Chapter 7: Taxonomy and Tragedy

“Nothing is older than stone. The deep rock lay undisturbed long before even the Gods walked the surface, and it will be there long after they lose interest in the long-bones. Remember that youngling, and remember we have lived and survived in the earthen deeps.” - Words of Korr, Grandmason of Gurdwa Hold.

Natalie grinned in victory; her foot was in the door, and now to make the next big step. “So, really, what did kill Filip’s sister? A moving pile of Bones? I’ve never heard of something like that?”

Cole hesitated for a moment before answering, debating how much to tell her but eventually deciding that ship had sailed, and ignorance would be dangerous at this juncture. “A Walking Charnel. What do you know about the various classifications of Undead?”

Natalie shrugged at that. To her, Undead were unimaginable horrors, not something you cataloged like types of flowers. Cole seemed to figure as much and continued without her verbal confirmation.

“Lesser Undead are Undead without a proper mind or will. They are animated corpses, trapped or insane souls. The vast majority of Undead fall into this category, with only a fraction being Greater Undead, intelligent self-driven creatures like Vampires and such. Then among Lesser Undead, there are three main categories. Ghouls, Rattlers, and Wraiths.”

Now the topic was moving towards something Natalie recognized. She’d heard of those three types, mainly from folklore and ugly stories. Why a person might become one of those monsters was something she’d always wondered, so Natalie asked. “What causes a person to end up as one of those types over another?”

Cole grimaced slightly as he spoke. “That’s actually the reason I wanted to see how much you knew about this. A Walking Charnel is a type of rare Rattler created by very specific conditions. While a Ghoul comes from an unconsecrated Corpse, and a Wraith is born of a tormented Soul refusing to let go of the world. A Rattler is a distinct product of Necromancy or botched Consecration.”

“You see, freeing a Soul from a body is also supposed to protect the remaining corpse. Letting it rot away unmolested by dark forces and the like. But that protection can be overcome through Magic, but it’s easier to do on old bodies, ones where the holy power at work has faded somewhat. It’s why those who dabble in Necromancy typically animate skeletal remains to do their bidding, which is often the origin of Rattlers. Walking skeletons following their master’s commands, or just rampaging about as unguided automatons.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed, and she asked. “So someone created the Charnel? It’s the product of Necromancy?”

Cole made a gesture indicating the negative. “No, it’s not. And that’s the problem. The other way that Rattlers can rise is not well known. The standard wisdom is once a body is consecrated, it cannot rise up like a Ghoul. While that is true most of the time, there are exceptions. Like when great quantities of dark magical power saturate a graveyard, breaking through unmaintained protections and infecting the bodies within.”

Slightly confused and more than a little bit worried, Natalie asked: “You’ve lost me, how is that possible? And let me ask again, what exactly is a Walking Charnel?”

Cole sighed slightly. “In short, a Walking Charnel is the product of a mass grave. Its occupants fused together and reanimated by a taint in the Aether. Normally such piles of corpses rise up as individual Ghouls or rarely some fleshy conglomerate. But if that mass grave had been poorly consecrated, that can have long-term consequences. Unmaintained and unmanaged gravesites can lose their protection, something that can happen especially easily with a mass grave.”

Moving over to the single window in the room and gazing out at the distant mountains, Cole continued. “An abandoned mass grave dug to provide some dignity to victims of some calamity. Blessed by a Priest, but then eventually forgotten about. Without the focus of Priests and the Faithful, the God’s protection fades. This can take years, but it will happen. Leaving a pile of tangled bones, ready to soak up whatever ambient magical rot is close by and Rise up as a Walking Charnel.”

Turning back to Natalie, Cole’s voice dropped in volume. “Being the product of dozens or more bodies piled together and saturated in miasma, they are durable, mindless, erratic, and violent. But the real problem with them is their resistance to Holy power. They can practically ignore weak divine protection as a byproduct of their origin. While a true Temple would still block them, and a fervent Priest could still purify them; anything less would do nothing to stop a Walking Charnel.”

Realization hit Natalie like a physical blow as she understood what Cole was saying. Tentatively she asked. “So you’re telling me a rare and stupid Undead just happened to attack a young acolyte whose power would be next to useless against it?”

Cole nodded and grimaced. It, of course, could be a coincidence, but too much added up. The Walking Charnel was under the control of someone or something. All but certainly the same force that had been feeding the Vryko-Ghouls. A force with enough power and influence to direct a strategic attack during the Breach of Glockmire three years ago. As all these pieces fell into motion, Natalie had to ask.

“Was he behind it? Did they order the attack that almost destroyed my home? Was whoever is controlling these monsters the reason my Mother died?”

Jerkily, Cole nodded. “I doubt this threat was the source of the Plague or even the attack, but they most definitely made the situation worse. I don’t know why, but I intend to find out or at the very least stop them.”

Natalie balled her fists. Normally her fury burned hot, the raging fires of passion. Now it seared her with its cold, focused intensity. Natalie had known rage, anger, and fury. But now, she had met something new, the elder sibling to those base emotions. For the first time in her life, Natalie knew hate. It hadn’t been a calamity that took her Mother; it hadn’t been a disaster and the jaws of a mindless horror. Someone with intelligence and purpose had helped bring about all that loss and suffering. Natalie had thought she hated the Varcolac, but in truth, you couldn’t really hate something without true sapience. It was an ugly monster doing what its perverted instincts told it to. This was different; she had wanted closure with the Varcolac’s death. Now she wanted revenge, cold pure revenge against whatever bastard had killed her mother.

