[Chapter 1] The Tale of the Statue

[Traius 41]

 

 

Loud shouts rang through the Town Square as the pair walked through. Merchants, eager for more customers, advertised enticing deals. "Browse our wares!" They'd say, "Free sample for the little one!" But, with determination, they fared ahead. In this sea of trade, only one stand interested them.

 

Remy beamed as he spotted them, smiling that toothy grin he was known for. In the front of his mouth he was missing one of his front teeth, on the left.

 

"Wilmar! You brought the kid!" Remy ruffled his hair. Remy had always been a nice fellow, always offering the child an extra spoonful of beans or a slice of bread.

 

"Remy, you fiend!" Wilmar laughed heartily, giving the merchant a warm hug. "You got a chisel?" Pulling back from the embrace, Remy tapped his chin, looking about the stand. It was lined, end to end, with whatever rusty tool or sword or gauntlet he managed to find. Most of it wasn't much more than scrap, but it was cheap, and that was all that mattered.

 

"Ehh, I-" He rummaged through some nails absentmindedly before sighing. "I think I'm all out, Wil."

 

Cursing under his breath, Wilmar looked back towards the other merchants. Most were grimy and scummy, rubbing their hands together at the thought of another copper coin. Wilmar never trusted any of them. "Well, good day then, Remy."

 

A wave and a half-hearted smile was their away, tugging the child along through the street. Frustrated, Wilmar took the lad out of the Square and over Colland's Street, past the old crone's home, over Dyllon's Avenue and to the park. It was an exhausting walk for the youngling, his feet sore from the journey across town. They came upon a lone wooden bench, overlooking a grand statue.

 

Scratching his head, the elderly Wilmar looked at his Ward. "It's been a long day. Come, sit." They took their place on the bench, relaxing after their voyage.

 

"So what do you think of the statue, Zsan?"

 

The child looked up at the effigy, a knight clad in chainmail, a tabard coming down from his chest, which held the crest of Lordaeron on the heart. He looked down, solemnly, a blade clutched in his hands, the tip on the ground and the handle at his waist. It was of exquisite craftsmanship.

 

"Don't be bad, now, Zsan - at night, when everyone is asleep, the statues come to life and scare the naughty children!"

 

"I don't believe you," Zsan said. "Stone doesn't move."

 

Wilmar chuckled. "Well, the bad ones believe it." He paused, before starting up again. "You know, this is what I am learning to sculpt. And someday, you will, as well."

 

"I wanna be like the statue," Zsan interrupted. "I want to be a knight."

 

Wilmar sighed weerily. "Zsan, you know you can't - you're the son of a woodsman, be lucky you wound up in my hands. Not many can become a mason's apprentice."

 

Zsan turned his head away from him. "Can we go home now?"

 

"Zsan, we have to talk about it sometime. You lost-"

 

A few tears had started streaming down the child's face. "Can we go home now!?" He bursted. With a sigh, Wilmar gave in, taking the lad back home.

 

 

The Hooded Man whispered to his comrade hurriedly. "Is it open yet? C'mon, c'mon." The party of five had been tomb raiding for a good few months now, they'd gotten good - this was an easy job, especially since the whole village had up-and-gone. This backwater town didn't have many good bodies - most were too old, or from folks that were far too frail. This one, however, was a recent burial - maybe three weeks old, they'd gathered, though it was hard to tell.

 

The strength of the five men could barely, just barely, exhume the coffin from the mausoleum. It was big, stone coffin, the worst kind. Hard on the back. The Wizard smiled, content. "Thank you for the hard work." He tossed a small bag, filled with silver coins, to the Hooded Man. "Now - leave me be."

 

The grave robbers quickly scattered, running off to whatever hideout they made their nest in. The Wizard heaved, pushing off the large stone lid. The body was now exposed - bloated, skin turning a sickly green, but otherwise a ripe candidate. He grinned with satisfaction at the sight.

 

After a few hours of preparation - candles, ritual drawings, spellbook study - the time had come. He lit each candle, taking his place directly before the coffin and the corpse within. He chanted a black sacrament, a wicked spell from wicked creatures. The markings glowed and the candles blazed brightly. And finally, when he finished, a silence overtook the graveyard. After many minutes of this, the eyes opened, reborn in Undeath. "Arise, my champion!" The Wizard said. "Arise to vanquish my foes!"

 

It was clear this had been a massive man in life, nearly a head taller than the Wizard, or anyone the Wizard knew, for that matter. As it stood, he stepped back in sheer awe. This was a proper knight, covered head to toe in armor - rusted from a lack of care, but sturdy enough. He laughed, cackled, triumphant in his quest.

 

The creature stepped from the coffin, out onto the grass. His feet, even on the dirt, made a thud. The Wizard went to cleaning up his work, wiping away the markings. He was nearly finished when he noticed he had made a mistake in one of them. That was strange, he thought, how is this knight still animated? Reality struck the Wizard far too late.

 

Rattling from the rusted mail was the only warning the Wizard received before being taken by the back of the neck, heaved from his feet and into the air, and turned to face the creature. The knight's hands squeezed on him, suffocating and strangulating him. No words could leave him, no thoughts but regret in his mind. He was slammed into the mausoleum's side, still being choked by this beast.

 

The Wizard fell to the ground, lifeless. The creature looked at its hands, then its feet, then its chest - and then it turned its head to the town. It had been abandoned for a week or two, evidence of life still clear to him. As he walked through, nostalgic memories flooded him. He turned one of the corners - ah, this was Dyllon's Avenue. He strolled over it, to the park. He looked up.

 

There, there was the statue.

 

Now, here he was. He was no longer Sir Zsan. He was no longer a knight. He was the Statue.

 

[Rogan 158]

very spicy origin story

[ArvickCorpsebane 65]

Spicy undead memes for a spicy undead.

 

Edited August 3, 2017 by ArvickCorpsebane