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Neverlin’s horse took one last burning breath, and then died of exhaustion.
The cherry-black steed neighed pathetically in death throes as it tripped over its own legs and began crumpling in a heap at the foot of the red brick fortress. As the corpse of his warhorse collapsed, Neverlin leaped from its saddle like a panther and alighted nimbly on the blood stained granite steps leading up to one of the many undisclosed lairs of Nox Eternus. Without braking stride, he landed and stalked coolly up the long familiar staircase.
The compound swarmed with young dangerous looking initiates suited in black studded leather. Each carried a selection of wicked weapons; daggers, hooks, chains and short swords dangled from their belts as they dutifully patrolled the sweltering compound. Each gave Neverlin a wide berth as he passed and none dared look the necromancer in the eye.
Neverlin quickened his pace through the compound consumed with quite rage. He bit his bottom lip painfully recalling Mandisa’s condition when they had parted. She lay motionless on a bed of colorful silk pillows with her sharp intelligent eyes closed. The Priestess was barely recognizable. Her back was shattered in three places while her face was swollen out of shape and covered with dried blood and bruises. Only the faithful prayers of Satet-ka kept Mandisa stable.
Aurelius was going to pay dearly.
Standing at the top of the stairs leaning causally against a pillar was the War Chief. He was an odd sight dressed in his mismatched leather britches and colorful blue kilt. “By Set’s pale tits Neverlin, what in Crom’s brown cock took you so long?” cursed Sontlux. The impatient ranger was not afraid to take the names of the gods in vain and actually took pains to do so as much as possible. Neverlin merely spread his hands wide and slowly bowed his head, an act usually reserved for servants begging forgiveness of their masters.
Sontlux had no idea Neverlin was mocking him.
Without responding to the question Neverlin inquired simply “Is she here?” Sontlux indicated a direction with a nod and said “Yes, she’s resting over there.” Neverlin completed his assent and surveyed the room. A woman adorned in a dark blue dress lay sprawled on a long stone which appeared carved into a bench. The high quality blue cotton gown hugged her curvy figure. The modest garment betrayed the importance of the lady wearing it. While her simple dress may only run a few copper at market, Neverlin knew the woman before him was an important leader of Invitca. Now, the dress was torn and dingy, a testament to the ordeal she had suffered through. Neverlin smirked; she would endure much more before she breathed Poitaine air again.
Neverlin moved past Sontlux without a word when the War Chief snatched his arm at the elbow. “Will this work? She must be broken, but I have come to terms with the Inviticans to secure her release, she must remain alive…and a virgin.” Without meeting Sontlux’s gaze Neverlin chided mischievously. “I’ll keep my hood on, she won’t fall for me quite so quickly old friend.” Sontlux chuckled; it was too easy to break his cold demeanor.
With a single gesture Neverlin dismissed the guards. All but one filed down the stairs in a neat single column Seeing Neverlin’s annoyed expression Sontlux interjected before the Necromancer got violent. “This is Draton from the Order. He was assigned to arrange for your special request.” Perfect Neverlin thought. “Await my word Draton”
Neverlin turned to the woman who began to stir at his approach. Her chocolate-brown hair was stringy and matted in a clump on her soft white cheek. The prisoner’s lips appeared cracked and swollen. She lazily opened her eyes and rested them on Neverlin. She recognized what he was instantly and quickly averted her eyes and stared at the ground trembling. He approached her slowly with hands clasped behind his back. Placing a single delicate finger under her chin he tilted her head upwards compelling the woman to look at him. Neverlin smiled wide. “My child, what is your name?” The prisoner’s lower lip quivered as she looked up at the Necromancer. Her eyes shifted to Sontlux who watched on greedily. Neverlin frowned inwardly, that ranger could ruin a drunken orgy.
“Leave us; this young one has suffered enough at your hand.”
Sontlux sneered weighing whether he should comply for a moment, then spun on his heel in a huff. Neverlin turned back to the tired woman and lowered himself next to her on the large stone slab. She appeared bewildered and shook like a leaf in a strong breeze. “Please don’t hurt me” she whispered hoarsely. She attempted to sit up but winced in pain. Neverlin placed a hand tenderly on her shoulder and assisted her to an upright position.
“There you are child.”
