Last Son of a Dead Lineage

[sonuvalich]

The De’Mortis family was once a powerful and respected Mulan of Thay, known for their strength in necromancy and their ruthless ambition. In fact, it was this ambition that was their eventual downfall, when they tried to help Velsharoon in his feud against Szass Tam. As punishment for their coup, Tam seized their lands, had their name struck from the nobility, and slaughtered all the males of family. The women he sold as slaves or kept for experiments and the depravations of some of his most loyal servants. Tam made a point of keeping the bastard children spawned by these encounters, eventually repeating the cycle of slaughter and horror when the children grew to adults. It was from the centuries of this vile harvesting that a boy named Sandro was brought forth into the world.

The first life ever to be claimed by Sandro was that of his mother. And if you believe the tales of a hysterical midwife, he didn’t cry or wail at his mother’s corpse but instead cooed and laughed. He was raised in an inconsequential corner of the school of necromancy, forced to cheat and steal and scrap amongst the slaves for his continued survival. As a boy, he earned a reputation as a bully, and many of the slaves learned to give him a wide berth when he passed. He used this reputation to attract weaker boys, offering protection in exchange for loyalty and gifts, which made life easier and safer. One of these gifts was a vellum scroll, filled with arcane symbols and lettering. Sandro could not explain why, but he was fascinated by this scroll, and spent many a night staring at it by candlelight, tracing the symbols with his finger and muttering incoherently under his breath.

As boyhood waned into teenage years, some of the apprentices at the school began to notice Sandro and to pick on this youth they dubbed “The Lord of Filth.” Deemed a slave of the school, and thus having no noble or wizard to claim recompense, Sandro had no choice but to endure their mocking and abuse. Many nights, he would curl up in bed battered, bruised, and singed, but he would forget all his aches and sores as he became absorbed in his scroll. The days blurred into a repetition of pain, hatred, awe, and oblivion. And in the way that repeated hammering tempers and hardens steel, Sandro became harder and sharper with every passing day, until he finally showed his strength and began being honed into a weapon.

One particularly nasty group of apprentices took it upon themselves to dethrone their Lord of Filth by breaking his followers. They used scare tactics, intimidation, violence, and subterfuge to remove his gang members one by one, until Sandro was without allies or confidants. They then cornered him in a corner of the school’s basement, taunting him and casting spells to make him duck and weave and scurry to avoid. The leader of this merry band let his goons enjoy themselves for what seemed like hours before stopping them, then beckoning to the shadows with a crooked finger. A zombie came shambling forth, badly decomposed and naked save for a paper crown upon its head. “Behold,” said the leader of the gang, “the Bitch Queen Regent of our Lord of Filth! It took no small amount of effort to find her corpse in the reposing dens beneath the school, but we spared nothing to ensure this happy family reunion. Go on Sandro, give ole’ mommy a kiss!”

Sandro looked down at floor, and the leers and laughter of the gang crescendoed to a roar, but was soon quieted by a louder sound; Sandro’s laughter. His body began shaking as he laughed hysterically, finally having reached his breaking point with the banality and cruelty of his life amongst the dregs. He raised he face to his antagonists, with malice, murder, and mirth in his eyes.

“You think to unnerve me by digging up that whore?!? She is a reminder of the weakness and failure that brought me into this squalor! I am happy to see her desecrated and shamed! At least now she serves a purpose higher than pleasure slave and bastard breeder!”

As Sandro’s words flew from his frothing mouth, he hands seemed to develop autonomy, and reached within his robes to pull out his scroll. As they held up the scroll in front of him, his eyes hardened further and his mouth twisted in a grin as he started to read the words aloud. The vellum began to glow as runes hovered in the air above it, until Sandro spoke the final word and the scroll vanished in a flash of white. A ray of crackling energy flew forth and struck his mother squarely in the chest. Her cadaver stood a moment, before a spiderweb of glowing white cracks began spreading across its body. An instant later, the corpse was shattered by another white flash and a loud sizzling. Sandro stood over the broken remnants of his mother with a mocking smile and picked up the head, planting a kiss firmly on what was once a mouth.

“There is your kiss,” he told the leader as he threw the head to him. “Now, who is ready to join her in oblivion?”

“Enough!” shouted a figure from the top of the stairs. A man decked in fine red robes with black trim descended the stairs and stood before the group. “Apprentices, it seems I am not keeping you busy enough if you have leisure time for these extracurricular activities. Why don’t you go back to your rooms and prepare for a bit of sparring tomorrow? Perhaps I will let you fight one of my reanimations…”

The eyes of the apprentices seemed to widen as one, as they hurried out with bows and murmurs of “Yes, High Arcanist” and “Thank you, High Arcanist.” As the last of the boys fled up the stairs, the man turned to Sandro and contemplated him for a moment. “Sandro, is it? I could treat this as assault against your superiors you know, and add in thievery for however you obtained that scroll and intent to murder for good measure. You realize that you would be summarily executed for this, correct?”

