The Tagalong General

The fact that the creature could speak drow startled Drizaghar at first, but conversing in his native tongue soon eased his mind. Still, as he led the way down the narrow passage, his hackles remained raised and ready for any sign of trouble. Whether from the creature following him or the horde of undead waiting yards away, he did not yet know.

Fascath floated nearby, the maniac behind the two drow not concerning him the slightest. Whispering to his familiar so that the beast could not hear, he asked “What are their numbers?” Instead of responding, the ethereal being simply motioned ahead.

Drizaghar peered around the corner of the tunnel and saw masses of zombies milling about in the open cavern. Motioning behind him for the creature to remain silent, he stalked just through the opening to widen his view. Decrepit corpses reanimated to fight for a dark necromancer; the legions of undead soldiers gave the air in the cave a putrid stench. The drow nearly gagged before he buried his nose in the folds on his piwafwi.

Gazing about at the sheer size of the force, the dark elf estimated roughly four hundred zombies waiting for orders. It appeared as though they were leaderless, for their ranks were loose and unorganized. But how would you organize an army of the undead? Drizaghar reasoned to himself. He couldn’t imagine that they were cooperative…

Some of the better armed zombies turned at a sound and shouted to the rest of the horde, “Shin’dril returns!” Shambling to their predetermined locations, the zombie rank and file quickly shaped up into something almost resembling a true army. The dark elf strained his neck to see who he assumed was the necromancer in charge of the horde.

Shin’dril appeared to be human, he carried himself proudly and with an air of disdain for the zombie underlings who served him. His dark staff clicked on the stone floor as he strolled up a rock jutting out over the sea of undead faces. “We march out now to meet Xem'zûnd in Eluriand!” When the cheers died down, the necromancer continued. “Legion Clades,” he called to a specific section of the army, “lead the way. Slay any who stand in our path. Raiaera will fall!” The undead gave a huge warcry and legions began marching out of the great cavern, heading away from where Drizaghar and the strange beast lay in wait.

“Udos zhal'la flohlu, (We should follow)” he said to his momentary ally. They needn’t worry about masking their movements, the din of shifting corpses and clanking armor drowned out any sound that they would make. “Xal flohlu mina ulu Eluriand, (Perhaps follow them to Eluriand)” he commented. Whatever decision they made, it needed to be made soon; for an army of undead, Shin’dril’s Horde moved quickly.

Various long-term things about the drow were unlocked by Homun's ability. The problem is that not much of it was relevant, and since the recent memories were so quickly conceived he could not access them. What Drizaghar was doing down here... what his hopes and dreams were.. the very nature of his escape from The Underdark... it was all a blur. Still, he believed that the drow had to be down here for a reason, and so far he has at least acted like he knew what he was doing.

So when the drow presented the plan of following the zombie horde unnoticed, Homun silently nodded and followed. As they went through the tunnel, Homun noticed how much larger it was getting. Where exactly was he? This wasn't just some cave; it felt like something made by a living being. Was this Xem'zûnd character able to do this? There was so much Homun didn't know. However, if that Shin'dril was to be trusted, he was going to find out sooner or later. The thought occurred to him that he would know a lot more if he assimilated the aforementioned zombie general. If he would get the chance, he would definitely attempt this.

The tunnels themselves were one of the ways Xem'zûnd managed to strike as fast and furiously as he did. Surpassing the convention of land battles, he took various cities completely by surprise from underground. However, they had their limits when it came to the various magics employed by the elves around their stronger cities. Xem'zûnd made sure to sprout his zombie horde well beyond the observational range of elven strongholds.

Eventually, the zombie horde appeared to stop suddenly, which surprised Homun as he scrambled into a shadow for cover. It looked like they reached something. The exit? Something else?

The sudden stop confused the dark elf and he sent Fascath ahead to investigate. Since the ethereal being would not be seen, there was no need for him to sneak around. Still, he stuck close to the wall of the wide tunnel and drifted past the ranks of zombies. Several uncomfortable minutes passed and still Drizaghar heard nothing from his familiar.

He still didn’t entirely trust the creature beside him, but there was little he could do at the moment. An uneasy alliance, he told himself. Finally, the shadowy drow returned from the frontlines with news. However, Drizaghar didn’t want to have to relay the information to his companion, so he turned to the beast and warned him.

“My friend will be joining us,” he told the black-clad monster. Hoping the thing wouldn’t attack as Fascath transitioned into the Firmament, the drow turned toward his familiar. “What did you learn?”

