Then a monster of red scales and long tail skittered across his path.
His horse reared back, squealing her displeasure.
“Dear, Zyon!” Junior fumbled to draw his sword and steady the mare simultaneously. “Blasted—what was that.” He guided his mount in a circle and redirected it toward the path that strange creature had run by. His chest beat widely, and he gripped his sword stiffly. He scoffed at himself and shook off the tensions. He was a knight of the Old Guard, after all. He fought the army of the dead! He, well, he should not fear a. . . a thing. Whatever that thing was. He should not fear it.
He slipped a flask from his belt and took a long swig of the burning liquid, and with freshly diminished inhibition, hopped off his horse and crept into the alleyway in search of the creature; his steps were a little unevenly placed, but he managed to walk all the same.
The alley was narrow, and ran all the way to another street. Whatever that thing was, it had to have been what killed his father, surely. He would dispatch it and avenge his father. Yes, as a knight should.
So, Clyde Junior tip-toed down the alley, sword pointed straight out in front of him. Waiting for something, anything, to leap out at him hungry for flesh. Well, their teeth would be in for a treat, now wouldn’t they? Ser Clyde II wore the finest chain mail gold could buy, and its stainless design was a testament to how he’d never been struck—no mind to why.
He pointed his sword side to side, prepared to slice at anything that might be hiding behind a corner here, or in a window there, or under a pile of refuse anywhere.
Then he heard the noises, a low beat like war drums, the squealing of animals, and crashing of glass.
Dear Zyon, the creature is attacking them this very instant!
If it hadn’t been for the healthy second dose of courage Junior then drank, he might have turned and sprinted back for his horse, and galloped all the way from whence he came. But, thanks to the craftsmanship of good dwarven brew, Ser Clyde II found the will to charge out on to the new street screaming and slashing his sword.
“YAAHH!” he cried as he leapt unto the road.
“Afterlives!”
He stumbled back as it became very clear that he’d almost lopped off the head of an old lady. She reeled back and scowled at him something nasty.
He quickly lowered his steel. “My apologies, good woman, I. . . Was there not a creature set upon devouring you?” He burped. “A thousand pa-hurp-dens.”
She pursed her lips. “Ser, if it's creatures you’re looking for, try the Merchant Guild warehouse down that way.” She pointed a wrinkled finger toward something behind Junior.
He swiveled around and nearly stabbed out his eyes as he went to rub them. He instead closed his eyes as tight as he could, and then opened them again.
No, he was not dreaming. No, he was not hallucinating. No, he was not quite that drunk. Yes, he did in fact bear witness to a raucous party of hundreds of kobolds leaping and scurrying around a large warehouse.
Junior fought to find his voice. “Di-di-did they ki-kill the mayor?”
The old lady scoffed. “No. But that nasty old wizard did.”
He turned back to her. “Wizard?”
“Yes,” she said. “Jevrick, he’s called. Showed several nights back and fought the paladins. Killed one of them and dear Mayor Clyde. Now the daemon runs for mayor, if you can believe that. Terrible, terrible.”
Junior’s mind spun, and he couldn’t quite tell if it was because he’d drunk too much, or if it was what the old lady had just said. But one thing was for certain—he’d take killing one wizard in order to avenge his father over a horde of kobolds any day.
***
===
Time Until Election: 6 hours, 32 Minutes
===
Jevrick’s Main Quest: Restore Maplebrook
- Win Election.
- Revive Oon.
- Bring back the town’s dead.
- Earn Maplebrook’s trust.
- Rebuild houses.
- Restore population.
Side Quests:
- Find out who burned down the chapel.
- Fulfill obligation to Atan.
===
“Return now, and live anew,” I whispered.
The tenth phoenix feather and chains glistened with the utterance, disintegrating into ash that flowed into the man’s nose and mouth.
He gasped for the first time since death. Color flooded his cheeks again. His eyes blinked wide and he breathed like a man coming up from a deep swim. He looked at his hands, then up to me.
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“Why. . . am I covered in honey?” he asked.
I smiled, my visage covering my deathly features. “You're welcome.”
He looked quite befuddled. He was a middle-aged gentleman with peppered hair. He was a pottery maker by the glance of True Sight. He suddenly grabbed his chest as if remembering something.
“Yes, you were dead. I have brought you back,” I said.
He searched my eyes. “You? Are. . . are you some sort of priest from the city?”
I guessed he was perplexed by my coat and top hat. “No,” I said. “Not from the city. . . Those who care for you await outside. Will you go to them?”
His eyes wandered to the steps that led out of the town hall cellar. They continued to drift to eight disheveled tarps also covered in honey.
He had been the last one, and most certainly the slowest to process his course correction. Perhaps a little help was necessary.
“Come, now. Let us greet your wife again,” I held out a hand for him. He took it, hand trembling.
I guided him up the stairs, out of the town hall, and onto the street.
He shielded his sight as the sun passed over him.
“Derek?”
The man looked out finally and dropped his arm. “Jane?”
Goodwife Jane ran into the man and squeezed him so heavenly tight. “Oh thank you, thank you!”