Sandro simply nodded and waited in silence for the man to continue.

“Good, then you understand how the choice I am about to give you is not a choice at all. That is a fairly advanced spell you have just managed to cast, even for one of my apprentices. To do so without formal training is almost unheard of, and would mark you for training in the academy were you of noble birth. But you are not noble though, are you? You are the bastard son of a pleasure slave and someone who pleased the Zulkir enough to earn a night with her.”

Again, Sandro simply nodded and waited.

“Except, Sandro, that story is not wholly true. My master has been grooming and preening your bloodline for generations. Every union that has spawned one of your ancestors was carefully orchestrated, hoping to generate a youth such as you. Sadly, it has taken centuries of failures to get to today, but time was never a concern for my master.” The man approached Sandro and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Kneel.”

Sandro’s eyes narrowed in defiance, but a thought tickled at the back of his mind. How did he cast that spell? It was more instinct than intent, and what if he could do it again? Who could tease and torment him if he could wield such power and more? The allure of such strength and authority was more than Sandro could hope to resist; he knelt.

“Today you are reborn, Sandro. You kneel as an orphan, a slave, an inconsequential piece of filth sullying my beautiful academy. You may take my hand and arise as an apprentice necromancer, and one day, if you survive, you may ascend to the power and respect you so crave. Serve faithfully and well and you may even earn back your family name, and become a member of the ruling class of Thay.” The man paused and took a step back. “Or you can remain here, on your knees, until fate or my shamed apprentices finally leave you dead and broken in the dark.”

Sandro scrambled forward on his knees and firmly clasped the man’s hand between his own. “I accept! Teach me, train me, break and rebuild me if that is what it takes! Show me how to wield this power, and I will be your faithful servant forever! I will survive, you must believe that, and I will gladly bleed or kill for you!”

The man offered a cold smile, as if amused by thoughts of horrors yet to come. “Then arise, apprentice. Gather what belongings you have and meet the Master of Apprentices in his chamber in one hour. Do not disappoint me Sandro…we have been waiting oh so long for you.”

[sonuvalich]

You Can't Spell 'Smiles" Without "Lies"

A letter from Sandro to his Masters in Thay:

Every day. Every day, I smile at these louts as I take their coin. Every day, I thank them for their patronage while inside I know they should be thanking me for deigning to even speak with them. Every day, I turn the other cheek to slights and insults against myself and the Red Wizards that would have men killed on the spot in a civilized land such as Thay. Every day, I endure.

Yet every day I grow a little richer. Every day, my list of allies grows longer. Every day, I worm a little further into the confidences of the local peoples and factions. Every day, my power grows.

I will see the Enclave here restored to its full glory, no longer inconvenienced by squatters in the city or petty politics. And on that day I hope to turn to Master Tel'Rune and smile, not with arrogance or smugness, but with the satisfaction of having proven that I have learned. I have, mostly, learned to control my temper. I have, mostly, learned to hold my tongue, and to stay my hand unless required. I have, definitely, learned how to play the game so that I can gather power without becoming a target for all people to rally against. Now the day is coming that others shall learn, a simple yet terrible lesson: every Thayan has his day.

Your apt pupil,
Sandro
Arcanist of the School of Necromancy
Aquor Enclave

[sonuvalich]

A Black Journal

High Arcanist Sandro sits in his quarters in the Enclave, writing in a black, velvet-covered journal:

"I have decided the time has come to start putting pen to parchment with my thoughts. The lies, half-truths, maneuvering, denials, threats, fights, ....all the requisites of my rank have left me drained and exhausted. It is my hope that transcribing my thoughts into this book will expunge me of these emotions and the weakness they impart. I cannot be weak, I am beset on all sides by those who would see me dead or exiled. But I am, for now, simply a man and can only withstand so much without showing cracks in the polished veneer I have cultivated. So, what troubles me?

The Knights:
Our Enclave needs strong knights now more than ever. My own has shamed me more than once, though I continue to maintain hope for him. In time, I see his potential to be a leader amongst our melee combatants; he is strong, ruthless, and totally incapable of disobeying orders. I doubt we can get more Knights sent to us from Thay, but perhaps we can start hiring some of our own mercenaries? My past efforts into this were a failure, so I will have to determine why that initiative failed so completely before exploring this further.