Fascath manifested himself in the form of a dark elf; his features blurry and ever shifting. His piwafwi whirled about his legs, blown from an unseen wind coming from up ahead. “The Legion Clades is scouting out the land between the mouth of the tunnel and Eluriand. Shin’dril estimates two hours before they begin moving again,” Fascath reported. “Clades is not made up of the undead,” he added when Drizaghar began to walk away. The drow necromancer’s head snapped around, his eyes intent on his familiar.

“What then?” he asked.

Fascath thought a moment before replying, “I do not know the word for it in Common; they are kal'daka lodias… wolf people.”

Homun watched... something... form itself from the drow's shadow and sneak over to the zombie horde. It was difficult to see, and he wouldn't have noticed it at all were it not for the subtle ripples in the air. In fact, he only saw this due to his assimilation. His own shadow was behaving in a strange fashion as well, but he didn't notice. He couldn't make sense of Fascath, so he assumed that it was some sort of spell.

As the ethereal being scouted out the army, Homun had time to consider the zombies themselves: They were organized, fast, strong, almost competent. This was a far cry from what he's seen thus far. Did their general have some sort of strange ability to turn those shambling meatbags into something formidable? The thought of assimilating him grew more traction in his mind, until he made it a secondary goal- with the assimilation of Xem'zûnd at the forefront. He was content to simply follow the zombies to the great necromancer, however he wasn't sure what the drow was planning.

As the shadow returned, it assumed a slightly more tangible form. To any normal person, this would be their first sign of the being, but Homun was aware of it before. Homun moved toward the drow for a closer look, and noticed himself becoming visible. He hadn't noticed it before, but blending into the shadows concealed him a lot more than he thought. Was this an ability he had before? No, it couldn't be. He didn't really care.

The description of these 'wolf people' were irrelevant to him. There was nothing useful in this report except that the army was stopping, and that this tunnel lead to Eluriand. Homun thought back to Xem'zûnd and his goal, trying to piece together what he knew thus far, and one topic seemed to jump to the front of his mind: How? How was he going to get close enough to assimilate? Why was this thought occurring now? Perhaps the machinations of the drow's mind was affecting him into making much more coherent thoughts than he was used to? Maybe that could be why he was about to suggest something that pre-assimilation Homun wouldn't have thought up.

"Their leader... get... inbau uns'aa veir ulu ukta (Get me close to him)."

If he could assimilate one of Xem'zûnd's generals, he would have some sort of access to him. Plus, Shin'dril probably had some useful information in his mind. He could associate it with the thoughts of previous assimilations and create concrete memories about Xem'zûnd. Of course, there was also the possibility that Shin'dril was too powerful and Homun would lose himself in the assimilation. Since he was still undergoing a current assimilation, he couldn't see whether the zombies' leader had a bright, powerful white aura or not.

Also because of his ongoing assimilation, he considered the drow's feelings once again. The following words were completely alien to the personality of the previous Homunculus.

"Skrel udossa pholor l'toha zith. Tesso uns'aa dosst inth (Put us on the same page. Tell me your plan)."

He casually stared off into the depth of where they came from, "H'uena Usstan inbau veir, dos orn kampi'un (Once I get close, you will understand)." He repeated in Common, "You will understand."

Drizaghar didn’t know what to make of the news that Shin’dril’s scouting division was made up of wolf people and not zombified warriors. Perhaps the knowledge will come in useful later, he figured, turning his attention to the creature he traveled with.

“My plan,” he mused over the words; in truth, he had nothing solid formed in his mind. However, the necromancer was used to thinking quickly and tendrils of strategy were beginning to weave together in his mind. If only I could shadowwalk, he thought of the Spidermagi he had seen in the Black Desert; their ability to disappear into the realm of shadows and reappear elsewhere would have been useful to have. Unfortunately, he hadn’t a clue how to harness such a power.

“Ussta inth,” he muttered to himself. Somehow he needed to get closer to Shin’dril and gauge the man’s powers. Though, that presented a problem because there was an entire army between the two travelers and the leader of the horde. Turning to the creature, he outlined the plan he had, “We use the side tunnels to circle the army and come out in front on them. We’re working on a time limit though; less than two hours until Legion Clades returns. I think we should split up; you take the tunnels on the east side and I’ll take the ones on the west side. I’ll send Fascath if I find anything,” he motioned to his familiar as he spoke the last lines, indicating that the shadow drow would act as a messenger.

I dropped my voice lower and nodded to the east wall of the passage as I turned to the west, “Ji udos aglust i'dollen whol natha draeval.”

