Okay, here it is. I haven't so much as glanced at this stuff in ages, so I can't remember exactly what it was about, just that it was in my Spearbreakers folder and is related to necromancers. Maybe it's crap! Who knows?
Inside one of the upper floors of a certain necromancer's tower, a large pair of double doors opened, and a crowd of black-cloaked practitioners of the dark arts filed out into the corridor outside.
One of them, a man by the name of Osmah who walked with a cane fashioned from a pair of human femurs and had brown skin, straight, shoulder-length black hair that was always slightly-dishevelled and a long, skinny nose, felt strangely-troubled by what had just transpired in the conference room behind him.
The Towermaster had ordered a (to use his own words) "pre-emptive offensive maneuvre" against a nearby dwarven settlement by the name of Spearbreakers. This, by itself, was not particularly-unusual; what seemed odd to Osmah was that the Towermaster had ordered attacks against the same settlement once every few months in the almost three years since Osmah had arrived at the tower, all of which resulted in the deaths of the necromancers assigned to the attack, and that Spearbreakers was too far away to pose a direct threat to the fortress.
The last order had been a tipping point for Osmah; he'd been growing increasingly-suspicious for quite a long time, but he was now certain that something not-entirely-aboveboard was going on, and given the things that necromancers do out in the open on a daily basis, whatever was being hidden couldn't possibly be good for anyone. He just wasn't sure what it was.
Osmah continued to brood on the matter as he steadily descended down the spiral staircase running the height of the tower; the staircase, as with much of the tower, was drab gray stone, lit only by occasional torches. Other people filed past Osmah as he walked on his cane; it was a disability born from injury rather than age -- Osmah was fairly-young, barely on the cusp of his thirties, and that was including the two years he had been undead. Osmah had injured his right leg before he had first arrived at the tower, and it had never mended properly -- it was visibly-twisted and bent at an odd angle, and putting too much weight on it was intensely-painful. All of the others soon passed Osmah on their own business, leaving him to continue walking down the staircase on his cane by himself.
Eventually, Osmah walked out of the staircase into a long, branching hallway with wooden doors installed in the walls at regular intervals; these led to the necromancers' private quarters, and each doorway had the name of its owner engraved on a lead plate next to it. Osmah always felt strangely-isolated in this hallway; he wondered what went on behind the doors of the other necromancers' rooms, out of sight of everyone else. It wasn't a comforting thought for him.
As Osmah began walking down the hallway, an elven zombie with tattered yellow skin and a missing eye slowly lurched through a crossways further down from him, carrying a stack of several leather-bound books in its arms; one book slid off the top and fell to the ground, and the zombie slowly bent down to pick it it, incidentally letting the rest of the books it had been carrying fall noisily to the ground around it. Several years ago, Osmah would likely have been horrified by such a ghastly sight, but as it was, he was merely mildly-disquieted by its odour as he turned the corner past it; as he did so, the zombie looked vaguely around itself at the mess it had made, clearly-baffled.
Osmah continued onwards to the doorway to his own quarters; he opened it and went inside. His room was fairly-unadorned; there was a small wooden desk with a lantern on it, a bookshelf largely containing documents pertaining to the Spawn of Holistic, and a wooden rocking chair, which incidentally already had a small, sturdily-built woman sitting on it, holding a thick leather-bound book and some parchment. Osmah flinched slightly, unsettled by the uninvited guest's presence.
"Sincere apologies," said the woman, whose name was Ilbåd; "As you had apparently been |delayed| --" she said the word with the faintest hint of sarcasm "-- I took the liberty of letting myself in." Ilbåd was a dwarf; she had slightly-gray blonde hair that was generally tied in a tight bun and a harsh, bony face with blue eyes. She was one of the tower's most senior members, and as such was tasked with instructing newer inductees, such as Osmah.
"Er, sorry," muttered Osmah; what he had really wanted to say was that he had gone down the stairs as fast as possible on his cane without falling over himself, and further that he strong objections against people entering his room without permission and that she had taken entirely too much "liberty" in doing so, but he didn't fancy getting into an argument with the centuries-old necromancer. Something about Ilbåd terrified him.
"Apology accepted," said Ilbåd pointedly; "Armok grant it not happen again." Osmah felt a second flare of irritation; he didn't actually express it as far as he could tell, but Ilbåd must have sensed it somehow, because she added evenly: "Do attempt to remain calm, dear. In the end, it's only time you're wasting, and Armok knows time is one thing we necromancers have in abundance."
