Post by Tismri on May 13, 2016 13:16:02 GMT -5
So, you may or may not be aware that I am in the process of rewriting my book. Sadly, completely rewriting it from scratch because I lost the original file and have no idea where my hard copy is. I know it's going to be much better this time around and look forward to seeing the end result, although it's been rather slow going due to a number of personal issues preventing me from writing as much as I want.
However, on a whim I wrote this chapter recently. I have a vague idea of where I want to put it, and in general it is VERY rough at the moment. When I get to where I want to add it into the book, it's going to see a lot more polish. The main thing would be that I want more time between when Matthew warns Jeriah about the necromancers and when she actually meets Xerra. If possible, I'd prefer to have the two events in separate chapters. Beyond that, I want to fix the conversation to make it more clear why Jeriah decides to talk with Xerra rather than attack or warn the others.
My idea for Xerra came about when I began toying with the idea of vampires. I didn't want to make them in the traditional sense, but I would rather like to have dangerous magicians early on in the story. Really, the only thing that makes Xerra a "vampire" is that she and her kind drink blood. As for her appearance, it was inspired by one of the avatars available for custom decks in Magic Duels on Steam and Xbox One.
I have an entire story arc in mind for Xerra involving Jeriah and a few others killing her necromancer master in order to grant her and the other vampires some peace and freedom. I'm not sure exactly when this will happen (whether immediately after this scene, in a later part of the book, or in a separate book entirely) but I am rather looking forward to writing it and expanding my universe beyond what I'd initially imagined. My world has come a long way since high school, and I hope I'll be able to share it with others soon.
So without further ado, here's my introduction to Xerra and necromancy.
Though it was late morning, the sun hardly showed through the dense, heavy trees overhead. Jeriah had a hard time seeing the path before her as their regiment marched through the swamp. Occasionally, she nearly slipped and fell into the mud and dark water that lay on either side, and Matthew or Jerghen would wordlessly catch her. There was an air of unease over the entire squad; many of them seemed openly afraid. Jerghen was clutching his ice rabbit paw so tightly that his hand might be frostbitten by the time they were through. Only Matthew seemed to be unafraid, though he warily gazed around the trees from time to time, his hand never far from his sword.
As for Jeriah herself, she was unsure what exactly everyone feared. Aside from the gloomy atmosphere, she could see nothing more dangerous than most anywhere else in Ismalia. It appeared there were rumors and superstitions about this place she had yet to hear. She was not one to readily believe a place was haunted, and chose not to expect any more danger than what was evident.
The hours passed, and there was still no end in sight for this swamp. Captain Barotte called for a halt before it became too dark to see, and they began the swift process of setting up camp. Everything had a damp, cold feeling, and the best they could manage for fires were small and smoky, giving off little warmth and no good for cooking.
“Jeriah, Petro, Liam,” Barotte commanded, and the three soldiers came to attention. “You three get first watch of the night. Patrol the perimeter, but do not stray too far. The swamp’s full of dangerous things, but do not sound the alarm unless what you find is truly threatening.”
“Yes, Captain!” All three of them saluted. Jeriah turned toward Matthew, who appeared concerned, and Jerghen, who seemed terrified. She tried to ease their worries with a confidant smile. She started to head off on her patrol, but Matthew grabbed her arm.
“There’s more than snakes and alligators in this bog, Jeriah,” he warned her, making sure she was meeting his eyes. “Necromancers were exiled here some years ago, taking their dark magic with them. That is why everyone is afraid.”
“Necromancers?” Jeriah asked, at once nervous and fascinated. It was rare for Matthew to bring up the topic of magic on his own. He was often hesitant even when she pestered him for details. “What exactly do they do?”
“Well, like all magicians, they each perform their magic differently depending on their personalities. But they have an unhealthy intrigue with the dead. Maybe they lost someone close to them before they learned magic, or maybe they are just crazy. But they were deemed too dangerous to live in the cities, or near the citizens, so they were exiled here, taking their abominations with them. Of the three banished here, one of them can resurrect any dead creature, but it is only a shell, with no hint of personality nor will beyond the drive to kill. The second is a soul-thief. Anyone he kills does not die—not exactly—but they become his servants. Often, they are emotionless, with nothing pushing them; however, rumors have it that they regain some clarity by drinking the blood of others. As for the third, she is also a soul-thief, but instead of their bodies, she controls the spirits of those she kills, making them linger rather than move on to the next world in peace.”
