A CASE FOR NECROMANCY  IN THE QUEST FOR PEACE

by Zoë Davis

A CASE FOR NECROMANCY  IN THE QUEST FOR PEACE 

By Eloine Scarsworth I LoB (League of Bards First Class) 

Arch Chronicler of the Brelan Historiological Society 

Author’s note: 

The following texts, articles, letters and other miscellaneous documents have been meticulously  gathered from across the five corners of the Third Continent and compiled to form the best– and  only– depiction of events that led up to the unexpected peace treaty of 245ADD between Garrimar and the twin states of Kyrania. Records show that war was never actually declared on North Kyrania, but considering their continued (and mostly unwarranted) involvement since 147ADD, it felt remiss  not to include them. 

Sadly, obtaining reliable information from firsthand sources proved challenging, so I would like to  take a moment to acknowledge all who were harassed, threatened and lightly tortured in the pursuit  of providing a true and accurate account of all that transpired. A special mention must go to the  curator of Lord Thosselmire the Hoarder’s Private Collection of Absolutely Uncursed Antiquities for  dropping the litigation action. I truly couldn’t have completed this without you. 

My eternal thanks. 

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Excerpt from the 36th Annual Symposium  for Sustainable Warfare 

Warcapital of Brelan – Garrimar – 15^th Drowsember 244 ADD 

Speaker: Mortus Cadavarius III Esq. 

Despite what popular culture would have you believe, it’s incredibly difficult to train a dragon.  

Disregarding their mighty wings, shimmering scales, and magnificently abundant teeth– breathing fire as they soar majestically through an already smoke laden sky– they are  incredibly and quite painfully dense. It also doesn’t help that every time you try to give them  directions, the snappy bit where the brain is (a good fifty foot away from you) is thinking  very little except where their next meal is coming from.  

And then they see you.  

Their brand-new, snack sized, buddy.  

You can see where this is going, right? But say you did manage to bond with your  dragon, which is just a nice way of saying they didn’t immediately eat you. What next? Ever  tried to saddle a cat? No? Well, there’s a reason for that. They don’t like it, and neither do  dragons. Unless you’re wearing chainmail underpants, riding bareback on one of those  ungodly creations is going to chafe you raw. Slab of fresh liver, raw. Now there’s an image.  Also, there’s also nothing to hold on to. Even the ones with those cunningly placed impaling neck spikes (think about that when you’re coming in for a bumpy landing) are only good  until you get caught in a rainstorm, then it looks like you’re trying to dry hump an eel as you 

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desperately attempt to wrap your legs around a neck so thick it’d make a barbarian feel  inadequate.  

Do you know how many deaths are caused by dragons in Garrimar every year? Alright, no one’s actually counted, but it’s a lot. Dragons are idiots and so are the majority of people. It’s a lethal combination, but I get it, they’re big and they’re shiny and  they can turn the tide of a war on a groat– so long as you can point them in the right  direction and stay on them, which, as we have already established, is completely impossible.  So, why do we keep trying? Why not explore a different avenue? Something progressive,  something exciting, something like necromancy? 

No, please don’t groan. It’s totally viable. 

Come on, let’s just think about it– almost unlimited resource, easily obtained,  environmentally friendly. We’re here to talk sustainability, right? Carbon offsetting a dragon 

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is not an easy feat! A few corpses mind you and you’re on to a winner. Besides, who  wouldn’t love a second chance at life by being a re-animated corpse? The undead are generally easy to control, terrify at least nine out of ten land-based armies (you can fact  check me on that) and they never need feeding. It’s a no brainer! Get it? No brainer… Why isn’t anyone laughing? 

Okay, so you can’t ride into battle on the back of a desiccated warrior, but I know  warlocks who would try and look damn good attempting it.  

But, I suppose, at the end of the day, there’s no changing some people’s antiquated  views. Despite a well laid out argument a lot of people gifted a dragon egg would still stick it  in their baby’s cradle, shove it in a funeral pyre, or sneeze on it every sixth Tuesday after the  Harvest Moon (the Western Kingdoms are decidedly odd in this practice) in the hope of  hatching their very own combo BBQ and transportation device. Maybe there’s no use  arguing. By all the booing and that eye roll I just got from the front row– don’t think I can’t  see you, madam– I believe you would all prefer dragons.  

Well fine, carry on, don’t say I didn’t warn you.  