"On that note," she continued smoothly, holding the books out towards Osmah; her voice took on a commanding tone: "I'd like to pick up where we left off last time. Please review the section in the book concerning the laws governing the bond between souls and their mortal forms, then read this thesis written by one of my former colleagues --" she tapped the ream of parchment "-- and find as many factual errors as you are able, making corrections to the best of your knowledge. There are at least twelve, not counting the part where she misspelled her own name."
Osmah accepted the book and papers and sat down at his desk; Ilbåd moved the rocking chair next to him and observed. He opened the book to the required section and went through the motions of reading it, his eyes glazing over uselessly. He couldn't focus; his mind was firmly set on his suspicions regarding the Towermaster. What was the true reason behind the attacks, he wondered? What was the Towermaster hiding? Suddenly, everything the Towermaster had ever done seemed highly-suspect.
"Pardon me," said Ilbåd, firmly but quietly, "but you appear to be distracted by something, and I'd quite like to know what it is."
Osmah shook his head. "Everything's fine," he said flatly. Ilbåd was one of the Towermaster's closest confidants; telling her about his suspicions seemed like a very stupid move. For all he knew, she could be in on whatever it was as well.
"I beg your pardon," said Ilbåd silkily, "but that doesn't seem to be the case to me. There's clearly something on your mind, and I'd like to know what it is. Perhaps I can provide some answers. It's hardly any trouble."
"There's nothing on my mind," said Osmah firmly.
Ilbåd smiled faintly, an act which made Osmah's insides turn cold. "Normally, I would be given to believe such, no offense intended," she said calmly, "But it's very clear to me that that is not the case, and I would very much like to know whatever it is that's concerning you that you're so very |reluctant| --" there was a faint hint of anger behind the word "-- to tell me."
Osmah frowned slightly, weighing his options for a few moments. He decided that Ilbåd, somehow, knew for a fact that he was concerned by |something|, that the chances of her allowing him to leave this room without telling her what it was were very slim, and that he absolutely did not trust her enough to tell her the whole truth. Even if Ilbåd wasn't in on whatever the Towermaster was doing, he'd sooner reveal his suspicions to the Towermaster himself than her. Ilbåd had a mind like a maze.
"Why does the Towermaster keep ordering attacks on that Spearbreakers place?" Osmah asked; it was as close to the true matter as he dared to go without risking tipping her off.
Ilbåd paused for a second, frowning, then said slowly: "I'm afraid I cannot say. The Towermaster's motives are his own; though he certainly has his reasons for repeatedly attacking that fortress, he hasn't made them terribly-obvious."
Osmah blinked, surprised; Ilbåd claiming ignorance of something felt almost-surreal. He'd often suspected, without the faintest trace of irony, that the woman could read minds. "So you don't know why?" he asked.
"I am completely-certain that his reasons, whatever they are, are valid, and in the best interests of the tower and its residents," responded Ilbåd, "but he has chosen not to make them known. Please accept my apologies; would that I could have been of more assistance."
Osmah turned back to his assignment, disappointed. He tried to do as Ilbåd had instructed, but he just couldn't focus; doubt swirled through his mind like a haze. He was bothered by the thought of an innocent town being forced to endure such relentless attack, as well as the immortal lives of the necromancers sent to lead the attacks being thrown away so carelessly; if the Towermaster's motivations truly were good, then why was he hiding them?
After some time had passed without any actual work being done on Osmah's part, Ilbåd interrupted pointedly: "With due respect, I have other charges to attend to. If you can't make full use of my time at the moment, I'd like to invest it somewhere where it'd be properly-appreciated."
Osmah considered this for a moment; he decided that he wasn't likely to make any progress in his current state. There were other things he'd rather learn about at the moment than the secrets of life and death. "Go if you want," he said to Ilbåd; "I don't think I'll be very productive today."
Ilbåd nodded curtly. "As you wish," she said; she rose from her seat and walked towards the door. After taking a few steps, she turned and added: "If I may, dear, I'd advise against sticking your nose into the Towermaster's business. When people choose to hide things, it's typically because they don't want other people to know them, and the Towermaster -- bless his heart -- is a dangerous man to cross." Ilbåd turned and opened the door; "Just something I'd like you to consider," she finished. She then left the room.
Osmah sat at his desk for a few moments. He wasn't particularly-surprised that Ilbåd had already apparently known without asking that he intended to do some poking around; just mildly-unsettled. He stood up and walked towards the door; he needed information, and the tower library was generally where information was found.