Visibly shaking with this newfound hate, Natalie snarled. “Take me with you.”

Cole started to protest, but Natalie marched up to him and jammed a finger into his chest. “Don’t give me any of that bullshit about not wanting to risk my life over your own guilt. I’m not some stupid kid you have to coddle and warn. I’m a grown woman who’s making her own choices. And I want to come with you on this hunt and any others you do. I’ve stuck my neck out for you and have no problem continuing to do so. But only as long as you bring me into this fully. You need someone who knows this town, its people and the area. A role I’m happy to fill. So let me fill it damn it!”

Looking down at the fiery young woman attempting to poke a hole in him, something finally clicked for Cole. The reason why he’d taken a liking to Natalie and let her into his world. She was just so full of life. Cole had spent more than a decade surrounded by death in all manner of forms. The dead, the dying, the undead, and the grieving. That fiery passion was something he rarely saw, and it called to him like a campfire would on a snowy night. On some instinctive level, he knew his options were limited. If he were to reject Natalie and try to continue alone, he’d have little success. But more importantly, Natalie would attempt to involve herself even without his consent or aid. Something that would almost certainly result in her death or worse. She’d made up her mind and was driven simultaneously by benevolence and hate. If Cole really wanted to help Natalie, he needed to let her help him.

Sighing in a moment of acceptance, Cole stepped close to Natalie. His full imposing height looming over her. To her credit, Natalie didn’t step back or even remove the finger prodding Cole. Slowly Cole spoke. “If you are to accompany me, you will need to listen to what I say. Follow my directions and do as I tell you to.”

Natalie opened her mouth, but Cole interrupted her. “Two things, in particular, you need to promise me. One, if I tell you to run and leave me, you do so. No hesitation, you run till you are back in the Silly Goat or the Temple. Two, you will not tell anyone of what you see unless I give you permission to. Do you understand?”

Cole’s voice had an intensity Natalie had only heard once before. When she told him about the skull, He was serious, this was not a game, and Natalie fought off an unconscious shiver as she agreed. “Yes, I swear it.”

Nodding curtly, Cole sat back down at the table, and Natalie joined him in the chair Filip had previously occupied. After a moment of silence as the reality of this new situation settled in, Natalie asked. “So what exactly happened at the castle?”

Cole took another moment to organize his thoughts before recounting what had happened. How he was led into some kind of lounge and met with a Scarlet Knight bound to Lord Glockmire. And how the Knight had claimed to be unaware of what was transpiring but was now alerted to the Feeder. Cole skimmed over the whole ordeal with the Vampress, slight embarrassment at the exchange motivating him. As he finished, Natalie asked.

“How do you know this Knight isn’t behind everything? He was the first to meet with you, and as you keep telling me, Vampires are good liars and manipulators.”

Absently, Cole traced some of the scars on his face as he answered. “I considered it, but it’s doubtful. The Scarlet Knights are… honorable in their own way. They face their foes on the open field with ready armies and their own strength. Our Knight would have had to stray very far from his Order’s tenets to do what the Feeder is doing.”

Musing on his words, Natalie said. “You call them honorable? That’s the closest I’ve heard you come to complimenting a Vampire. What are they, this Knightly order? I’ve not heard of them.”

“The elite enforcers of Duke Drakovich, his most trusted lieutenants and most vicious Champions” murmured Cole. As that grim truth settled in, he elaborated. “If I found a village of innocents impaled on spikes and left up for the Crows. A warning against others who might question the Duke’s rule. I would suspect a Scarlet Knight, but not in this matter. Amassing a secret army of powerful Undead? That goes against the rigid mindset the Duke pounds into them.”

As he spoke, Cole played with one of his oldest scars, a terrible mark that went from the corner of his mouth to nearly his left ear. It was a product of the only time he’d ever faced a Scarlet Knight in battle; it had not ended well for him. As if almost sensing where Cole’s mind wandered too, Natalie absently asked. “Eventually, you’re going to have to tell me about where you got all those scars.”

Quickly, Cole pulled his hand away from the long-healed wound, like a child caught picking a scab. While many he’d earned fighting in the name of Master Time, a large portion were products of events he preferred not to revisit. Changing the topic, Cole asked: “Do you know how many Vampires are in Glockmire?”

Natalie didn’t pursue her earlier inquiry and turned her mind to the task. She’d only seen the Nocturnal Nobles on a few occasions, during major town events or in the chaos surrounding the Breech three years ago. Flitting through the memories and snippets of conversation she’d heard serving tables, Natalie made an educated guess. “At least twenty, less than forty.”

Cole had hoped for more specific numbers, but that estimate gave him somewhere to start. Glockmire was an average-sized town in a fairly remote area; its population couldn’t be more than three thousand people. That many people could easily support a hundred Vampires as long as they weren’t too greedy or violent. Of course, Natalie’s estimate could be off, but Cole doubted it. Vampires rarely ever sired the maximum amount possible for an infested settlement. Excess blood and lives made things so much easier for the Parasites.

He could come back to the problem of how many Vampires were in Glockmire, and Natalie’s estimate gave him good starting point. Till then, the Scarlet Knight’s attention would hopefully keep the Feeder and any allies busy while Cole worked. A Walking Charnel was still out there, and it needed to be destroyed. While no souls were trapped inside that shambling pile of bones, it still presented a serious danger on multiple levels. The only question was finding it.

