The Homunculus Knight

Better Left Buried (Part One)

“Bah! Such arrogance to think history started with you! This world was ancient long before your most distant ancestors learned to walk upright! You up-jumped apes are products of an age of slowly waxing magic and do not know of what came before. Even though my kind are not native to this sphere, we remember those whose world you claim as birthright. They have long left this facet of existence, but their imprint can still be found if one knows where to look; something I suggest your infantile species avoids doing” - The ancient dragon, Tizqarix speaking about the ruins of Thul.

Of all the ways he’d died, Paladin Cole found drowning to be the most palatable. Breathing in water and letting himself slip into darkness was simply far easier and less painful than any other method he’d experienced. As an added boon, he also regenerated faster while drowning, a fact Isabelle had always attributed to his creation in an alchemical vat. So while death was never pleasant, the immortal Homunculus Knight would choose water over anything else if given the option.

This proved some comfort for Cole as the fisherman’s sloop he sat in crested another wave before plunging downward in a hull-creaking lurch. Hanging onto a side rail and offering muttered prayers to the Prince of Tides, Cole forced himself to stare at his destination. The green and white cliffs of Mycio Island seemed painfully far away as the winds of a late summer storm battered at the small boat. Behind the Paladin, a trio of Aenean fisherfolk fought the rudder, rigging and sails to keep them on course.

Taking his eyes off the distant island, Cole glanced over at the three sailors and then the white-capped water surrounding them. Gray clouds dancing overhead, stripping away much of the semi-tropical sunlight, giving everything a bleached look. While the Sky Priest prognostications claimed the storm would only really hit once night fell, that was dim comfort to those trapped upon the wind-tossed Marble Sea. This wasn’t the weather any smart sailor would want to be out in a vessel so small, and judging by the tension radiating from the sloop’s crew, they weren’t idiots. Neither were they pleased to be doing this, and judging by the constant dirty looks the youngest of the three leveled at Cole, he could guess who they blamed for that.

Looking back toward the approaching island, Cole couldn’t disagree with the teenage boy for such feelings. His father had only embarked on this unpleasant journey because the Paladin, or more accurately, the Temple he represented, asked it of him. Cole needed urgent transport to the remote Mycio Island and there were few who could make such a trip on such short notice. So on direction of Hierophant Vanuli of Seirena, he went to a nearby fishing village and traded in a favor. The Temples never turned away those in need of their help, but did expect some form of reimbursement for the time and effort. In those cases where donations of gold or silver weren’t feasible, the Temples would accept services, present or future as payment. So much to his personal discomfort, Cole called in a debt owed to some other priest, gaining the boat and crew needed for his mission.

Checking for the fiftieth time that his pack was firmly attached to him, Cole breathed in the salty air and went over everything he knew about matters. He’d followed the god-touch in his chest to the great port city of Seirena along the south-west Aenean coast and arrived at its Time Temple just as a call for help arrived. The local Ivory Tower had received word from an archaeological dig of all things requesting immediate and qualified support for a ‘Tenth Temple matter.’ As it was want to do, the Ivory Tower dispatched a Knight-Proctor at once and only then relayed the message to the Tenth Temple despite it calling upon both institution’s aid. Seeing Cole’s arrival for the omen it was, the Temple Hierophant dispatched the Paladin on this mysterious quest.

Despite his repeated questions, Cole had uncovered worryingly little detail about this island or what a group of arcane archaeologists were doing on it. Mentions of old ruins uncovered by a recent earthquake were about the most he’d learned. But from inference alone, Cole knew whatever was happening on the island couldn’t be good. Proper archaeologists, like the sort on Mycio, were more than capable of handling a few rattlers or wraiths dug up in an expedition. One didn’t poke around forgotten tombs or half-buried cities without an understanding of the undead, or at least didn’t poke around for very long.

As the fishing boat rocked violently in another wave, Cole redoubled his grip upon both the rail and his pack. They were close now; he could see details on the island’s shore and his destination. A rough harbor sat in the lee of a great rock-face stretching out from the island’s main body. Squinting, Cole made out a small collection of tents congregating near the shore. Protruding out into the water from this makeshift camp was a crude stone dock hosting a single small dinghy. Only this sandstone pier spoke to the camp’s owners. Who else would use geomancy in such a way?