Her eyes remained locked on his; they betrayed a mix of dread and anger. Neverlin noticed her hands and feet where bound with black cord. “My my, there is no need for these,” He unsheathed a curved silver dagger and skillfully cut the bands holding the girl with a quick well practiced motion. She rubbed her sore wrists and sighed gratefully. Her left hand was poorly bandaged with soiled rags and appeared to be missing a finger. Neverlin sighed; Sontlux could be dreadfully insipid at times.
“Better?”
She nodded, but her body continued to quake in the muggy chamber. “Please let me go, I want to go home to Aurelius.” Neverlin looked at her sympathetically and stroked her shoulder with care “I’m sure you do.” Neverlin asked again “What is your name?”
“Kemena Skaldurr, daughter of Howarden.”
Neverlin nodded and patted her leg reassuringly “You come from a strong line, your father brought up a fine woman, he must be very proud.” She replied flatly “He died a long time ago.” Neverlin shook his head with a look of concern. “You are brave, very brave. I honor you.” Tears formed in her eyes and she begged “Please let me go.” Neverlin observed her wistfully allowing her trepidation to fester. She trebled on the rough stone mumbling “please….please….please.” Finally he spoke.
“Your hair, it reminds me of someone.”
Neverlin ran his fingers through the matted mess of her hair attempting to settle it down. Kemena looked nonplused at the necromancer sitting calming cross legged by her side and flinched at his touch. “What...I do...Who do I remind you of?” the girl stammered. Neverlin glanced down and sighed deeply. Looking at her sadly he replied “A very powerful priestess, and dear friend of mine. Her name is Mandisa.” Neverlin searched her face for recognition at the mention of the name but there was none. Her red eyes only appeared puzzled. “I know not this woman.” Kemena rejoined.
Neverlin looked down again. “No, I do not suppose you would…” His eyes darkened and his lips turned down in a viperous frown. “…but Aureius does.” Suddenly, the Necromancer’s face reddened and his blue eyes went fierce. Kemena brought her hands up defensively “I don’t understand…” she pleaded fearfully. Neverlin’s cold stare cut her to the heart as sure as a dagger.
“Do you know what that beast did to Mandisa?” He spat. Kemena begin a feeble remonstration but was cut off as Neverlin leaped to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger down at Kemena huddled on the stone. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID?” Neverlin’s voice echoed through the chamber sending cold terror through his prisoner. Kemena buried her face in the stone trying to escape his wrath. Shaking, Neverlin clenched his fists until the knuckles turned skull white.
Heaving, Neverlin hissed “He stalked her in the foothills of the Eiglophians.” Kemena began weeping hysterically. “Don’t…don’t... don’t” she prayed. Neverlin roared “They dragged her from horseback and broke her back as she traveled alone. They beat her like a dog…A dog Kemena!” She cried uncontrollably “No…it’s not true” she sobbed. Neverlin grabbed her by the hair pulling her off the stone. “She was barely recognizable when your Aurelius had his way with her”
Neverlin leaped from the stone alter and stalked the chamber fuming. He took a long deep breath, allowing his anger to escape with it. Straightening his body Neverlin smoothed down his dark tunic with the palms of his hands. He looked benevolently down at the terrified woman.
“What would you have me do?”
Kemena peeked up at him, her breath coming in gasps. “I would…I....would kill...I…please just left me go!” She moved to grab his leg in supplication but he stepped away allowing her to fall face down in the dirt. He shook his head and sorrowfully said“I can not do that Kemena…” With a snap of his fingers Draton re-entered the room.
The tall warrior wore light chain mail with the crest of the Order emblazoned on the chest piece. A metal helmet concealed his face and he strode into the chamber with dark purpose. His mailed hands carried a wooden box large enough to contain single a dessert hyena.
“Draton, escort our prisoner.” Neverlin commanded. Draton grinned wickedly and dropped the crate at the foot of Kemena with a loud crash. “Finally” he muttered. Neverlin felt this member of the Order was a tad too enthusiastic about carrying out this duty. He certainly did not appear to share the common values and traditions of the Order…he could prove useful Neverlin mused.
The lid of the crate swung on a loose rusty hinge. A round hole about the size of a dinner plate was in the center of the lid. Draton flipped open the top of the small pen and grinned at Kemena. Inside, a leather collar with four dangling short chains lay at the bottom. Seizing a fist full of Kemena’s hair he brought the priestess to her knees and forced the collar around her neck latching it tightly. With a violent shove he drove her into the cramped box and slammed the lid down locking it with a click. He reached through the hole and grabbed her long hair again, yanking her head through opening brutally. Quickly, he fastened each of the four chains to the top of the crate as she struggled desperately. Latching the fourth chain, Draton tested each to assure they were secure. Satisfied, he nodded to Neverlin.