“Alright,” said Cole, “Natalie, you want to help me? Then I have something you are hopefully equipped to do.”

Gesturing for her to wait for him, Cole got up, left the room, returned to his own room in the inn, and retrieved something from his bag. Natalie hadn’t known what to expect, but not a roll of parchment that Cole unfurled on the table. It was a map of Zaubervold, recently purchased from Barnabas. Gesturing at it, Cole said. “I need to know the locations of any villages destroyed in the past few decades. Places that were abandoned quickly and messily.”

A flash of insight erupted behind Natalie’s eyes, and she asked. “Potential places where the Walking Charnel was born?” It was common knowledge that most Undead preferred to return to their place of “birth.” Often hibernating during the day, near to where they died or were buried.

Cole nodded, a momentary smile at her deduction crossing his battered face. He’d never considered the joys of teaching, but now he could see the appeal. “Yes, It can’t be too far away, and it had to be destroyed before the plague. Not enough time between it and the Breech for this to be a product of plague victims buried in a mass grave.”

Natalie didn’t take long to note down three locations on the map. Two were still marked on the map, having still been inhabited less than a decade ago. The third she marked with a lightly drawn X and a scribbled notation. Natalie gestured for Cole to come closer, and she started explaining her choices. Pointing at the two marked villages, she said: “Jonker and Arcos weren’t so much destroyed as collapsed. Eight years ago, drought forced the people from Acros, and if I remember correctly, a Werewolf and its wolf servants made shepherding impossible around Jonker.”

Her fingers returned to the X she’d drawn, and she tapped for emphasis. “Lungu, however, was truly destroyed. Its Well went sour, and scores of people got sick and died. This happened maybe fifteen years ago? I remember some of the survivors moved here in the aftermath.”

Pondering this, Cole asked. “Jonker and Acros seem unlikely, as you suggested. But Lungu has potential. Do you know anything more about it?”

Nodding vigorously, Natalie animatedly explained: “A lot of the survivors passed through the Silly Goat, and I heard bits and pieces about what happened. My parents tried to shelter me, but few things can suss out secrets like a curious child. It was never proven, but I know a Rot Cultist was suspected of having purposely tainted the well. Too many people died too quickly for it to be natural. Just one day, people got up, used the well, got sick, and died.”

The Pantheon of Humanity are not the only Gods in existence. Other things inhabit the Beyond, many malicious through choice or nature. Mortals called the worst of these entities Demons, and the most powerful of Demons earned the title of Dark God. One of these Dark Gods, the Chieftain of Lepers, had its hooks deep in parts of the Zaubervold. It was not inconceivable one of his poor, damned servants had been behind the destruction of Lungu. Cole had limited experience dealing with Cults serving the Leper God or his ilk. With some luck, the only danger in the ruins of Lungu would be an animated pile of bones, not a Demon’s influence.

Normally the information they had would be enough for Cole. He’d trekked out to more remote and dangerous places for less reason. But if Natalie were to accompany him, he needed more details. It would take much to kill Cole and if he were to die, few people, if anyone would miss him; the same could not be said for Natalie. So Cole asked. “Do you know any of the survivors of Lungu still in Glockmire? I’d like to speak with them if I could.”

A moment of trepidation passed Natalie’s face. Cole hadn’t noticed or seemed to care about the worried glances and distrustful distance the people of Glockmire were giving him. Returning from the Castle unscathed had unnerved people. At best, they assumed Cole was now under the Vampire’s control. At worst, they feared he was something even worse than the Nobles. Natalie knew differently but could still guess the thoughts of her fellow townsfolk. After all, she’d only just noticed the trap her community was still unaware of.

Slowly, Natalie started to speak. “That might be a prob-Oh!” A flash of insight struck the young woman. There might be one former resident of Lungu who would talk with them. He was stubborn enough to not care what the rest of Glockmire thought. The only question was if Natalie could convince him to help. “There is someone who could help. Gurni, a local prospector who used to live in Lungu. He’s a Dwarf, so maybe he might know something about the Walking Charnel.”

Cole was impressed. Natalie was already proving to be a useful ally. But he had one more obstacle to put in her way. “That’s good, I can speak to him tomorrow, but before then, you should speak with your Father. If you intend to follow me on this hunt, he should be made aware.”

That caught Natalie off guard; she’d been hoping to avoid explaining this whole ordeal to her Dad. She understood why Cole wanted her to do this, but it would be a difficult conversation. Smoothing her dress absently, Natalie spoke: “Alright, I’ll also make contact with Gurni so we can meet with him.”

Cole nodded and turned to leave, speaking as he did. “I have preparations to make; I’ll be in my room. Knock if you need anything or change your mind; there is no shame in it.”

With that, he left Natalie and her racing mind. She’d been making plans around deceiving or misdirecting her father. Those were now useless, and she was faced with one of the more daunting tasks a child can have. Convincing her father to accept her choice to walk headlong into danger.

The rest of the afternoon passed, and Natalie kept herself busy with the minutia of running an Inn. She surreptitiously questioned Barnabas about Gurni’s schedule. The two of them did business, and the old Merchant was confident the Dwarven Prospector would be in town tomorrow. True to his word, Cole kept to himself, only leaving his room to collect dinner and make about a minute’s worth of polite conversation with Wilhelm. Natalie’s father had questions about Filip’s, and Cole provided barebones answers. Stating that Filip's sister had died during the Breech, and that he would hunt down the responsible Undead.

