next day. Milgrew was no such Dwarf. He prided himself on his drinking prowess, despite it getting himself into trouble every so often. He mused idly, watching the conversation between young prince Jor’vun’ilras and the Elven queen's consort. Milgrew thought the boy would grow up to be a strapping young lad and great leader...for an elf. The fanfare of the elves broke his train of thought. He turned in his chair to see Queen Vas’jah’ilras gracefully parade in with her entourage. She sat at the round table, Eln at her side. Despite the late night, it didn’t look like a single hair was out of place in her perfect elven coif. Milgrew chuckled in his own mind. It wasn’t worth making a crack at the Queen's expense. Besides, there were easier targets of opportunity. And as if on queue, the King of the Humans, King Barrow Dayhunter, strode in.
There were seven “official” races represented in Arcan government: Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Draconic, Fey, Elementals and lastly, Humans. Despite the fact that there still were Humans that pledged loyalty to the gods of magic instead of Mr. Progress, Humans inside of Arca faced much prejudice and fear. They were considered second and even third class citizens in some parts of Arca, even when compared to the non council “tribal races” such as the Trolls, Goblins and Kobolds. Many races considered Humans as vermin. The only reason they were granted a spot on the council was a power play by the Elves to keep Mr. Progress from noticing the sometimes deplorable conditions Humans faced in Arca. Milgrew felt sorry for King Dayhunter. Humanity in Arca subsisted and weren’t starving, but they weren’t exactly healthy and thriving, either. After listening to discussion after discussion for improvement on Human living conditions within Arca and getting voted down by almost everyone in the council except him and Dayhunter, Milgrew started to think that this was by design. Unfortunately, this was life in Arca. The council ruled and you had to do what it decided. That’s how the gods designed it to maintain peace.
The delegates from the rest of the races arrived: King Hydros from the Elementals, High Master Zipity Zap Zap Von Zap the “Elemental Master and Grand Ruler of the Gnomes” (of the gnomes). Lady Gel’konis from the Draconic Order and last, but not least, a clattering of dice on table could be heard and a figure appeared in the corner of everyones eye. They turned to see the Fey representative, the Lord of Knucklebones, seated at the table as if appearing out of nowhere.
“I hope I’m not late” he crooned in a low, amused voice, a wide smirk on his face. “I would absolutely hate it for the show to begin without me.” The Queen of the Elves kept a stiff upper lip and banged a gavel on the table. The Council meeting had begun.
The Queen of the Elves spoke first.
“As you all know by now, a Dwarven scouting unit was completely wiped out a few hours ago by an unknown and untraceable weapons source. I am sorry for the loss of your Dwarves, King Hammersworn, we all knew how much-"
The Queen was cut off by a sudden and jarring wind that swept through the room, alarming the representatives. It would have been a simple task to close off the source of the offending wind by closing one of the windows in the Council chambers- except, the Council had no windows and it's doors were locked tightly. A general sense of alarm swept through the large chamber. Everyone, save for the Lord of Knucklebones, clambered for weapons, weaved protection spells and readied some of the most powerful arcane magics known in Arca. If someone was to attack the council chamber, they would need the might of a small army to even get one inch through the door. No, what was approaching the strong outer door of the council chambers was worse. Much worse.
The screeching sound of thoroughly rusted, metallic wheels being dragged across cobblestone could be heard coming down the hall towards the door. The thick door should have suppressed the sound, but if it couldn’t keep the wind out, it was destined to fail against this horrible noise. The screeching could be heard moving up towards the door, then stopping.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The knock rang loudly.
An unearthly and supernatural dread gripped the room. No one made a move to open the door. A gentle death rattle that sounded like a sigh could be heard. Then, suddenly, a great force blew through the wards on the door, and the door flew wide open. But where an invading army should have been, sat a seemingly harmless human sized skeleton flopped on a chair with rusted metal wheels. Milgrew’s eyes boggled.
“No, it cannot be! They put you in the ground…” He said to himself.
The skeleton still lay flopped on the chair. It did not move, but a death rattle emanated from its motionless mouth, in the form of slow speech.