The trapped woman begged hysterically as she shifted in the box. Neverlin peered down on the crying head protruding from the crate. So helpless, so afraid; he had to suppress a smile as me pondered; Aurelius’s world changes now. He stood quite and composed before Kemena with hands drawn behind his back, and began.
“Did you know… the Cimmerians of the north believe memories lie in our hearts?”
Kemena muttered an unintelligible response through her tears. Neverlin continued as if he understood the reply saying proudly. “Well, we Stygians know better.” He moved like a shadow behind the crate, she trembled like a deer cornered before a wolf when he left her narrow field of vision. He moved his lips close to her ear and whispered “Our memories actually reside here” Neverlin pressed a finger at the base of her skull. “A place known as the cerebellum” he explained as he continued to touch the spot on the back of her head.
Neverlin reached for a velvet pouch hanging by a single brass cord close to his hip. Slowly, he pulled out a miniature silver hammer no larger then a table spoon. The delicate instrument had two faces; one end was flat, with the diameter of a tin piece, the opposite face had a sharp point protruding from the end. Neverlin turned the silver tool in his hand slowly, watching the intricate magical glyphs along the handle shimmer in and out of sight. The experience left him mesmerized and he quickly drifted off in his observations. Realizing he had little time to spare he steeled himself and set to work.
The hammer contacted the back of her head with an appalling thud. The sharp pain startled Kemena more than the lingering soreness, but she screamed all the same. Neverlin continued striking her skull repeatedly with the blunt side of the hammer. His patient desperately attempted to duck her head into the safety of the box but the cold chains cut her short every time. Alone and powerless to prevent the procedure, Kemena could only wail as she visualized her brain spilling out onto the stone floor. She scraped like an animal at the sides of the crate futilely as tears and blood blinded her vision.
Eventually, the skull began to soften under the repetitive strikes and took on a pulpy texture. The priestess’s brown hair came loose around the badly bruised patch of skin. Neverlin up-rooted the strands and discarded them as if weeding a garden. Turning the hammer around in his hand, he started again with the sharp end to break the skin under the blotchy back and blue patch he excavated.
Renewed shrieks erupted from Kemena as she felt blood seep down the back of her neck. It dribbled over the leather collar and soaked into the fine blue gown. Neverlin scraped the skin aside methodically with his index finger. He suppressed a yelp of delight when the grey matter of her brain was finally revealed. Taking a long breath, he closed his eyes and refocused. This part of the procedure was most critical. A single misplaced blow could kill, maim or blind her.
His dexterous fingers drifted deliberately over the base of her skull. Neverlin ran his fine fingertips over the smooth ridges of her brain. Kemena’s screams turned into whimpers as she quickly lost consciousness. He must work faster. Probing the lower part of her head near the stock of the spinal cord, Neverlin rested his fingers between two deep grey wrinkles of flesh. He pressed lightly, this was the spot. Holing his breath, his fingers tightened around the fleshy node and he pulled steadily. A slight sucking sound broke the silence which was accompanied by a barely audible pop.
Kemena screamed with renewed vigor.
Triumphantly, Neverlin held the tiny lump of bloodied brain core aloft as a trophy. His ice blue eyes took in every detail of the prize between his wet fingers. Neverlin’s eyes went wide with delight as he imagined the terror this Kemena must be experiencing. For now the woman had no past. Her sole reality was her current state; alone, trapped in a box, and agonizing pain. Neverlin wondered what that must be like, but the big man known as Draton broke his concentration.
“Who are the leaders of Invitca whore? Talk!”
It was an unnecessary inquiry; Kemena did not even know who she was at this point. Neverlin indulged in another quite moment to observe the rubbery piece of grey matter….before he placed it to his red lips and swallowed it in a single gulp.
Within moments, Kemena’s life exploded through Neverlin’s sub-conscious mind. Flashes of a young girl’s childhood growing up in a lush Poitaine landscape with an adoptive father raced through his mind. He learned of a long arduous journey aboard a slave ship and a short life in Tortage. Her good times with Aurelius and joining Invitica all become real to Neverlin. The voyage through her past ended abruptly with the events of this evening. He absorbed it all in a mere second. Neverlin smiled knowingly. Ordinary people had a hard enough time recalling their own experiences, but he was far from ordinary.
