Apprentice: Wynken Vanaril (Closed)

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Stepping outside to the main square of The Forsaken's capitol city, Lorenor looked at the gathered people before him. In Corone, Lorenor's activities were increasing as he had gathered the heart necessary to do N'Jal's work. It was a November night like any other. Chill was in the air, and a small breeze was about. Lorenor's Salvarn cloak was wrapped tightly about his person. He looked at The High Priestess who was his life-long partner. He smiled at her, and she returned the expression of kindness to her Master. There were no preparations to march, this was just a simple afternoon where The Undead could know peace. Lorenor had provided Undead with free will a safe haven on Althanas. A safe haven that was rapidly expanding where all other nations knew the ravages of war.

People with dark inclinations were drawn to the army of The Dark Lady. So in a few short months, the army had grown and prospered. Lorenor's raid on Corone had provided a rudimentary series of rewards and payments for those who remained loyal to his cause. Lorenor was not naive, and he was not a fool, he worked with all The Forsaken where he could. However, he knew that some of them would eventually decide their own path which had naught to do with The Dark Lady's schemes. That was fine to The High Priest. He was attempted to free as many Undead as he could from the vile grasp of Necromancers.

Lorenor walked forward to the center of the gathered group. As he stood there, he observed in silence. His eyes carefully examining every detail of the beautiful dead before him. There was great admiration in the eyes of his people for Lorenor had lead them to prosperity where once they were the doormats of Althanas. Xem'Zund had seen to that with his burning crusade across Raiaera. Lorenor was The Grand Primus now, and he'd grown incredibly powerful. He oft had to hide his strength from enemies, because he never wanted to tip his hand or force his hand too quickly. As a sadomasochist, Lorenor believed in enjoying the kill. Relishing in the suffering it would cause, and ultimately, finding release from the pain of Undeath.

Lorenor's endurance had grown significantly and he was now able to withstand a great deal of pain and agony to his physique. As he thought of that, his eyes wandered back to the crowd gathered before him. There was a peaceful silence that Lorenor enjoyed for a while longer before someone interrupted that silence. It was one of his Forsaken; a relatively young Undead by the name of Winters Solomon. The youth had proven an asset time and time again in many of the skirmishes and battles that The Forsaken faced.

"Master Lorenor, what is troubling you?" Winters asked. "Is there something that requires our assistance?"

"Ah." Lorenor stopped walking just then and turned to face his people. "You read me too well my friend." He grinned at the thought.
"The sermons I gave earlier, what thought you of them?" Lorenor asked plainly.

"They were a comfort in these dark days we face." Winters said thoughtfully. In all, there were roughly twenty Forsaken gathered around The High Priest. "I admire your capacity for leadership." Winters said thoughtfully. "You have been through things I cannot imagine."

"We have many enemies." Lorenor began. "But we also have many powerful allies. Including, our Matron. N'Jal." Lorenor tapped his chin thoughtfully. "In this we must always be greatful." Lorenor continued.
"As Forsaken, we will all face trials and tribulations in our days, but they will not become our darkest hour. That has yet to arrive. When we will be tested as a society..." Lorenor said carefully. "...Our enemies will rise against us. N'Jal has revealed this to me. But we will triumph in the end."

Winters nodded carefully. "My liege, we have a new acquisition. his name is Wynken Vanaril. He came to us about a month ago..." Winters said.

"I know of the lad's antics. Send for him Mr. Solomon. I wish to speak with him about a matter."

And as always, that's how it always began.

It began with a word.

[Wynken]

The room was cold yet surprisingly draft-free as though the temperature were being purposefully kept below what most would find comfortable. Wynken breathed white clouds as he considered the room’s design. He marveled at the meticulous craftsmanship of the murals which were illuminated an eerie shade of red by the torchlight as it danced upon the wall from the sconce in the hall. ‘Such intricacies are simple when your labor knows no boredom nor grows impatient from tedium’, he mused as he inspected the dark art. It told a story, Wynken knew, as each panel displayed the power and glory of N'Jal as well as the strength of those undead who would rally to her cause. The room was to house dignitaries, emissaries, and other foreign guests as they awaited a formal audience. Each aspect, from the temperature to the lighting to the gruesome artistic depictions, was designed to wage a subtle emotional battle before oral negotiations had even begun.

Wynken pulled the cowl of his cloak tight about his neck. In small part to ward off the chill but largely because it unsettled him to be living among a city of the dead. He had wrestled with the decision to get involved, but, as war spread slowly across the continent, Wynken could not deny the efficiency of the Forsaken. The thought that eventually all things may be involved, voluntary or –un, had urged him to seek this council.

Still he didn’t like his prospects. ‘What benefit are the living amidst an army who tires not nor needs for food or for shelter? Who feel no pain, physical or emotional, and who exist with no mental limits upon their bone and sinew?’ Wynken paced as he thought, growing slightly agitated with waiting. It had been a month or more since he had first sought employ with the legions of N'Jal, and, though he dare not outwardly express his discontent, he couldn’t help but question the motive behind making him to linger.

‘Of course, there are many animals that possess more endurance and strength than human-kind. Many species are better equipped for war, and yet ours rule the regions. What we lack in physicality, we make up in intellect’, Wynken completed his previous line of thinking. Just as he became comfortable with the fact that his mind made him superior, and therefore valuable, there came a bold voice from the doorway.

