Shorter chapter. I couldn't justify stretching it out.
***
The doors to the temple burst inward, and Melkin turned around. “Come in quieter—” she went silent as she saw Travis, the mayor, the Undead, and in his arms, Amara. The captain of the night shift was badly injured, and Melkin dropped the tome she was reading and rushed over. “What happened?”
The Undead man, who looked to be uninjured, though his armor was rent and torn asunder, replied, “She got run through by a Fog Creeper Matriarch. I did a little bit of healing, but not much.”
An Undead who can heal the living? Melkin thought with confusion. There is no way—
The voice of her goddess, The Blooming Hand, spoke in her thoughts. Her voice was melodic and soothing, as she said, [I blessed him.]
It’s not my place to question, but why—
[A favor to The Last Warden.]
That name sent a shiver down Melkin’s spine. She knew of the true god of Death, and how his worshippers and those souls bound to him sought to keep Death as pure as possible. But, the fact that her goddess was working with the god of Death, unaspected and untainted by alignment, meant that she had to at a minimum treat the Undead with slight deference.
You gave him power?
[Gravebloom. Death and Life entwined. My faithful servant, you judge too quickly and harshly. Not all is as it seems. Now, for your task, you are to mend Captain Amara. The shorter her recovery window, the greater your reward. Forces are at work in the Everfog Forest, and Mistbrook will need her more than ever to lead the defense.]
I serve, my goddess.
Melkin said to the Undead, “Follow me,” and led him through a side door that led to the town’s infirmary. Instructing the creature to set Amara down, Melkin began cutting away clothing.
To her surprise, the Undead walked over to the cabinet, began grabbing canteens, sloshing them to presumably confirm the contents, and then grabbed clean linens. He came over and knelt next to the bed that Melkin sat next to, and his blue eyes blazed with an inner flame. “I don’t know much about medicine,” he said, “But I have an Art that can heal the living.”
Melkin was practically shaking with the Undead this close to her. She could feel the tingling on her skin from the presence of Death nearby. It made her forehead wet from clamminess as sweat poured down her brow. “Just leave me to my work.”
The Undead nodded and stood up, leaving the clean cloth and water behind. He departed, closing the door softly behind himself.
Melkin set to work, using every ounce of her healing Arts, her magic, to mend Captain Amara. Putting intestines back into a body wasn’t hard work, but she had to make sure to remove all of the thorns. Despite being Life-aligned, they carried traces of Toxin and Caustic power, and thus could not be left inside the body. She had to extract the intestines, bit by bit, and then run her hands along them to suss out any of the protrusions. But, her magic was at play, and the soft, green glow of good-aligned Life surged through her palms, ensuring no pain.
Captain Amara woke up as Melkin was finishing her task and putting the final touches in place on fixing the skin. “Where…where am I?” Amara asked.
“In the temple,” Melkin replied, feeling relief as the Captain of the night watch revived. “I already helped Thorm,” she said. “Minor injuries, but you came two hours after.”
Amara had tears behind her eyes though she did not cry them: Melkin had seen enough tears shed to know when someone was on the verge. That reservoir flooded over as Amara sniffled and whispered, “He saved me.”
“Who did?” Melkin asked, dreading the answer.
“...Luke did. The Undead. He…he threw himself into danger.” She began crying. “I can’t, I just, he’s…he stole William’s body.”
Melkin grimaced. “Well, you are alive, that is what matters—”
“I was too harsh,” Amara said through tears as she shook her head. “I saw him, for a moment. I saw William’s face, his visage, for a moment, replace Luke’s. Vibrant, brash smile, full of grit.” She choked back a sob. “There’s some of William in there—”
Melkin put a hand to her lips. “Shush, child. His soul is gone. The body retains memories of the prior resident. All you saw in your injured state was the body you knew reacting. William is gone.”
Amara wept, and Melkin held her tight. But the whole time that she comforted Amara, Melkin felt a horrible sense of trepidation. She had lit the candle, the Dawnbringers were on their way, and she had just consigned an Undead…no, a man, who sacrificed himself for a stranger, to death.
Blooming Hand, forgive me.
***
Luke paced around the temple. It was wood, like the other buildings, but the floor was stone, and the interior had panels which lined the walls, giving it a very homey, warm feeling. Several rows of seats faced a front, raised dais, upon which there was an altar. Going around the whole room, he noted several candles with symbols upon parchment, wrapped around the base of each, like tags on presents under a Christmas tree.
The altar itself was made of wood, with little vines and a bonsai-style tree, though this one was flowering yellow buds, growing out of it. The entire place smelled warm, welcoming, and he felt relaxed.
Maybe that’s just what Life does to people, he thought.
All around the room, he saw niches in the wooden panels: alcoves which had small statuettes placed. There were wood-carved depictions of what Luke assumed were the deities, and as he picked one up and examined the base, he saw two names carved into the bottom. The artist, and then for the figure he had picked up, The Hollow Star. It was an abstract carving, as a single wooden stick led up an open ring.
I wonder what this is the god of?
[Void.]
Luke froze, and looked around, then up. The voice wasn’t that of The Last Warden. It was different. A woman, with a warm tone, and motherly compassion which filled Luke with a sense of belonging and love. It had the sensation of being welcomed home by a mother or father, given a hug, and the knowledge and reassurance that they loved you no matter what. “I…would you be The Blooming Hand, then?”
[Yes. The Last Warden and I occasionally work together. Welcome to Artesthrak, Luke Rivers of Earth. Just as The Last Warden answered three of your questions, I, too, will answer three.]
Luke took in a breath and looked around. The mayor had departed earlier once Luke made his intention clear to stick around and wait for Captain Amara to recover clear. Luke took a seat on one of the pews and racked his brain for what he could ask.