Out of Character:

Ussta inth means “My plan” and the above phrase translates to “So we part ways for a time.”

The Homunculus briefly considered that the intent of the drow's plan was to get rid of him. If that was the case, it was a pretty good attempt, but it didn't change the fact that an army of zombies was between Drizaghar and the exit, so ditching Homun now wouldn't do a whole lot of good. If Homun's plan succeeded, both of them would be able to leave this cave fairly safely.

So, they parted ways. The smaller tunnels were pitch black, but they eventually converged back into the bigger one. Homun snuck around along the wall, his figure almost invisible in the shadows. It began to feel like the assimilation was wearing off. They had been traveling a while so this was to be expected, but he needed to maintain it long enough to meet up with that general. He was solemnly aware of the advanced thought processes that were occurring within his mind. He somewhat lamented the eventuality of reverting to what he was, but at least he could hope to maintain this plan of his until it was executed.

He saw some light and looked around the corner, knowing that it was the main tunnel. It was a much different scene than the one from the back of the army. Not quite the front, not quite the back, but it was sparsely populated by zombies. There were a few tents, and he saw Shin'dril enter one of them. He could see the man's silhouette due to the lantern inside of it. Perhaps he was looking at war plans? Either way, it presented the perfect opportunity. The problem was that there were still some zombies around. If he could get rid of those zombies without alerting anyone to his presence, he could....

"Drizaghar has reached the other side," came a whisper from behind him.

Homun nearly jumped out of his pants as he turned around to see the barely-tangible form of Fascath.

Homun whispered, "You! I..." He sighed. No point making a fuss now. In broken Common, he instructed Fascath, "Tell Drizaghar: Make distraction! I need closer!"

The shadow made some sort of vague nodding motion and disappeared into the darkness. If the drow could prove his usefulness here, maybe Homun would let him live after all.

Shin’dril entered his makeshift headquarters and scanned the message that one of his lycanthropes had delivered. It had been sealed with Xem'zûnd’s crest and the messenger had nearly collapsed from exhaustion when he arrived with it. The necromancer slit open the letter and scanned its contents. The writing was quick and jagged, but it got the point across:

Quote:

---

We attack Eluriand tonight. Breach the outer wall and take the city. Send lycanthrope if your attack will be delayed. Do not fail.

---

Dropping into a collapsible wooden chair, the general sighed. Xem'zûnd had moved the timeframe dangerously forward. If he was to get his horde mobilized in time, they would need to leave before Legion Clades returned. Grimacing as he pounded his ebony staff into the ground, he then stood and stared at the ceiling of the tent for a minute.