Osmah awkwardly pushed open one of the large, black double doors leading into the tower's library with one arm and went inside. Rows of wooden bookshelves stretched out before him; the air was dusty and dry. To Osmah's right was a large wooden desk with a black-cloaked woman sitting at it and reading a book; many other books were strewn about on top of the desk. A few zombies could be seen milling through the shelves carrying books.
Osmah walked towards the desk. "Afternoon, Thothil," he said to the woman.
Thothil glanced up dimly at Osmah with her dark, sad eyes. She was pale, with a somewhat-long face with a pointy chin and nose, and had long, flowing black hair. Three long scars ran along the left side of her face, narrowly passing by her eye. Osmah thought she was beautiful nonetheless, certainly more so than most of the crones at the tower, though he often questioned what could have driven someone to seek immortality at such a young age; despite her scars, she looked barely older than twenty, though of course there was no telling how old she was now.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause as both necromancers stared silently at each other.
"...Can I help you with anything?" mumbled Thothil evenly.
Osmah felt a brief, hot wave of embarrassment. "Er, y-yes," he stammered; "Do we have any books on Spearbreakers?" It was a long shot, but if there was anything important about Spearbreakers that would attract the Towermaster's attention, it would hopefully be recorded somewhere in the tower's official records.
Thothil's eyes suddenly sharpened, her attention now fully on Osmah. "Spearbreakers?" she asked; "Why?"
Osmah froze, thinking carefully. For the first time ever, he had Thothil's full attention; as nice as it felt, it in and of itself meant that something ususual was afoot. He'd been to the library often over the past two years to check out books on the Spawn of Holistic, and Thothil had yet to refer to him by name.
Osmah wanted to tell Thothil the truth, but knew it was foolish. "Nothing really important," said Osmah; "Just curious. It's come up a lot recently, hasn't it?"
Thothil stared at Osmah for a few seconds, her expression cryptic, then nodded and recited a list of book titles, gesturing towards the shelves where they could be found.
Osmah nodded. "Thanks a lot," he said; he waited for a reply, but Thothil merely looked back down to the book she had been reading without another word. Osmah turned around and walked towards the shelves, feeling mildly-disappointed. Somewhere, something heavy -- likely a book -- hit the ground noisily, causing Thothil to sniff loudly.
Osmah sat at a table, systematically working his way through a small pile of books. He wasn't sure how long he was there for; his sense of time had gone funny ever since he'd become immortal, and the lack of windows in the tower meant that he couldn't even set the time by the sun or lack thereof.
As he was reading, Osmah heard a confident, slightly-patronising voice ask: "Shouldn't he be with Ilbåd right now? Why's he here?" He glanced across the room to the front desk, where Tamun (another of the tower's elders besides Ilbåd) was speaking with Thothil. Tamun was tall and well-built, with short brown hair and a rugged, weathered face with a prominent square chin. Osmah immediately became suspicious; why would Tamun care about what he was doing? He'd never paid any attention to him before.
"Not pestering you, I hope?" continued Tamun; Thothil glanced over in Osmah's direction and Osmah quickly looked back to his book.
There was a brief pause where Thothil said something Osmah couldn't quite hear, after which Tamun replied: "Really, now? Well, my dear, if he's bothering you, just tell me. I'll fix him up for you." Osmah glanced back over at the desk for a moment and saw the Tamun was now walking away. He looked back down at his book; it was probably nothing, and Osmah knew he tended to be a bit paranoid about people, but something about the event seemed off to him. He was also furious about the blatant flirting, not least because he had a nasty feeling that Tamun's chances with Thothil were at least a hundred times better.
Osmah continued reading, both the odd event and his own indignation fading to the back of his mind.
Finally, Osmah closed the last book. All he had learned about Spearbreakers in the past however-how-long was that there was absolutely nothing interesting about it besides the fact that the Towermaster was interested in it; apparently, the fortress was on the border of a region cursed with raining blood, but that was far from unique, and not particularly useful in any case.
Osmah picked up the stack and carried it over to Thothil's desk, hoping that he'd missed something that he could find on a later viewing. He placed the books on a free spot on the desk.
"I'd like to take these books, please," he said; he felt an intense urge to compete with Tamun's flirting, but he couldn't think of any way to make checking out a dusty old history book seem tentatively-romantic.