“The leaders names are Aureius, Hrothgard, Karone, Kyzafi, Teresla and Kemena herself.” Neverlin boasted.
Not only did Neverlin know their names…he knew everything Kemena knew about the old Invitica gang. Draton could only stare slack jawed at the necromancer. Perhaps eating the brain must have put the young squire over the top. Even the wicked have their limits. Neverlin realized Kemena stopped sobbing again. Was she dead already? He pressed a pair of fingers to her jugular and felt the faintest visage of a pulse. He had not failed yet but he must press on.
Neverlin looked at his forearms covered to the elbows in Kemena’s gore. He felt a surge of blood through his veins and took a quick breath to control his arousal. He swept a hand over his abdomen and whispered a dark chant. Instantly, he regurgitated the fragment of her memory by coughing the little grey node out onto the dirt floor. Seizing it between two fingers, he swept off the stomach bile and dust. Calmly, he recited incantations in an ancient Stygian dialect. The room grew warmer and beads of sweat dripped down his strong chin. While in a state of reverie, he reached down into one of his silk pockets. He pulled out a small amount of volcanic ash harvested from his homeland. The ash possessed a strong binding quality that would serve to supplant Kemena’s present memories with ones of his choosing.
He spat on the ash and began kneading the flakes into the dull lump like dough until the grey matter turned a sickly shade of puce. Neverlin spat again, his saliva created a bond between himself and the node, a side effect which one day may prove useful. Finally, he drew forth a lock of supple auburn hair bound in red ribbon. It belonged to Mandisa. He spent a precious moment looking at it fondly before meshing it in with his masterpiece. The addition of the hair would give Kemena vivid nightmares of Mandisa’s experience with Aurelius and his thugs
Neverlin began the second set of binding incantations. Each of the complex phrases infused years of false memories into the node. With delight, he added Mandisa’s cruel experience with Aurelius, but cleverly replaced the perspective. Kemena would now believe she was beat mercilessly by her beloved. Neverlin shuddered with excitement. With the hair successfully added to his pulpy concoction he took a brief moment to admire his work. His brow wrinkled with intensity as he thrust the admixture to the heavens and called out a finale chant of preservation. His long straight blond hair swirled about him as the chamber came alive with dark power. He set his fingers to Kemena’s open skull to replace the node, but hesitated.
Although none had successfully accomplished a memory burn such as this, Neverlin suspected if the spell was discovered, divine powers could possibly reverse this condition. Divine power was curative by nature. A priest could heal a cut, but it would leave a scar. A very faithful priest may even reattach a limb. But tales of priests regenerating lost body parts were few, and Neverlin did not believe such accounts anyway. Closing his eyes, Neverlin drew his ornate silver knife and pondered for a moment. The whole can be repaired…but if a piece were missing only the most holy divine intervention could save her. Nevertheless, only replacing part of the node could kill her. There was no precedent for this. Sontlux had made clear his terms for her release….but Neverlin had his own.
In a fluid motion that was almost tender, he sliced the node in half like a pear catching it in his palm.
He put the half in his palm in a deep pocket. The other he worked back into Kemena’s skull. Finished, Neverlin produced some black thread and prepared to sow the wound shut. Draton lifted a hand. “That will not be necessary.” Curious, the Necromancer stepped aside and allowed Draton to place his hands on Kemena’s forehead. To Neverlin’s astonishment the gaping wound at the back of her head began to heal nearly seamlessly! He watched the flesh grow back steadily and the hair replenished itself as if new. So, Draton was a priest, this made the man even more interesting.
The pair unlocked the collar and laid the woman down on the floor. Neverlin waited anxiously for a sign of life. There was a moment of silence, and then she took a breath. Opening her eyes she scanned the area fearfully. Resting her eyes on Draton she exclaimed in relief “My love you have come for me!” Draton looked to Neverlin who was quickly disappearing down the stairs. Draton said earnestly “Yes dear, and I brought you some food”
Neverlin’s blood pumped through his veins vigorously with the trill of success. No necromancer had completed this act successfully. Neverlin would soon have no equal in Hyboria.
He was a god among men.
However, he could only bask in this victory a moment. It was a long journey back to Kemi, and Neverlin had a horse to raise.
(All eventes took place Sunday, 27 SEP 08, before her release to Invitica. Kemena and I have a budding OOC relationship and all acts written herein were consentual. All event subject to Kemena's changes should she choose to do so! Thanks for a great time!)
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