Overlord Rising

Session 12 - The Drowned Captain's Tale

the fortunate dead are buried or burned
   their souls are sent to their gods
   or returned to the earth
   or they pass into oblivion
we the drowned are not so lucky
there is no rest for us
when the moon is dark perhaps we sleep
   but under the full moon we return again to wander our grave
      the sea
we wander the sea forever

there are others around me
thousands of the drowned who moan and wander
   much like i do
but i cannot see them
   i only hear them
   i suppose they can hear me too

once i was a captain of the navy
   in service of the king
i fought pirates and foreign navies
i drowned some of the drowned
   no
      i drowned many of them

sometimes men come here in their ships
their presence awakens us
   some of us warn them away
   some instead beg for company
   but the living never hear us
often they join us in our grave
their voices join ours in crying to the next ships

it has been like this for a hundred years or a thousand
i am here forever

a living man awakes me on a bright day
he bears the mark of necromancy
   i am thus drawn to him
   he bears the mouth bear pot of nerall
he anchors his ship where the water is still deep
and with his minions rows into our grave
he seeks out the ships that had carried us down
   he seeks our secrets
   he descrates our grave
      regardless of his intent he desecrates our grave

other men draw me with their power
they arrive on the ship of the necromancer
magic flares
a demon is summoned to destroy them
   she could destroy any one of them
   but they are many
   they surround and dispel her
one of them dies but does not join the drowned
   his soul flees
   but then his soul returns and he lives again
such should not happen yet wish i it would happen to me

now they themselves row into our grave
they seek the necromancer and find him
   each group rains fire on the other
   their boats begin to fall apart
the necromancer stands alone against his foes
one of them becomes a sahuagin and swims beneath the necromancer
the necromancer casts evil magic at his enemies
   until the sahaugin silences him with magic

the necromancer now jumps into the water and sinks
   his armor sends him to the bottom
yet a draught enables him to breathe water
the sahaugin follows him and keeps him silent
the necromancer channels foul power to harm him
   No, not foul!
   The power breathes life into us.
   It strengthens us, and weakens his enemy!
Time after time, he channels that power,
   and each time I feel renewed.
      More aware.
      More alive.

Now his enemies have separated themselves.
A dwarven priest, a halfling and a monk remain above the water,
   walking upon it as if it were ground.
Confronting the necromancer under the sea are the sahaugin,
   a druid, and a halfling sorceror.
   It was he, the latter, who had died and had returned.
   I feel something new, something I haven't felt since I was alive.
   I feel emotion again, and what I feel is hate.
      Especially for this thief who steals life.

The sahaugin, invisibly, ties a string to the necromancer.
It is this string which cloaks him in silence.
The necromancer attempts to flee along the bottom,
   yet he is unable to escape his attackers.
      He trods along in armor, while they swim with grace.
The sahaugin reveals his position with magical lights,
   and thus the dwarf assails him with lightning.
   The sorceror stings him with missiles.
   The druid swims around.
The necromancer does drain the sorceror, nearly killing him.
   Again.
   It makes me feel better.
   Can I steal the sorceror's body
      while his soul hangs on by a weakened thread?
But the druid rescues him.
The sahaugin keeps the necormancer silent.

Finally, when the necromancer is himself near death,
   the sahuagin reveals himself in a giant's form.
He slashes at the necromancer and steals his weapon.
His companions help him deal the fatal blows.
As the necromancer falls, the sahaugin draws a black blade,
   and beheads him.
Power flares around me, but not as pure as the necromancer's.
The sword screams, but only we dead can hear it.
It seeks the necromancer's soul, yet for some reason is not sated.
The necromancer's soul is gone before the sword can drink;
   perhaps is has been drawn away to its master?

Now I watch the victors flee the sunken battleground.
They have left me no bodies to possess.
   I think I can do that now.
I can roam more freely now, along the seabed,
   and perhaps into the night air.
I must now decide which is more important to sate:
   My newfound hunger? If so, I will travel ashore,
      and consume as many of the living as I desire.
   My hate for the sorceror? In which case I will pursue him.
      Perhaps his will be the first life I drink.
      After all, it is not deservedly his.
That is the plan, then - I will find the sorceror,
   and satisfy both my hate and my hunger with his death!

The unfortunate dead are buried, or burned, or drowned.
The fortunate dead are freed from their shackles...
   of a mortal body, a soul, a conscience.
I will wander the world forever, thanks to Nerall's blessing,
   and the living will not be so lucky.

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lnimoy

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