Thothil nodded, but did nothing for a few moments, an odd glimmer appearing in her eyes; suddenly, she quickly grabbed the top of Osmah's stack and pulled it towards herself, sending the entire pile clattering down noisily behind the desk out of Osmah's sight. Osmah stared at the scene, his mouth hanging open slightly. The memory of the noise hung in the still library air like an accusation.
Thothil looked back at Osmah, her expression unreadable. "As you know, fledgling," she said with a faint hint of acid, raising her voice just enough for everyone to hear, "Disturbances in the library are not permitted. You are to remain here in the library until I close for the day, after which you will assist me in organising the shelves." "For future reference," she added, "You should avoid leaning so close when speaking to me. I can hear you perfectly-well from a distance."
Thothil quietly stacked Osmah's books back together and gestured towards the table that he had been sitting at. Osmah picked up the stack and walked towards the desk, feeling slightly-numb. He had no idea what to make of this. Had Tamun put her up to it, or was she acting on her own, and if so, to what purpose? As Osmah sat down at the desk, he became very aware just how out of his league he was in this. He had an inkling to bolt, but decided that that would attract more suspicion. He was trapped; he felt like a helpless playing piece in a confusing game well beyond his comprehension.
As Osmah sat at the table, he saw Tamun walking away from Thothil's desk with a book; Tamun smirked and delivered what must have been the most mocking wink in the world, then turned and left through the double doors. Osmah felt equal parts suspicion and rage; whether he had stumbled into some trap of Tamun's or the elder simply took pleasure in Osmah's supposedly embarassing himself in front of Thothil, that smug little wink rasped across Osmah's nerves like sandpaper.
Eventually, Osmah decided that he may as well make the best of the situation and opened one of the books for review.
"Closing time," called Thothil after some time; "Everyone out." It was only the stillness of the library that allowed Thothil's voice to be heard. The other necromancers immediately began filing out of the room, some carrying books and others leading zombies that had been tasked to carry their books for them.
Once everybody had left, Thothil got up from her desk and began walking towards Osmah, who for his part still had not learned anything useful about Spearbreakers that would explain the Towermaster's interest.
Thothil sat on the opposite side of Osmah's table, looking off to the side. "We can speak privately now," she said quietly; "Why are you suddenly interested in Spearbreakers? And why was Tamun asking about you?"
Osmah looked at Thothil, apprehension rising inside him. At the very least, her motives for the previous incident were now slightly-clearer. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.
"The Towermaster keeps ordering attacks on that Spearbreakers place," replied Thothil matter-of-factly, as though she was commenting on the weather, "which you inexplicably are now interested in -- and, going on what Tamun said, walked out of an exercise with Ilbåd to research -- and then that cock Tamun who normally wouldn't even acknowledge the existence of someone as low-ranking as you comes in and starts asking odd questions." Thothil glanced at Osmah; "It's too strange for my comfort. Something's going on, and I think you that might know what that something is, or at least they think you might know. So tell me."
Osmah paused for a moment, sorting through his thoughts. He desperately wanted to trust Thothil. Just thinking of lying to her felt painful. He knew it was irrational; he'd been infatuated with her since he arrived at the tower. The fact that this was the most Thothil had ever said to him was not helping Osmah think clearly.
"I don't know anything," replied Osmah; he gave in to his feelings and added: "I do think that there's something suspicious going on here, though." He regretted saying it immediately.
Thothil nodded. "Is that why you were researching Spearbreakers?" she asked; "To find out what the Towermaster could be interested in?" Osmah didn't respond; he felt that he had already said far too much.
A horrible silence ensued.
Finally, Thothil stood up from her seat and walked away.
"Are you going to organise the shelves now?" asked Osmah.
"Yes," stated Thothil.
"Do I have to help?" asked Osmah, feeling somewhat-hopeful.
There was a brief pause. "If you wish," replied Thothil.
Osmah rose from his seat and followed after Thothil, secretly cheering. A few hours alone with his crush was something to be happy about, no matter the circumstances.
"Incidentally," added Thothil offhandedly, glancing back at Osmah, "There are some books on the Detective's children that have been in your possession for a while. I want you to return them when you're finished."
"I will," replied Osmah; "I just need to review a few things." It was a small thing, but any opportunity to please Thothil was worth taking. This wasn't such a bad day after all, he supposed.
Osmah and Thothil set about organising the shelves in silence. It was a fairly-mundane affair; Osmah would trail behind Thothil carrying and placing books according to Thothil's instructions. The library was completely-still and quiet; they were the only two beings in the entire room, alive or otherwise.
