Dreamer's Throne

Having entered the commoner's graveyard, Garrett couldn't help but look around. The stones he saw were shabby, in need of repair and clearly neglected. Weeds grew everywhere he looked and though there was the occasional grave with flowers on it, they were almost all old and dead. Overhead, he could feel the faint miasma of undeath that had gathered from the poorly treated graves pooling together and swirling around them. It was light enough that it wouldn’t corrupt the living, but any corpse dropped into this graveyard would slowly begin to convert to undeath. He had long since wondered why people in this world didn't burn the bodies of the dead as corpses rising back to life was a considerable problem, but according to what Cynen had explained to him, the practice was out of vogue because it tended to result in angry spirits, instead of just zombies.

The issue was that the spirits of those who died lingered, trapped between life and death, and the energy that gathered turned them into pale fiends, creating even more problems. No one knew why this was the case, though Garrett felt that he was starting to have an inkling, now that he had learned about Lesrak, the dead god. This in turn gave him an idea, and he had come today to try and put it into practice. It would either work well, permanently solving a problem for him, or go terribly wrong, creating many more.

Cynen, who was leading the way, stopped by a fresh batch of graves, nearly 300 in total, and together they waited as the rest of the crowd gathered. During their march, their numbers had swelled to almost 5,000, and as Garrett looked across the crowd, he couldn't help but feel gratified. Almost everyone who had gathered carried a dream flower, and such a large congregation seemed to have a magnifying effect on his power, filling Garrett’s mind with strength. Everyone remained silent as Cynen stepped forward, her voice ringing across the graveyard.

"We gather together today to mourn the loss of those we love, to celebrate their incredible sacrifice. Each of them, knowing that they might not live to see the dawn, committed themselves fully in body and soul to defending those they love, to defending us. They, more than anyone, are the heroes of the dark night we just experienced. They, more than anyone, deserve to be remembered forever. And yet, while the nobles get fancy headstones and monuments in their honor, our brothers and sisters get nothing. Their stones record nothing but their names and the dates of their death. But we know the truth of their lives, we know the truths of their sacrifice, and the monuments in our hearts will never be eroded by wind and rain, will never fade with time."

Spreading her hands, Cynen summoned her flames, causing gasps to rise from the crowd.

"We cannot restore the dead to life, we cannot replace the loss of those brave men and women who laid themselves down for us. But we can," she paused for a moment, the flames in her hands leaping high, "we can bring them peace."

With a flick of her wrists, tongues of flame flew out toward the graves, burrowing down into the ground. Next to her, Garrett kept himself still, his mental energy stretching out to shroud the graves where Cynen's flames had landed. He was still exploring his powers, still trying to understand what authority the skeletal crown he had seized from Agma-Yoth could do. But the other day, he had discovered something interesting.

When combined with the flame of Lesrak, the flames burrowed down into the graves, quickly encountering the bodies that had been placed there. Like a spark to tinder, the bodies began to burn, transforming into ash, leaving only a faint disembodied spirit behind. As soon as the flame touched each spirit, Garrett could feel their presence connected to him through the authority of the Skeletal Crown. They were his to command, and so command them he did.

The first spirit to form looked around with conflicted emotions, as if it was swinging wildly between every feeling that it had ever experienced while alive. Though barely any time had passed, Garrett could sense that the pain from his life, and especially the pain of his brutal death was starting to drown out any other feelings he had experienced. Left alone, the spirit would slowly be tortured until he was completely corrupted, but before that could happen, Garrett spoke through his mind to the disembodied spirit.

Disperse. Be free.

The spirit the flames had touched looked at Garrett, his eyes going wide as all of the frustration, resentment, and anguish in his clouded expression burned away under Lesrak's flame. A relieved smile graced the spirit's face, and he bowed low, clearly thanking Garrett. A moment later, a faint beam of light shone down from the sky, landing directly on the grave of the spirit Garrett had freed, and with a shimmer, the spirit was gone. In his place, a faint ethereal flower bloomed, shedding colors across the disturbed ground and branding the symbol of a flower into the tombstone.

The light had caught the attention of many in the crowd, and gasps rose once again as more and more beams of light fell from the sky, piercing through the haze of the morning and lighting up the graveyard. Still acting in her role as priestess, Cynen kept her hands raised, displaying the flames they carried. When the beams of light had finally stopped falling, she let her hands drop and spoke once more to the gathered crowd who was watching with rapt attention.

"Let us rest easy. Let us be encouraged," she said. "Though our loved ones are gone, they have found peace."

As one, the gathered citizens bowed their heads and Garrett felt that strange power flooding into him once more, carried by the emotion of the crowd. In his chest, his soul spark flared, the petals of the flowers spinning as the throne began to absorb the faith energy. With each drop that sank into him, he could feel his connection with the throne growing stronger, as if it was becoming more and more real. His connection with the dream flowers grew as well, causing him to realize that whatever the faith energy was, it was a two way street. As far as the watching Family members knew, it was the power of the dream flowers that had brought peace to their loved ones, and so each committed themselves more fully to the flowers they carried.