“The Grand Primus will see you now.”

Wynken spun to see a member of the undead bidding him to follow, and, as he reluctantly obliged, Wynken sighed inwardly at the creature’s command of the common language.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Thank you for your patience my friend. I'm going to assume that you arrived where Lorenor is after your last post. As long as that is okay with you.

As they were positioned in a circle, Lorenor discussed matters of N'Jal with the gathered fellows. There were Forsaken of all walks of life gathered. Lorenor knew that N'Jal was the mortar that tied their entire society together. Without that mortar, there would be no cohesive structure. It would just be a constant state of anarchy and war. Lorenor only wanted what was best for his kinsmen, and that included subjecting them to the word of N'Jal. For N'Jal's word was the only law that The Forsaken knew. N'Jal offered a better deal for the undead than any other being of the dark did.

Lorenor spoke in verses, quoting text from The Necromonicon. He knew all three works and their teachings by heart. He could dictate the word of N'Jal with the greatest philosopher scholars of Althanas. Lorenor suddenly felt a familiar presence walk towards the circle, and ultimately, to his position. Stopping the lecture, Lorenor waved towards his people and then walked over to Wynken. The High Priest wore a smile on his face as he stared at the young one. Lorenor wrapped his arms across his chest and stood a few paces away from Wyken. But spoke so that the lad could comfortably hear him.

"The hour has come Wynken. Walk with me." Lorenor said.

[Wynken]

Amazed, Wynken followed his escort through the throngs of undead. Never before had he seen so many gathered in one place, but, more than their expansive numbers, the civility and organization of the Forsaken had Wynken awe struck and slightly unsettled. He had listened to the word of N’Jal being preached and watched the recipients nod in acceptance of its promises. ‘A different message to a different audience, but always the same result’, Wynken thought as he drew near to the front of the crowd.

As Wynken approached the speaker, his lesson had ceased and the crowd had already begun to disperse. Lorenor and Winters exchanged a nod, and, having fulfilled his immediate duties, the young Forsaken dismissed himself leaving Wynken in the audience of the priest. The gray skin around Lorenor’s darkened lips creased into a wicked grin, and his eyes glowed as they intently perceived the young rogue. Before long, the two walked alone.

He didn’t know exactly what to expect. Wynken had seen the strength of the campaign in Corone. He had witnessed from afar or from the concealment of shadows as the battalions of undead moved methodically through the Concordia, and he had pilfered the war-torn landscape that lay in their wake. No, he didn’t know exactly what to expect, but walking in private audience with such a powerful disciple of N’Jal was in excess of his imagination. As he listened for the instructions of his new master, Wynken was reminded of his purpose for becoming so involved:

Hero is a term most commonly associated with the forces of good, but truly each side of a conflict will produce its own legends.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

For a moment or two, Lorenor took in Wynken's presence. He studied the man without directly looking at him. Instead, he had a good mental image thanks to his greatest asset: his Auspex power. Lorenor walked where N'Jal guided his steps. And to that moment, Lorenor was guided back to his personal living quarters. A suitable place to discuss plans. Lorenor stopped in front of the building and turned to directly look at Wynken.

"We shall arrive at my personal quarters and discuss matters there. I have a task I would ask of you Wynken." Lorenor said plainly. Then, he opened the door and maneuvered his way towards his personal quarters which was a third floor apartment structure.

***

When he had entered the chamber, he assumed that Wynken had followed the entire time. Motioning towards Wynken to be seated anyplace he liked, The High Priest sat down on a nearby couch. Lorenor sat at his leisure. He looked at Wynken and a soft smile was on his face as he did so. His arm rested along the top portion of the couch and his other hand was rested at his side. Immediately, a Forsaken servant came into the chamber and asked the two if they would like food and drink. Lorenor ordered a simple tray of snacks; meats, cheeses, cookies, the lot. Then Lorenor ordered a pitcher of fine Elven stock wine. The Forsaken then turned towards Wynken.

"Would mi'lord have any requests?" The young Forsaken servant asked. He was a man.

[Wynken]

Wynken had followed the priest as he worked his way through the city and eventually down the corridors of a tidy and luxurious apartment complex. Upon entering the room, he had promptly occupied the overly large oaken chair which set opposite the couch. Its satin seat cushion and high, upholstered back set him immediately at ease. He smiled wryly as he beheld the remainder of the room - it was reminiscent of splendor and opulence that his father maintained while Wynken was but a child.

As the servant entered, Wynken regarded the man with smug condescension. He only briefly revisited his doubts of being human, alive and mortal, in the company of undead; but focused instead on the lessons learned throughout his adolescence on the city streets. Kill or be killed, survival of the fittest, and other clichéd adages carried the weight of truth through their years of their overuse. They were the reason that Wynken enjoyed the plush chair while this man fetched drinks.

“The wine will be enough for now”, Wynken stated plainly in answer to the servant.

He was arrogant enough to hold himself in higher esteem than this lowly man, but wise enough to understand he had yet to prove himself worthy of placing orders. The fineries afforded to the servants of N’Jal may soon be his to claim, but for now, Lorenor’s hospitality would suffice.