4801
Experiences with the Undead: A personal account
AlphaCentaurus
The term "Undead" carries with it an miasma of fear and superstition. Few actually have met one, but many throw around the accusation of consortation with Iblees without real evidence or thought. Most accused are mere troublemakers or pretenders, hoping to inflate their own ego by taking on the guise of one more powerful than they. But even most of the pretenders have not actually met who they imitate. All they have heard is the second- and third-hand accounts, most twisted and distorted by time and distance. :: I have met them.. :: It all started in this city, Celestine. I came here when it had almost no workers, looking for a job. I was exceedingly poor, and knew little of the world. It was an act of desperation. And yet, it payed off. I got my feet under myself, and began to flesh out my abilities. But as I worked, I noticed that many of the inhabitants - not the workers, but mere  residents were extremely strange. They spoke of awful things, and wore dark robes. I knew enough of the world to suspect what this meant. But I also knew enough to keep my mouth shut. I worked my way into the nominal trust of Queen Cassandra. At least, I was trusted enough to be told of who she was. :: My suspicions were confirmed about both her and some of her colleagues. I continued working. I realized that while the undead posed a threat, they also were an opportunity. :: Power. What it means to me is control. I've had little enough of that throughout my life that I've learned its value. So I stayed. I worked and would make occasional trips to Al'khazar. While Celestine is a lovely place, it's not exactly a center of social interaction. It was on one of these trips that my life changed. :: As I arrived, I saw that wave after wave of dark creatures assaulted the walls. Through the crowds of milling people, I saw that in the center of the square there were two robed shapes. They called for those loyal to Iblees to join them. I was never a religious man. Aerial did not involve herself in my life, and I did not involve myself in her's. :: I joined them. We traveled to an evil hold and after a brief test of our loyalty we were forced to defend ourselves from the nearby elves. Killing my own people... it would have once held only terror and disgust for me. But then... it held a bitter, glorious feeling of triumph. Every drop of blood my sword spilled filled me with the feeling of joy. We won. Their bodies littered the floors, burned and disfigured. :: Unfortunately, our celebration did not last long. Another attack came, this one much larger. We were outnumbered 6 to 1. Despite the undead helping us, with their lightning burning the skies, we lost. I barely escaped with my life. :: I joined up with other minions who made it out of the fortress. We stockpiled weapons and awaited orders. Unfortunately, none came. I will not bear you, reader, with an account of our actions. Suffice to say that we made ourselves a nuisance and occasionally did something that was meaningful. The minions fell apart without leadership. And so I returned to Celestine. :: I no longer serve the dark lord directly, but my life has been changed. I whisper into people's ears. I spread unease. I can't do much. But I do what I can. And I forever bear the knowledge of what I have done, and what others have. :: I hope that this can shed some speck of enlightenment on what others might feel should they involve themselves with the undead.