The Applicants:
My school is bursting with new members, both genuine Wizards and some potential apprentices. Already these new members have caused me a degree of headache due to complaints from more than a few people I trust. I assume these are growing pains as they get accustomed to the unique culture of Sundren; I think back on my own initial months in the valley and shudder with contempt for the man I was, so I can be patient with these newcomers...for now. Additionally, I suspect some of these complaints may be fabrications or exaggerations to mask fear at the growing number of Thayans visible in the valley, so I take them with the proverbial grain of salt. It will be nice to have lower-ranking members to pass some of my duties along to, if they prove themselves capable, but the initial investment of time and energy is quite significant.

Aquor:
What good is being the unofficial authority in a city if all it brings is more duties and no revenue? My "antics" to distract the populace from their scrutiny of the city and the Enclave have been quite successful...more on that in a moment...but still many accuse us of treachery and subterfuge. I must continue to be an asinine presence in the Valley, in the hopes of convincing the locals that the Enclave is being run by oafs and fools incapable of the deeds they think we have done. This mess needs to be sorted so trade can resume in the city, or it will all have been for naught. Although...Autharch Sandro does have a nice ring to it.

Tel'Rune:
Every day I expect to be taken to task for overstepping my bounds, acting like I run the Enclave instead of the Khazark. But no reprimand has come forth, so perhaps I am pleasing him with my actions? Or perhaps he is more of a Researcher than an Imperialist and does not worry himself in the local politics. Maybe he shows his displeasure simply by not acknowledging my requests for proper quarters befitting my rank...could he also have squelched my request to reclaim my ancestral name?

Here there are pen marks as though someone repeatedly tapped a quill into the parchment while thinking and debating what it all means.

River:
And now the icing on the cake, as it were. As if I did not have enough troubles in my life I now have this woman. My childish shenanigans with the dwarf deeply upset her, though my recently mended nose is proof that she got her just reparations. I should be laughing in her face for her outrage, amused that some half-blood was not honored that a Red Wizard would stoop so low as to spy on her. Instead, I find myself filled with genuine regret and an emotion I can only assume is guilt. I should be happy that we will never again share words and consider it all good riddance, especially after she so plainly ridiculed me with that picture.

Pulls an increasingly wrinkled piece of paper out of his robes, smooths it out on his desk, and stares at it in prolonged silence.

So why can I not stop thinking about her?

.....

Perhaps it is time to undergo the ritual, to scour myself of emotions and petty mortal concerns. If nothing else, no longer requiring sleep will free up some time for dealing with all these matter."

A slave comes into the room with a tray containing a lavish meal and a fine red wine. The High Arcanist closes his book and dismisses the slave. As the sun sets and the room grows dark, he eats in silence with no company but his thoughts.

[sonuvalich]

"I'll show you to the door, High Arcanist."

The words echoing through the room let Sando know it was time. A hard conversation had ended and a hard lesson was learned. As he rose, he pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and tucked it under the goblet before him. Pleasantries were exchanged and he walked out the door lost in thought, before finding himself seated at the fire outside the Second Wind, journal and quill in hand.

"I have made many mistake before today, and will likely make many more. But this is the only time I can recall ever feeling like such a fool. I have studied the gods my whole life, and I should know they are nothing if not cruel and petty. My life in Thay was designed to make me cold, hard, and determined. I now realize that instilling those traits in me, to prepare me for the realities and harshness of this world, were the closest thing to love I should ever expect to find in this life.

I find myself now more aware than ever of the sickness of this Valley. I let it seep into me and create a weakness. I must content myself in knowing this weakness has now been cauterized before it could fester. I will now set my sights on purging the disease from the Valley at large. I am done smiling at the people who spit in my face. I am done restraining myself and being civil to those who lack a modicum of civility. It is good that Kossuth has reclaimed a seat in Aquor, as I intend to see this whole valley cleansed in flame until proper order is restored. There will be blood, yes, but in the end there will be peace and prosperity as well. As always, the Thayans will get their due."

As thunder rumbles in the sky and rain begins to fall, Sandro tucks away his journal and stares into the fire, a strange smile on his face.

[sonuvalich]

Sandro sits inside the Second Wind, at the table in the back corner that allows him to watch all three doors. He constantly looks up from his writing as people come and go, making his task take vastly longer than it should.

"Perhaps this is to be my last entry in this book. My only regret is that I chose to get such a lavish and expensive journal if I am to only use a few pages of it; I do hate bad investments. I can feel the hostilities swirling through the valley, and where I once found silent glares and contemptuous looks I now find heated words and barely restrained violence. In some ways I feel proud...these people believe they know in their hearts who I am and what I do, and yet the lack of evidence leaves them no recourse but to splutter and gnash in impotent rage. So regardless of what I may or may not have done, regardless of the company I may or may not keep, regardless of the kind of man I may or may not be...I have been careful and clever enough to avoid the vast majority of repercussions. That is quite a Thayan trait, is it not?