Jeriah shivered as she listened to Matthew’s descriptions, wondering how he knew so much about them. It explained why the air of the swamp felt so cold and dank. She would have asked him more, but she knew Barotte expected her to begin her patrol immediately.
“Thank you for the warning,” she told him, pressing her lips together. “I’ll be careful. The captain told us not to cause alarm unless what we see is clearly threatening.” Matthew let her go, and Jeriah began to make her rounds on the outskirts of the camp.
The hours crept by slowly as the night chill settled in. Jeriah could see very little in the heavy darkness that surrounded their camp; there was not enough dry wood to make a useful torch. She wrapped her cloak more snugly around her body as she paced the perimeter. Her watch was nearly over when she noticed something in the distance—or what she judged was distant, as the darkness prevented her from accurately judging depth. All she could tell was that it was white, standing out starkly against the surrounding darkness. The light from the small campfire barely reached it. At first Jeriah thought it was an owl on a low branch. She stood still and kept her eyes on it, touching her sword with one hand and her alarm horn with the other. Whatever it was seemed to drift slowly closer until she was able to make out the figure of a girl nearly her same age.
The girl’s skin was as pale as a cloud, and her hair was like snow. She wore a tattered garment that blended with the surrounding darkness. Her eyes were pale and nearly colorless, only the faintest shade of blue-grey. Despite her worn apparel, there was a circlet of burnished silver on her brow. Her face was devoid of any emotion, her eyes empty. She held a finger to her lips and gestured for Jeriah to approach her. Jeriah hesitated, grasping the hilt of her sword and not taking her eyes off the girl. She didn’t appear to be a threat, but Matthew’s warnings about the necromancers reverberated in her mind. The girl once again gestured to her and took a few steps backward. Despite the potential danger, Jeriah was intrigued. She also did not want this person lurking so near to the camp without anyone watching. She took a few steps forward, but only closed about half the distance between them, staying well within sight and sound of the camp.
“What do you want?” she asked, authoritative, but not overly loud. The girl stared at her blankly for a moment before speaking.
“I was curious about what brought you here.” Her voice was completely monotone, quiet and emotionless, betraying none of the curiosity that she stated. “It is rare for travelers to come this way. The light attracted me.”
“We’re just passing through,” Jeriah assured her, on guard. Everything about this girl shouted that there was something wrong. “Who are you?” she asked, hoping for a straightforward answer.
“I am no one anymore,” the girl stated. “I used to be Xerra. My father was a trusted advisor of the king. That was so long ago, though. Now we are nothing.” Though her expression and voice remained as blank as ever, Jeriah felt that Xerra was incredibly sad as she spoke.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her curiosity growing. “What happened?”
“I had a childhood friend. From early in his life, he was amused by death. It began with insects, and then rodents. Soon he began killing pets; his family took him hunting to try to quell this thirst for blood.” Xerra trailed off for a moment, blinking her pale eyes before continuing. “Taking lives seemed to fill him with ecstasy, a joy he could not put into words. He tried to describe it to me once. One day, he was sent from home to study; what, no one would tell me. For some years, I heard nothing from him. And then one day he barged into my home, all in a rush. He told me that he was going to be exiled and asked me to come with him. I refused, citing my duties to my family. Angered, he said he would allow nothing to separate us. And then he killed me. Strangled me to death. But I did not truly die. I awoke without any true will. I felt nothing. I saw a pool of blood where my father lay dying, stabbed several times. Once he saw me awake, my murderer smiled and bade me follow him. I obeyed without thought, with no control over my own actions, and no will to care.”
The entire speech was given in the same emotionless voice that betrayed the horrifying content. Jeriah was dumbfounded, never expecting to see such blatant evidence of Matthew’s warnings.
“Where…” she hesitated, wondering if she should ask, or if she should retreat and warn the others. Still, Xerra had shown no hostility. “Where is your murderer now?”
“Murderer, master, friend, betrayer…” Xerra named gave him several titles, but never a name. “He broods deeper in the woods, both miserable and overjoyed. It is fortunate that he knows nothing of your presence, else he would desire nothing more than to make each and every one of you his slaves. He already has so many…” Though she had not made effort to meet her eyes before now, she gazed at Jeriah with a blank stare. “You should remain vigilant, however. Not all of his slaves are as docile as I. Most hunger for blood with a gluttonous fury, desperate to feel once again.”