If he was being honest with himself, Cole wasn’t too thrilled about working with the Ivory Tower. Only the constant cold weight of Master Time’s guidance kept him on this course and ignoring the nagging doubts being around so many Magi brought on. The idea of such… inquisitive people uncovering his secrets and what might come of their ‘interest’ sickened Cole. Rationally, he knew if the priests couldn’t sense what he was, then neither would these arcanist; but paranoia had long served Cole well. Better to assume those he’d been tasked with rescuing might turn upon him and be proven wrong than be caught unaware and end up on yet another dissection table.

“That should be the worst of it.” came a gruff voice from behind Cole. Turning about, he found the captain of the commandeered sloop adjusting some of the rigging. Short but with the wiry muscle of a swimmer, he looked the archetypical Olive Aeneian with his curly dark hair and rich skin. Scratching at his graying beard, the middle-aged sailor continued. “Closer we get to the island, calmer the sea will be. Once there, we’ll dock, let you disembark, then cast off.”

The captain’s words were stiff with unspoken meaning. The moment Cole left his boat, he’d consider his debt paid and wanted nothing more to do with the Paladin or his mission. Nodding, Cole looked up at the gray sky and asked. “Will you be fine in this weather?”

An annoyed grunt escaped the captain. “Better to be on the water than stuck there overnight.”

Frowning, Cole started to ask what the fisherman meant, but he was already returned to his tasks and clearly wasn’t willing to answer. Letting out a long sigh, Cole gripped the railing tighter and locked his eyes on the approaching island. From here, it didn’t look any different from any other of the countless spits of sandstone and greenery dotting the Marble Sea. Once again, the Paladin found himself frustrated with his lack of knowledge about what he was sailing into.

As the sloop properly entered the island’s lee the waves faded and the vessel reached the dock easily. All about Cole, the three sailors worked frantically to slow the vessel and prepare it for mooring. Knowing his help would be less than useless, Cole simply scanned the shore as the boat drifted towards the sculpted sandstone pier. Strangely, no one stood upon the dock to greet them. In fact, as Cole’s watchful eyes picked over the tents, he saw not a single living soul. Absently, the Paladin gripped onto his axe while the fishermen cast mooring lines onto the small stone outcroppings fashioned for that use. With some effort, the sailors got the sloop docked opposite from the smaller dinghy. Checking his equipment, Cole stepped onto the boat’s railing and then onto the stone pier.

Eyes not leaving the shore, Cole spoke calmly but firmly to the captain. “I think you’ve got the right idea about this place. Cast off the moment you can.”

Grunting his agreement, the fisherman and his crew quickly started freeing themselves from the dock. “May your God protect you, Rest-Bringer.”

Nodding slowly, Cole waited as the small sloop creaked and slowly came about, leaving the harbor as fast as its crew could manage. Watching as the vessel slipped away, the Paladin grimaced. If he was going to kick this hornet’s nest better for only him to get caught up in it. Unsheathing his axe, the Paladin walked slowly along the dock, coming closer to the rocky shore. Ahead of him, the only movement was the flapping of canvas in the island breeze. The tents were in good condition, and as Cole approached, other signs of recent habitation became clear. It seemed the camp hadn’t been abandoned as he feared… or at least only abandoned recently.

Nicking his arm and extending his axe into a pole-arm, Cole tugged at his light leather jerkin, then checked his belt pouches. Deciding he was ready as he’d ever be, the Paladin called out. “Hello?!”

Even with the wind, his shout carried through the camp loud and clear. Weapon at the ready, Cole waited patiently for someone or something to answer. Only the sea breeze and crack of rustling tents filled the air; leaving Cole alone in the empty camp. Stepping forward, senses peeled, Cole noticed fresh footprints in the rocky soil. Minding how the ground crunched beneath every footfall, Cole followed the tracks, glancing over the dozen or so tents. More than one was open, their flaps tied, exposing improvised living quarters to his watchful gaze. Nothing within them seemed amiss, no bodies, no signs of a struggle, not even marks of an enterprising animal investigating for food. Only one thing told Cole he simply hadn’t arrived at a bad time and the archaeologists would simply return from some dig site at any moment. Away from the sea and its myriad scents, Cole caught an unmistakable whiff of decay.