Those security guards better not be for me. I haven’t finished! 

Hey! HEY! I have a right to speak! 

You’re all living in the Dark Ages, I tell you! 

Ow! Mind where you’re putting your hands. That staff’s an antique! 

Fine! I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. I guess if this doesn’t work out, I’ll be resurrecting you later! 

End of transcript

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Letter found published in The Garrimar Times 

Dated 16^th Drowsember 244ADD 

An open letter to Mortus Cadaverius III Esq. 

In response to the practice of necromancy as a sustainable alternative to the rearing and  taming of dragons for the purpose of recreational use and warfare. 

16^th Drowsember 244 ADD 

Dear sir, 

After hearing of your proposal at last week’s symposium– a highly anticipated  and robustly attended gathering of the finest minds from across the Warlands of Garrimar, I  felt compelled to publicly reach out and denounce you in the strongest possible terms.  

Your preposterous argument was as flawed as your deplorable choice of attire on the day in  question (15^th Drow). Business smart should not consist of a shovel, a bloody overcoat, and an  overly aggressive Thurgian pony, recently reanimated, because you had, and I quote ‘come  straight from work’. However, that is beside the point. Your suggestion that necromancy is in  any way a sustainable, let alone practical, alternative to the use of dragons, is quite frankly  absurd. 

Dragons* are clean and temperate beasts, graceful in both flight and attitude towards their  bonded soulkin. I can scarcely believe how callously you called into question their indomitable intellect. Compared to a freshly resurrected corpse, a dragon is already a thousand times more  capable and will not frustratingly wander off a cliff just because its friend was compelled to do  so, or has accidentally caught fire– re: last week’s Tribune article 11^th Drow - ‘Why are humans  so flammable?’ 

According to national statistics** you would require 7,682.6 revenants (approx.) of a low to  medium cognitive function to equate to the destructive capabilities of one adult dragon or six apprentice pyromancers. Therefore, unless you plan on opening mass graves across the entirety  of Garrimar, creating not only an eye-sore but a potential health and safety incident, your  argument is about as valid as the hand drawn disability permit you aggressively thrust at the  symposium’s parking valet, claiming you’d been recently bitten by an eldritch horror and may  need to expel bile at any time. I call tosh, sir. Utter tosh.  

At this juncture, I feel the need to be blunt. Necromancy is a dying art. It has had its place  within our great and illustrious history but needs to be banished to the annuls of time where it  sadly belongs. I understand that savage times once called for savage measures, but in this  enlightened age no one wants to see their mother, clad in poorly fitting armour, jaw barely  attached, riled into a frenzy and pointed at an advancing horde. Immolation by dragon is not  only quicker and cheaper, it is more merciful. All over in a second. Done and dusted. 

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We must consider the future– a future with dragons in it, not the flailing corpse of someone’s  dear mama. To witness the bond between a dragon and its soulkin is a transcendental experience. A soft nudge of the nose. A gentle snort of affection. How is this akin to waving a  skull-topped staff about, chanting savagely, while coffins are torn asunder, and graves are  befouled by fountains of dark maggick? And if I may be so bold as to answer your question,  there have been seven– a mere and paltry seven– deaths from dragon inflicted injuries over the  past twelve months. A reassuring statistic indeed, considering only last week an innocent child  was caught in one of your ‘pop up’ blood rituals and now has three heads. I will be contacting  the Corporation of Unholy Necromancers by immediate raven to request your completed risk  assessments– which you will find is my public right. Yet, being frank, if you conduct your  personal business in the same way you do your professional affairs, I expect to find your  paperwork similarly as lacking and bereft of substance.  

Yours in considerable vexation, 

MWoodsmear 

Maximillian Woodsmear 

Head of Responsible Wizardry and Dragon Related Affairs in Garrimar 

*With the exception of:  Red Thunderers, Classic Blacks, Brooding Queens, Unbrooding Queens, Recently Bereaved Queens,  Green Thrashers, Brown-Nosed Rattlers, Horned Poisonscales and Lesser Frilled Child-eating Thwites.  **Garrimaian Civil Service Dept of Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics.

