Prelude

“The word Yanci means preservation after death in the most ancient Gnaak tongue.”

- from the Diviner’s official historical guide for the Age of Death

A lone shadowy figure quietly strode down a lengthy corridor leading to the throne room despite an apparent limp. He ignored the pain from the wet gaping wound across his right thigh, the slash went all the way through an iron cuisse but even in his current state, he did not carry himself as mechanically as the typical soldiers found in these parts.

Although he kept to the shadows, he presented himself with a proud posture and dignified grace that more closely resembled a solemn priest despite his Death Knight attire.

Along with any weapon that was carried being concealed, most who were familiar with the keep would probably guess right away that he likely wore the title of the Knife which was a high-ranking assassin within the Death Army. Most would show off iron proudly and stomp on by as if there was nothing to worry about but he carried himself like a cat on the prowl.

His lord had summoned him unexpectedly so he had not the time to tidy up in something fancier than some very used Death Knight attire of blackened plate mail that he had used for dueling earlier that day. He wore no helm and had a greasy full head of hair which was tucked behind his ears and fell past his shoulders down his thick cloak half way down his back. It was too dark to make out any other features.

The Yanci favored black over any color which was probably a good thing since they tended to be so dirty that anything else would have shown so much filth that they would probably be more commonly known as the Dirt Army rather than  the Death Army.

Those of this Army were known to practice necromancy and established order among the undead and the living about to die but did not tend to care about cleanliness for the living and were not about to pick up after them and torches were often not lit in the hallways as that was another luxury that only the living shared.

Not that there was anything uplifting to be seen anyways but the thought of something crossing his path did come to mind. Despite being completely safe among his own kind, he preferred to get in and out without being noticed. It was nobody’s business what kind of dirty work he did for his Lord.

Everything was covered in dust and spider webs among the kind of rubble someone would not want to rummage through. Occasional heaps of garbage and even corpses could be found at random, making the place barely breathable for the unfortunate few that were still alive serving within the keep.

Outside of the chance at an extremely expanded artifical lifespan, the Yanci did not have the luxuries that other armies had to offer. They had drugs as  available as food used to attract whores and bardic visitors but most of those among the living folk would always steer clear from the stench of the Yanci presence by any reasonable means so it was usually dreadfully silent within.

It took a bit for a new recruit to get used to working with the reek of death constantly in the air so smoking was popular since it was hard to wait for the occasional ritually favored incense to cover up the stench. 

The neglected comfort level among the living soldiers tended to make them more cruel from the get go and they were completely without remorse over time when compared to other armies. It was said that when they returned from the dead, they no longer physically felt a thing and until brought back from the dead, they were ordered around by ageless undead beings that knew too well, from experience, that suffering was limited only by time. Mercy or honor was not a word used among their ranks and living soldiers usually had free reign over the women of the conquered which was one of the only signs that they cared for what their men felt so long as they fought for the appropriate side.

Nobody denied that everything the Yanci stood for was downright a lust for power without remorse. They had no respect for life as their dead made most of the decisions.

The so-called eternal life that was promised was not everything that it was polished up to be by the recruiters and it showed when joining after awhile when  noticing what happened to the lives of those who had served the Yanci over time. They usually start out with hopes of an endless future knowing that someday they would be able to continue living in their body even after death and that there would be spells meant to preserve them as they once were. In reality, most wither away into skeletons after only a hundred years or so due to boredom that came with no longer having the luxuries of a living body with real natural desires. 

Inactivity within the ranks was a big problem because many of the undead longed to be beaten out of existence if the boredom lasted long enough. This was one of the main reasons that they seemingly let the enemy win sometimes. The loss of mortal feelings is hard to handle for some. They even try to prolong war to have more time and have something to do in hopes to enjoy the activity more but in the end many of their ranks lose interest if not prodded by their superiors continuously. The undead do not grow bored due to the awareness of time as a mortal being would though and can blink away years as if they were seconds if they are not active.

