On the Ethics of Creating and Powering a Soul Engine

Six

Lothar's horse, Lempeä, was a sleek, slender thing, befitting of his owner's family name, even more than Lothar himself. When Lothar was resurrected, Lempeä was originally wary, as if he sensed the change in his master and did not recognize who he was anymore. Lothar had to rebuild the trust bit by bit, as if breaking Lempeä in for the first time. Now, the fair horse acted quite amiably to his fell rider, even if he didn't quite understand who this new rider was.

Every morning, Lothar tended to his horse. Feed, brushing, treating, and servicing the saddle and other attachments. Stirrups, handy foot rests developed by the kingdoms of men a few centuries ago, improved Lothar's abilities in mounted combat, abilities he hadn't been able to use properly since even before his death and subsequent resurrection. While his skills of warfare were left unpolished, the practice of tending to his steed was an important ritual amongst elven warriors, to be done after morning prayers to the Great Tree and before tending to his weapons and armor. Lothar, who needed no sleep, had already completed all of his morning rituals and even took the time to brush and inspect two of the baron's horses, which he intended to take to help pull the carriage. He also tended to Anxe's horse.

When the ritual of the morning was done, provisions secured, and all four horses linked up to the baron's carriage, Lothar ascended the stairs as the sun rose and knocked firmly. As he began to call out to wake up Anxe, the door opened.

Anxe was fully dressed for riding. Their houppelande gown, cut to reflect the fashion for men, to their upper calves, was immaculate, as though made via magic. The opening of their sleeves flowed along their side, almost longer than the hem of the gown. Their lute was secure in its case, held in their soft hands. The fabric was solid black, trimmed with gold along the hem. The gold continued into a filigree of fern fronds that covered the majority of their gown. Wool leggings covered their legs until their riding boots took over. Perched atop it all was a new hat, a comically large, gilded chaperon with an elaborately embroidered and scalloped liripipe, looted from the baron's wardrobe. Anxe smiled, a weary look, and said plainly, "Good morning, Sir Slenderleaf."

Lothar was silent as Anxe stepped by. Their poise carried them down the hall and down the steps. But Lothar could tell they had not slept. He grunted in resignation and followed his companion.

"I was wondering if you might let us pause to at least dine here before we depart," Anxe called behind them as they disappeared around a corner. "We have matters to discuss, though I assure you they will be brief."

Lothar wondered if Anxe intended to mention the events of the night. Elves healed physical wounds slowly, but Lothar did not intend to hold any emotional wounds against the bard unless the bard repeated such actions. Anxe popped their head around the corner, the ill-fitting chaperon nearly flying off of their head.

"Also, I have a strange urge to kick the baron's corpse a few times for good measure. What do you say, Slenderleaf?" They said, the twinkle in their eye meagerly outshining their exhaustion.

Lothar was quiet for a moment. There was much to worry about, but perhaps some time to discuss their next steps would be acceptable. "I'll prepare a meal."

Anxe smiled, a more genuine expression. "Fantastic. I'm going to go kick the shit out of that stupid baron's corpse for a bit."

Lothar frowned, deciding to catch up and stop Anxe from further desecrating a corpse they didn't intend to use for necromancy.

***

After a sixth of an hour, the pair leaned against the countertops of the manor's kitchen. Lothar was able to use his magic to boil the water quickly, but he would not cut corners on cooking, even if it was just boiling eggs. A dash of salt and pepper and some day old bread complimented the meal.

Anxe ate quickly, without their usual hedonistic revelry when dining. Perhaps it was the lack of wine or the simple meal. "So, Sir Slenderleaf," they started, as Lothar chewed thoughtfully. "If we intend to head home, we need to do so with more to say for our efforts than an automaton's head, a trail of bodies, and a baron's shoddy bookkeeping records. What do you think?"

Lothar continued chewing with thoroughness, pausing only to say, "Please don't ask me questions while I have food in my mouth."

Anxe shrugged. "Fair enough. Now, what do you think?"

Lothar completed swallowing before saying sheepishly, "What clues do we have to follow? Everything led back here. Those shoddy records mark Morlimet's assailants as paid a hefty sum."

Anxe nodded. "Yes, we know who sent them, but not why they were sent." They leaned closer to Lothar. "But there are plenty of clues we gathered, if a bit circumstantial. Think about it."

And Lothar did. "The 'Divine Emissary'. The Mage Mother." A puzzled look formed on his face. "These concepts are foreign to me. Tell me about them."

Anxe shrugged. "Gods aren't exactly a focus in the Silent Tower, but I do know that the Mage Mother is the patron goddess of magic for most human mages, across kingdoms and cultures. I don't know what sort of lot her devotees are nowadays, but some time ago, they did quite a number on the kingdoms of men. Left a lot of superstition and fear in the area still to this day."

Lothar took another bite, mulling over the taste and Anxe's words. "Needs more salt."

"The big problem is that we don't know much. Master Tolurus might, but using our time this far out to find answers ourselves will definitely be favorable in his eyes," Anxe continued. "As the herald of a necromantic lord, I am not particularly welcome in most houses of worship, so this sort of knowledge is not my forte. I wouldn't even call it my mezzo forte." They chuckled.

"Well, going where you aren't welcome certainly is within your skill set," Lothar said flatly. "Are you wanting to interview some priests?"

It was Anxe's turn to think carefully, looking down at the ground in thought. "An interview isn't the worst idea. The issue is that as soon as they realize what we are, they will likely clam up, and that turns into an interrogation, which means more clean-up... oh, I wish Morlimet were here so he could just find a book about it or something!"

A despondent expression crossed Lothar's face. "I actually may know someone we can talk to," he said, quickly hiding his apprehension. "On the outskirts of the port town Petrichor, to the south west of here."

Anxe chuckled and looked up. "Ah, is this your paramour? Do you have darling in every port that you swear to is your only one true love?"

Lothar noted the teasing and began formulating his vengeance. Later, he told himself. Out loud, he said, "No, a heretic, excommunicated from the local clergy. Our Divine Emissary had cloud and wave designs I remember seeing on the clergymen there, though they were worshipers of a storm god known as Respu, not the Mage Mother."

"Then we have a destination!" Anxe said triumphantly. "I'll take any information we can."

Lothar nodded. "It may be close to a week of travel, depending on the roads. Our steeds are already connected to the baron's carriage, so it shouldn't be too uncomfortable of a journey."

Anxe's grin expanded, nearly threatening to reveal their split lower jaw. "You know, stealing a carriage is very unbecoming of a hero."

Lothar has a response ready this time. "It's not stealing. We earned it through battle."

"Agreed, Slenderleaf. Agreed. Onward to Petrichor!"