“Well, aren’t you going to let me in?”
Most of the council knew who it was: The infamous Necromancer Aaron Fleshcrafter, the former most wanted sentient in all of Arca. Before anyone could act, warrior spirits which looked as if their outer protoplasm was coated in blood, swarmed around the chair and held vigilant guard over their master’s skeleton. Slowly, the chair screeched towards an empty spot at the table. No one could see how this seemingly immobile chair was moving by itself, but no one really dwelled on that fact, as it was better for one's sanity that way. A spirit emerged from the pack, it’s visage dressed in the finest butler garb. It reached into a seemingly invisible nothingness and placed a council summons on the table.
The name Aaron Fleshcrafter was horrible legend among the races. During the Sundering War, Fleshcrafter, a lowly physician and alchemist at the time, was the first to notice the emergence of the Banished. Taking the initiative, he managed to manipulate the arcane energies created by these newly formed gods for “immortality” and control of the dead. Thus the first Necromancer in Arctheria was created. Fleshcrafter was granted control over blood, flesh, bone and spirits. He carved out a good portion of a sector of what is now the ANZ by raising and utilizing the army of the dead that lay within. Here he housed a refuge for those on the run from Remnants and also housed those of the “living impaired” variety who needed to escape persecution. When undead attacks and assaults broke out in record numbers, a task force was called to “deal” with Fleshcrafter. The council wanted him put away for good and the tide of the “undead menace” stemmed permanently. In order to prove themselves to the council and improve relations with the rest of the races in Arca, King Darius Greydoor, the first king of the humans post Sundering, volunteered his army and mages to snuff Fleshcrafter out permanently. Not only did they NOT succeed, but Fleshcrafter’s defenses proved too much for Greydoor, resulting in Greydoor captured and half of the human forces converted to undead. No one really knows what happened to Greydoor himself, some believe that his spirit still resides in Mortuary, Fleshrafter’s twisted residence within the ANZ, but no one can tell for sure. Even after his first major victory, Fleshcrafter’s undead army went underground for five hundred years. Then, he made the mistake of attacking the dwarves. In the year 500 PS (post sundering) Fleshcrafter struck at the dwarven armories in an attempt to convert dwarven weaponsmiths to learn the secrets of Dwarven mastery over metals. Unfortunately, this meant attacking the Dwarves in their lairs deep under the city of Arca. Alfred Hammersworn, great great grandfather of Milgrew Hammersworn, led his people against the undead swarm. He was not successful in driving the undead from Arca but he was able to bury Fleshcrafter under hundreds of tons of rock and seal it away with magical wards that prevented teleportation. Many dwarves lost their lives, but fortunately, none were converted. The secret of the location of Fleshcrafter’s “final” resting place died with Alfred. Apparently, Fleshcrafter was not only exhumed, but the damned Necromancer was now in the halls of the council.
Queen Vas’jah’ilras sighed. “Necromancer Fleshcrafter, can you please tone down the theatrics? I invited you here to discuss a truce, not cause everyone else here to attempt to, er, rebury you.”
The council, erupted into a frenzy of angry voices. Vas’jah’ilras sighed once more, concentrated, silently called upon the power of Lady Sovereign, and took a deep breath. Without warning, she boomed “IN THE NAME OF LADY SOVEREIGN, I CALL YOU ALL TO ORDER.”
Suddenly, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The Lord of Knucklebones simply yawned, seemingly bored while everyone else was stunned into a magical silence. Using the voice of Lady Sovereign was a drastic measure, but in this case, a necessary one. It seemed to do the trick. The room was tense, but not tense enough to start a bloodbath.
The Queen of the Elves took a deep breath and nodded. “Now, I was about to tell you all that I invited the Necormancer Aaron Fleshcrafter here. As you all know, Fleshcrafter owns a good portion of ANZ 003 and has, well, created his own place of residence there. He is coming to us in terms of a truce. He will keep his...children from attacking our settlements bordering the ANZ and spy on Technocratic movements with his spirits. In return…”
The Lord of Knucklebones chuckled in interruption and spoke “Let me guess, he wants a seat on the council and tribute to feed his...children.” The Fey Lord almost spat as he used the word “children”. It was no secret that Fleshcrafter had a rather insidious reputation with the council races, but the Fey held a very special hatred for him in their hearts.