The living were not the only ones who would occasionally commit suicide from entrapment. The dead have done it too but it was very rare since the Necromancers did what they could to keep them busy. Naturally, those who could find most enjoyment as an undead corpse were the ones who would enjoy games of wit and strategy. Everything that could be fun without involving emotion was encouraged so that men would strive after the life of being undead and maybe even look forward to it sometimes. Doing things to simply satisfy the living was frowned upon and thought to create undead that were more like aimless pathetic drones without purpose. Their leaders goal was to break their individual spirits enough that they no longer cared for what they were feeling emotionally and strive for something more like the participation of a real challenge.

Still, happiness is relative. 

Some of the highest ranking members of the Yanci appeared to be alive when they were in fact dead and did so for hundreds of years. These were the strong willed who loved competition and have forgotten the luxuries of mortality.

The Yanci favor making tattoos and drawing runes on their armor, clothing, and weapons among other objects which contain supernatural properties. They are decorated during special rituals and ceremonies for various religious or practical purposes. The most common would be that of an initiate member tattooed with runes to assist the caster in raising the body after the life had ended.

The hallway was long.

A feeling of being watched swept over him as he stepped over some blood-red runes painted on the floor where the corridor came to the final bend. The markings alarmed the lord of the keep when someone was approaching so he knew that his presence was known.

Torches flickered ominous shadows as they lined the walls until the end of the hallway where two guards were posted across from each other with polearms  extended out so that they blocked the entryway. They too, were clad in blackened iron plate mail adorned with Yanci runes, as most high-ranking knights wore. Both guards were living corpses but fresher than most and could almost pass as being still alive if they did not stink of decay so bad.

“You look pretty calm for what you are about to face.” One of them chuckled as they uncrossed the glaives so that he could pass. This conjured some nervousness but he quickly shrugged it off with a laugh as it was probably just a joke. Unfortunately that did not stop his gut from turning as some frightening thoughts of being punished came to him.

‘Damn him!’ He thought as he fought to clear his mind. Most Lichlords conveyed telepathically so were aware of all the thoughts coming from the living around them. Already he could sense his Lord’s presence entering his mind and knew that his thoughts were being probed. 

Then with a smile, which was rare on a dead person, the knight opened one of the huge chamber doors releasing a chill breeze upon him with the loud screeching of rusty hinges.

His heartbeat sped up as he entered the vast chamber and the clamor of his echoing boots made him feel larger than he wanted to. Fortunately, the sound muffled when he reached the red rug. After a few stairs, two rows of round pillars that disappeared into the shadows above, guided the carpet to the final set of stairs before the throne. Every other column bared a torch but it was not enough to illuminate the domed ceiling above. About half a dozen braziers burned so the air smelled of incense but it was not enough to cover the pungent stench of decay.

The Lichlord awaited his approach on a throne decorated with runes and skulls. It patiently stroked one of the skulls on the end of the chair’s right arm which held a mace in its teeth as if longing to grab the weapon.

If it were not for the servants constant grooming, the Lichlord would have lost all of his flesh long ago but even after being dead for almost two hundred years he still had some of his skin attached, but somewhere along the lines must have stopped caring, because he looked like a skeleton and his bones were exposed in some areas. 

Some Liches used their sorcery to appear more like they were still alive but most stop caring after a few dozen years and have gotten over trying to pretend that they can still live as they did and tend to let themselves rot.

This particular Lichlord had a reputation for not caring about what the living had to put up with when staying beside him so he did not plan on staying in this keep for long and was hoping that this visit to his lord would give him the opportunity to leave or to do something to make his life more bearable.

The ghastly gaze of the Lich seemed to sink into his soul.

He tried to clear his mind by counting to ten over and over again as he walked down the red carpet toward his Master. Once he reached the base of the stairs he knelt down on one knee and kept his head down.

‘You may stand and face me, young one.’ The voice in his head clearly spoke to him but from no particular direction.

Slowly, he lifted himself up and straightened his posture. He did not look back into those glowing eyes until standing. For some reason he was much more 

uncomfortable while his eyes were locked with the Lich but he held his stare steady and took a deep breath.

