A day with Nyllian

Thomas was frustrated.

He drew his horse to a stop. Where the hell was he now, anyway? Looked like somewhere in Antiva. Possibly, his horse would do him some good, if he could travel all the way down to the Free Marches, and back home to Ferelden? Or was there a ship that went directly back home? Being in Antiva meant dealing with assassins of all kinds. The Crows took contracts to slaughter. Thomas needed an escape from this nation. 

Before long, he halted. Following him today was a ragtag group, a search party, doing their bidding. Everyone was looking for this woman, Nyllian. Thomas didn’t want know too much of this woman, just yet. She had dangerous leanings, the group said, she knew a powerful man. Thomas followed the story. He knew some dangerous men in Ferelden, but the ones in Antiva were a truly in a league of their own. 

Elgar’nan. Was that some sort of God-King? It sounded so beautiful. This entity sounded grand. He was certain men like this craved Godly power. Thomas, a mercenary captain, was a little more into carving fresh sheep with his blade. Thomas made his way through the wilds, pressing a little further into Antiva. He was almost there, almost ready.

“Oh we are right there.” the search party yelled. 

Thomas pressed further, before finally finding his target. 

Nyllian. A woman, looked like an undead artist. 

“Oy! Are you… Nyllian?” he shouted, amidst the group’s confusion. 

The woman was busy raising the undead. A necromancer type. Thomas was eager to end his day. This was certainly the target. The description fit. Who was she really? He would know soon.

The Eth had given her a choice. Death, or join their ranks and serve. Nyllian had obviously chosen the latter, not willing to turn down a gift and a chance. Once her collar came off she had enacted her revenge after enquiring what would be done with the guards. While her condition was weak she had managed to lay siege to the prison, massacuring and severing those ties. Or so she had believed. She had spent the next several weeks recovering, learning alongside other recruits, but advancing swiftly into a position granting more freedom.

It was not quite a reward in some eyes. It was a necessity in some cases, else she accidentally brushed against someone's skin with her own and killed them outright. Unbound, the mages shield of necrotic force took full effect, and most wished to maintain a comfortable distance, their lives intact.

Nyllian preferred it this way, solitude granted a lack of distracting babbling while she played with the weave. Almost completely healed and at full strength, the necromancer had decided on taking a solo patrol stopping along the way to practise and raise the dead to cause plight on the living. Since the battle hadn’t ended in victory, maintaining a presence was crucial, just because they had faced a setback did not mean they were no longer a threat.

Voices, the ting of metal against metal and the beat of boots hitting earth swelled from the backdrop to the forefront as one voice rang clear. Fingers paused in their manipulations, irritations falling as a huffed sigh at being interrupted, called by her name no less. Were these men from the Chantry? No. But hired, certainly. Had she missed someone back at the prison?

Nyllian’s expression remained coldly indifferent, eyes tracking the position of every one of the band before she answered. [color=#ff56ff]“Everyone who calls me that is dead. Does that mean you’ve come to die?”[/color] A brow arched in question. 

[color=#ff56ff]“Who are you and what do you want? Speak quickly because I have little patience for pest control.” [/color]

The Wyls had been given many chances at coin. One of them had been joining a cult. Certainly, that meant inviting many dangers to their lives. Thomas was unwilling. A collar and some magic wasn’t exactly his dream job. Thomas managed to join several different mercenaries and rig some contracts his way. Still, it wasn’t the ideal living. He needed more coin, that was for certain. It was better than roaming the wilds all the time and running out of money. Still, it was a life, an enjoyable one, gutting things with his blade. 

 There were rewards to being a  mercenary, even if it wasn’t the best job around. There were many other jobs that made money, including some magi who sold their wares outside the circle. But there wasn’t enough freedom in that role. Being a fat nobleman in some castle was appealing, but even that was fraught with dangers. 

So what was this necromancer up to? Likely roaming the wilds practicing her undead craft. The spirits of the dead weren’t so kind to the Wyls, but likely that wasn’t the case for this witch. Thomas knew he would receive strange responses from this type of woman. Well, it was better than the old blacksmith in town with dull everyday news. 

The necromancer answered.

Thomas winced. 