Eventually, nighttime came, and the Silly Goat emptied faster and more thoroughly than normal. The day’s chaotic events provided plenty of impetus for people to not risk the streets at night. The Nobles rarely abducted nocturnal travelers anymore, but that was not a gamble many were willing to take. So by the time the Inn’s bar officially shut, the Silly Goat had been practically empty for close to an hour. With only Natalie and Wilhelm on the ground floor. An unusual silence hung between the two as Natalie wondered how to breach the subject. Wilhelm did her the favor in the profoundly uncomfortable way only a Father can.

“So are you sleeping with Cole?” he asked with an almost matter-the-fact tone. Natalie almost dropped the glass she was cleaning, barely catching it after a few mid-air grabs. As Natalie caught the glass and her focus, Wilhelm continued. “I’ve not objected to any of your past romances and only want to voice my concerns, not try and control you. I do worry about the danger he could get you in. Rest-Bringers live a hard life, even more so in Zaubervold. It’s commendable of him to try and help; it’s actually practically heroic of him. And he wouldn’t be the first heroic type to attract a young woman’s attention.”

Fighting the slight pink blush that was filling her normally pale face. Natalie snapped. “I’m not sleeping with Cole! Hells, I’m not even interested in him romantically.” While that was true, memories of Cole’s sculpted torso flashed unbidden into Natalie’s mind. She ignored the treacherous part of her that wondered how Cole’s scarred skin would feel against hers.

Now it was time for Wilhelm to look awkward and confused. “Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed. Well, he seems the polite sort, and while I’m happy to let him rent a room, I do think getting entangled with him wouldn’t be the best idea.”

“Jag it,” thought Natalie, she’d hoped to do this with a degree of subtlety, but that option was sailing away as fast as the wind could carry it. After a steadying breath, Natalie dropped her hammer blow of a statement. “I’m not courting Cole, but I am working with him. Helping him to hunt some of the Undead that attacked three years ago.”

It was Wilhelm’s turn to fumble in shock, dropping the mop he had been using. Natalie continued talking even as Wilhelm’s eyes bugged out slightly. “He can help Glockmire and help us get revenge. The Varcolac is on his list, and so is what killed Filip’s sister. Cole’s strong enough to destroy them, but he needs someone to help him, and that’s going to be me. It’s where I was this morning; I accompanied him to where he found Felix’s body. It’s what I’ll be doing tomorrow as well when he destroys the Walking Channel.”

Had that only been this morning? Natalie found her thoughts drifting slightly as she spoke. So much had happened, and yet little time had passed. Telling her father all of this was a gamble and not one she’d wanted to make. But the deed was done. Now Natalie needed to manage what came next. Before a truly tense silence could settle between them, Wilhelm asked: “Why?”

He looked at his daughter with the type of deep concern only a parent could muster, and the worry in his eyes almost made Natalie falter. She saw the fear in his face, the fear of losing the only family he had left. It would be one thing for Natalie to leave and start a new life. The idea of having her die horribly at the hands of some undead terror was beyond what Wilhelm could stand. Doubt and guilt flushed through Natalie, but she stood her ground.

“I want to leave Glockmire a better place. Even if I leave and find something else beyond here, I’d still be wracked with worry about you and everyone else. How could I live the life I want if my hometown was overrun by monsters! Dad, I want to leave Glockmire, but I want to do so with my head held high and my heart not weighed down with guilt.”

Wilhelm slumped against a nearby table and asked. “And you think getting involved with Cole will help you? Do you think becoming entangled in the affairs of Gods and Monsters will help you leave a happier life? Dammit Natty, this isn’t one of your stories! Your Mother and I worked so hard to protect you from that part of the world. To keep you safe and give you the tools to survive our world. Not to dive headlong into danger out of some misguided sense of nobility!”

Natalie felt like she’d been slapped; her Father had never before spoken to her with such venom. It was not truly directed at her, she could tell. But it was the acrid pain of grief turned inwards and allowed to stew in hidden misery. Natalie knew she should feel sympathy for her father and try to comfort him. Instead, she felt a bolt of anger go through her. This was exactly why she was walking this path. Her father had lost the love of his life and was robbed of anything resembling closure or justice. While he hid the pain and anger well, it spilled out like bile and pulled forth a quiet fury from Natalie.

“Yes, you and Mom taught me to be careful, how to survive and avoid danger.” spat Natalie. “We did everything right, we followed the laws of both Gods and Monsters, we made a happy life for ourselves. And still, that didn’t stop the monsters from coming and killing Mom!”

Wilhelm flinched, and Natalie continued. “Dad, we kept safe and tried to help others in our own tiny way. But that didn’t stop that *Thing* from killing Mom. The monster ripped into our lives and hurt us because it could. And all we could do afterward was hold a Jagging funeral and hope it didn’t happen again. You, me, everyone in Glockmire did the same thing. Because we didn’t have any other options. We accepted all that death and destruction as a fact of life and just tried to move on. But it doesn’t have to be like that anymore! There are good people in this world who stop the monsters, and I want to help them do it!”