Prior to the Sundering war, the Fey were of two people and numbered in the millions. One aligned to the day and the other to the nighttime. The two sides were isolationists. They used very powerful illusion magics to keep them hidden from the “outside” world and only interacted with each other. Both sides were at peace, despite their differing natures. Then the Gods ignited the Sundering War and chose both side’s neighboring homelands, or, what is known now as the ANZ, as their battleground. The land was scarred, beaten and broken. Their kingdoms were left in ruins. The gods were indifferent to the Fey because they chose to worship no gods nor keep any reverence. And so, no reparations were made for the destruction caused by the war. The land was blighted by the energy of the Banished and immediately began to spawn Remnants which slaughtered hundreds of thousands of Fey refugees. Over the course of one year, despite their powerful magics, only hundred of thousands of Fey remained where once stood millions. With their numbers diminishing, the leaders of the Light and Dark Fey decided to band together and create the Grey Fey, a militaristic society dedicated to one day reclaiming their homeland from the ravages of the Banished. Unfortunately, despite their best efforts, the Grey Fey were obliterated even further by Remnant advances and evolution. So, just five years after the Sundering War started and finished in the blink of an eye, the Fey burned their homeland and set out to find a new place to live together. Unfortunately, the hardships for the Fey were not complete, as they innocently stumbled onto the realm of Aaron Fleshcrafter.
Necromancy was a rather exciting and different magical form back when it was new. No one really knew where it came from. Some believed it to be evil, some believed it to be simply a tool or a byproduct left over from the Sundering War. The Fey knew nothing of Necromancy, only that the dead were a plaything in Arron Fleshcrafter’s capable hands. With nowhere to go and promise of safety deep within the walls of unliving flesh and bone that protected the Mortuary, the incredibly naive Fey entered and helped entrench Fleshcrafter’s hold on the sector. Aaron taught them Necromancy and in turn they taught him what they knew of Fey Magic and illusion. At first, the partnership was mutually beneficial, but in time, Fleshcrafter’s ultimate sin of curiosity got the better of him. Fleshcrafter began covertly experimenting on the Fey as a whole, to see how Necromantic magics affected them. By the time the Fey understood what was happening to them, it was too late. Many died, many more became mindless undead under the control of Fleshcrafter. The ones that didn’t die and come back as mindless undead were permanently changed. The Fey were now corrupted by the Banished and became a new type of creatures-immortal beings that fed off of Arcane energy to maintain their physical forms.
Betrayed by the person they trusted the most, the Fey left the sanctuary of the Mortuary and braved the ANZ. This time, however, they were prepared for the dangers. With their newfound powers of Necromancy and their undead forms, they made their way to Arca and settled down. To this day, only a hundred or so thousand Fey remain “living” on Arctheria, but those that remain are considered to be quite powerful.
Aaron Fleshcrafter lay silent for a moment, then, as if to be “polite”, his chair shrieked slightly as it turned to point the skeleton in The Lord of Knucklebones direction.
“Yes and no. I have no need of...tribute, Knucklebones. You know that better than I do. I merely have grown in presence in my sector of the ANZ, so much so that I consider it wholly mine for the time being. I will grant control of the sector to Arca if I am allowed a spot on the council and all privileges and rights that the position grants me and my children therein.”
The Lord of Knucklebones lips formed into a slight sneer. The ramifications of Fleshcrafter’s initiation into the Council to represent the Mortuary would be monumental. For one, he and his undead would be granted existence rights, provided they followed the current laws of Arca. That meant the Fey would have to stop their regular incursions into the ANZ in order to destroy his undead and lay them to rest. Secondly, it meant that the necromancer would have full access to the grand library of Arca, which, in his hands, may prove dangerous. Thirdly, Knucklebones would have a known enemy on the Council sitting right across from him, which made him very uncomfortable. All he could do was sigh. He knew the Dwarves and Humans would be on his side in this, he hoped that a lucrative deal of an entire sector would not prove too much for the other races.