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Letter found published in The Fireland Tribune 

Dated 1^st Nobembervary 244ADD 

EDITOR’S NOTE 

By Ms Solissa Wintlicket  

With express agreement from Skullripper Bearspleen Esq, the following letter has been edited into  full sentences from the original transcript delivered to the Tribune’s editorial staff on the flayed hide  of a former enemy. We now request that all mail be delivered to our offices by hand (preferably still  attached to a body), or sent by an accredited avian carrier service, double spaced, on regular  parchment. Our journalistic code of conduct dictates that we try to accurately convey our  contributor’s words without prejudice or bias, however, we were at a disadvantage when half the  manuscript was covered in blood and a semi-desiccated nipple had cunningly been used as a full  stop. The editorial team has since been given a week off to recover.  

Replies and comments welcomed at the usual address.  

To man who make dead things not dead and big sparkle hat man, 

Skullripper much angry. Why use dragon or dead thing when fists are good? We born with  two fist and one head. Fist for smash. Head for smash when think no good. But point  Skullripper make is- we no need dragon. Dragon bad. Smell bad. Taste bad. Lots of fire. Too  much fire. Run! Not real fire. Only in head. Good. Dead also smell bad. Dead also taste bad. No lick. Explode when hit with club. Make Mrs Bearspleen sad as hard to wash loin cloth  with brain on. Much scrub. No food. Skullripper sleep outside hut. Sad Skullripper. 

Us not savages. No use animal or dead thing for own good. No dead badger ever.  Magnificent badger.  

Tradition is to smash. Smash alone. No take away tradition. Barbarians born to fight.  Barbarians can do job good. Better than dragon, dead thing, but not badger. Magnificent  badger. So soft.  

Say more bad things, Skullripper hit with club.  

No scared magic. No scared dead thing. 

With hope spleen falls out and rots, 

Skullripper Bearspleen  

Lead Ravager of the Badger Clan (North Kyrania)

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Parchment found within K’thall Museum of Rural Life archives. 

Dear Mr Woodsmear, 

I hope this correspondence finds you well. If not, please let us know. Gratitude for your  letter dated 17^th Drow. I lament to inform you that your request to see the risk assessments for BLOOD RITUAL X26519 cannot be fulfilled.  

We understand that it is our obligation to provide these documents upon request; that all  members of the Corporation must fill out the correct corresponding paperwork for the  ritual, summoning, or resurrection that they are conducting. However, after thoroughly  desecrating our records, we cannot find a necromancer registered with us under the name MORTUS CADAVARIUS III Esq.  

This leads us to suspect that your complaint relates to an unregulated practitioner, meaning we will be passing this issue over to our Compliance and Regulatory Service forthwith.  

The Corporation takes such matters very seriously as they pose a grave risk to both other  practitioners and unwitting members of the public. Please rest assured that we will put  every body available onto this frankly concerning matter until a resolution can be  unearthed. 

Yours sincerely, 

Lysette Gravesmore

- Secretary

pp.  

Syrus Grimopollis CUO 

Chief Undead Officer

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Births, deaths, resurrections, and marriages pg.48 

The Fireland Tribune 

Dated 9^th Nobembervary 244 

Births, deaths, resurrections, and marriages pg.48 

The Fireland Tribune 

Dated 11^th Nobembervary 244 

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Wanted ads pg.50 

The Fireland Tribune 

Dated 11^th Nobembervary 244 

WANTED 

A BLOODY SENSE OF HUMOUR What is wrong with you people? Looking at you, old Smearface  

and Mr Bashy Bashy McClubsplat. I reversed the dark maggick on  the child, and resurrected the  

father (gratis). Even let the little  lad have a ride on Laz. Can’t  

believe in this day and age a 

lack of an Academy education  

still singles you out as some kind  of ignoramus. Self-taught 

shouldn’t be a dirty word.  

Decided to start up my own  

company. Come after me at  

your peril. In fact, I welcome it. X III Esq. 

Personal Ads pg.52 

The Fireland Tribune 

Dated 11^th Nobembervary 244 

SEEKING SOMEONE SPECIAL FOR NOTHING DODGY 

Looking for a dead good time? 

Cuddly single, no (living) ties 

seeks genuine and considerate m/f/o of average height for  

companionship / adventure / 

experimental new-wave 

necromancy. GSOH essential.  

Must like small horses. Time  

wasters will be punished or  

ignored (depending on  

preference). Ref: 645213

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Parchment found within K’thall Museum of Rural Life archives. 

Dearest Brother Mortus, 

How have you been? Good, we hope! Sadly, we haven’t seen you since the last retreat– the  one where Brother Carrus went missing. Such a shame we never found him. It must have  been quite a blow to lose your third group leader like that. If you ever need to talk, you  know where we are.  