The smell was subtle and oddly muted; but two years of serving Master Time and a life within the Duchies before then had trained Cole well in recognizing all the aromas of death; even ones as strange as this. A person was dead, their body left to rot; but it lacked the raw pungency Cole knew to expect in hot, wet places like Mycio island. Following the smell, Cole grimaced as it became clear the tracks he’d noticed were heading in the same direction. While it was hard to tell on such terrain, Cole doubted a ghoul left the prints, the strides were too regular, but that didn’t mean some other form of undeath awaited him.

Sidling past one of the larger tents, this one filled with shelves and equipment; Cole heard a rhythmic clunk and clatter. Pole-axe at the ready, the Paladin came around the tent’s corner and found the noises’s source. A wheelbarrow sat overturned, a pile of stone debris spilling out from it. Squatting next to the handcart was a man picking up bits of rock and trying to put them back inside the wheelbarrow’s bucket. The man was naked and uncaring of his surroundings, focused on his monotonous task. Every few stones, the man’s efforts would be undone as more fell out of the cart in a miniature rockslide. Sniffing the air, Cole rolled his shoulders, he’d found the smell’s source.

Slowly approaching the man, Cole said. “Hello?” There was no response, and the strange figure merely continued his pointless work. Jaw tightening, knowing what to expect, the Paladin reached out with his pole-axe and used its flat to knock the stranger onto his back. Landing with a crunch, the man’s head smacked against the ground and his empty eyes stared up at the sky. He was dead, flesh withered and bloodless, soul trapped and tormented. Quick as he could, Cole brought his pole-axe’s head down upon the corpse's neck. The decapitation was clean, and remarkably little rotting blood dripped onto the ground.

Staring at the now headless body, Cole sucked in a deep nervous breath. The dead man was coated in grime, with heavily calloused hands, a laborer's hands. Strangely, the corpse seemed in good condition, with little sign of external rot and no overt injuries aside from missing a head. Looking at the wheelbarrow and tracing the groove it left in the soil, Cole started to get an idea of things. It seemed one of the workers hired to help in the archaeology dig had died, but his employers hadn’t gotten their full use out of him. Ghouls didn’t make the best labor, but that didn’t stop unscrupulous Magi with a little too much necromantic knowledge from using them that way. As for why the body was naked? Well, that would be another question for Cole to ask whoever animated this unfortunate soul.

Tightening his grip upon his weapon, Cole knew such an ugly but relatively minor act wasn’t what might spur a Preceptor to call for help. In fact, this was exactly the sort of thing the Ivory Towers would fight tooth and nail to keep under-wraps. The Magi preferred to handle such violations internally and only sought divine aid in the most extreme situations. Glancing around at the empty camp, and then down at the corpse lying at its southern edge, Cole grimaced. Whatever happened here, this poor reanimated soul was merely the spear’s tip.

Quickly fishing his amulet out of his shirt, Cole squatted down over the body and got to work freeing the soul within. Eyes shut, the Paladin called upon his power and started his holy task. Reaching out, amulet in hand, Cole let the cleansing power wash over the corpse and… and felt nothing; he couldn’t sense the strange ghoul’s soul. Brow furrowing, he pushed more of the magic into the corpse, both its head and body. Cole’s frown deepened as he failed to find any trace of the soul, or even the telltale scraps left behind by some metaphysical predator. In fact, a soul wasn’t the only thing missing. There was no sign of magic aside from Cole’s own on the corpse. No cloying hints of necromancy or rotten soul-stuff left over from a ghoul’s reanimation, nothing to even explain how the body had been moving.

Opening his eyes, grunting at the rising headache he felt, Cole looked around him, blinking away the strange double-vision his gifts sometimes imparted. Normally, it just offered glimpses into the Aether or arcane synesthesia; but other times like now… it did stranger things. If he let his eyes unfocus, he caught hints of the corpse back at its task and what it had been doing before then. The blurry outline walked away from the camp and came back, driving the wheelbarrow until it caught on a root and overturned.

