Author’s Reminder: Neverwinter is a fantastic video game that I play–it’s not my invention. Also, my adventures in Neverwinter are the skeletons I flesh out here, so I’m not writing a walkthrough of any particular adventure. From these exercises I leap to my current novel manuscript, warmed up and ready to weave dark fantasy.
———-
I hear your question forming even now in your head: How does a wood elf end up in a human city? How in Khyber did you end up as a defender of a human city? To answer true, I must confess that I have a rebellious nature. I was born with it; I wrestled with it from youth. I tried to be a good daughter for my father. I went on hunts with him, listened to his lore, shined when he taught the basics of archery. I miss him even now. Indeed, I would not be in Neverwinter if he were still alive. But the problems of Neverwinter became our problems in the forests. Orcs, goblins, wraiths. I am my father’s shadow that walks this world. I live to avenge.
Sergeant Knox is not a father figure, so have no worries there that I would impose my needs for a father upon him. He is wise for sure, but he sees me as just another elf. I doubt if Sergeant Know could tell if I were a moon elf or a wood elf. What I am is a tool to help remove the disease that Neverwinter fights. I have no illusions there. I kill, Neverwinter applauds, and that vicious cycle goes onward.
Of late I and a couple of rogues were sent down to a bog, a bog attempting to swallow a fortified Neverwinter outpost. Over ran by wraiths and zombies, and over unsavory tinkerers in dark magic. We discussed our strategy over firelight, the logs popping, sending sparks into the night. I was wary of the night behind my place at the fire though we were a few miles away from our strike zone. These rogues were hard bitten, possessed no illusions of survival, their eyes frozen by certainty.
After each danced out their plans, the best we had was to splinter and attempt to quell the undead with craft, violence, and guile. All we had was tenacity against dark magic, and by the way, it had better work or else we too would walk out of our dead bodies and server wraith-like masters.
Sleep was uneasy and raw. We did our best to watch other’s back as we reduced the mile or two between our camp and the bog. I hear you asking the question: If undead are already dead then how do you kill them? I have no idea how this works except to say it must be based on the necromancer’s focus. If you damage their puppets overly so, then perhaps the necromancer does not possess the power to repair them all, one by one, in the heat of battle. Wraiths are easier to explain: The wraith is a jealous creature, desiring life so much that it is willing to take material form even if that form is incomplete. So, one may damage a wraith with arrows due to their manifestation in the here and now. If not for this one failing, the wraith would be impossible to kill.
———-
Author’s Note: Part II ends here, and III will find us in the bog. Also, this week I’ll be updating my reading journal on Wayne’s sci-fi novel entitled Echo. By the by, thank you all for your continued support. It is much appreciated. I will see you on your blog as well.