Anyway, just wanted to drop you a quick message to let you know that a few of us have had a bit of a chat and we think you’re bringing the profession into disrepute. Opse! Please don’t  take it the wrong way, but we won’t be accepting your latest (97^th) application to join us,  and if you’d be kind enough to stop and possibly exile yourself at the earliest possible  convenience, we would all be very much obliged. Thanks loads. 

With warmest regards, 

Brother Ken 

Disciple of the Undying Light

At the Corporation of Holy Necromancers, we understand that your time is precious. Please do not feel like you must respond to this message outside of your normal working pattern. In fact, please don’t respond at all. Just the self-imposed exile is fine. Ta.

Parchment received via raven – Held in Lord Thosselmire the Hoarder’s Private Collection of  Absolutely Uncursed Antiquities 

Mortus, 

You utter cretin! What in the Ungodly Realm do you think you’re playing at?! They’ve sent  Compliance out after you! I’d get the sack if they knew I was warning you, but I can’t forget  what you did back in ‘25, so take this as a debt repaid.  

Mate, you literally only have 2 choices: resurrect a lawyer (I know some good candle sellers)  or get the hell out of Brelan. Practicing Necromancy without a license is punishable by  death! The stupidest sentence going for a necromancer, I know, but I don’t make the rules.  At least, not yet. 

Look, I’m with you regarding this whole idea of sticking two fingers up at ‘the system’ and I  have to agree about the dragons, they’re sodding useless (weapons of mass repression  manufactured by the bourgeoisie elite more like) but there’s very little we can do about it.  

This has all got totally out of hand.  

I’m worried about you.  

If you need to lie low and plan your next move, I spoke to Clair and so long as you don’t try  to hit on her again, or show her those disturbing woodcut prints you keep in your ‘special  bag’, we’re happy for you to stay at ours. We have a spare crypt you can crash in. You can  even bring Laz.  

In the meantime, just don’t do anything daft, like getting caught in a warzone or going  through with that business plan Grauk the goblin trader told you was ‘watertight’ and a  ‘great investment’. No one wants or needs an unregulated private hire necromancer moonlighting as a dry-cleaning service, no matter how cheap you’re touting your abilities. 

Anyway, I gotta go. Hope to see you soon. 

Your friend, always, 

Ayrron

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A business card found on the corpse of a Garrimanian soldier: 

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Parchment received via raven – Held in Lord Thosselmire the Hoarder’s Private Collection of  Absolutely Uncursed Antiquities 

Ayrron, 

You’re a life saver, pal, I swear it. I’ll come immediately. Must be doing well for yourself if  you can afford all these nice ravens. I’ve had secondhand homing pigeons for the last three  years and they are not reliable. Anyway, pleased for you, mate, always were a salt of the  earth type.  

Never realised you and Clair were an item. Sorry, won’t happen again. Just gets a bit lonely  out on the road. I’ve been scraping by. Tried to get in with the Holy lot but they were  cramping my style, so I just gave up and started temping for that hot vampire princess, Rezenia. She’s alright. Had me performing blood ritual after blood ritual as I couldn’t get the  temperature right. I mean, I totally get why you’d want to use a necromancer, saves so  much mess, but I’m built for greater things than conjuring some undead lady’s bath water.  We had to go our separate ways. 

I hope it won’t be too hard getting to you. There’s just been so many attacks from South  Kyrania lately, I have no idea where’s safe and where’s not. Still, don’t worry about me. I’ll  be fine. Just make sure you put the cauldron on. 

Joking aside, all this makes me wish I hadn’t listened to Count Tsnassis- you remember- that  lich who employed me because he thought I had nice hair. Never understood that. But  anyway, everyone thinks liches are terrifying. They’re not. All they do is read, and the Count  was incredibly polite: Please go put this little bit of my soul in that box over there. Thank you ever so much, much obliged. Make sure it’s sealed, it’ll stay fresh for longer. 

Being an intellectual type, I’d been sharing some of my frustrations with him (and my latest  supply of pure Bolgarvian corpse mold). I know, I know, I’m trying to quit, but we came up  with this idea to really put necromancy on the map; get people talking! I’d never  gatecrashed a symposium before, but it was the perfect platform to really raise the stakes.  Just because we bring dead things back to life, it doesn’t make us evil, does it? and  stockpiling dragons is only going to lead the continent to a very dark place indeed. We can’t  have that. I’m scared, Ayrron, and I think other people are too. They’re just too afraid to say it. But I’m not. Maybe this was what I was born for? My calling. Finally. 