Jeriah thought back to what Matthew had told her earlier: some of the undead could regain their minds by drinking blood. “But why?” she asked, curiously. “What exactly does blood do?”
“Blood is the essence of the soul,” Xerra explained. “By drinking it, we experience the semblance of a soul for a brief time. We are able to feel emotions again, think for ourselves. It is as if we are alive once more. But it only lasts for a short while, and then the blood escapes our bodies, as soulless as we. More than that, it is not truly living. What returns is but a shadow of what we once were. But it is still enough that many desire more. They will consume the blood of hundreds to be able to feel alive again. Once the shadow of their soul returns, they become truly mad.” Xerra’s gaze drifted from Jeriah once more, lost in some place deep inside herself. “Even this soulless existence is preferable to that fate.” Jeriah remained cautious, but she believed the girl’s words. She hadn’t attacked yet, at any rate.
“Where are the others?” she asked, alert for the slightest sound of danger.
“Scattered throughout the marsh, seeking those they might devour. Fortune has favored you to have made it through this far unscathed. Many travelers do not survive their first day.” Like a lazy moth, the undead girl’s eyes drifted back toward Jeriah’s. “There is no reason to harm you and yours. You have been willing to listen to an empty shell speak of things that should no longer matter. Most would have fled or attacked. I will protect you as best I can.”
Jeriah stared at Xerra, confused. It seemed she wanted to keep her regiment safe, but how could she if she had no desires, no will, no soul of her own? “Why would you do that? Aren’t you bound to do your master’s bidding? Or have you found a will of your own?”
“He has become too preoccupied with his mad schemes to care about us individually. I wander without purpose until he commands something of me. As for why I would protect you…” She reached out a white hand toward Jeriah’s face. The soldier pulled her sword a few inches from its sheath, but stopped at the icy touch against her cheek. It was gentle and unexpected. “I see in you a small glimpse of myself. We may be nothing alike, but I believe that my soul would desire to be friends with you.”
Footsteps approached from the camp, and Jeriah heard a voice calling her name. She was late returning from her patrol. She touched Xerra’s hand, shivering from its lifeless feel.
“Thank you, Xerra,” she said. “I wish I could have known you as well. I appreciate you watching over us.” She turned away and walked back toward the encampment. When she was within the tents, she glanced back at where the undead girl had stood and saw nothing but darkness.
However, on a whim I wrote this chapter recently. I have a vague idea of where I want to put it, and in general it is VERY rough at the moment. When I get to where I want to add it into the book, it's going to see a lot more polish. The main thing would be that I want more time between when Matthew warns Jeriah about the necromancers and when she actually meets Xerra. If possible, I'd prefer to have the two events in separate chapters. Beyond that, I want to fix the conversation to make it more clear why Jeriah decides to talk with Xerra rather than attack or warn the others.
My idea for Xerra came about when I began toying with the idea of vampires. I didn't want to make them in the traditional sense, but I would rather like to have dangerous magicians early on in the story. Really, the only thing that makes Xerra a "vampire" is that she and her kind drink blood. As for her appearance, it was inspired by one of the avatars available for custom decks in Magic Duels on Steam and Xbox One.
I have an entire story arc in mind for Xerra involving Jeriah and a few others killing her necromancer master in order to grant her and the other vampires some peace and freedom. I'm not sure exactly when this will happen (whether immediately after this scene, in a later part of the book, or in a separate book entirely) but I am rather looking forward to writing it and expanding my universe beyond what I'd initially imagined. My world has come a long way since high school, and I hope I'll be able to share it with others soon.
So without further ado, here's my introduction to Xerra and necromancy.
Though it was late morning, the sun hardly showed through the dense, heavy trees overhead. Jeriah had a hard time seeing the path before her as their regiment marched through the swamp. Occasionally, she nearly slipped and fell into the mud and dark water that lay on either side, and Matthew or Jerghen would wordlessly catch her. There was an air of unease over the entire squad; many of them seemed openly afraid. Jerghen was clutching his ice rabbit paw so tightly that his hand might be frostbitten by the time they were through. Only Matthew seemed to be unafraid, though he warily gazed around the trees from time to time, his hand never far from his sword.
As for Jeriah herself, she was unsure what exactly everyone feared. Aside from the gloomy atmosphere, she could see nothing more dangerous than most anywhere else in Ismalia. It appeared there were rumors and superstitions about this place she had yet to hear. She was not one to readily believe a place was haunted, and chose not to expect any more danger than what was evident.