“Oh no no no! No need to harm these men.” said Thomas at once. 

“We have come to help. We heard you  were stuck in the wilds. Some man that’s a believer in your cult sent us to join you. What do you think? Care to have some friends join you?”

Black pools focused on the leader, void of all but one feeling, disdain. Had they stooped so low that they had to entertain these rabble? Nyllian scoffed. [color=#b20080]“Friends? Really? All I see are a band of untested boys, playing knifemen.”[/color] She didn’t have friends. She left corpses, and then used them to fight and swarm while she stalked through the field harvesting more. She’d have made Arlathan her field of bones if she had been given the chance.

The explanation they were her aid irked her further, and her back straightened in offence. Cult? [color=#b20080]“My Master is the True God, call it such again and I will tear out your tongue,”[/color] she’d snap harshly. She could handle her own, her army of undead were proof of such, but fine, she would allow them to accompany her. Perhaps if any fell, she could reap them anew to fight on? Or were they sentimental over dead meat? Time would tell. 

Her gaze slowly returned to her work, back facing them she’d informed them of her task. [color=#b20080]“I’m almost done, then we march to the village over, to raise it. We’ll see if you are worth your lives… afterwards.” [/color]

If the peasants living there didn’t flee, then they would be crushed under their feet. In the name of her God, she’d help cleanse the rest of the land for him. Once her small band of undead were assembled, she drew a few feet closer, hands gathering behind her. [color=#b20080]“Do you need me to lead the way, or are you versed enough in the local area?” [/color]

The woman seemed terribly focused. Thomas, on the other end, was worried about undead spirits and wild bodies. 

“Experienced or inexperienced, we are the men for you!” he said at once. 

This woman seemed like the lonely type, plotting all kinds of intrigue in the wild with the undead. Thomas knew she could explode, at any point, but she was still rather passive. 

She changed her facial expressions. Now, there was some irritation. 

“Oh yes, please! We know your master is the one true God! We were merely just musing in our own ways.” he said. 

So how did her undead look? Did she have hordes of them available? Thomas tried to appeal to the woman once she got angry. He certainly wasn’t interested in offending this type of lady. He went along with the suspense of the undead.

“The village it is.” he replied at once. There was some kind of work that needed to get done.

She finally assembled her band of the undead. Thomas adjusted.

“Oh I will lead the way.” he mused. He and his fellow men were ready to make the village. Thomas began rushing out of the wilds, towards the roads that lead to the village. There was not as much learning there, save for a few beasts in the way. He was certain the village was full of men awaiting battle.

The living always found the dead unsettling. The entropic energies could easily be whipped into a malevolent force in the right hands to take the last breath of any who fell in their wake. The confidence in this one of his abilities and those of his supporters would be tested, she believed no-one’s ‘good word’ without proof. [color=#b20080]“Well see, won’t we.” [/color]

Lonely, was a matter of perspective. Nyllian heard the voices, the whispers of the dear departed, she communed with the dead when confined to solitary. While she was rented like a broodmare and her magical talents sold, now unbound her path was hers to choose and who else but the Divine that freed her leash? These men were unworthy of Elgar’nan’s grace, but they were mere pawns, disposable pieces to inconvenience the fools set against them. They would parlay for now.

Nyllian rolled her eyes in boredom. While she likely wouldn’t escape any skirmish uninjured, she could kill them all with relative ease. If it weren’t for the grandeur scheme of things, she’d chuckle to herself.

[color=#b20080]“We resort to guerrilla tactics,” [/color]was all she muttered, gait drawing closer to the leader.

The bodies drawn from the earth were of elvhen descent. A small contingent which had clashed with some Tevinter mages during the Ancient Age, their armoured bones carrying the weapons of their past lives. Behind her, fingers gestured and weaved signs of instruction. Half of the undead began meandering ahead towards the village, the rest but one took another route.

[color=#b20080]“This is Reaper,” [/color]eyeing the sole remaining corpse who approached her side. An undead warrior, brandishing a greataxe toward above the small woman. [color=#b20080]“Unlike the others, he regenerates when hit. Do not give him reason to do so.” [/color]

[color=#b20080]“Shall we?” [/color]