Screams outside turned his focus back to the present, however, as the human soldiers in his horde began sounding an alarm. What the hell was going on?

~~~

Drizaghar sent Fascath to tell the creature that he had made it back into the main tunnel near Shin’dril’s tents. He hoped the beast wasn’t too far away; he would need the assistance if he hoped to get closer to the general.

<<Our friend would like you to provide a covering distraction for him,>> the ethereal familiar stated as he floated from the other side of the tunnel. <<He has arrived and waits for your signal.>> With a nod, he disappeared into the air, back into the Antifirmament for a time.

Smiling, the dark elf formulated a quick and easy plan in his mind. Summoning a fireball to each hand, he launched them in rapid succession toward the cloth tents serving as a temporary headquarters for the horde. The dry material quickly caught fire and two more fireballs followed the first ones. Aiming at every tent to make sure the destruction took its toll, the drow necromancer chuckled as he saw several soldiers begin trying to douse the flames. Pulling his piwafwi over his body, he ducked back into the shadows and snuck along the wall of the passage.

A division of zombies moved closer in an attempt to stop the fire from spreading. However, when they approached the burning tents, their putrid flesh quickly got caught in the blaze. As burning zombies raced back down the tunnel, Drizaghar saw Shin’dril emerge from his tent. The general’s face was a mask of rage, clearly he did not appreciate his army being attacked before they reached the capital.

“Legion Celer!” he screamed as he moved to the front of the army, “To me!” As the biggest soldiers Drizaghar had ever seen moved in to protect their general, the dark elf saw his last chance to isolate the human necromancer. Summoning a fireball to his palm once again, the drow pulled his arm back, focusing his entire being on the tent just in front of Shin’dril. He launched the ball of flame with all his might, willing it to fly true. The projectile burned through the air, its flames growing stronger as it closed in on its mark.

Just as Legion Celer began to form a protective circle around their leader, the fireball smacked into the tent’s supporting pole. The general jumped back, narrowly avoiding the falling tent. As the canvas hit the ground, the obstacle erupted in flames. Legion Celer stepped back, their keen eyes searching the shadows for their attacker. Drizaghar knew he had given his bestial ally a few precious moments to close in on the general and hoped It would be enough. As the brutish human bodyguards spotted the drow necromancer crouched in the shadows, Drizaghar turned about and raced toward the mouth of the cave.

Time for him to work some magic.

With one eye around the corner, the scene unfolded amidst the cracking of Homun's mind. He was losing the rationality that came from two hundred years of experience on this planet, but he attempted to hold onto his plan. His skin turned pale, the whites in his eyes returned, and his ears shrunk down to their original size. Remember the plan. Remember the damn plan!

The drow was better than he thought. As the general walked out of the tent, Homun became restless and almost darted out to grab him. Yet, the drow wasn't done yet; he calculated his attacks and forced the general further back. Homun's eyes widened as there were mere feet between him and the general. The Homunculus slowly turned the corner, pressed his palms against Shin'dril's back, and two blades pierced through the man's chest. Shin'dril could only look down as he felt his strength disappearing, seeing the two bloody blades sticking out and smelling the metallic scent of his own fluids. He felt a warm sensation, like his entire body was in a sauna, and he started sweating. Homun dragged him back by the blades jabbed into his chest, back into the darkness of the side tunnel he hid in. Pulling the blades out, the general dropped onto his back, staring up with wandering eyes.

Blood was pouring out of his mouth, as both his lungs had been ruptured. Pain was unknown to this necromancer, but there was a distinct sensation of losing himself. It was like falling into a deep sleep. Blood drained out of his body and formed a small pool of blood on the ground. As he turned pale and his vision faded, he looked up and saw his attacker: Only, it was himself. A mirror image of him was standing above him, looking down. It wasn't smiling, but it looked like it was waiting for something. Waiting for him to die. Why disappoint? He thought, and slipped into the eternal abyss.

Homun couldn't enjoy his victory, for his mind was being flooded with new memories. Shin'dril was a minor general, certainly not worthy of much of his master's attention. The things he knew pertained to his skills, but his history seemed lacking. In Homun's mind, there was a big gap before this war broke out. Exactly what was Shin'dril doing before all this went down? If this void is any indication, it was nothing. That didn't make sense to Homun, however. Still, the experiences of a real necromancer were different from what he felt with the drow. He could feel the flow of life and unlife in the air, like little streams in the air that were disturbed by his breathing.

He realized that his disappearance would be bothersome if his subordinates found out, so he returned to the main tunnel before anyone noticed he was ever gone. He wore a long, dark cape with a cowl over his head and a mask over his mouth and mouth. There was a cross-shaped scar over his left eye and he had a purple tunic on. He actually had an iron breastplate over it, but Homun's steel swords still pierced through. He had the appearance of a cultist, but also a general with his shin guards and ankle-high boots. Various belts adorned his pants, many with pouches and small weaponry strapped on. On his right side was Homun's short sword's scabbard, but also on the left was a scabbard he had stolen from Shin'dril. He was unaware of the enchanted blade that was within, but his memories told him that it was something deadly.

As he walked out, some of Legion Celer had finished putting out of the fires and almost started looking for their leader. Others had chased off after the drow.

Homun ordered, "Call for their return. Now."

Legion Celer dispersed and retrieved the ones chasing Drizaghar.

"Forget him. I want all our equipment packed up; we're moving now."

