The Pale Horses Cometh

This was an inevitability, eventually Wendara’s sisters would hear of this, it’s not often that a Lich Queen takes territory before The Deadlands grow to encompass it.

Even now she can feel them approaching, their presence felt far and wide as their potent magical energy swells and compounds atop each other, creating a miasma that slowly kills all things near, the grass wilts, the birds fall from the sky and the waters become poisonous.

Even the undead aren’t wholly immune to the sensation as they stumble about, creating small groans that hold more then a little anxiety.

A particular zombie stumbles forth, approaching the throne that Wendara now sits in, preparing to hold court for her calamitous siblings.

She’s a plain looking woman, wearing what were once fine traveling clothes, now torn and splattering with blood and mud leading Wendara to think her a merchant.

A chunk of shredded flesh hangs from her neck, painting a clear image of her final moments. Wendara doesn’t feel pity the way a human or elf might, it’s much more clinical and cold, ‘how unfortunate’ She thought, had she simply not chosen this city to visit she might be out picking berries or hocking baubles or whatever she used to do.

Her eyes are milky and vacant, but The Lich Queen can look past the material, delving into the soul of the newly risen dead, parts of her yet remain.

As they connect, the lich can feel her soul take on some of the aspects of the poor creature, she smells freshly picked flowers, she feels the sun shining down upon her skin and the sound of birds singing the most beautiful of tunes.

She can sense memories as if they were her own, a smiling babe, held tight in her arms, ‘never shall we part’ she thinks as she peers down at the cherubic face.

The connection snaps, it’s only then that Wendara notes how tightly she gripped the armrests of her throne, gouging hideous scratches into the silver finery.

Rising to her feet, the mother stares slack jawed up at her mistress, gently the lich reaches out, informing the creature to follow before she makes her way down the hall, her new companion following close at heel like a loyal hound.

In the absence of a command from their creator, the undead wander aimlessly through town, driven only by their primitive desires and the pale shadows of memories, things that remind them who they were.

A pair of zombies a man and woman, stand close together on the corner of an intersection, gently swaying back and forth as though dancing to a tune only they can hear when suddenly the woman loses her balance stumbling forward into the man who catches her, holding her tight, his fingers gently digging into the woman’s back, not that she seemed to mind.

A group of 4 skeletons walk the streets, what little that remains of their armor indicates that they were apart of the same unit in some ancient siege of this city so long ago.

One catches its own reflection in the glass of a storefront and with a howl thrashes its boney fists against the glass before his fellows do the same, destroying the window that had wronged their friend.

The mother follows, occasionally swiveling her head in exaggerated manner, taking in the cities streets occasionally making small grunts or moans to herself.

The Lich leads her companion throughout town, stopping when she spots the mother slowing down a bit and gravitating towards the broken down door of a town house, the door clearly having been beaten down.

Having found their destination they both proceed inside, slowly combing through the humble lodging, the wall paper is peeled and entirely missing in some places and the structure seemed in poor form even before the attack.

The furniture was modest to say the least, old wood that creaks for mercy when in use and almost everything was uneven, from the table that made an ever so slight slope to one corner to the chairs the rocked unstably.

Though her face is vacant of any emotion, it’s clear that she is looking for something as her head sways from left to right, scanning each room she passes.

Finally they both climb the stairs, scaling to the second floor peering into the first room on the left it is readily apparent that this is the nicest room in the dwelling, the blue wallpaper almost new with the furniture having been painted white, as though attempting the imitate the silver and cerulean color palette of the keep.

Upon entering the room Wendara looks to the center of the room where sits a small figure, its breathing labored as it clutches an old straw doll tight in its small arms, the pallid face of the child looks up at her skeletal visage, her face equally vacant with milky eyes set in her skull.

A grunt escapes the mother’s lips as she stumbles into the room, dropping to its hand and knees as it claws to the child who lets a shrill squeak marking her excitement.

They embrace, the larger of the two clutching the small creature tight as they each fill the room with coos and grunts. And somewhere, deep down in Wendara’s spirit something awakens, something she her clinical mind loathes; emotion.

Before the cancerous emotion can blossom into a terminal memory she departs, she can hardly stomach the thought, that weakness, that saccharine poison that leads all mortals to a pitiful end.

The sun has just begun to rise on the horizon painting the sky above orange and gold as she returns to her throne, it’s only a matter of time now, they draw near.

———————————————————————She hears them before she sees them, already they bicker like children, no doubt already deciding who deserves this shining prize without consulting she who claimed it in the first place.

The door bursts open as they march in, Elida is the first through the door, seemingly having not indulged in the sniping and screaming.

“Ah sibling, It’s been far too long” She begins, her ephemeral lips curled into a polite smile as her ghostly form slowly orbits the undead minion that carry’s her phylactery.

Elida, an elf once, had always favored the phantasmal power the undead wield and so it was of little surprise when she sacrificed her corporeal form in its entirety to embrace her spectral power in its purest form, the only catch being that her spirit cannot be separated from her phylactery farther then a dozen feet.

“Today is a glorious day for the Deadlands, already I feel it grow” she says her voice displaying that usual level of melancholy she was so known for, every word sounding like the bereaved wail of spirit bemoaning its own demise.

Elida was perhaps the most mysterious of the Lich Queens, rarely does she leave her castle, rarely does anyone hear from her, her own subjects included. Perhaps it is for that very reason why Wendara is so fond of her, she keeps to herself.

