The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 13: Taxonomy and Tension

“Ghouls are easy. They are slow, stupid and you can smell them a kilometer away. Just smash their thought-cage and burn the body. Easy as chicken. Rattlers aren’t much harder. Big hammer will do for most of them. But be careful. Bone Witches love to play with Rattlers, mixing skeletons together, and making all sortsa nasty shit. Run from those and get a Shaman.” - Grettir of Jokulstead, Monster Hunter and Werewolf.

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. 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 someone 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 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; this was a person making a choice to do harm. Once she just wanted closure with the Varcolac’s death; now she wanted revenge, cold pure revenge against whatever bastard 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 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 spent more than a decade surrounded by death in all manner of forms. The dead, the dying, the undead, and the grieving. Natalie’s 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 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 claimed to be unaware of what was transpiring until Cole told 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 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 a 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. Even though souls were trapped inside that shambling pile of bones, it still presented a serious danger on multiple levels. Cole needed to destroy it, and to do that he needed to find it.

“Alright,” said Cole, “Let me grab something and see if you can help.”

Gesturing for her to wait for him, Cole got up, returned to his own room, and retrieved something from his bag. Natalie hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly not 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.”

With quick understanding, Natalie 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 pointed to the two marked villages and 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 Fell God. One of these Fell Gods, the Chieftain of Lepers, had its hooks deep in parts of the Zaubervold. It was not inconceivable one of his poor, damned servants was behind the destruction of Lungu. This thought worried Cole, a Walking Charnel was bad enough, without possible demon worshiper involvement.

Normally Natalie’s educated guess about Lungu would be enough for Cole to investigate. He’d trekked out to more remote and dangerous places on less cause. 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, 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.