It took a few moments for him to consider what to do with the drow now. He couldn't deny that he had helped, but he felt particularly apathetic. Shin'dril's personality certainly wouldn't care for Drizaghar, and neither would Homun's, but Drizaghar's would. So, Homun decided he would make use of the drow some more. How had he come to this conclusion? He was no longer assimilating Drizaghar, right? Perhaps... there was some assimilation permanence after all. Maybe not through combat, but by thinking and acting like Drizaghar, Homun managed to save a piece of the drow inside himself. Either way, he needed a scapegoat for when his assimilation ran out. He could probably maintain it for a while, but not forever. If the drow caught on to what he was about to do, he might do the same for Homun when the time came.

He walked to one of the many messenger birds and spoke to the scribe tending to them, "I want a message to the Legion Clades. Now."

The scribe quickly dropped what he was doing and pulled out a piece of paper and put it upon a clipboard that he carried.

A minute later, the bird took off and flew toward the mouth of the cave. Homun knew that Drizaghar would never make it with those wolf people coming back. Even if they couldn't see him, they could smell him. Back towards the mouth of the cave, the Legion Clades was already returning ahead of schedule. Being the sort of creatures that craved detail, they made sure to check every corner of the tunnel upon entering. They spotted the drow near-instantly, and within moments Drizaghar was surrounded by them. Snarling, growling, wild-eyed and thirsty for blood, they all closed in. Then, the bird arrived and the leader of the Legion Clades read it.

"Wait," he instructed his brethren in his beastly voice. "This one is a special guest of General Shin'dril. We are to treat him with utmost respect and escort him back to the camp."

The letter went on to detail that in case anything happened to Shin'dril, Drizaghar would be the new commander. As of now, he was second-in-command. As the wolf men escorted the drow back to the camp, the zombie horde had already moved out and were about to meet up with them. Shin'dril headed the ranks, walking with dignity and honor.

Muffled by the sound of the marching behind him, Homun said, "Wait for me, Master, for soon I shall be made whole."

Taken back to the camp in time to see Shin’dril mobilizing his horde to move out, Drizaghar kept the look of confusion from his face. The human necromancer strode in front of his troops, leading from the cave out into the fields just south of Eluriand. The drow was kept between two huge bestial warriors, for his own protection they had said. Although no harm had come to him, the dark elf couldn’t help but feel he was simply a captive.

And where’s the creature? he thought. Would such an unstable beast attack the entire column of warriors to find his dark elf ally? Surely not, their alliance had been one of convenience. The creature wouldn’t risk its own life to free Drizaghar. No, the drow was on his own.

With Legion Clades surrounding him as they marched on Eluriand, the drow necromancer could do nothing. Any plan he formed would have to wait to be executed until they arrived at the elven capital. Left alone with his thoughts, he tried to piece together why Shin’dril hadn’t just killed him.

Something just didn’t add up.

Before the marching started, Homun had turned to face the zombie horde and announced, "Attention: As of now, Lieutenant Drizaghar here is my second-in-command. I expect the same respect and discipline you have shown me."

It was a strange gesture, since the undead portions of the army had no choice in the matter. With that, he started off marching and met up with Drizaghar, bringing them to where they were now.

He was a master of puppets without strings, a hive mind without thought, a master with more-than-willing slaves. Controlling the hordes of zombies behind him, Homun felt the power of his abilities flowing not only through his own body, but the air around him. Legion Gelucius was the specific name given to the zombie horde behind him, and he felt like he was connected to them in some way. He felt invigorated, and in his head were many incantations, rituals, spells, and other bits of information related to his craft. It seems that necromancers must do many things at once, as his thoughts were in many places at once. Is this how necromancers always felt? Homun knew it to be true, and on that note he thought about the biggest and baddest necromancer of all: Xem'zûnd. Shin'dril's memories about his master were vivid, and one thing was clear: Homun was no match for him. In fact, he felt that the Xem'zûnd would see through his ruse immediately. Whereas before his plan was hapless and straightforward, he now had to consider how to get close to his target. If he couldn't get close to him as Shin'dril, then the only option was his natural form. It was unlikely that Xem'zûnd would know what he was, so all that was left was to involve himself as part of the army.

That is where the drow came in. Although, since he started this march he has noticed that Drizaghar seemed more like a prisoner than... Wait. Perhaps he didn't catch on? That would explain a lot. They were halfway to Eluriand from the cave when Shin'dril motioned for the zombies to continue on and walked over to the drow, casually pulling him out of the formation and off to the side. The drow looked terrified, which annoyed Homun, so he knew he had to show him some form of identification of his previous form.

He pointed at his palm and told Drizaghar to look at it. Within a moment, a cut formed in the gauntlet and a blade slowly inched out of his hand. Homun felt that Drizaghar understood, but he was still very confused.

In his new dignified yet low voice, Homun whispered, "Lieutenant Drizaghar, that sort of expression is unbecoming of a leader. How are you ever going to replace me if you continue acting such as you have?"

Homun pulled the blade back into his hand and continued to make sure no secret ears were listening in to their conversation.

"As far as I know, your necromancy skills are pathetic," said Homun, unaware that in his previous assimilation he considered Drizaghar highly skilled in this art. "Once I run out of time, you need to take over the army. I can only hold this for about thirty-six hours. Then, you shall introduce 'me' in a similar manner that I have introduced you. Understand?"

He spoke in a very disciplined way, a glaring contrast to the emotional and broken speech of his previous form. He still remembered that the drow had some sort of necromancy book, but Drizaghar had likely never made heads or tails of it. With his precise expertise, could he teach the drow what he needed to know before it was too late?