Watching this strange pantomime repeat a few times, Cole tried to understand what his mind was failing to interpret. But before he could dwell on this, the corpse at his feet moved. Jumping back, weapon at the ready, Cole blinked rapidly, mouth falling open in shock. The headless body was no longer headless, its neck lacking any sign of his blow. Slowly pulling itself upright, the corpse stiffly turned from Cole, and started walking south-west, just as it had in his vision. Stunned, all the Paladin could do was watch as the husk disappeared down a path deeper into the island’s interior.

Shocked beyond words, Cole looked around him wildly, trying to understand what had just happened. For the barest moment he considered the ghoul had never been, and this was some illusion, but the blood drying on his pole-axe convinced him otherwise. He’d severed the ghoul’s head, split its neck apart in a single good strike and flooded its body with enough power to free a dozen of its kind. So how was it now intact? And more than that, how was it even moving? No magic animated the body, no spell or curse puppeteer'd the dead flesh; nor was there any hint to flesh crafting or occult corpse preparation to explain the regeneration. None of this made sense; it defied all of Cole’s considerable arcane knowledge. Faced with this enigma, and the dull throb in his chest, Cole had only one option, to follow the ghoul and try to find out what was happening.

The more Cole observed the husk, the stranger it became. Following perhaps two meters behind it, he watched the animated corpse trudge along the rocky path, uncaring of his presence. Usually, ghouls moved at a lethargic shuffle or frenzied sprint; instead, this one simply walked with disturbing normality. It didn’t drag its feet or stumble over its own limbs; and could almost be mistaken for a living person aside from its nudity and abnormal decay. While ghouls never rotted properly, this one was especially strange, it looked like a body left in the cold dryness of a temple mortuary for a little too long. At first Cole had assumed necromantic preservation spells had been the cause, but after the decapitation and… recapitation, he wasn’t so certain.

Adding to this already growing pile of abnormalities, Cole occasionally noticed odd quirks in the ghoul's movements. An arm would spasm up, or its head would turn seemingly randomly. After maybe the third of the arm spasms, Cole finally recognized the gesture; the ghoul was swatting at insects, insects that weren’t present.

The Paladin and animated corpse continued down the trail for perhaps twenty minutes, Cole occasionally stopping to notice one of oddities alongside the path. Mounds of freshly piled rock and bushes half-buried in damp sand marked their progress. Hesitating beside a large mound of what had to be a small spoil tip from an excavation. Cole heard something other than the ghoul’s footsteps, another traveler somewhere farther up the path. Pole-axe still in hand, Cole stepped off the trail, crouching down, and crept forward.

Keeping the strange corpse in sight, he watched it slow down as if to greet someone. Farther down the trail came another figure, this one moving with the same calm pace as the ghoul, the exact same pace. From his vantage among the rocks and bushes, Cole couldn’t see the newcomer well but he did witness what happened when the ghoul got close to them. Jerking its head, the animated corpse let out a bubbling sound, one answered by the other traveler. Mystified, Cole kept watching as the ghoul and… and other ghoul passed each other on the trail. This new corpse carried a heavy sack over one shoulder that dripped constantly, but other than that was akin to the first.

Watching this new sack carrier, Cole frowned as it came into proper sight. The ghouls weren’t similar to each other; they were identical, both naked and only distinguished by the patterns of grime covering them. Confused by twin’s sudden appearance, Cole could only stare as the sack-carrying ghoul moved to one of the piles and emptied its burden onto the sandy mound. Watching as clumps of wet sand splattered onto the ground, Cole felt the icy tug in his chest grow stronger, pulling him in the direction the first ghoul was traveling. Swallowing down a lump of nerves, Cole followed as the second ghoul turned about and went back the way it came, empty sack in hand.

Trailing after the pair of identical twins, Cole sifted through every piece of arcane knowledge and occult lore he knew, trying to understand what was happening. Nothing he could think of matched this madness; Cole needed more information, and fast. Stalking towards the sack-carrying ghoul, he lashed out with his pole-axe, splitting the creature’s leg at the knee. As it smacked into the dirt, Cole attempted to free this corpse’s soul. Like before, he found nothing, no soul, no magic, nothing to say how the ghoul could move. Hand upon the crawling husk’s head, Cole felt the precursors to fear flow through him.