Gawd, I need to cut back on the corpse mold, don’t I? 

Anyhoo, see you soon. Besties for life. 

Mortus 

PS. Laz has had colic recently, so if you have any spare buckets, that’d be great.

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Manfred Sploke. “He Came with Dubious Intent.” The Dark Days - Anthology of Kyranian War Poetry, edited by Shanna Snare. Issue 2, Greytowers Lit, 246 ADD

He Came with Dubious Intent 

From the North he came 

staff sweating bloody light 

trail of bodies rising 

crimson brothers 

in arms, some without 

indiscriminate was his choice 

to save 

this father of bones 

as ravagers surrounded  

tender flesh 

hundred to one 

eyes of badger, magnificent badger 

gold banners of Garrimar  

pierced softly failing hearts 

possible ally we hoped, we prayed 

yet man of dubious intent 

ran screaming through the battlefield 

and out the other side.

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Telegraph found in the postal archives of The Brelan Telegraphic Company and absolutely  not triple folded and used as a wedge for a wonky table leg in the Postmaster’s break room. 

To: General SNAGSBEARD of South Kyrania. 

We need to talk.  

I have your daughter and you have my son. In some perplexing capacity.  Truce proposed for exchange. Two days from now. Border Crossing 13D. 12 noon.  

From: War Marshal ENGELBALM of Garrimar. 

Additional. Bring a wizard. 

Additional additional. Bring two.

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Parchment received via raven – Held in Lord Thosselmire the Hoarder’s Private Collection of  Absolutely Uncursed Antiquities. 

Ayrron, 

I may have done a bit of an opse. Don’t read the news, okay. Whatever you do, do not let Clair read the news. I’ll be with you in a few days. I may need more than a cup of tea. Get  the special ‘top shelf’ elixir ready. 

Yours, 

Mortus 

PS. How’d you get badger stains out of a tunic? Asking for a friend.

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Diary entries of Clair Marshspire – Held within The Blackthorne Archives – Many thanks to  The Society of Venerable Necromancers for their assistance in obtaining and sharing these  deeply private correspondences. 

Dear Diary, 

I honestly don’t know what my betrothed sees in the ignoramus he calls ‘his best friend’!!!  

Since Mortus arrived, the two have been inseparable. Physically. That idiot of a walking carcass collects curses the same way a street dog collects fleas. It took the best part of two hours for me  to un-hex them. I told them not to shake hands, but would they listen? Seeing as Ayrron’s been  going around burning all the newspapers, I can only assume Mortus is in them, and not in a good  way. Not that I care.  

How that man’s still alive is beyond me. Maybe he isn’t. He certainly doesn’t smell it. We gave  him the guest bedroom, but he insisted on sleeping with Laz, as ‘the poor mite’s not been too  perky lately’. Idiot. 

That horse is dead. Truly deceased. It’s not been well for a long time, but Ayrron glares every  time I mention it. It’s like having an undead elephant in the room. Can’t hurt his feelings. Like he  has any. 

This is all we need right now.

Dear Diary, 

Ayrron’s had to travel into work for an emergency conference– something to do with the war.  He didn’t want to leave me, but I insisted. It wouldn’t do for one of his underlings to use this as  an opportunity to usurp power and Syrus is about as competent as a toad running a bakery. If I  could find a newspaper, I’d probably have a better idea of what’s going on, but Ayrron said this would give me some quality time to spend with Mortus and get to know him a little better.  Brilliant. That’ll really keep the stress levels down.

I have just received five long distance eagles carrying bales of dry cleaning. There are no words.

Mortus tried to explain about the laundry, but I just couldn’t bear listening to his inane drivel a  moment longer, so sent him outside to play with Laz. I thought this would be the safest option for all involved, however, when I looked out the window, he was re-animating next door’s pet  rabbit, Lucky. 

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You cannot leave this man alone for five minutes!  

Young Rachel Dandybridge was in tears! And understandably so! I trudged out, ready to hex that  idiot back into last feast day, but Mrs Dandybridge stopped me, saying Rachel had asked him to,  as she’d never had a chance to say goodbye to her beloved Lucky, who had died from... I think it  was insomnia or something, I wasn’t exactly listening by this point.  

