The Nekromancer - 71. Chapter 71

Amnor Sen turned the block in his hands, trying to imagine the end result. This wood was being stubborn, not giving up its desires. But he had learned patience long ago. Eventually he would discover what this block would be, and half the battle would be won.

The tavern around him was busy, patrons deep in their cups, waitresses dancing in their deliveries, dodging friend and drinker alike. It was a difficult place to think in, but he’d been in worse places.

The door to the tavern opened, a sudden darkness sucking the merriment out of the room. Amnor Sen turned his head, staring in shock at a catfolk. He looked like Jakun, but he was walking almost stiffly, like his body wasn’t his own. Yet there was Jeremy behind him, a troubled look on the cleric’s face.

And as he watched, Jeremy made a beeline for the tavern owner, grabbing a bottle of wine. The human didn’t even wait for a glass, drinking straight from the bottle. This was bad. Really bad.

The catfolk approached the paladin, an aura of fear pouring from him. He felt dangerous, a menace to the world around him. Amnor Sen almost didn’t want to know what had happened in their absence. A box was placed on the table, Jakun’s hand resting atop it, as though he were afraid to let it go. Encrusted in onyx and diamond, the box was barely recognizable as the memorial to Jakun’s mother. Amnor Sen had no doubt that if the catfolk were to sell it, he’d be rich for the rest of his life. But somehow, he didn’t think that was Jakun’s idea.

“I am going to come clean Amnor Sen. As a favour to a friend who gave his life for me,” the amurrun said quietly. “I am undead. And my soul rests in the box you made me. If you destroy the box, it would ensure my death.”

Amnor Sen’s blood ran cold. It made no sense. Jakun became the very thing he swore to destroy. But why?

“Why… Why would you do this?”

The amurrun held up a hand, stopping the paladin.

“This is difficult for me to do. I feel so thin, stretched even. But I need to do this. I need you to keep my soul. And keep me from evil.”

Jakun swallowed drily as Jeremy approached, the catfolk’s eyes betraying his own fear. Amnor Sen understood what he was doing, giving his very existence to someone he hoped he could trust. But it left so many questions. Not least of all what the paladin was supposed to do when an undead creature asked for his protection.

“Please Amnor Sen. I swear I didn’t do it to be bad,” Jakun said quietly. “I need your help. Please don’t let me fall.”

“You fell the moment you became an abomination,” Amnor Sen sighed. “I… I need to think.”

Jakun flinched at the words, Amnor Sen noting with some approval that at least the catfolk had a sense of shame. It boded well, he supposed, showing a little humanity left in the creature.

Touching the box, Amnor Sen pulled it away from the amurrun, Jakun resisting the pull. The paladin raised an eyebrow, and Jakun reluctantly let the phylactery go.

“Jeremy, watch him,” the elf said, standing up. “I need to pray on this.”

Turning away, Amnor Sen left the room, feeling eyes watching him as he walked. He was at a loss. Every fibre in him wanted to destroy the evil that leached out of the box. But he had crafted this very box, and he had saved the catfolk, befriended him. How could he just kill Jakun?

The paladin slipped the box into his bag, muffling the aura pouring from it. Hiding the bag in his room, Amnor Sen let out a sigh, before making his way out of the tavern.

He roamed the streets of the city, searching for a temple, any temple. He needed the aid of the gods in this. The elf’s feet turned down a wide street, called by an energy, a warmth that he knew well.

The temple was small, yet bright, cheerful, the perfect counter to his mood. Amnor Sen could hear music from one of the antechambers as he entered, a hymn he recognised from Anuli, but with less of a lilt to the sound. It soothed his mind, reminded him of the home he had left behind.

“Welcome to the Eternal Maiden’s Home,” a red skinned person said, smiling as he approached. “You are most welcome here. Is there anything we might aid you with today?”

Amnor Sen took in the strange being, the lavender flowers braiding his hair and wrapping his black horns, and the paint splotching parts of his skin. A tiefling, a demonspawn, and yet someone who had found comfort in his goddess.

“I would like to pray to Shelyn over a friend. A temple seemed to be the best place to do so,” the elf replied quietly.

“We have several mediums that can aid your prayers, should you desire,” the tiefling smiled, pointing Amnor Sen toward a room.

The paladin’s eyes focused on an easel, a canvas stretched over the platform, ready for him to use. He nodded after a moment’s thought, remembering how this worked. It was a mixture of prayer and meditation, painting until your mind was clear. He hadn’t done this in years, hadn’t needed to do it. But now, it would be a relief to have something to focus on.

“Thank you,” the elf murmured as a tray of premixed paints was set beside him.

He knew he would be left undisturbed, his communion with Shelyn his own. Picking up a brush, the paladin dipped it into the paint, trying to let his mind wander. His hands held the brush awkwardly, clenching it tightly as he pressed against the canvas. This was not his medium, and never had been, but Amnor Sen knew that didn’t matter. The painting didn’t matter as long as he put his effort into it.

And slowly, his painting smoothed out, his mind more calm. He let himself relax, let the wisp of every stroke pull him away from the world, into a place where he could face his questions, and have them answered.