This made no sense, ghouls and every other form of undead were inherently magical; they relied upon the Aether to function. Cole considered perhaps his admittedly crude arcane senses were missing whatever spell was at work on the corpse; but that seemed incredibly unlikely. Magic capable of not just puppeteering an entire body, but repairing a decapitation wasn’t subtle. For the first time in as long as Cole could remember, he was utterly in the dark and that scared him more than any animated corpse or deathly curse.

Letting go of the body, Cole looked up the trail seeing more of the half-vision his powers gifted after trying to free the first ghoul. Again, he saw flickers of the corpse at work, walking down the trail towards the pile and returning once its task was done. Trying to focus on what his powers could sense but his mind couldn’t grasp, Cole caught hints of other phantoms, all moving with the same sedate pace, some carrying burdens, others not. Was he seeing every trip these twin ghouls had taken? Or was their recent history stretched out before his eyes? That seemed the strongest possibility, so Cole stepped past the body, trying to match the myriad tracks in the soil against the half-seen flickers.

The scrape of feet on gravel, pulled Cole’s attention back and to his discomfort but not necessarily shock, the second ghoul had stood up. Uncaring of him, the corpse continued down the path, sack in hand. The only sign of Cole’s attack was a slight blemish on one leg where some grime had been knocked free.

Letting his eyes unfocus and his mind touch those hints of magic still filling him, Cole watched the ghoul walk away and join the procession of phantoms. After maybe three or four steps, the ghoul’s movements started to overlap with one of the visions and soon enough, they matched perfectly. Disliking what this implied, Cole followed after the creature, seeing both its body and the spectral path it followed.

Cole and the ghoul continued like this for close to an hour; heading deeper into the island’s interior with every step. The occult sight he’d activated had long faded, but that mattered little; the ghoul’s prints fit perfectly into some tracks on the path. Whatever force was animating these corpses, it had them moving like a cart on mine rails. Uncertain of what to do except simply follow and observe; Cole did just that.

The path was winding and heading steadily upward, moving towards what had to be the island’s peak. Aside from the occasional piles of rock and sand left by the worker ghouls, the only other sign of activity were chest-high wooden stakes occasionally pounded into the ground. These were becoming more common higher up the island, just the spoil mounds were getting rarer. They seemed to be marking out the trail, but Cole’ couldn’t be certain.

Following the ghoul through a series of limestone outcroppings, Cole hesitated as a sound reached his ears, the unmistakable clatter of disturbed stone. Spinning about, pole-axe at the ready, he scanned his surroundings. Cursing himself, Cole realized this maze of boulders and bushes around him was a perfect place for an ambush. Walking towards the noise’s source, he rounded a corner just for words of power to reach his ears. Operating on instinct, Cole leapt back behind a boulder just in time to dodge a gout of flame.

As the conjured fire died away, Cole shouted. “Who's there?”

After a long silence a woman’s voice, tight with tension, answered. “You first!”

Hoping he’d found a survivor, Cole called out. “Rest-Bringer Cole of the Tenth Temple. I’ve been dispatched to help the expedition here.”

Another long silence, and then the woman spat. “Prove it!”

Amulet in hand, Cole slowly stuck it out from behind the boulder and called silver light into existence. “I hope that is satisfactory?”

Instead of words, Cole heard the patter of rapid footsteps as the stranger bolted. Sighing, Cole crept out from behind the boulder, keeping himself low and close to cover. Deciding his chances of catching a firebolt with his head were low enough, the Paladin followed the woman’s tracks. Moving cautiously, never tarrying too far between outcroppings of stone, he left the limestone maze and started climbing a steep ridge. After a few minutes of tense effort while expecting another attack, Cole reached the top. Poking his head up, Cole swore at what he saw.

The ridge he’d climbed descended down into a small ravine of rock that ended at an abrupt cliff-face. Smooth stone jutted out in a flat stretch big as a castle. It was like some ancient titan had cracked the island in two and set one half’s edge atop the others, leaving an exposed stretch of polished rock. Cole could see the layers of time in the cliff-face, and soon realized the very ridge he stood upon was born of debris displaced by its upheaval. But these details about the impressive geologic structure were just background noise in Cole’s mind as he stared down at the cliff’s bottom. Breaking up the patterns of multi-hued stone was a huge mass of reflective metal.

