Path of the Necromancer - FACTION WARS

Chapter 3.7 - Kristin

Kristin Moriarty looked out at the city of Seattle from her skyrise hotel room. The city bore witness to her visceral glee. The sights, scents and sounds were foreign, exotic and stirred her imagination. Her oppressive life cloistered away at her father's estate, playing the silly court games the other Noble Families of Necromancy were so fond of..., was insufferably boring.

She didn't know if she could take another year of parties where everyone hated the other, trying to 'one-up' the other with plastic smiles so patently false few even bothered with the pretext anymore. Of self-centred boys asked for her hand in marriage, or removed her from the equation altogether by going to her father. They all pretended that what they were doing was all that mattered..., like the events going on in the rest of the world constituted a mere chess match. Compared to their suffering the defeat of a rival in an argument about the Spirit Realm, or winning a duel to gain status, was vital to the continued function of the cosmos. It sat heavy in her stomach like a greasy meal, uncomfortable and nauseating.

Emissaries from the various European leagues would come to the plane they had made their own almost daily. All of the Families had mansions or castles connected by portal gates to Fel Manor on that otherworldly space. There, they held court, did research in the massive library - though each Family hid their own rare tomes - wrote treatises about Magic, held duels and various gladiatorial games, or toured the magnificent countryside that was a cross between England's Stratford-upon-Avon and France's Champagne region.

It was also where she and the other children of the High Families - those few remaining bloodlines that could trace their lineage back beyond the ancient Sumerians - grew up, attended studies, acquired social etiquette, and above all else, learned to hate each other. They were inscribed, even destined, to continue their family feuds and prejudices. It was here the major supernatural players of the world came to beseech the Necromancers upon their gildedand mountain of power for aid.

'Help us,' They'd say, 'The Demonic legions are trying to break into our plane of existence.'

'The magical authority in America refuses to pay tribute or listen to our decrees.' Whinged another.

'There's a contingent of Mages that have learned a dark art and are killing off Mages and absorbing their power.' Grovelled another puppet.

On and on they'd plead and each time the Nobles of the High Families would sit with contemptuous boredom, privately glad to be asked, yet 'disinclined' to lift a finger in aid. As a pathetic epitaph to surmise the hallucinatory state in which she'd lived; the moment it became known an artifact was pilfered from their treasury, they'd been ready to wage war to reclaim it. Opportunity presented itself and, with some minor manipulations, she'd 'volunteered' to retrieve the talisman simply to get away from that insufferable manor.

She sighed in remembrance. There was always more to the story. She knew they had their reasons in the beginning, purged and afraid - fearful of losing their power - they'd retired from the world and become guarded. Mistrustful to paranoia they had cemented themselves that they, and only they, would hold such power. They could justify it in any number of ways; to protect the established order, to ensure stability, to lessen the risk a consumed Necromancer could pose... She knew it was based solely on greed - a front to maintain their supremacy and prestige.

She shook her head in disgust. Bare feet upon polished wooden planking, a chill sea breeze whirling and the Moons silvery light carved the stone city in streaks. They'd tracked the talisman to this city. 

Tomorrow, she would grant them an audience, and see for herself if a reminder was required. To remind the world that the Necromancers who were still alive hadn't lost their teeth; that they hadn't grown weak and complacent.

She frowned as she thought about her other mission. They'd all felt the disturbance in the Spirit Realm. The elders had convened for a hearing on the matter, delving deep into texts and debate about what, and of greater concern 'who,' could have caused such a shift. Two days later they'd concluded she was to do everything within her power to discover whatever it was and, if possible, destroy it. She'd accepted without thinking. As far as she was concerned, anything that prolonged her trip was a blessing from the Ancestors.

From her perch above the city she reached out her arms and called spirits to her, organising a party of information-gatherers and sending them to their tasks. One group was to search for the Talisman, the other was to find the epicentre of the drain and follow it to its source.