Following swiftly behind her is Skorva and Maruna who appear to be once more at each others throats, a common sight.

Skorva was a mountain of an Orc and still is after ****, she stands at 12 feet in height, almost needing to dip her head as she steps inside. Her body is adorned with a winding series of tattoos that seems to glow a deep scarlet as her aggravation builds.

As things stood she was the single most dangerous of the Lich Queens in open combat which seems to give her a false sense of security leading her to almost always take the most direct approach to problems.

“You and your abominations have no right to this territory, you hardly deserve your OWN land!” She shouts, her booming voice rattling the crystal chandeliers of the throne room.

“What and YOU do?! you are deluded if you think you have ANY claim to this region, which I will remind you BORDERS MY TERRITORY” Retorts Maruna from atop her litter causing some stitching along her mouth loosens from the strain of screaming so loud.

Maruna is by all perceivable metrics the polar opposite of Skorva, not one to do any strenuous activity, she is perpetually carried aloft by her creations, unsightly golems stitched together from dozens of different parts both humanoid and otherwise.

She spends much of her time in her laboratory, studying both the arcane and the processes of the flesh to create the ultimate creature from flesh and bone and just looking at her it’s clear that she’s put herself under the needle and knife more then once.

“I see what this is, you’re afraid!” Skorva says as her pale green lips curl into a hateful, vicious smile. Like that of a predator.

“You’re afraid the big bad orc is gonna scoop this land out from under you, then the others will see that you’ve brought NOTHING to the table in over a 100 years, nothing but constant failure!” Shouts Skorva, knowing damn well where the dwarfs insecurities lie.

“Oh? And what have YOU done? Go prancing down south with the elves?! Is that your great accomplishment?! You’re nothing but a mad dog Skorva and one of these days you’re gonna go too far and do you know what will happen then?! Then you’ll get put down JUST LIKE THE REST OF YOUR TRIBE!” Screams Maruna, venom dripping from every last word.

Rage flashes in Skorvas eyes, her fists clench as she affixes a murderous gaze upon the little dwarf who gives that very same look right back.

Before either of them could utter another word Wendara rises from her seat, her voice loud and booming, radiating throughout the echoing chamber of the throne room.

“THAT IS ENOUGH”

The two maintain the stare for a moment longer before the giantess turns, hands on her hips, as the light of her tattoos slowly fades. The golems holding the dwarf aloft seeming to read their creators intentions, taking several steps away from the hulking orc.

The atmosphere of the room has simmered down if only slightly, allowing the meeting to begin in earnest.

Elida is the first to speak, reminding the room of why they’re all here. “After the recent conquest of Satastaren the Deadlands has deemed fit to expand, opening the opportunity for growth…”

“As Wendara had been responsible for its asquission, House Velora motions to place the decision of its allocation upon her hands… all agreed..?”

Skorva’s nose flares and Maruna mutters something under her breath but neither of them have the steam to take this argument.

“House Guldrun Concurs…” says Maruna with a huff, looking off to the side as her litter bearers shift softly from foot to foot pensively.

“Aye… House Throka Agrees…” replies Skorva, her hands on her hips as she gives Wendara a small nod of her head.

“Before I make my decision, I would hear your plans for this city, for this region” Wendara, says, her disembodied voice measured and imperious.

“Sibling, should House Velora receive such honors, I would make this a city of whispers, the spirits harmonize with reverence for the cities streets, they tell me of their secrets, they sing of its history!”

“Allow me to tether the spirits of its citizens to the cobbles and brick of this city and we shall know all the secrets these lands hold!” Elida says, her voice drawn out, almost melodious.

“Hmph, you act as if every whispered word to be said in this city is a treasure, what do we care who had an affair with who?” Skorva says narrowing her eyes a touch in incredulity.

“Grant House Throka this city, this region has known nothing but constant **** for the past 400 years, the amount of corpses left behind could put any mausoleum to shame, more then enough to make the humans think twice about any lofty ideas of reclamation of the city”

“Give me these lands and I’ll pull the dead from the dirt, from the foundations of the city walls, from beneath the streets themselves, I will make this place impregnable” Says Skorva, puffing her chest out slightly as she speaks.

“You might be capable of fighting on the field, raising a village if you’re feeling adventurous but you know nothing about building fortifications, all the damage you’d cause by pulling out all those dead would decimate the defenses of the city” reply’s Maruna not deigning to look at the orc as she speaks, instead inspecting the stitch work on one of her sewn on digits.

“Place the region in House Guldrun’s care, this city has more then a few warehouses that could serve as laboratories or storage facilities for my creations”

“With appropriate space I can double, maybe triple the manufacture process for my golems, that’s a boon to our fighting **** AND our work ****!” Says Maruna, now sitting up and dangling her legs over the side of her litter as her carriers shift slightly, seemingly infected by her enthusiasm.

“Not to disparage your work, sister, but it behooves me to point out that such a decision would make the retaking of Satastaren an even greater achievement in the eyes of the humans, such glory would invite great challenge” says Elida, her voice forlorn and distant as though she could see the calamitous future such a decision would yield.

All eyes are on Wendara as she mentally pours over the plans each lich queen has for this land, this city of legend, finally she stills her mind, speaking confidently…