Art by Melissa Conway and N.A. Soleil
Narrated by Shae Strong and Randell Moore
At the same time the Golden Paladin was bidding Hesa ‘good night,’ a familiar armored figure — looking somewhat like a turtle from a distance with a massive mirrored shield on his back — stalked the edge of camp.
Officially, Baleraphon was patrolling the perimeter. It was a position he was uniquely suited to, due to his superior vision and lack of need for sleep.
It wasn’t something he’d ever talk about, but in his past, Baleraphon and his sister, a powerful magus, had been hunters of Very Dangerous Things across the metacosm. The Chimera had come across their radar and, after a long hunt, they challenged it. The battle was technically a success with the death of the Chimera — but it had left both siblings infected with its venom and dying. His sister had poured the last of her life-energy into a spell to save his life, which had effectively made him immortal, though hadn’t purged him of the venom. Over time, the venom and spell combined had altered his physiology to the point where he was his own unique individual and could ascribe himself to no one species.
He was just Bale.
His gaze swept into the darkness beyond the beacon torches ringing the camp, seeking anything out of place. Mostly, these patrols were entirely boring and uneventful, but that was a good thing. Night raids were annoying.
When one quadrant was cleared, he went to move on — then something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
A dancing purple light, still quite far off. Bale stopped and frowned at it. Magic? He couldn’t consciously recall any creatures native to this area that gave off that particular hue, yet it felt terribly familiar.
And it was approaching.
Before he could become actively concerned, though, the nagging feeling focused abruptly and Bale felt a burst of joy chased immediately by alarm. He rushed past the beacon torches into the field beyond, wildly waving an arm over his head at the approaching light.
The two met — the armored man and the blob of purple light — in the middle of the field. The blob fluttered midair for a moment more after losing its forward momentum, then straightened itself out and peeled back to reveal a bald, grey-skinned hominin with glowing cyan eyes. He too wore armor, but his was chunky, heavy plate over a battle robe. The last of the purple light formed into a sword and shield that hovered protectively nearby, made of a neon purple metal that Bale knew to be called imperium.
“Leif!” Bale cried enthusiastically.
The grey-skinned man, Leif, tilted his head and regarded Bale.
Leif was a psionicist mage, and a Deadman besides. Had he approached the camp without warning, the alarm would have rung because he was technically unliving. And while both Hesa and Bale could vouch for him, it would have caused an unnecessary ruckus. Ruckuses were also annoying.
“Baleraphon.” Leif’s voice was stoic and deep. “I see you gained that weight you were seeking.”
“Right? I’m not tiny compared to my shield anymore. And you — what’s with the plate?”
Leif blinked. “You are not the only person capable of intense training for a specific purpose. Are you a part of that camp up ahead?”
“Yes! You here to join us?”
“Hmm. Perhaps, if our goals align. I am on-planet on hunt. A liech raided one of our necropoli and I am here to exact our price.”
“A liech, huh?” Bale echoed thoughtfully. “We have seen signs of necromantic magic around here. Wonder if that’s his work.”
Leif’s gaze shifted suddenly over Bale’s shoulder and Bale turned in response to see the Golden Paladin approaching. He always wore a full-face helm, but for some reason his facial expressions broadcasted beyond it, and Bale felt that he was frowning.
“I see the Creator succeeded,” Leif murmured.
“Ah!” Bale turned and bowed hurriedly as the Golden Paladin came within earshot. “My Lord! This is Leif of the Deadmen. He’s here hunting a liech.”
The Golden Paladin’s face cleared and he also offered a slight, polite bow. “I see. Greetings, Deadman Leif. It has been some time since I’ve had the pleasure to speak with one of your people — how is Arturo?”
Arturo was the leader of the Deadmen, last Baleraphon knew. Looks like the Golden Paladin was of the same thought.
“Dead,” Leif said bluntly and without inflection.
“Dead?!” Bale exclaimed.
“Courtesy of the liech I’m hunting,” Leif continued. Bale stared in horror.
“I am truly sorry to hear that,” the Golden Paladin said calmly, but with genuine sympathy. “He was a good man. You are more than welcome to camp with us and we will share any intel we have that might be relevant.”
“I will take you up on that,” Leif said and swept forward without preamble. Bale and the Golden Paladin fell into step with him back towards the camp. The Golden Paladin glanced over at Leif as they walked.
“Perchance, are your arms imperium?” The Golden Paladin asked, referring to the floating purple sword and shield following like obedient drones.
“Yes.”
“Ah,” the Golden Paladin said, and there was a wealth of understanding in his tone.
Imperium and thaumium — the latter of which was Archaic Earth’s entire core and the reason for its intense magical field — were two magical ores at complete odds with one another, to the point of producing active repelling effects.
For someone to be capable of utilizing imperium in any fashion on a planet so full of an antagonistic force was all the Golden Paladin likely needed to infer Leif’s potential value as an ally.
“You came from the necropoli, correct?” the Golden Paladin asked again, making polite conversation to pass the walk.
“Correct.”
“Last I knew, your people were still traveling edge-of-light; has that changed?”
“Yes.”
Leif’s great, isn’t he?! The Golden Paladin & co will need all the help they can get as they prepare to link up with the other Kingdoms and assault the first tower!
Metacosm Trivia Time!
Oh boy, this month’s a good one.
Deadmen.
One of our favorite species, honestly.
In Metacosm, there’s no such thing as sapient undead, nor zombies. It’s just not a compatible concept with Metacosm’s inherent ruleset. But, animating dead flesh with magic or technology is still something that many people would attempt, so the resulting creatures are split into two groups: monsters, and the unliving. Monsters do not have souls and are not capable of being intelligent. The unliving are what happens when a soul inhabits reanimated dead flesh.
Deadmen are a type of unliving; the average metacosmic citizen’s soul upon death releases its tether to its temporary physical home quite readily, to return to the soul-streams and restart the process. However, there are exceptions. Sometimes souls hang around, are Very Strong, are ready to evolve — there are lots of variables that might keep a soul from returning to the soul-stream.
Now, if a necromancer were to attempt to harness the body of a particularly strong soul, before that tether has fully dissolved, it essentially … resurrects the person. But they are locked into the last known physical state encoded into the soul — which is usually that of pre-death. So most look somewhat decomposed, or at the very least, Not Alive.
Deadmen are often singularly powerful, and singularly focused on destroying the necromancer that interrupted their afterdeath process and trapped them into another go-round on the physical plane without their consent. And after that? Any other necromancer anywhere else.
N.A. Soleil is a portmanteau pseudonym of the two authors' names.