“How may I serve my Lord?” He tried his best not to tremble in place but his body kept jerking as if it wanted to run.

(work in progress)

‘I know that you don’t like serving us Liches, and that you think we do not care about your discomfort but you are wrong.’ The voice sounded apologetic yet powerful. ‘We care because we can feel your essence and know every thought and feeling that the living around us share. Its easier not to become bored to death when living people are around having fun but it can also feel like a headache and we occasionally need our distance. Do you understand? I didn’t realize how musty the air must be in here and so I apologize and it will be cleaned up soon.’

“Thank you, my Lord.” He bowed his head and tried not to notice a few rats scurrying about behind the throne. From habit and practice, he dismissed unwanted thoughts like being hit in the head with a hammer. No need to think of disgusting rats. His legs shook in place and most definitely were noticeable since the iron chausses clinked.

‘Ahhh I see that you have met Randy and Nibbles.’ The Lich leaned over the chair’s arm and looked at the rats. They seemed to respond as pets and approached him for a greeting. He held out his hand and allowed them to run up to his shoulders where they seemed most comfortable. ‘It is lonely in here at times.’ He explained as he shrugged.

‘Don’t think about the rat poo!’ He cursed himself of the thought then relaxed a bit and sighed. He was grateful for the distraction of the doors closing behind him since it helped to stop more potentially negative thoughts from forming.

He seemed to be telepathically linked to the rats somehow, perhaps through the Lich, but every time that he thought about how disgusting it was to nibble on a dead man’s ear, the rat would draw attention to something else. One of the rats came to the edge of the armchair and sniffed at him like a dog.

‘Let’s get down to business, shall we?’ The Lichlord authorized. ‘The reason that I have called you here is because I have a very special task for you which may take some years to accomplish. Have you ever heard of an Earth artifact?’

The knight shifted in place at the question. “N-no”, he stuttered.

‘Earth is where the ancient English language originated.’ One of the teeth appeared loose as it explained. ‘Earth artifacts of this ancient culture have been showing up all over Xethynaar.’

“Artifacts from another world?” He straightened in interest.

‘Indeed, another world!’ After another nibble to the ear, the Lich lowered the rat from his shoulder to the edge of the armrest where it scurried out of sight. ‘Some are made of materials that we have never even seen!’ He went on with excitement.

“How are they getting here?” An inquisitive brow raised as he dared a question.

‘That is what I want you to find out for me.’ Laughter echoed in his mind but he did not understand the humor. ‘They have a Diviner covering their tracks but so far I know that a ship called the Seeker is recover these artifacts from a voyage towards the end of the ocean.’

“The Seeker?”

‘Yes. I would like you to find a way into the crew and find out all about their operation. In the meantime you will be watched and followed out to sea.’ The skeleton lowered its head and seemed sad for a moment. ‘And then I will ask you to betray everyone on board and assist with our claiming the operation for our own.’

There was a brief silence until nothing but the flickering torches were heard in the distance. Occasionally the deadly mace held by the armchair flickered in the light and reminded him how vulnerable he was in front of his Lord. Both rats had disappeared out of sight. He wondered for a moment why he was chosen.

‘I am aware of your ability to hide thoughts from telepathic interrogation.’ The voice in his head answered. ‘It is possible that you will be captured and questioned by their Diviner. We will teach you more about suppressing memories.’

“I will turn on the enemy during the most strategic moment after they accept me as their own.” The knight solemnly promised and then bowed again. He appreciated and was kind of surprised how he felt the Lich pity him for having the unpleasant task of making friends and then stabbing their backs. It was the first time that he had realized that a Lich could have a conscience like a regular person.

‘Very good.’ The Lich loved feeling the knight’s excitement as he thought of leaving his everyday life and doing something new for a change. ‘We will begin by promoting you and taking part of a ritual to aid us in reading your thoughts from far away.’

He was not excited about the idea of never having privacy again but the  gentle voice in his head seemed to understand and whispered assurance that it would be worth it.

‘Allow me to introduced you to the others who would be infiltrating the ship with you . ..’