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Aleric was a kind man. Generous to those who served him, and cruel to those against. He was a man of efficiency, but also of empathy. As the Earl of a King’s vassal state, it was imperative that he maintained the favour of his subordinates. But when a time did come that an enemy were to show their face, they were dispatched, with the utmost discretion. For that purpose, he had his hands.
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Not the ones upon his wrists, that now shook with every waking moment. No, the red hands of the Earl remained in the shadows, until the moment they were called upon to strike.
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Yes, he knew the rules of the game. And he knew how to cheat them. How to puppet the strings of the throne, using his age as a shroud. How to make his enemies serve his will. Yes, the game was a joyous one, to him at least. And here, in the royal throne room, was his favourite place to play.
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An ornately dressed man stepped through the throne room door, declaring in a stately voice, “All hail, his highness, the good king Sigmund the third.”
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At this, the hall doors pushed open, evoking a thunderous toll as they closed behind the king himself. It was safe to say that the face did not fit the name. This man was not elegant, nor was he stately. Rather, he appeared young, yet hardened, and unkempt, clad in a simple black gambeson. At his entrance, Aleric and the other vassals all took a bow.
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The king leaned with both hands upon the long table, stating, “I have summoned you all to this counsel for one reason: the plague.”
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Murmurs began to circulate between the vassals, as Aleric’s interest was piqued.
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A voice spoke from the right side of the table, “Your highness, while I would not seek to contradict you, the plague is just that: a plague. We have suffered them before, and we will suffer them again. These tall tales of corpses marching to war, rott kin, are no more than scuttlebutt.”
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The king turned to his vassals, “Whether you would have it or not, this is the truth: the living dead march upon us, as can be backed, by the Earl Dascule.” he stated, gesturing towards Aleric. “This is not only a plague. It is an assault.”
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“I’m afraid his majesty is correct.” Aleric stated in his raspy voice, “These Rott-Kin march to battle, rather than stumbling within a shuffling horde. They are no mob of beasts, but an organised, albeit feral, militia.”
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“And whom do you propose would have the audacity to erect an army of these ‘Rott-Kin’, let alone train them by some means.” another of the vassals interjected.
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Aleric answered with a raised voice, growing impatient with his comrades, “I may be in my waning years, Viscount, but this was not always the case. I have fought many wars. Slain many foes. And I have seen things that would haunt you to the end of your days, as they do me!” Many of the other vassals began to shrink back into their seats, reminded once again that the guise of a feeble old man was but a veil. “There are powers in this world beyond you, beyond any of us. And death is their tool."
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The king stood up then, attempting to calm himself, declaring, "Perhaps, the Earl Dascule would like to elaborate."
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Aleric sighed. "Of course, your highness." Aleric turned to one of the men in waiting, "I bid thee to the library, fetch any scroll tome or paper involving the name 'Morturi'."
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"Yes my lord."
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"Now, in regard to your request." Aleric began, "Tell me, have you heard tell of the Scholars of Mortem?"
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"I can't say I have."
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"Necromancers, apprentices to the Lich of the east. Taught to master decay, and plague."
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"You mean to tell me…" began one of the vassals.
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"That this 'Scholar of Mortem' does not master the Rott Kin…" The king continued.
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Aleric answered, “They create them."
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It was then that the man sent to the library returned, arms filled with scrolls and tomes.
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Aleric turned to his fellow vassals, "We have work to do.”
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