Maybe I should just see if she’s on board with my plans.
He chose to speak aloud, not because he felt like he had to, but because being in a temple reminded him of being in the confessional booth at church back when he was a kid. Plus, it felt properly respectful, since he was in the goddesses’ house. “I have a plan to help the world, to use the power I have to make things better. I can…split off my soul to make permanently tethered and controlled Undead Outposts.”
He took in a deep breath and felt that nervousness that one might have if they were talking to a parent they were afraid of disappointing. “Back where I’m from, I had the data—information, and didn’t have the power to actually use that knowledge to improve the world. Now?” He looked down at his palm and felt the magical energy coursing through him. “I have the power to fix things.”
[Your first question?]
Luke said, “Do you approve of my plan to improve the world by making these outposts, these places where the no-longer-needed corpses can serve the living?”
[Yes.]
That brought Luke a huge sense of relief, and he let out the rest of the air in his lungs that didn’t need it in a sigh expressing as much. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
[Second question?]
“How do I stop the Fog Creepers?”
[You cannot without destroying the whole forest. They are Life-typed monsters, and there is enough power that they will come back. A temporary cull, however, would ‘stop’ them for some time.]
That made sense to Luke. Places in this world manifested monsters just from the permeation of Power. He had an idea, a way to possibly keep the Fog Creepers in check, while not risking lives, and keeping them from reproducing via their gnarly implantation. He still had one question remaining, and as he looked at the statuettes around him, he asked, “This world has many gods. I count eighty, with similar theming. Sixteen gods, five interpretations: the pure one, such as The Last Warden, and then the axis of alignment. My question is…will others join efforts with the deity who governs my soul, as you have?”
To his surprise, the voice of The Last Warden replied.
[As circumstances require, alliances may be built.]
Then, The Blooming Hand spoke.
[Thank you for helping a town of my worshippers. Until next time.]
All of the voices faded from Luke’s mind, and he could only hear the creaking of the building as wind blew against it. That, and the sounds of whimpering and crying from the medical area which he had put Captain Amara in—that was to be expected. But what he heard now, and didn’t notice before, was footsteps.
Melkin, the priestess, walked down the aisle and sat on the pew next to him. Not directly adjacent, but still in the same row. She looked at him. “I…heard what you presented to whomever you were speaking to.”
“Your goddess,” Luke replied.
At that, Melkin’s eyes went wide. “Verdant Mother above—”
“Is that another version?” Luke asked.
“The…she is the pure interpretation, yes. The Blooming Hand is the goodly form of her that is worshipped here.” Melkin cleared her throat. “I…you are Undead, and thus are formed of Death itself.”
That matches up with my Undead Creature Aspect, Luke thought. That lists Death as a Power Type.
Melkin continued, “I judged you because of that. Harshly, I might add. But my goddess chose to give you a Quest, apparently, since you were just asking her questions.”
“That’s right,” Luke replied, not wanting to share too much and still retain some advantage.
“Why did you put yourself in harm’s way for Amara?” She looked at Luke, up and down. “You could be lying about your injuries.”
Luke manifested a Pale Flame Bolt in his hand and just held it there. The woman’s eyes went wide as he did so, not out of fear, or perhaps some fear, but it was mixed with curiosity. “I can use this to heal myself,” Luke replied. “And my mana comes back rather quickly. It took me a few hours to get back to town, since I was trying to move slowly to not hurt the Captain.” He pulled the flame back into him, losing out on the mana spent, but feeling the rush of energy in his limbs.
“Anwer my question…please.”
Luke took in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds as he pondered his response. He could be honest, and play it straight, he could lie, or he could just shirk the question. The priestess seemed to be trying to express authenticity, and as he was in a religious place, Luke felt like the first option was best. “Two reasons,” Luke began, “first, the whole reason I went and did what I did was because your mayor said he would help me repair the fort for my whole Undead Outpost setup. The second reason is that my body sort of acted on its own.” He made sure to meet her gaze, then looked to the altar. “I know there are many types of Undead, including one that can use the stored body memory—I believe those are called Echo Dead.”
Melkin nodded slowly. “Accurate…so your deeds of altruism were for your own gain.”
Luke shot her a glare. “Not my gain. This town, these people.” He stood up, not in a menacing way, but in a way that expressed finality with the conversation. “I almost died again because I put my life on the line for people I don’t even know. But what I do know is that I have power, and I’m not going to squander or waste it on selfish pursuits. That’s just not who I am. I’m going to use my power to support the living. The dead don’t need their bodies, what better use than to do the dangerous or unsavory work?”
He went to the outer edge of the room, to the other side of the pew and its exit from Melkin, and headed toward the doors. As he did so, he pulled Amara’s sword from his belt and set it upright against the double-door frame. Putting his hand on the latch, he looked back, and saw that Melkin had stood up in the row, and was facing him. “You can think what you want about me, but I’m not selfish. I’ve only ever wanted to help my neighborhood. Since I can’t do that anymore…I’ll help anyone I can with these powers you see as blasphemous.”
“Wait!” Melkin said as she held up a hand, left the pew, and took a few steps down the aisle, but stopped twenty feet away. “You…you’re not evil, I can see that. And if the good aspect of my goddess, her kindest part who cares for all living things, sees you as someone worth giving Quests to and speaking with…I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry.”
“For what?” Luke asked. “Being a bit of a bigot towards someone who is a walking corpse? I don’t hold that against you. It would freak me out, too.”
“Not that,” Melkin said. She took in a shaky breath. “Don’t leave town, and let’s go see the mayor.”
“Why shouldn’t I leave the town?” Luke asked.
“I called Dawnbringers here to deal with you, and you’re in the body of one of their captains.”