Break 9 - Mortan Osserfid

Fueled in the Fires of the Undead...

Mortan crouched over one of the corpses in the broken stone circle, doing as he had done countless times before; willing into the body a sense of life that would animate it accordingly to do his bidding. But unlike every time before, it didn't work. The life force came easily enough, but focusing it into the body seemed similar to pouring water into a sieve. It flowed out of the body and somewhere deeper.

The grey-souled gnome had a moment of fear that Gharlamaal had forsaken him entirely, but trying once again, the power was still there and indeed seemed to flow stronger than ever before.

Retreating to his packs, he removed the black and white mask that marked Gharlamaal's praise and, returning to the body, placed the ceremonial adornment over his face. A flash of black and white overtook his vision then, bleeding into grey as it knocked him face-first into the corpse, and seemingly further and further below; To lands no living had ever tread; To the lands of the dead.

There, far below, beckoned a large object made of molten and shadow and hope. A closer look revealed it as some form of forge.

"...This is the Etherforge. The dead are not created, nor destroyed. The dead are reformed. This is the tool that one would use to do so. Champions and guardians are needed in one's world to walk the path of the world's woes. This is one's tool. This is My tool. One should use it wisely..."

Mortan's face twisted in confusion.

"How does one do this, my Lord? How may I use this creation to further Your Divine Grace?"

"...One's world needs a champion of undeath to defeat those who would disgrace My teachings and distort them to their own views. One will show the world My true power! One will use this forge to create the guardians he will need to defend himself against what is to come. One will become my Prophet of the Etherforge. One will learn to use the Etherforge to reshape the souls of the undead to the forms that will best show My strength. One will not disappoint! One will choose wisely..."

With the final word, Mortan found himself being pulled inside the Etherforge; Into a limitless place of pain and suffering, but also solace. Of burning and rest.

Back above, Mortan awoke with a scream on his lips as Grath kicked him awake. Judging from the pain and likely bruising already on his side, this was not the first of such kicks.

"Hey, awake now? Thought you were... What wrong with your face?"

At the half-orc's odd words, Mortan felt his face to find the mask completely disappeared. He quickly scanned the area to find it nowhere in sight.

"What do you mean my face?..."

Just then, Mortan caught a reflection of himself in the blade of Grath's sword. His face had become a copy of the mask; half dark as night, the other as pale white as bleached bones. As he continued to watch, the colors disappeared into his skin and a smile spread on his face.

"I am fine now, my sharp-toed friend. Leave me be now to finish my preparations."

The gnome turned back to the corpse as Grath shrugged and walked back to the rest of the party, finishing packing up their equipment and the body of the mage for transport to the great city of White, Red and Black magic.

Mortan steadied himself and this time, instead of channeling the energy into the corpse directly he sent it down-down-down into the Etherforge, forming and reshaping as he willed before returning the energies to the corpse in front of him.

The new Etherforge Prophet smiled. This was something different, and he liked it...