Thankfully, the spell only lasted until sundown (this is why I am a huge advocate of cremation)  and Lucky hopped (a somewhat delusional verb considering what was left) back into his grave and died for a second time. But for some reason, the child was happy.  

I invited Mortus back inside, but we haven’t spoken since. Why must he vex me like this?!!!! I  know the darkest of maggick. I could smite him, and that stupid smile, clean off his face. 

I’m tired. Smiting can wait until tomorrow. 

Dear Diary, 

Mortus tried to show me something from his ‘special bag’. I contemplated turning him into a  frog. I’m getting rather uncomfortable now and don’t know how much longer I can take this torture. I regret whatever choices I made in a previous life that have led me to this day. 

I miss Ayrron. I hope he is doing something worthwhile with his time like planning a coup.  

Dear Diary, 

Mortus made me breakfast.  

It was inedible. 

Even Laz refused to eat it when I tossed it outside. I set it alight with a mild immolation spell as  I did not wish for any wildlife to be harmed should it be ingested. 

I was surprised when Mortus apologised. Not for attempting to poison me with breakfast, which  I felt was by far a more serious crime, but for attempting to affront me with items from his  ‘special bag’. Apparently, all he had wanted to do was show me a picture of him and Ayrron,  back when Ayrron still had his leg. Ayrron never told me how he lost it. He said it had been  fighting a dragon. Obviously, I never believed him. 

I’m wondering if I should let Mortus talk. I am also wondering if I will have eternal regrets.

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We talked. 

It’s strange, I knew they’d both grown up in the same village, I just hadn’t known it had been  Eastern Sl’ssa– famous for poverty, bootleg scrumpy and unexploded curse mines. Despite the  danger, Ayrron’s family couldn’t afford to move, every penny going towards his education at the  Academy. I never knew that. I’d assumed, what with his sharp wit, smart robes and well groomed beard, he’d come from aristocratic stock, like me. Apparently not.  

Mortus said he’d been there when Ayrron lost his leg. They’d been playing, just outside of town,  when Ayrron accidentally trod on a mine. It was the worst kind, hitting him with a blood curse,  causing instant effects. He should have died, but Ayrron had secretly been teaching Mortus all he  knew, with his friend excelling in one particular area– necromancy. But the only thing that  nurtured talent was coin back then, and Mortus had none of that– his father a drunk and his  mother… he said he remembered her saying she would be back with bread soon.  

All the way to the local healer, Mortus revived the dead and dying tissue inside Ayrron’s body,  fearlessly battling the curse. When they arrived, they both collapsed, exhausted, on the edge of  life. Mortus had done enough to save most of Ayrron, except his leg. The healer/local vet took  care of that with a healing incantation and a three-foot equine bone saw. 

I foolishly assumed Ayrron’s parents were overjoyed to discover he remained in the realm of the  living, but Mortus said they were not. They blamed the whole thing on him (and having suffered  their judgment on numerous occasions, found a smidgen of compassion ignite between us). He  was banished from Sl’ssa and forced to go his own way in life. He was just a child. He tried to  continue his education, but no one wanted to teach him, so, he taught himself. 

This explains so so much.

Made us supper and sent back the dry cleaning. Petted Laz. 

I was hoping Mortus’s story would be the only revelation of the day, but alas, that was not to be.  I’ve just gone into labour. 

Two months early.

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Registrar: Aster Dawn-Wallis

CERTIFIED TO BE A TRUE COPY OF AN ENTRY INTO THE REGISTER IN MY CUSTODY

Ggov.Bcert.375 – Birth Certificate Standard Format – Mortals Only - Rev 5 – (Drow 243)

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Parchment donated to the ‘Society of Relics’ by The Snagsbeard Family Father of the Bride’s Speech, dated 17^th Mil 245ADD 

Good evening, 

Thank you all for coming to celebrate this illustrious day. I am Evven Snagsbeard, father of  the bride. I just wanted to say a quick thank you to all who have made today possible, with a  special mention to Warwolf Sisters - Portable Catapults and Trebuchets for decorating my  daughter’s favourite siege engine and allowing her to make- what I think we can all agree  (look to crowd for nods of affirmation) a quite memorable entrance.  