The queen nodded. “Your request is heard by the council. Aaron Fleshcrafter, as it is getting very late, we will adjourn for the evening. As is Arca law we will discuss this for a minimum of 14 days and nights and reconvene to issue a ruling. You are welcome to stay in the Council guest quarters, provided you follow Arca law.”
The chair creaked as it turned to face the skeleton towards the Queen of the Elves
“Thank you. I will take you up on that offer. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the kitchen and procure some raw animal meat to feed my zombies. They tend to rot if I don’t feed them and I would like to keep them looking, well...fresh.”
Fleshcrafter’s chair turned slowly. It stopped for a moment to look the skeleton sitting in it right at Knucklebones, then turned sharply and wheeled itself and it’s skeletal passenger out.
Milgrew Hammersworn sat agape at the entire proceeding. Having the most evil creature in Arctheria on the Council was the worse thing it could ever do. It was bad enough the Fey were allowed in; at least they weren't as nefarious as they looked...maybe. A light jab in the ribs from the elbow of King Dayhunter broke his daze. Dayhunter had an amused look on his face. Making light of a horrible situation was a coping mechanism for him.
“So, my friend, are you going vote for the ol’ bag of bones into the Council?” He said, grinning. He already knew the answer, but Dayhunter found it reassuring to hear the answer straight from the source.
“Nay, not for all the ale in the world, friend. Not for all the ale in the world. Our mission in the next fourteen days is to convince the rest of the Council our way. Unfortunately,” Milgrew said, looking around at the other council members, “I think we may have our work cut out for us”.
Chapter 3: Not for all the Ale in the World
The City of Arcanon, Capital City of Arca. Arc Keep. The United Council Meeting Chambers
Milgrew tapped his fingers on the table. Sitting at the council table, waiting for a session to begin was, most of the time, mind numbingly boring. With instant transportation portals set up between every capital district in Arca, it still took too damn long to convene a council session. There were other places Milgrew would rather be right now, but at least he had ale to keep him company. Contrary to popular belief, not all dwarves were heavy drinkers; some could barely even handle a flute of elven champagne before falling over and having the healing mage cast a “hangover cure” the next day. Milgrew was no such Dwarf. He prided himself on his drinking prowess, despite it getting himself into trouble every so often. He mused idly, watching the conversation between young prince Jor’vun’ilras and the Elven queen's consort. Milgrew thought the boy would grow up to be a strapping young lad and great leader...for an elf. The fanfare of the elves broke his train of thought. He turned in his chair to see Queen Vas’jah’ilras gracefully parade in with her entourage. She sat at the round table, Eln at her side. Despite the late night, it didn’t look like a single hair was out of place in her perfect elven coif. Milgrew chuckled in his own mind. It wasn’t worth making a crack at the Queen's expense. Besides, there were easier targets of opportunity. And as if on queue, the King of the Humans, King Barrow Dayhunter, strode in.
There were seven “official” races represented in Arcan government: Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Draconic, Fey, Elementals and lastly, Humans. Despite the fact that there still were Humans that pledged loyalty to the gods of magic instead of Mr. Progress, Humans inside of Arca faced much prejudice and fear. They were considered second and even third class citizens in some parts of Arca, even when compared to the non council “tribal races” such as the Trolls, Goblins and Kobolds. Many races considered Humans as vermin. The only reason they were granted a spot on the council was a power play by the Elves to keep Mr. Progress from noticing the sometimes deplorable conditions Humans faced in Arca. Milgrew felt sorry for King Dayhunter. Humanity in Arca subsisted and weren’t starving, but they weren’t exactly healthy and thriving, either. After listening to discussion after discussion for improvement on Human living conditions within Arca and getting voted down by almost everyone in the council except him and Dayhunter, Milgrew started to think that this was by design. Unfortunately, this was life in Arca. The council ruled and you had to do what it decided. That’s how the gods designed it to maintain peace.