A slight crack came to Natalie’s voice as she continued. “Dad. Mom died terribly, and we couldn’t do anything to stop it. Now I can help make sure no other little girl or husband experiences what we did. I know I’m risking my life, but if anything is worth it, it’s this.”

Silence heavier than stone and pregnant with stress filled the air between Father and Daughter. Eventually, after a small eternity, Wilhelm broke it. “Very well.”

Slowly he got up from where he slumped against the table and approached his daughter. With tired arms, muscled by decades of repetitive chores, Wilhelm hugged his only child in silence. Tentatively Natalie returned the hug and felt wetness on her shoulder and felt her father shaking slightly. He was crying silently, and soon her own tears joined with his. They stood like that for a time, holding each other and weeping. Eventually, Wilhelm broke the embrace and spoke, his voice still gravelly from sadness.

“I guess it’s to be expected. We tried to raise you to be a good person who stood her ground. So I really can’t complain that you are holding fast on something your heart says is the right thing to do.” Reaching down, Wilhelm ran his fingers through his daughter’s hair and rasped. “I can’t stop you, and even if I could, I don’t know if it would be the right thing to do. But you need to promise me one thing.”

Natalie nodded her head, and Wilhelm put both of his hands on either of her shoulders. Looking into his daughter’s amber eyes, the Innkeeper spoke with a firm strength he’d rarely called on before. “You must survive. Whatever happens with Cole and whatever fury he brings down on himself. You must survive it. Promise me that Natty, promise me you will survive and find your own piece of happiness.”

Trying not to cry again, Natalie croaked. “I will Dad, I’ll survive and make you and Mom proud.”

A slightly sad smile touched Wilhelms face as he chided. “You have for a very long time Natty. I might be afraid for you, but I cannot stop being so proud of who you are becoming.” They hugged again, and when it broke, Natalie headed off to bed. Her heart was simultaneously lightened and burdened by her Father’s words.

Wilhelm sat down and looked at a sculpture above the fireplace. It was of a Bride and Groom at their wedding. Something his wife had carved for their tenth anniversary. Speaking both to himself and the memory of the woman he loved, he said: “Iona, I don’t know where you are out there. Maybe your soul has already been cleansed and taken a new body. Maybe one of the God’s anointed you as one of theirs. It doesn’t matter, but if you can, help our daughter. She is going to do the right thing, and I am afraid it will destroy her.”

Then in the heavy silence that followed. Wilhelm sat and stared at the fireplace, watching the flames die as he prayed to every God who might listen.

Cole met Natalie at the entrance of the Silly Goat the next morning. Dressed in a utilitarian dress and carrying a restocked pack, Natalie hoped she was ready for whatever happened today. She’d grabbed the hatchet her father used to split firewood. It was no longsword, but few tools rival the utility and violent potential of an axe. Aside from that, she’d packed some dried meat and bread, enough for two days, and a collection of anything else she thought would be useful. Natalie knew she couldn’t carry everything she wanted, but she came close.

Cole, by contrast, carried his usual pack and cloak. A slight bulge in the bottom of his bag betrayed the skull’s presence, but Natalie nor anyone else noticed it. Aside from the skull, the only thing different about Cole was an unusually sunken look to his eyes, like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Natalie noticed his apparent exhaustion but didn’t bring it up. She did, however, announce. “I told my father what we are doing, he didn’t approve, but I think he understands.”

A slight smile quirked up the left side of Cole’s face. “I know. Today was the first time he didn’t say good morning to me.”

Natalie let out a slightly annoyed sounding huff at that. “It’s my decision to help you with this. I would expect better from him than blaming you.”

Cole just shrugged at that. “Parents are rarely rational when it comes to their children, or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

His words snagged on something in Natalie’s mind. ‘At least that’s what I’ve been told?’ Natalie hadn’t asked about Cole’s childhood, but it suddenly occurred to her it probably didn’t match hers at all. Perhaps he was an orphan, raised by the Temple? That would explain much. But now wasn’t the time to ponder such things. Maybe she could ask him later?

“Well, let us head to Gurni’s home. Barnabas gave me directions,” said Natalie as she refocused on the task at hand.

And so they set off, walking through the slowly waking streets of Glockmire. The duo got many strange looks, and more than one pedestrian scurried out of their way as they walked along. It was strange for Natalie, and she turned to ask Cole but lost her chain of thought upon seeing his face. A heavy scowl marred his already damaged face. A confused Natalie asked. “What has you looking so grim?”

Cole’s face relaxed, and he seemed momentarily confused before realization clicked into place. “Oh, my apologies! I didn’t even notice. I guess some of the fear I saw was warranted.”

Looking around, Natalie understood what he was saying. Fearful eyes watched the two of them from behind drawn curtains or cracked doors. The few people they’d run into on the street were a handful of the unlucky ones who hadn’t managed to avoid Cole. Terror saturated the air around them, and once she noticed it, Natalie felt a chill go down her spine. A memory came to her unbidden at that moment, of the time she’d helped a childhood friend and her family shepherd their flock into town. Another Shepherds dog had come across the flock, and the Sheep had reacted with the same sort of nervous intensity Natalie saw around her. The livestock of Glockmire sensed another predator but didn’t know its intent.

Cole had picked up the fear around him, and it had agitated him enough for it to show on his face. This, after all, was exactly the sort of thing he’d sworn to fight. Mortal folk reduced to nervous sheep, awaiting the hunger of cursed corpses. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Cole let a mask of aloofness fall into place and let Natalie guide him to their destination.