The hours passed, and there was still no end in sight for this swamp. Captain Barotte called for a halt before it became too dark to see, and they began the swift process of setting up camp. Everything had a damp, cold feeling, and the best they could manage for fires were small and smoky, giving off little warmth and no good for cooking.
“Jeriah, Petro, Liam,” Barotte commanded, and the three soldiers came to attention. “You three get first watch of the night. Patrol the perimeter, but do not stray too far. The swamp’s full of dangerous things, but do not sound the alarm unless what you find is truly threatening.”
“Yes, Captain!” All three of them saluted. Jeriah turned toward Matthew, who appeared concerned, and Jerghen, who seemed terrified. She tried to ease their worries with a confidant smile. She started to head off on her patrol, but Matthew grabbed her arm.
“There’s more than snakes and alligators in this bog, Jeriah,” he warned her, making sure she was meeting his eyes. “Necromancers were exiled here some years ago, taking their dark magic with them. That is why everyone is afraid.”
“Necromancers?” Jeriah asked, at once nervous and fascinated. It was rare for Matthew to bring up the topic of magic on his own. He was often hesitant even when she pestered him for details. “What exactly do they do?”
“Well, like all magicians, they each perform their magic differently depending on their personalities. But they have an unhealthy intrigue with the dead. Maybe they lost someone close to them before they learned magic, or maybe they are just crazy. But they were deemed too dangerous to live in the cities, or near the citizens, so they were exiled here, taking their abominations with them. Of the three banished here, one of them can resurrect any dead creature, but it is only a shell, with no hint of personality nor will beyond the drive to kill. The second is a soul-thief. Anyone he kills does not die—not exactly—but they become his servants. Often, they are emotionless, with nothing pushing them; however, rumors have it that they regain some clarity by drinking the blood of others. As for the third, she is also a soul-thief, but instead of their bodies, she controls the spirits of those she kills, making them linger rather than move on to the next world in peace.”
Jeriah shivered as she listened to Matthew’s descriptions, wondering how he knew so much about them. It explained why the air of the swamp felt so cold and dank. She would have asked him more, but she knew Barotte expected her to begin her patrol immediately.
“Thank you for the warning,” she told him, pressing her lips together. “I’ll be careful. The captain told us not to cause alarm unless what we see is clearly threatening.” Matthew let her go, and Jeriah began to make her rounds on the outskirts of the camp.
The hours crept by slowly as the night chill settled in. Jeriah could see very little in the heavy darkness that surrounded their camp; there was not enough dry wood to make a useful torch. She wrapped her cloak more snugly around her body as she paced the perimeter. Her watch was nearly over when she noticed something in the distance—or what she judged was distant, as the darkness prevented her from accurately judging depth. All she could tell was that it was white, standing out starkly against the surrounding darkness. The light from the small campfire barely reached it. At first Jeriah thought it was an owl on a low branch. She stood still and kept her eyes on it, touching her sword with one hand and her alarm horn with the other. Whatever it was seemed to drift slowly closer until she was able to make out the figure of a girl nearly her same age.
The girl’s skin was as pale as a cloud, and her hair was like snow. She wore a tattered garment that blended with the surrounding darkness. Her eyes were pale and nearly colorless, only the faintest shade of blue-grey. Despite her worn apparel, there was a circlet of burnished silver on her brow. Her face was devoid of any emotion, her eyes empty. She held a finger to her lips and gestured for Jeriah to approach her. Jeriah hesitated, grasping the hilt of her sword and not taking her eyes off the girl. She didn’t appear to be a threat, but Matthew’s warnings about the necromancers reverberated in her mind. The girl once again gestured to her and took a few steps backward. Despite the potential danger, Jeriah was intrigued. She also did not want this person lurking so near to the camp without anyone watching. She took a few steps forward, but only closed about half the distance between them, staying well within sight and sound of the camp.
“What do you want?” she asked, authoritative, but not overly loud. The girl stared at her blankly for a moment before speaking.
“I was curious about what brought you here.” Her voice was completely monotone, quiet and emotionless, betraying none of the curiosity that she stated. “It is rare for travelers to come this way. The light attracted me.”
“We’re just passing through,” Jeriah assured her, on guard. Everything about this girl shouted that there was something wrong. “Who are you?” she asked, hoping for a straightforward answer.