The delegates from the rest of the races arrived: King Hydros from the Elementals, High Master Zipity Zap Zap Von Zap the “Elemental Master and Grand Ruler of the Gnomes” (of the gnomes). Lady Gel’konis from the Draconic Order and last, but not least, a clattering of dice on table could be heard and a figure appeared in the corner of everyones eye. They turned to see the Fey representative, the Lord of Knucklebones, seated at the table as if appearing out of nowhere.
“I hope I’m not late” he crooned in a low, amused voice, a wide smirk on his face. “I would absolutely hate it for the show to begin without me.” The Queen of the Elves kept a stiff upper lip and banged a gavel on the table. The Council meeting had begun.
The Queen of the Elves spoke first.
“As you all know by now, a Dwarven scouting unit was completely wiped out a few hours ago by an unknown and untraceable weapons source. I am sorry for the loss of your Dwarves, King Hammersworn, we all knew how much-"
The Queen was cut off by a sudden and jarring wind that swept through the room, alarming the representatives. It would have been a simple task to close off the source of the offending wind by closing one of the windows in the Council chambers- except, the Council had no windows and it's doors were locked tightly. A general sense of alarm swept through the large chamber. Everyone, save for the Lord of Knucklebones, clambered for weapons, weaved protection spells and readied some of the most powerful arcane magics known in Arca. If someone was to attack the council chamber, they would need the might of a small army to even get one inch through the door. No, what was approaching the strong outer door of the council chambers was worse. Much worse.
The screeching sound of thoroughly rusted, metallic wheels being dragged across cobblestone could be heard coming down the hall towards the door. The thick door should have suppressed the sound, but if it couldn’t keep the wind out, it was destined to fail against this horrible noise. The screeching could be heard moving up towards the door, then stopping.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The knock rang loudly.
An unearthly and supernatural dread gripped the room. No one made a move to open the door. A gentle death rattle that sounded like a sigh could be heard. Then, suddenly, a great force blew through the wards on the door, and the door flew wide open. But where an invading army should have been, sat a seemingly harmless human sized skeleton flopped on a chair with rusted metal wheels. Milgrew’s eyes boggled.
“No, it cannot be! They put you in the ground…” He said to himself.
The skeleton still lay flopped on the chair. It did not move, but a death rattle emanated from its motionless mouth, in the form of slow speech.
“Well, aren’t you going to let me in?”
Most of the council knew who it was: The infamous Necromancer Aaron Fleshcrafter, the former most wanted sentient in all of Arca. Before anyone could act, warrior spirits which looked as if their outer protoplasm was coated in blood, swarmed around the chair and held vigilant guard over their master’s skeleton. Slowly, the chair screeched towards an empty spot at the table. No one could see how this seemingly immobile chair was moving by itself, but no one really dwelled on that fact, as it was better for one's sanity that way. A spirit emerged from the pack, it’s visage dressed in the finest butler garb. It reached into a seemingly invisible nothingness and placed a council summons on the table.