Glockmire nestled itself right up to the sheer cliff and jagged rock of the nearby mountains. With a series of quarries, mines, and neighborhoods built into the stone. The constant digging into the mountains resulted in patches of mined-out rock that had been converted into cheap housing. It was not a slum by any standard but far from the well-maintained homes and businesses of the Silly Goat’s neighborhood.

Natalie led Cole into one of the mine-turned-burgs in the district’s middle. Cole had to duck when they entered the tunnel; its crudely carved ceiling barely reached a hundred and eighty centimeters, forcing the large man to stoop. Shortly after the entrance, they saw doors on either side of the tunnel, small signs hung from them, marking out ownership and purpose. Most were storage chambers, but a few had names scrawled on them. Cole had no frame of reference, but he guessed these were some of the smaller or shabbier apartments in the rock.

Eventually, after a minute or so of walking deeper into the repurposed mine, they reached their destination. Here the Sun’s light was all but absent, and a mixture of cheap glowstones and candles provided the scant illumination. A door that would have required Cole to almost fully bend over to enter sat at the end of the hallway. “Gurni'' was etched into the wood in a perfectly angular script. While the name was written in Western, the sharp corners of the words reminded Cole of Dwerick, the Dwarven language. They were in the right place.

Natalie looked to Cole, and after a nod of confirmation, she knocked on the door. They waited a minute, and as nothing happened, Natalie knocked again, a little louder this time. A rough voice barked, “I’m coming, you thin-boned bastard!”

A few seconds later, the door flew open, and Gurni stood in front of them with a distinctly irritated look on his face. He stood at average height for a Dwarf at maybe a hundred and ten centimeters. While short in stature, he weighed about the same as a large man, his bones and muscles denser than any human. A bulbous nose, protruding brow ridge, and thick red beard further marked him out as Dwergaz. Gurni looked at the two of them with suspicion, his green eyes narrowing as he spoke.

“You’re Madeline, Wilhelms daughter right?” he asked, a single calloused finger pointing at Natalie.

Natalie nodded as she corrected him. “It’s Natalie, but yes, I’m Wilhelms daughter.” She then gestured to the looming Cole, who had to hunch down to see Gurni properly, and said. “And this is Cole, He’s a follower of Master Time, and we’d like to borrow a moment of your time.”

Gurni crossed his arms in front of him and grumbled. “I have no use for Gods, especially one who only helps the Dead. So if you’re looking to convert me, then you can find a better use of your time pissing down a deep-shaft.”

This was not going well. The Dwarves, as a rule, had little patience for the religions of their taller neighbors. Their own Gods had abandoned them millennia ago according to their own myths and even now only revered a small collection of venerated ancestors. Many well-meaning Priests of both Human and other varieties had tried to “adopt” the Dwarven people into their faith. Something most Dwarves found incredibly insulting and bothersome. Which was what Gurni assumed they were doing.

Frantically waving her hands as if she could blow away the misconception, Natalie spoke. “No, no, we’re not trying to do anything like that. Cole’s not a normal Priest; he’s a Rest-Bringer, the one who arrived in town recently.”

That got Gurni to relax a fraction but not by much. “I’ve heard of him,” he growled. “But what does a Rest-Bringer want with me?”

It was Cole’s time to speak and test the waters with the surly Dwarf. “I’m fairly certain a dangerous Undead is nesting in the ruins of Lungu. I intend to lay it to rest, but to do so, I’d like more information about the village and its destruction.”

That got Gurni to pause for a moment and think before asking, “Well, why come to me? There are about a dozen of us who survived that nightmare still in Glockmire.”

Natalie had talked little with Gurni over the years, but she now understood why he and Barnabas got along. So perhaps a bit of brutal honesty, the type Barnabas would respect, would work here as well.

“I thought you would be stubborn enough to not care about how the rest of the town is scared of Cole. And I also thought you might know something about the Undead, since some of the remains that make it up are Dwarven,” said Natalie.

Gurni stared at them bug-eyed for a few seconds, and then he swung his fist into the opened door, cracking the wood slightly. Under his breath, he spat some Dwerick. Cole knew only the absolute basics of the rumbling, cracking tongue, but he could make out enough foul oaths to impress even the most jaded tunnel-rat.

A dozen different emotions passed through Gurni’s face before settling on cold anger. The growling accent of a Dwerick speaker entered Gurni’s voice. Pique stripping away years of practice in Western. “So why do you want to go to Lungu? Did your God decide it was time to help after everyone was dead? Or did the Sangracki’s up in the Castle buy you with gold still wet with blood?”

Sangracki, literally meaning Blood Thief, and was the Dwerick word for Vampire. The words' simplicity also perfectly encapsulated the language and its speakers. Short, to the point, and with no attempts to be delicate. Cole didn’t rise to the bait and simply told the truth. “A child asked me to avenge his sister and destroy the Undead that killed her.”

As he said it, Cole met Gurni’s eyes, no small task considering the height difference, and both men sized each other up. Natalie didn’t know exactly what sort of unspoken communication was occurring, but it seemed Gunri had confirmed something about Cole. Haltingly as if he feared the answer, Gurni asked. “The Undead Dwarf you are hunting, does it have golden teeth?”

Cole simply nodded, and Gurni slumped against the door frame. His bitter stoicism was fractured by a painful realization. Letting out a slight groan of pained sadness, the Dwarf spoke. “It’s my Brother. You are hunting what's left of my Brother.”