Easily the size of a house, the material was part of the cliff-face, giving the appearance of some monumental mirror set into the rock. Shaped like a triangle, the metal structure’s only blemish was a similarly three-sided aperture towards its center. A simple but well-made ramp of stone lead up from the ravine floor to this entrance and signs of excavation and other industry were apparent around it. Of these signs, the most obvious were the two dozen laborers hard at work moving debris away from the structure; they were what forced an oath from Cole’s lips. Each and every one was a ghoul, and more than that, completely identical to the first two he’d encountered.

“Not twins… copies.” the Paladin whispered to himself as a trio of the working corpses appeared from the mirror wall’s opening, each carrying baskets filled with stone. Watching as the ghouls emptied their cargo onto a growing pile of debris their duplicates sorted through, Cole wondered at the mirror triangle origin. It had be the ruin exposed by an earthquake, that was obvious, especially considering how its bottom point was still partially buried.

Letting out a tired breath, Cole finished climbing the ridge, preparing to go get a closer look. The ghouls hadn’t been aggressive and, from what he’d seen, the Paladin was confident he could outrun or outfight them. Picking his steps carefully, he trudged down the ridge as the creatures worked. They weren’t very competent, but made up for it with sheer mechanical persistence. The way they worked in a slow, stumbling concert reminded Cole of ants. There wasn’t much intelligence at work here, but an overriding directive the corpses struggled towards without stopping.

Right as Cole was about to reach the bottom, a sharp whistle caught his attention. Standing on the bluff marking the west end of the ravine was a short man frantically waving his arms. “Don’t get any closer! They don’t like that!”

Taking a tentative step back up the slope, Cole held his amulet aloft. “I’m here to speak with the Magi in charge.”

The short man gestured for Cole to come closer. “That would be me! I’m Preceptor Rellim of Vindabon. But we can talk once we’re back at the new camp.”

Nodding to himself, Cole started the trek up and along the slope towards Rellim. The man matched the description he’d been given and seemed his best chance at getting answers. Approaching the Magi, Cole glanced back at the excavation and noted a pair of new arrivals entering from the opposite side of the ravine. They were the ghouls he’d encountered and were now collecting more debris to haul. Seeing the scores of identical corpses sent a shiver up Cole’s spine; something about the sight itched at his mind.

Reaching Rellim, Cole found the Preceptor standing with a young woman with tight braids and tighter nerves. Gesturing at the Paladin she said. “Yes, that’s him.”

Smiling, Rellim reached out to shake Cole’s hands. “Excellent! Forgive Niello her reaction; things haven’t been… pleasant.”

Grunting his agreement, Cole didn’t take the Magi’s offered hand. “What is all this?”

Rellim’s smile turned brittle. “Nothing good. Let’s get back to camp and we can go over all the details then.”

Adjusting his grip on his pole-axe in a way to bring attention to its presence, Cole growled. “On the topic of forgiveness, I hope you can excuse me not wanting to follow you without more information.”

Looking past Cole, down the ravine, Rellim licked his lips nervously. “It really would be better if we didn’t stay so close to the Triskelion.”

Raising an eyebrow, Cole asked. “The what?”

Gesturing down towards the mirror wall, Rellim said. “Just a nickname until something better becomes apparent. Now, let's please get moving; we’ve no way of telling how long the docile phase will last.”

Rolling his shoulders, Cole's voice became colder. “Not until you tell me what those things are.”

Deflating slightly, Rellim muttered. “I was hoping you would know; it is your temple’s expertise after all.”

Cole shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of undead like that.”

A pained expression crossed the Preceptor’s face. “Yes, well, I don’t think they are undead; technically that is.”

Seeing Cole’s grim expression, Rellim elaborated. “I should have been more specific; your temple’s expertise outside death.”

Cole frowned, mouth parting in confusion. Then, whirling about, he stared down at the duplicates toiling below. Flashes of the strange phantom paths he’d seen danced in his mind as Cole whispered. “Time.”