The name Aaron Fleshcrafter was horrible legend among the races. During the Sundering War, Fleshcrafter, a lowly physician and alchemist at the time, was the first to notice the emergence of the Banished. Taking the initiative, he managed to manipulate the arcane energies created by these newly formed gods for “immortality” and control of the dead. Thus the first Necromancer in Arctheria was created. Fleshcrafter was granted control over blood, flesh, bone and spirits. He carved out a good portion of a sector of what is now the ANZ by raising and utilizing the army of the dead that lay within. Here he housed a refuge for those on the run from Remnants and also housed those of the “living impaired” variety who needed to escape persecution. When undead attacks and assaults broke out in record numbers, a task force was called to “deal” with Fleshcrafter. The council wanted him put away for good and the tide of the “undead menace” stemmed permanently. In order to prove themselves to the council and improve relations with the rest of the races in Arca, King Darius Greydoor, the first king of the humans post Sundering, volunteered his army and mages to snuff Fleshcrafter out permanently. Not only did they NOT succeed, but Fleshcrafter’s defenses proved too much for Greydoor, resulting in Greydoor captured and half of the human forces converted to undead. No one really knows what happened to Greydoor himself, some believe that his spirit still resides in Mortuary, Fleshrafter’s twisted residence within the ANZ, but no one can tell for sure. Even after his first major victory, Fleshcrafter’s undead army went underground for five hundred years. Then, he made the mistake of attacking the dwarves. In the year 500 PS (post sundering) Fleshcrafter struck at the dwarven armories in an attempt to convert dwarven weaponsmiths to learn the secrets of Dwarven mastery over metals. Unfortunately, this meant attacking the Dwarves in their lairs deep under the city of Arca. Alfred Hammersworn, great great grandfather of Milgrew Hammersworn, led his people against the undead swarm. He was not successful in driving the undead from Arca but he was able to bury Fleshcrafter under hundreds of tons of rock and seal it away with magical wards that prevented teleportation. Many dwarves lost their lives, but fortunately, none were converted. The secret of the location of Fleshcrafter’s “final” resting place died with Alfred. Apparently, Fleshcrafter was not only exhumed, but the damned Necromancer was now in the halls of the council.
Queen Vas’jah’ilras sighed. “Necromancer Fleshcrafter, can you please tone down the theatrics? I invited you here to discuss a truce, not cause everyone else here to attempt to, er, rebury you.”
The council, erupted into a frenzy of angry voices. Vas’jah’ilras sighed once more, concentrated, silently called upon the power of Lady Sovereign, and took a deep breath. Without warning, she boomed “IN THE NAME OF LADY SOVEREIGN, I CALL YOU ALL TO ORDER.”
Suddenly, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The Lord of Knucklebones simply yawned, seemingly bored while everyone else was stunned into a magical silence. Using the voice of Lady Sovereign was a drastic measure, but in this case, a necessary one. It seemed to do the trick. The room was tense, but not tense enough to start a bloodbath.
The Queen of the Elves took a deep breath and nodded. “Now, I was about to tell you all that I invited the Necormancer Aaron Fleshcrafter here. As you all know, Fleshcrafter owns a good portion of ANZ 003 and has, well, created his own place of residence there. He is coming to us in terms of a truce. He will keep his...children from attacking our settlements bordering the ANZ and spy on Technocratic movements with his spirits. In return…”
The Lord of Knucklebones chuckled in interruption and spoke “Let me guess, he wants a seat on the council and tribute to feed his...children.” The Fey Lord almost spat as he used the word “children”. It was no secret that Fleshcrafter had a rather insidious reputation with the council races, but the Fey held a very special hatred for him in their hearts.
Prior to the Sundering war, the Fey were of two people and numbered in the millions. One aligned to the day and the other to the nighttime. The two sides were isolationists. They used very powerful illusion magics to keep them hidden from the “outside” world and only interacted with each other. Both sides were at peace, despite their differing natures. Then the Gods ignited the Sundering War and chose both side’s neighboring homelands, or, what is known now as the ANZ, as their battleground. The land was scarred, beaten and broken. Their kingdoms were left in ruins. The gods were indifferent to the Fey because they chose to worship no gods nor keep any reverence. And so, no reparations were made for the destruction caused by the war. The land was blighted by the energy of the Banished and immediately began to spawn Remnants which slaughtered hundreds of thousands of Fey refugees. Over the course of one year, despite their powerful magics, only hundred of thousands of Fey remained where once stood millions. With their numbers diminishing, the leaders of the Light and Dark Fey decided to band together and create the Grey Fey, a militaristic society dedicated to one day reclaiming their homeland from the ravages of the Banished. Unfortunately, despite their best efforts, the Grey Fey were obliterated even further by Remnant advances and evolution. So, just five years after the Sundering War started and finished in the blink of an eye, the Fey burned their homeland and set out to find a new place to live together. Unfortunately, the hardships for the Fey were not complete, as they innocently stumbled onto the realm of Aaron Fleshcrafter.