Natalie covered her mouth in shock, and Cole simply nodded and spoke. “When the dead is done, I will need to confirm it with the boy who petitioned me, but after that, the remains will be yours if you wish.”

Shivering slightly, Gurni muttered. “I buried him already; must I do it again?” Before Cole could answer, he continued. “Lungu’s Priest prayed over the bodies, and I used Black Salt to mark his passing. His soul should have been freed, and his flesh safe from corruption. What went wrong?”

A questioning, almost pleading note colored the Dwarf’s voice, and Cole gave him a moment to recover before responding. “His soul was freed, but the protection on his body was corroded by outside influence. Your Brother has not been trapped in Undeath all this time.”

Gurni let out a deep rattling sigh of relief. This was the first concern anyone who learned a loved one had Risen always had. To be trapped in a prison of rotting flesh, subject to maddening pain and hunger, unable to control your mind or ruined body was a fate worse than some of the lesser Hells. To know his brother had not suffered such, took away much of the Dwarves' tension. Cole broke Gurni from his relief with grim words.

“That being said, his body has still been desecrated and is doing harm. Which I will stop, a task that will be all the easier with any information you can provide.”

Gurni nodded slightly and looked behind him to his home, and grimaced. “Let's find some privacy. My nook won’t fit you Cole, but I know someplace nearby.”

He led them to an empty storage room large enough for Cole to stand upright in, and Gurni started to explain. “Lungu was nothing special. It sat among some foothills with decent grazing lands and a few mineral veins. My Brother Buri and I ended up there by chance, but we made the best of it. I’ve always been good at finding good deposits, and he could smith well enough to impress a human. So the villagers accepted us. They liked having people who could repair their tools and find new places to excavate.

Gurni leaned against a wall and looked up at the ceiling, lost in memory. “But nothing good ever lasts forever. Buri, that hopeless idiot, fell in love with a human woman.”

Cole raised an eyebrow at that. Zaubervold was a rural backwater by most standards, but even here, discrimination between Humans and Dwarves was rare. The two peoples had shared a long history of cooperation. Gurni saw Cole’s expression and guessed his thoughts. “No, nothing like that. The girl's parents were surprised but were open to having the village smith as a son-in-inlaw. The problems came from a rival suitor. He never forgave Buri for stealing away what he felt entitled to. And I’m fairly certain he killed the entire jagging town in response.”

That brought forth a whole minute of stunned silence from Cole and Natalie. Gurni used the time to pull up a handful of finely ground pipe-weed and put it in his mouth. Chewing on the pungent herb, Gurni continued as if he hadn’t said anything remarkable. “I could never prove anything in the aftermath, and there wasn’t much point. The dumb bastard poisoned himself as well. See, it takes a lot to make a Dwarf sick. Our kind have been working in damp, toxic tunnels since the Gods first arrived. So if you were to poison one of us, half-measures wouldn’t work. And whatever killed all those people was quick and brutal.”

“The suitor, his name was Dinu, was a shepherd and would have plenty of time to gather poisonous plants. He was also angry and stupid enough to probably dump his failures into the town well or something like that. All I know is my brother was one of the first to get sick, and so was Dinu. Buri outlived the dumb bastard, but not his fiance. We buried them next to each other. I think they would have wanted that.”

As that sobering tale finished. Natalie asked. “Why didn’t you tell anyone this before?”

Gurni made a noise that could have been a laugh or a sigh. “I did, but you humans had worked yourself up thinking some mad cultist was responsible. Which it might have been, but either way, the story of Dark Gods and Cults caught more traction than mine about spurned love and stupidity.”

Natalie digested that as Cole asked. “How were they buried? I know it's unpleasant to remember, but I need exact details.”

Shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth as he recalled the ugly memories. Gurni spoke: “We didn’t want to stay in the village. We couldn’t trust the water or anything else. So at the Priest's direction, anyone who could hold a shovel helped dig a trench of sorts. Turning old Teo’s herb garden into a pit. We put all the bodies in the pit, trying to make sure they all had space, but… By that point, more of us were dying, and our supplies were running low. So we had to….layer them eventually.”

Gurni looked slightly queasy at the memory, something supposedly rare for a Dwarf to feel. He was not the only one; Natalie looked a little bit sick as well. Talking about Undead in abstract terms with Cole and hearing the story of a mass grave being created were two very different things.

Cole gave them both a moment to collect themselves before asking his next question. “What happened to the Priest?”

“He was among those who got sick. His god's protection kept him alive long enough to bless the dead. He was the last one we put in the grave before we covered it up and left Lungu,” said Gurni.

Shaking slightly, Natalie moved towards the door and excused herself. Cole gave her a concerned look, but she brushed it off. Outside the storage room, Natalie leaned against the hallway’s wall and slumped down, so she sat on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest. It was how she used to sit as a child when something frightened her, and some unconscious instinct pulled up that half-forgotten habit. Burying her face in her dress's fabric, Natalie let out an exhausted sigh. The last few days, no, the last week or two; had been a whirlwind of tumult and stress. A virtually never-ending barrage of tragedy, death, and horror. It was starting to wear on her.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Natalie was torn. Part of her was ashamed she was letting the circumstances get to her. Another kinder part pointed out these were extreme situations, and with time she’d get stronger. Just as muscle grows with stress, her ability to handle this tumult would increase. Natalie hoped that was true, and all this “exercise” would pay off. As she sat there, glumly staring at the far wall, Natalie wondered if helping Cole was a good idea?