As I look at this woman before me now, clad in beautiful plate armour, carrying the sword of  my forebears, I cannot help but take a moment to reflect on the fact that only six months  ago, her body was acting as a corrupted mortal shell to the essence of my most hated  enemy’s only son. How things change! (Pause for laughter) 

Today she has become joined- without the intervention of ill-cast death magic- in holy  matrimony to a wonderful young man. I see in her eyes, not only that same glint of life I  witnessed on the day of her birth, but also sparks of love… which is why we’re keeping her  away from any gunpowder, despite her protestations. (Pause for more laughter- hopefully.  Address daughter) 

May Chronis provide you with the support and sparring partner that you have long been  seeking. May your arguments be short and your tempers long. A finer match I could not  have hoped for. This day, I am not only proud to be your father, but also a father-in-law. (Back to the room) 

Sometimes it takes a miracle to change the world, but in my case, I owe the happiness of my  beloved daughter to that of a stranger. A stranger who took has sought no credit, no fame,  no reward for what they did. Thanks to them, I am confident that should they wish it, Livia and Chronis’s children will grow up in a world where the threat of dragons will be nullified,  dark magic will be better regulated, and war will be nothing more than a distant memory.  

With the joining of our two families, I see an allegiance that will last the ages. To new beginnings. (Raise glass, pause) 

And of course, our eternal thanks to the unknown stranger. Whoever you may be, we owe  you everything.  

To the unknown stranger. (Raise glass, pause) 

And to finish, a blessing on all of you. I wish you health, wealth and happiness. I never  believed in the possibility of enemies to lovers, and yet I see before me today, the very  definition of that.  

To enemies. To Lovers. (Raise glass, pause, sit down, down pint)

Except from: Serena Ledress, The History of Necromancy in Garrimar (Brelan: Belljar Press,  325ADD). 

Chapter 9 – The Blackthorne Era 

After the War of Mages, the shortest documented war in the Third Continent’s history, lasting  approximately 39 seconds, Ayrron Blackthorne usurped Syrus Grimopollis to become CUO of  the Corporation of Unholy Necromancers (tCoUN) in 246ADD after discovering a plot to  increase tensions between Garrimar and South Kyrania with a view to restarting the war.  Peace had been surprisingly popular and Corporation members sided unanimously with  Blackthorne, Grimopollis reduced to a pile of ash after challenging his previously trusted  second in command to a duel. His charred monocle can still be seen to this day in the K’thall  Museum of Rural Life archives. 

A year after becoming CUO, Blackthorne married Archmage Clair Marshspire, who had been  a key voice in writing the Highgrave Peace Treaties, signed in early 245ADD, uniting North and  South Kyrania with Garrimar (after an unexpected love affair between Livia Snagsbeard and  Chronis Engelbalm, brought the waring nations together with surprising efficiency). As  Chronis and Livia so delicately stated on their wedding day, ‘it’s amazing what can happen if  you’re forced to live within another person’s body for two months’. 

Skullripper Bearspleen, representative of North Kyrania’s Ravager Clans, was asked to preside  at their nuptials to ensure the state’s representation. All was going well until the end of the  ceremony, when a hundred badgers were set loose upon the congregation. Luckily this did  not escalate any tensions, with the badgers corralled and set free within the local countryside.  However, as one senior dignitary noted ‘there is a reason people tend to prefer using doves’.¹ 

After the war, Clair Blackthorne became a popular societal figure and highly regarded Peace  Ambassador, involved in drafting legislation that saw curse mines banned from use across the  Third Continent. She also arranged a cleanup of the entire Sl’ssa region, which she headed  personally, alongside a team of highly trained maggick detecting rats. This went on to be one  of the most popular charitable organisations in the land until it was disbanded in 268ADD, once all the mines had been cleared, its mission complete.  

Clair was considered a popular figure and was beloved by many, her charitable works well  documented– a surprising turn of events from her younger days when she acted as High  Mage and council to Dowager Queen, Morgrath, Nightmother of the T’lgrey Clan. In an  interview with Coven & Cohort²she admitted she had once cared very little for the plight of  the lesserfolk, but on experiencing a difficult labour with her first child, owed the safe delivery  of her daughter to one such commoner, who she had previously dismissed, remarking, ‘one’s 

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background and hardships should not be taken as an indication of character. It is more often  than not ourselves who are the ones deceived by our own prejudices’. 