Necromancy was a rather exciting and different magical form back when it was new. No one really knew where it came from. Some believed it to be evil, some believed it to be simply a tool or a byproduct left over from the Sundering War. The Fey knew nothing of Necromancy, only that the dead were a plaything in Arron Fleshcrafter’s capable hands. With nowhere to go and promise of safety deep within the walls of unliving flesh and bone that protected the Mortuary, the incredibly naive Fey entered and helped entrench Fleshcrafter’s hold on the sector. Aaron taught them Necromancy and in turn they taught him what they knew of Fey Magic and illusion. At first, the partnership was mutually beneficial, but in time, Fleshcrafter’s ultimate sin of curiosity got the better of him. Fleshcrafter began covertly experimenting on the Fey as a whole, to see how Necromantic magics affected them. By the time the Fey understood what was happening to them, it was too late. Many died, many more became mindless undead under the control of Fleshcrafter. The ones that didn’t die and come back as mindless undead were permanently changed. The Fey were now corrupted by the Banished and became a new type of creatures-immortal beings that fed off of Arcane energy to maintain their physical forms.
Betrayed by the person they trusted the most, the Fey left the sanctuary of the Mortuary and braved the ANZ. This time, however, they were prepared for the dangers. With their newfound powers of Necromancy and their undead forms, they made their way to Arca and settled down. To this day, only a hundred or so thousand Fey remain “living” on Arctheria, but those that remain are considered to be quite powerful.
Aaron Fleshcrafter lay silent for a moment, then, as if to be “polite”, his chair shrieked slightly as it turned to point the skeleton in The Lord of Knucklebones direction.
“Yes and no. I have no need of...tribute, Knucklebones. You know that better than I do. I merely have grown in presence in my sector of the ANZ, so much so that I consider it wholly mine for the time being. I will grant control of the sector to Arca if I am allowed a spot on the council and all privileges and rights that the position grants me and my children therein.”
The Lord of Knucklebones lips formed into a slight sneer. The ramifications of Fleshcrafter’s initiation into the Council to represent the Mortuary would be monumental. For one, he and his undead would be granted existence rights, provided they followed the current laws of Arca. That meant the Fey would have to stop their regular incursions into the ANZ in order to destroy his undead and lay them to rest. Secondly, it meant that the necromancer would have full access to the grand library of Arca, which, in his hands, may prove dangerous. Thirdly, Knucklebones would have a known enemy on the Council sitting right across from him, which made him very uncomfortable. All he could do was sigh. He knew the Dwarves and Humans would be on his side in this, he hoped that a lucrative deal of an entire sector would not prove too much for the other races.
The queen nodded. “Your request is heard by the council. Aaron Fleshcrafter, as it is getting very late, we will adjourn for the evening. As is Arca law we will discuss this for a minimum of 14 days and nights and reconvene to issue a ruling. You are welcome to stay in the Council guest quarters, provided you follow Arca law.”
The chair creaked as it turned to face the skeleton towards the Queen of the Elves
“Thank you. I will take you up on that offer. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the kitchen and procure some raw animal meat to feed my zombies. They tend to rot if I don’t feed them and I would like to keep them looking, well...fresh.”
Fleshcrafter’s chair turned slowly. It stopped for a moment to look the skeleton sitting in it right at Knucklebones, then turned sharply and wheeled itself and it’s skeletal passenger out.
Milgrew Hammersworn sat agape at the entire proceeding. Having the most evil creature in Arctheria on the Council was the worse thing it could ever do. It was bad enough the Fey were allowed in; at least they weren't as nefarious as they looked...maybe. A light jab in the ribs from the elbow of King Dayhunter broke his daze. Dayhunter had an amused look on his face. Making light of a horrible situation was a coping mechanism for him.
“So, my friend, are you going vote for the ol’ bag of bones into the Council?” He said, grinning. He already knew the answer, but Dayhunter found it reassuring to hear the answer straight from the source.
“Nay, not for all the ale in the world, friend. Not for all the ale in the world. Our mission in the next fourteen days is to convince the rest of the Council our way. Unfortunately,” Milgrew said, looking around at the other council members, “I think we may have our work cut out for us”.