It wasn’t; she’d known that from the beginning, but that hadn’t stopped her. She’d chosen to involve herself in this, and Cole had given her every opportunity to step away. Natalie was not going to back down, no matter how much it hurt. A terrible mix of pride, grit, and willful determination would see to that.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, the storage room door swung open, and Cole stepped out. Natalie hurriedly got to her feet, straightening her clothing and meeting the scarred man. Cole looked at her and started to speak, but Natalie cut him off.

“I’ve made up my mind on this. I’m going to accompany you and help this town. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I’m still going to do my best.”

Cole let his offer of freeing her from any perceived responsibilities die on his tongue and smiled softly. He started walking towards the exit of the strange tunnel complex, and Natalie followed after him. After a quick look around to make sure they were alone, Natalie asked. “So? How did it go?”

Cole glanced at her before speaking. “He gave me directions to Lungu, a general description of the town and where they buried the dead. He also has no desire to claim his brother's bones, only asking that they be buried again once the matter is finished.”

The two of them exited the tunnel, and Natalie had to squint her eyes as the Sun’s bright light stung her. Soon it passed, and the pair walked towards the south-end of Glockmire. Seeing their direction, Natalie asked. “I take it we are leaving now?”

She’d anticipated this, but it still sent a momentary flutter of uneasiness through her. This was a big leap, and Natalie doubted she’d ever truly feel ready for it. Cole answered her calmly. “Lungu isn’t that far away, and if we leave now, we can make it there by late-afternoon.”

A jolt of dread filled Natalie as she realized what else Cole had left unsaid. They would need to spend the night in the wilderness. The momentary pang of fear made her miss a step, and Cole glanced over and offered her what he hoped was a comforting smile. “I’ve spent many nights in lands similar to these safely. We will be fine.”

Natalie didn’t feel as reassured as Cole probably hoped, but her anxiety abated slightly. Soon they reached the south gate and passed through it. Cole didn’t recognize the guard stationed there, and Natalie tried not to draw any attention by talking to the surly-looking woman in the gatehouse. Leaving Glockmire, they set out down the road and towards Lungu.

After maybe a kilometer of walking, once the walls of Glockmire had started to properly fade, Cole stopped and fished in his bag. Natalie watched as he pulled out a line of cord with a pendant attached; it was an amulet of some kind. Cole handed the amulet to Natalie, and she immediately felt a wave of cool power wash over her body. Similar to her previous experience with Master Time’s attention, but much more subdued and gentle. Turning it over in her finger, Natalie saw the pendant was a piece of carved bone, with a crude hourglass etched into both sides.

Cole gestured to the odd gift and spoke. “I spent much of last night working on that. It’s a protective charm, invested with some of the power my God has gifted me.”

Natalie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she bit back some poorly timed comments on Cole’s artistic skills; he was many things but not a carver. Another darker thought also struck her. Where did Cole get the bone fragment? And did it belong to an animal, or a person? Natalie voiced neither of those concerns as Cole explained the amulet.

“It’s crude but fairly powerful. Lesser Undead will ignore you as long as it's on your person. Still, It's not full-proof, and if you went out of your way to get something's attention, you would succeed. Hopefully it will keep the Charnel and any other undead we encounter focused on me, and away from you. It also should help hide you from other unnatural threats but will do nothing to stop a mortal or beast from pursuing you. Which should be fine. I doubt any dangerous predators will be close to Lungu, be they wolf or bandit. Lastly, if something goes wrong and you need to run, the protection should last long enough for you to make it back to Glockmire.” finished Cole, an intense focus coloring his voice.

Cole rarely drew upon the miraculous powers afforded to him as a Paladin, relying on his skills with a pole-arm and blood magic to fight. So investing much of that divine allotment into something that would protect Natalie had been the obvious choice. He just hoped it would be enough to keep her safe.

Natalie nodded nervously and put the necklace on. For a moment, she felt a shiver of disgust as the cold bone touched her sternum, but it quickly faded, replaced by the gentle pulse of Cole’s divine protection. It felt soothing in a strange way, like the comforting chill of spring water or the touch of polished glass. Feeling it wash over her, Natalie looked up at Cole and asked something she’d wondered since she had involved herself in all of this. “What do I do if you die? Do I just run for Glockmire and tell the local Priests what happened? Is… is there somebody I should try and contact?”

Cole said nothing for a moment, his eyes focused off on some memory or idea in the middle distance. Eventually, he slowly said, “If I were to die, or even if things start to go poorly, you need to run and not look back. Don’t hesitate; just run and survive. If I can, I will return to Glockmire as soon as possible. Even if you are certain I died, wait a week before making any plans. But if I don’t return, I suggest you try and leave Glockmire as soon as you can.”

What Cole said lined up closely with what Natalie had already planned to do, but one thing stuck out to her. “Why wait a week? No offense, but considering the sort of things you fight, that doesn’t make much sense.”

Cole’s lips hardened into a smile that looked more like a grimace, his myriad scars flexing with the tightened skin. “Have a little faith that I am very, very, very difficult to kill.”

And with those ominous words, he set out towards Lungu, and Natalie followed after him, not for the first time wondering about the stories behind his scars.