“I am no one anymore,” the girl stated. “I used to be Xerra. My father was a trusted advisor of the king. That was so long ago, though. Now we are nothing.” Though her expression and voice remained as blank as ever, Jeriah felt that Xerra was incredibly sad as she spoke.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her curiosity growing. “What happened?”
“I had a childhood friend. From early in his life, he was amused by death. It began with insects, and then rodents. Soon he began killing pets; his family took him hunting to try to quell this thirst for blood.” Xerra trailed off for a moment, blinking her pale eyes before continuing. “Taking lives seemed to fill him with ecstasy, a joy he could not put into words. He tried to describe it to me once. One day, he was sent from home to study; what, no one would tell me. For some years, I heard nothing from him. And then one day he barged into my home, all in a rush. He told me that he was going to be exiled and asked me to come with him. I refused, citing my duties to my family. Angered, he said he would allow nothing to separate us. And then he killed me. Strangled me to death. But I did not truly die. I awoke without any true will. I felt nothing. I saw a pool of blood where my father lay dying, stabbed several times. Once he saw me awake, my murderer smiled and bade me follow him. I obeyed without thought, with no control over my own actions, and no will to care.”
The entire speech was given in the same emotionless voice that betrayed the horrifying content. Jeriah was dumbfounded, never expecting to see such blatant evidence of Matthew’s warnings.
“Where…” she hesitated, wondering if she should ask, or if she should retreat and warn the others. Still, Xerra had shown no hostility. “Where is your murderer now?”
“Murderer, master, friend, betrayer…” Xerra named gave him several titles, but never a name. “He broods deeper in the woods, both miserable and overjoyed. It is fortunate that he knows nothing of your presence, else he would desire nothing more than to make each and every one of you his slaves. He already has so many…” Though she had not made effort to meet her eyes before now, she gazed at Jeriah with a blank stare. “You should remain vigilant, however. Not all of his slaves are as docile as I. Most hunger for blood with a gluttonous fury, desperate to feel once again.”
Jeriah thought back to what Matthew had told her earlier: some of the undead could regain their minds by drinking blood. “But why?” she asked, curiously. “What exactly does blood do?”
“Blood is the essence of the soul,” Xerra explained. “By drinking it, we experience the semblance of a soul for a brief time. We are able to feel emotions again, think for ourselves. It is as if we are alive once more. But it only lasts for a short while, and then the blood escapes our bodies, as soulless as we. More than that, it is not truly living. What returns is but a shadow of what we once were. But it is still enough that many desire more. They will consume the blood of hundreds to be able to feel alive again. Once the shadow of their soul returns, they become truly mad.” Xerra’s gaze drifted from Jeriah once more, lost in some place deep inside herself. “Even this soulless existence is preferable to that fate.” Jeriah remained cautious, but she believed the girl’s words. She hadn’t attacked yet, at any rate.
“Where are the others?” she asked, alert for the slightest sound of danger.
“Scattered throughout the marsh, seeking those they might devour. Fortune has favored you to have made it through this far unscathed. Many travelers do not survive their first day.” Like a lazy moth, the undead girl’s eyes drifted back toward Jeriah’s. “There is no reason to harm you and yours. You have been willing to listen to an empty shell speak of things that should no longer matter. Most would have fled or attacked. I will protect you as best I can.”
Jeriah stared at Xerra, confused. It seemed she wanted to keep her regiment safe, but how could she if she had no desires, no will, no soul of her own? “Why would you do that? Aren’t you bound to do your master’s bidding? Or have you found a will of your own?”
“He has become too preoccupied with his mad schemes to care about us individually. I wander without purpose until he commands something of me. As for why I would protect you…” She reached out a white hand toward Jeriah’s face. The soldier pulled her sword a few inches from its sheath, but stopped at the icy touch against her cheek. It was gentle and unexpected. “I see in you a small glimpse of myself. We may be nothing alike, but I believe that my soul would desire to be friends with you.”
Footsteps approached from the camp, and Jeriah heard a voice calling her name. She was late returning from her patrol. She touched Xerra’s hand, shivering from its lifeless feel.
“Thank you, Xerra,” she said. “I wish I could have known you as well. I appreciate you watching over us.” She turned away and walked back toward the encampment. When she was within the tents, she glanced back at where the undead girl had stood and saw nothing but darkness.