Still, whispers and conjectures lead me to believe that many in the Triad (and other organizations) are just looking for an excuse. Should I give them the slightest justification, they will see me dead and damned be the consequences. They seem less hostile to other Red Wizards and their knights, so I must assume I simply have the more charming personality. Then again, there are those like Dain who have told me at length, and in great detail, how badly they wish to see the entire Enclave removed (if not Thay itself wiped off the map.) This amuses me to no end: We do our best to adapt to the foreign cultures and behave appropriately and they remain unflinchingly intolerant of us regardless. We try to find a way for everyone to serve a purpose and have a place and they do their best to stymie us. We do whatever we must to survive and endure and they refuse to compromise even slightly. And somehow, though all this, we are the "bad guys."

The crux of it all is I simply cannot remove the worst offenders. Ever since that Black Hand flier appeared, I have found myself the very definition of ambivalence. Nothing would please me more than seeing some of these fools silenced forever, preferably if they could suffer a prolonged and agonizing death as penance for their crimes against intelligence and decency. And yet should any of them die, I just know the angry mob will turn their eyes to me as the culprit. And so I do everything I can to remain a visible, public figure. Should misfortune befall one of those on the list, I want to have a large number of alibis to my location when it happens. Still, being constantly visible and easily found is not the best way to prolong one's life when there are those already building gallows just for you...

Whatever may befall me I want it recorded that I was not afraid, I did not flinch from my fate. I will do everything I can to prevent anything unsavory from befalling me or the Enclave, but I will not be weak. If I am to die, may my last words be defiance and curses against those responsible; I will not cry. After all, I know better than most that death need not be the end. Why fear it if it may simply be one of many transitions I face on this world?"

[sonuvalich]

Sandro sits in his quarters, staring at his journal for a long time, no sound disturbing his brooding. Finally he picks up his quill with a sigh and begins writing:

"I, High Arcanist Sandro, being of sound mind and body, and as testator of this document, do hereby scribe my last will and testament. I appoint James Frazer to act as my executor, and leave any matter(s) left unaddressed in this document to be resolved by his discretion, barring contradiction with implied wishes or Thayan law.

I denote as my sole financial beneficiary my "daughter" Luvacci. As the closest thing to family I have ever had, and likely will ever have, it seems only fitting she inherit what coin and gems I have obtained. Once all outstanding debts and funerary expense are paid, the remainder of my fortune is to go into a trust for her until she reaches adulthood. She is to be given to Byrun Hellstrom as a ward, with costs for education, food, welfare, etc. being deducted from the trust. I request that she be allowed to continue studying in the Enclave if she so desires, and promise retribution from beyond the grave if any should seek to take her for dissection and experimentation.

To the Enclave, I leave all my research and personal magical items. I hope they serve my school well as another rises to take my place. The sole exception is the unsold items I have stored within our vaults. These items are to be sold at market value, with the proceeds being used to establish additional research facilities in my honor. Attached is a suggested list of items and tomes for a "High Arcanist Sandro Necromantic Library and Research Laboratory." This is not merely for posterity, but in the hopes that this research center will find a way to restore me after I die. Assuming my body survives, it is to be given to this facility and my sentient reanimation is to be their first goal.

As for my role in the Enclave, I nominate Arcanist Caesius to fill the void left by my loss. I have included with this document a list of plans and schemes that I would ask him to continue for the glory of the Enclave. Should the Arcanist be responsible my death I leave him this final message "Well played and I will be waiting for you beyond the veil."

Testator: Sandro"

Looking over his writing, Sandro puts on a humorless smile

"Let it never be said I do not expect the worst."

[sonuvalich]

Sandro sits by his new home at the bonfire of Aquor, writing neatly in his book.

"As I look back through these pages I see the evidence of the whirlwind ride of the past few months. Raging rants on fire and purging, melancholy lamentations on my own mortality, soaring highs leading into debilitating lows. And for what? A grand crescendo into nothing! My friends go off on their adventures but find me inconvenient to bring along. My enemies may as well be parrots for the tired insults they hurl at me. My efforts to restore Aquor are constantly stymied, as though the cosmos were against me. Boredom and frustration are the new devils on my shoulders, urging me to surrender to my own dark impulses which I have worked so hard to control. I teeter on the brink, and I find little left to grasp to stop my plunge..."

Sandro stops writing to look up as snowflakes begin landing on his bald head, sighing as they melt against his skin like a soothing balm

"This city was beautiful once, if nothing else I will see it be so again. A fine gift from father to daughter, to leave the world a bit more lovely and civilized, even if he must do horrible things to make it so. If I die in the process, at least all that ugliness goes with me."

Sandro packs up and goes to find his daughter to see if she wants to build a snowgnoll, hoping to silence the screams in his skull if only for an evening