Thanks to the unwavering support of his wife and wishing to create a better future for his  young daughter, Ayrron Blackthorne became one of the best-known leaders of tCoUN, using  his power and influence to bring about great reform within in the profession. He was best  known for hosting numerous open (casket) days and festivals to allow those who had once  been skeptical of the discipline, to see necromancy as a craft and vocation, rather than a  hobby for society’s degenerate misfits. 

As the years progressed, necromancy became more of an artform, with competitions  nationwide to showcase the many facets of its practitioner’s abilities, the ever popular ‘That’s  Not My Ear’ and speed re-incarnations drawing crowds of over seven thousand in arenas  throughout Garrimar. The only public spectacle able to compete with this was dragon racing.  With many war breeds no longer required, the smaller, more domesticated species became  highly favoured, especially in the northern regions, with a number of Ravager clans turning  away from a hostile lifestyle to breed racing thwites, with some eggs auctioned at over two  million groats a piece. A statue of the fastest land dragon to date, Klyvar the Unstoppable,  can still be seen in Ulderbricht Stadium, next to a memorial to members of the Badger Clan lost at the Second Battle of Mossbrook, who were sadly not resurrected due to their souls  getting lost before they could be rebonded with their bodies.  

The increased popularity of necromancy within the social and cultural zeitgeist of the early  50s was mostly thanks to Ayrron Blackthorne’s decision to hire his lifelong friend, Morton  Corvish, better known as Mortus Cadavarius III Esq. to be tCoUN’s first Public Relations  Officer, with Ayrron jokingly describing his associate as ‘the real face of necromancy’, a role  that suited Cadavarius well, bringing his own brand of humour to the horrific realities of  reanimation. He actively backed scholarships and student assistance programs that offered support to those from disadvantaged backgrounds and was responsible for finding some of the Corporation’s freshest new talent, much to the chagrin of the Academy. He was finally  awarded his level one certificate in Ethical Exhumation at the age of forty-five, but decided  academia was not for him, and quit soon after. 

Cadavarius never married, but did have a number of disastrous, high-profile affairs, including  former client, Princess Rezenia, who left him after he almost incinerated her on their fourth  date by opening some curtains. Eventually, Cadavarius gave up on love, immersing himself  instead in his work, buying a small plot of land close to The Tower of the Undying, where he  lived in relative solitude and quiet contemplation for the rest of his days. He was outlived by  his Thurgian pony, Lazarus, who he bequeathed to Rose Blackthorne, the only child of Ayrron  and Clair, and one of the few beings he allowed to visit him in his dotage. 

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It is interesting to note that Rose Blackthorne never publicly spoke of the man she described  as ‘a creepy uncle, but not in that way’³, but it was noted that after she took over leadership  of tCoUN from her father (known as the Golden Age of Necromancy) it was marked with the  kind of wisdom more expected of a practitioner twice her age. She possessed a calm and stoic  demeanor, having inherited the ever-enquiring mind of her mother and the sharp drive and  innovation of her father, both of whom she honoured after their passing by naming a new  library of cursed books and antiquities after them. These became known as the Blackthorne Archives and have the lowest mortality rate of any grimoire depository in all the Southern  Continents⁴. 

Rose also purchased the entirety of the Tower of the Undying, forcing the Corporation of Holy  Necromancers to move out, which they did, amicably, even leaving the furniture. She  remodeled the top of the tower into her own quarters, deciding, unlike any prior CUO, to live  on site.  

Records do not explain the reason behind this seemingly random decision, however, late at  night, Rose could often be heard conversing with a stranger by candlelight, yet whenever any  of her colleagues entered the room, she was found to be inexplicably alone, but always,  unfailingly, smiling.  

¹ Woodsmear, M. Beyond Dragons: Memoirs of a Life in Interesting Times (Brelan: Nestor  Publishing, 258ADD). 

² Wishword, E.L. (251ADD). An Interview with an Archmage. Coven & Cohort - for the  discerning modern witch and warlock, 183, 24-26 

³ Smite, V. (259ADD) Conversation with Rose Blackthorne, 4 Jev. (Information provided by  Rose’s closest friend, Veronika Smite) 

⁴ As of date of publication.

Zoe Davis is an emerging writer and artist from Sheffield, England. A Quality Engineer by day, she spends evenings and weekends writing poetry and prose but especially enjoys exploring the interaction between the fantastical and the mundane. You can follow her on X @MeanerHarker.