After a while, the silence seemed to ferment like a rotting fruit. There was a voice in the back of Osmah's mind urging him to say something -- anything -- to the object of his desire, but he had no idea what he could say. He was suddenly uncomfortably-aware that he knew absolutely nothing about Thothil besides her mysterious scars and intriguing eyes, and felt somewhat-foolish for it.
"How'd you end up as the tower's librarian?" asked Osmah; he figured it was a start.
Thothil pushed a book towards Osmah; he awkwardly grabbed it with the crook of his cane arm and transferred it to the stack under his other arm. "Put that over there, second from the left," she ordered softly, pointing to the appropriate shelf; Osmah was having trouble remembering which shelf which book was supposed to go on, but he was willing to give it his best attempt. For love.
"I was here a lot," added Thothil simply; "They decided I may as well make myself useful."
A few seconds passed, after which the horrible, rotten silence reasserted itself.
"So why do you like it here so much?" asked Osmah, growing increasingly-desperate.
"It's peaceful," stated Thothil. The rotten silence, seeing that Osmah was fighting a losing battle, immediately rushed back in like a sticky blanket.
Osmah, for his part, also recognised his lack of progress; Thothil clearly wasn't one for small talk. He decided that pestering her further wasn't going to get him anywhere, and so focused his faculties on the task at hand. He walked over to a nearby shelf, clumsily extracted a book from the stack in his arms -- having to keep one hand on his cane at all times made things difficult -- and made to place a book on the other shelf.
"No, |that| book goes on the shelf over there," said Thothil in tones of general disapproval, gesturing towards the proper shelf; "Fifth from the right."
Osmah dejectedly walked over to the proper shelf, hoping that maybe the fact that he was |trying| would be good enough for her. It was frankly the only hope he had.
Eventually, the two had completed their task. Thothil had resumed her usual position at the desk; Osmah was standing at the doors, holding the books on Spearbreakers. He hoped Thothil was satisfied with his work; he |knew| he'd gotten some books mixed up.
"Goodnight, Thothil," said Osmah; it seemed the most he could say at the moment, but it still felt insufficient. What he |really| wanted to do was sweep Thothil off her feet without a word and carry her off into a conveniently-timed sunset, but that didn't seem particularly-realistic.
Thothil nodded slowly, not saying anything.
Osmah turned to leave, feeling slightly-depressed. He had expected things to not turn out as ideally as he had hoped, but he'd hoped that he wouldn't have been |this| disappointed.
Just as Osmah pushed the doors open, however, he heard Thothil say softly: "Thank you."
Osmah turned around; Thothil was reading a book calmly, seemingly-oblivious to the effect that those two small, quiet words had had on Osmah's psyche. He paused for a few moments, wondering if he should say something romantic, but settled for simply nodding and responding: "Anytime."
If Thothil had in fact heard Osmah, she gave no indication of such. Osmah gave up on her for the moment and exited the library, pushing her to the back of his mind for the time being. Something strange was clearly going on in the tower, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
A week or so passed; though Osmah supposed it could have been his imagination, he seemed to bump into the tower's elders rather frequently over the next few days. He'd walk into the library and find Ilbåd there, giving him a stern nod as she left the way he had come, or go down the staircases to one of the abbatoirs to retrieve a corpse and find Tamun coming up, greeting him mockingly. He'd spot another elder on his way back to his quarters, and be greeted offhandedly by another while going up to the laboratories to take notes on one of the seniors' experiments.
Perhaps, Osmah thought, it was a perceptual quirk -- simply put, his suspicion had rendered him more-alert to the elders' comings and goings. They weren't actually following him and watching his movements -- he was just noticing their presence more than he normally would.
After roughly four days, however, Osmah seemed to run into the tower's elders less and less -- quite the opposite of what the above hypothesis would suggest. This was the only cue Osmah's suspicious mind needed; he was then absolutely-certain that the elders had been watching him, perhaps for signs of progress in his investigation, and were gradually losing interest as the days passed without anything at all coming of it.
For what it was worth, Osmah had seemed to genuinely hit a dead end; he had painstakingly scanned through every Spearbreakers-related passage in the library five times over and still had yet to come up with even the flimsiest of possible motives for the Towermaster's attacks. He |knew| something funny was been going on, without even thinking about it, but this lead had come up dry and he had absolutely no idea where to look next. At every moment, Osmah's thoughts were dominated by a single, insistent question: "Why?" It was incredibly-frustrating.
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Topic: [34.11] Spearbreakers - It shudders and begins to move (Read 2253686 times)