Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

It was painful, genuinely hurting his very bones, to know everything, yet be forced to keep it all to himself, remain silent about the undead, Agilulf Wanneck had managed to piece things together, and clearly, Fioldron Ferrcrona had been somewhat moved by his speech, though, the hard-headed king would never follow his words.

Endlessly thinking about the future, about the past, about what he could have done better, how he could have been clearer without breaching the terms of his ability, it was too late now however, it was all he could think about, to the point that he would lose himself inside of his own mind, so long that he now found himself well away from Starkefolten, staring at the fading sun and the distant moon.

'There are only three people that can be trusted to go against them, only three of them that could rival the forces of death with certainty, three, three…'

The sun shone a bright orange, casting its soothing light upon the prophet, who had stopped just short of a cliff, the allure of the bottom was especially absorbing today, almost enthralling, a hand was waving at him, beckoning his approach.

Quideos ignored it again, putting his attention toward the moon instead.

'Thanatok Ynigós, Maiele Liameilos and… And…'

'The First Death Hunter, Elven Light and-'

A cold hand placed itself onto his shoulder, rotten, festering with the buzzing clamour of an unseen insect swarm, something clicked its tongue, mockingly so. Experience new tales on empire

"Quideos Audit, failing to remember your own visions? How far you have fallen, pitiful living seer, unable to handle the weight of the truth, your unstable mind, the insanity that made you into the untrustworthy man you now are... Did it not occur because you tried to foresee the upcoming future entirely? Thinking yourself untouchable in your visions?"

It paused, massaging Quideos's shoulder, the damp flesh stirred and bent, stretching and moving away from the bones.

"I understand that feeling, I was the same before returning to the oblivion of true death"

The living seer turned to the loathsome wraith, this voice, this rotten carcass which held his own decapitated head under his left arm, clouds of locusts flying around, crawling over the decayed flesh, into the gaps opening the skin, fingernails broken, twisted upward or pushing deep in the fingers.

A most despicable sight, Quideos was unmoved however, this vision of horror had been haunting him a while already, the reason why was obvious to the prophet, who had the displeasure of getting acquainted with each and every scion of death.

Irmandos, fellow seer, was supposed to have been destroyed, rendered to nothingness by life, and yet, he continued on existing through visions and prophecies, spreading his bile at every occasion, shaking Audit's resolve at every turn.

The zombie was not alone in this endeavour.

The prophet's idiocy in the past had led him to treat visions as unthreatening, wholeheartedly believing that naught could reach him in this way, no matter what visions of horror might assail his mind, he had seen much death and destruction before the advent of his gazing upon the arrival, the return of the undead…

That had been completely wrong, one of the gravelords was a being that one could not simply be gazed upon as you wished, infecting his mind with a deep, dark poison, for months on end, he would be driven by nothing but this vile toxin, a time he had no memories of even to this day.

He had learned his lesson, each step, each movement performed within visions was carefully calculated, avoiding any further mentions of Multaemanus, The Unceasing, even to this day, he still considered her to be the vilest of the gravelords.

"If you are here, then I am having another vision, aren't I?" calmly, the prophet ignored the words being spoken to him by the zombie and instead focused on the vision itself, the scenery all around him changing.

He was certain of it, there were three heroes that could stand up to the undead, yet, the last one remained elusive even in their existence, not to say that the first two were much better, tracking either of them down had proven a fruitless endeavour, the noble heroes of life and light would only appear of their own volition, which should not be long.

Yet, this was not ideal, the heroes should strike before the kingdom of the dead rose again, but nothing Quideos did could shake fate in the least, fate was set in stone, and also not.

There were many things that had the seer worried.

The world changed, turning into a vast expanse of grey, covered in small hills, turning around, Audit discovered that the landscape was much different from what he first believed, the land was split in two, both were barren, the seer standing right in between of the two opposing sides.

In front of him, his rotten counterpart stood in silence, content just allowing the vision to play out.

Both sides began to blossom with countless blooms, one turning green, colourful with bright shines, erupting with plentiful life of all kinds.

The other however, was in no ways less colourful, still was bleak however, blood and flesh in decomposition laid as the foundation of this parallel reality where death ruled, both were at odds, spearheaded by two giant trees.

As soon as this vision happened, it all vanished, leaving Quideos in pure darkness, all on his own, even the undead seer was nowhere to be found curiously, although drowned in dark, the prophet was able of making sense of where he was, the floor was creaking with a familiarity, the layout, even unsee, soon made sense to him, throwing him back to one of his earlier visions.

The home of younger years, when he had yet to have awakened his affinity for revelations, here, he did not find the third hero, nor did he find a way to convince his fellows of the approaching doom.

'To think that I am left unheard because a gravelord directly intervened…' he mused, suddenly feeling nostalgic, feeling like thinking back on his failings as he found himself in a safe place, a warm house unlike any other, even though the cold winds could go right through the walls.

A candle was lit, as he now sat across the rickety dinner table, not faced with his mother, nor flanked by Joala, the sides were left empty, no chairs for anyone to come sit.

Instead, barely visible in the candlelight, a figure Quideos did not recognise was standing, the stench of decay hanging thick in the air.

Was there even something here? The living was not certain, it soon dawned upon him, simultaneously a part of fate, yet ungraspable by it, there it stood, the undead that even fate feared to approach, for the corpse could even make that which is eternal fear oblivion.

"What is your name?! Who are you?!" Quideos Audit fearlessly flung the table aside, grabbing the corpse by its collar.

It did not answer, something else did, and it left the seer shaken.

Slipping through the cracks.

Coming to himself, no longer on the edge of a cliff, but at its bottom.