Tipped my hat. “Thank you for your faith. Congratulations to you two.”
Though she looked happy, she did make a somewhat perturbed face as she had to peel back from her husband.
“Ah,” I said, “you might wash him.”
“Right,” she said. “Come you, before the election.” She guided him by the hand.
“Election?” he muttered.
I watched them with a moment of pride. In fact, I watched the whole central square brighten with the smiles, laughter, and tears of a dozen families reunited and embracing their once fallen loved ones.
I sighed as a sad thought returned to me. I looked at the black remains of the chapel down the street. I might have saved so many more. But even the Celestials drew a line for when a soul’s time had been spent on this plane. Perhaps one day I might petition them on the matter, but for now I had to celebrate the wins of the present.
Now, on to the election.
===
Jevrick’s Main Quest: Restore Maplebrook
- Win Election.
- Earn Maplebrook’s trust.
- Rebuild houses.
- Restore population.
- Revive Oon.
- Bring back the town’s dead.
Side Quests:
- Find out who burned down the chapel.
- Fulfill obligation to Atan.
===
Maplebrook’s Population: 391
- Jevrick Support: ??
- Ronald Support: ??
===
***
Timmins and Lana sat on the edge of the belfry with their legs swaying with the breeze. Their hands were nestled neatly within each other’s, and watched the excitement going on in the streets. They’d sat like this for several hours. Their command was to keep an eye on the town hall, which they had done dutifully. Now that Master had returned and settled his quests, they were relinquished from their standing order. So, they sat awaiting their next command. Waiting together. Two twice-lived hearts, beating to the rhythm of an unpredictable unlife.
***
Guild Master Vrak eyed the kobold King with much intrigue.
The round creature sat slumped in a throne which was drowned in gold coins, all of which had been lugged into the merchant guild office by his servants. He made the continual effort to right himself in the chair, only to gradually seep down the pile of gold that was in it.
“So,” Vrak said with a puff of pipe smoke, “I don’t believe there has ever been a kobold clan to broker a deal with humans before, not that I recall. I am curious why now?”
Nak-Kan grinned, as he fluttered his feet to get back on top of his throne. “Boney-man first person to treat us nice-nice. I like him. He means-means what he says. Most sun people do not.”
Vrak nodded. “Indeed. What about kobolds? Do most kobolds keep their word?”
Nak-Kan cracked his ringed knuckles and then folded his hands under his chin. “Most.”
***
The time had finally come. I waited at the window of my office for the election process to begin. I felt a sensation in my chest I had not truly felt in what had seemed an endless time. As I watched the near four hundred remaining townsfolk gathered in Maplebrook’s central square around Clyde’s statue, I felt the anxiety of nervousness. I was nervous. Flashes of my youth continued to prod at my mind. The laughing, the jeering, the spitting. I was not that man anymore. I was not the man I was after that anymore. I was hardly the man I was when I first found Maplebrook. But would the outcome be any different? Or would I leave this town in the same manner I had left the old one? Hated, reviled even. I tried very hard to dismiss the doubts as they crept in, but the ghosts of the past were not so easily exorcised.
I also found myself longing for the companionship of one whom I never pictured myself missing. That blasted paladin. He had supported me farther than most had. He had stood for me, even in the face of his brothers and sisters. A true friend, if ever there had been one. But where was he? Why had he fled during this time I could have used his support? Had he forgotten our deal? Had he grown impatient? Had I done something to anger him? The self-doubt swirled in my mind. If even my closest of allies could not stand with me during my greatest trial, then who would stand with me as mayor?
Would not Ronald make a fine mayor for this town now that the bandits, kobolds, and Nightfire had been dealt with? Surely their lives would be all the sweeter without my interference. I could not force them to love me. I had never been able to achieve such admiration. Why should I expect these mortals to see me as someone worthy of their grace? My order had once desecrated their lands, killed their people, and scarred their fathers and mothers. Perhaps even some of them who were children at the time still bore the weight of necromancy’s evil deeds. I was merely a reminder of the horrors they had faced. That’s all I was. That was all I would ever be.
I should leave, I thought. I have resolved their issues. . . I should go now and trouble them no longer.
I took a deep breath and made up my mind to abandon my goal. I had been foolish to think I would succeed. Surely I was only working to deceive myself. I could not bear the pain to be rejected yet again, not after all I had done to earn acceptance.
But before I could turn with my new resolve, a tiny scaled hand wrapped around mine. I looked down at the surprising guest.
“Hi-hi!” Kipsic said, his large pupils dilating like that of a happy puppy. He squeezed my hand.
I couldn’t help but smile, and all the terrible anxiety I had been feeling just seeped away. I pat the kindly kobold on his head. He closed his eyes and his tail swayed side to side. “Dear, Kipsic. I was not sure you’d come.”
He frowned. “Sorry, boney-man. I cook! Make lots of good food-food. But I come to say hi!”
I knelt down and opened my arms. Kipsic graced me with a rather comforting hug.
After the embrace, I stood and righted my top hat. “Well, dear friend, it is time for me to make my final election speech.”
===
Time Until Election: Now
===