After returning to the inn, Garrett spent the rest of the day eating and celebrating the memories of those who had been laid to rest. Though he participated in most of the festivities, he spent the majority of his time examining his new power. He was starting to suspect that Lesrak was, in fact, a deity of death. Between absorbing Lesrak's flame and seizing the skeletal crown, he had started to tap into the authority such a domain possessed.

The new class that he had been given allowed him to absorb powers from the territories he controlled. It was clear that if he was going to continue to grow, he would need to seize new territory. Already, that had proven to be true. The awakened dreamers had been ranging out from Dreamer's Rest, clearing the space between the inn and the first tomb. They did their best to plant flowers and extend Garrett's area of control.

Meanwhile, Delrisa was deep underground hunting the remnants of the Black Hand, eradicating their presence, and taking control of their minions. Since Cynen was with him, he had sent Isabelle to help the vampire, and had been keeping a close eye on both of them.

Just as the evening was coming to a close, he felt a tug on his mind. He realized that Vale was trying to connect with him. A tendril of his mental awareness flashed into the distance, almost crossing the two-mile distance between them in an instant. One of the unexpected benefits of planting an overlord flower was that the range of his powers seemed to have grown tremendously. Now he had no trouble connecting with the red-masked awakened, who was stationed outside the city.

"My lord, there are people who have come, requesting passage into the city.”

Did they give somebody's name?

"Yes, my lord. They spoke of a Baron Gelavin."

That's fine, they're expected. Bring them to the inn.

Even as he disconnected from Vale, Garrett realized that he may have just jumped into deep waters. The most important person stood at the center of the group. She was a slight figure, completely shrouded in her robe. What set his mind on edge, however, were the other two. Both were powerful-looking shapers, highly trained and always alert, the mark of assassins or bodyguards. Garrett was inclined to believe the latter over the former, as the way they moved spoke of skill with armor, which was typically not something assassins used. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the small bell at his desk and rang it. A few moments later, Francis, the cook, entered the room.

"You need something, boss?" He asked, his face still set in its customary scowl.

Garrett hesitated for a moment, his finger tracing the five-petaled flower pattern at the edge of his desk.

"Yes," he said. "Get out our best wine, and make your best meal. It needs to be ready in two hours on the dot."

"Haven't you already eaten?" Francis asked, his brow furrowing.

"Unfortunately, I think I'm going to have to eat again," Garrett said. "We're going to be having some guests."

Looking skeptically at Garrett, Francis nodded and left the room. A few minutes later, Ryn poked her head in.

"Did I hear we're having guests?" she said. "Do you need me to call Cynen?"

Biting his lip, Garrett shook his head. "No, I don't think so. We'll just see how it plays out. I'm fairly confident they'll be friendly."

The next two hours passed quickly, and it wasn't long before Garrett's sharp ears heard a sound in the basement. He had already alerted the rest of the gang, and the inn was practically deserted, with a sign put on the door turning away patrons until the next day. Obe and many of the other awakened were stationed in key spots around the inn. To their surprise, it was clear that they were guarding as much from someone inside the inn as outside of it. Still, Garrett didn't explain, and they didn't ask. They had all learned to trust the strange whims of their pale young boss.

Sitting in his wheelchair in his office, Garrett was surprised to find himself nervous. There wasn't much for him to do except wait. As he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, he felt his heart clench in his chest. This was the natural reaction of his body, as the sound of the footsteps triggered an age-old memory. The first to come into view was Vale, wearing his red mask and cloak. As he passed through the doorway, he bowed to Garrett.

"I brought them like you requested, sir," he said, stepping to the side to allow the others to pass.

Next came one of the guards, a well-built man with a square jaw and a heavy mustache. He scanned the room, looking for potential threats. It was clear that he was on edge, and just as clear that he had no idea why. Garrett couldn't blame him, of course. The inn was positively filled with dream flowers, which created a heavy mental pressure that shrouded the entire space. A regular awakened, stepping into the inn, would have no idea that anything was going on. But to someone in the Shaper stage, their senses would undoubtedly pick up the faint mental influence, and they would have no choice but to be on their guard. Following on his heels was the smaller figure in a thick robe, her hood still pulled over her head. Behind her came another guard, this one bearded and nearly seven feet tall. Garrett had already come out from behind his desk when he heard the footsteps. Now, as his visitors stopped in the middle of the room, he bowed from the waist, bringing his head down as low as he could.

"You will forgive me, your majesty, that I do not kneel," he said, ignoring the faint gasp of surprise from the robed figure. "But as you can see, I've met with some misfortune."

After a brief moment of hesitation, he straightened and the young woman standing in front of him threw back her cowl, revealing a heart stoppingly beautiful face.

"It is wonderful to see you again, Garrett," Princess Eloise said, her voice soft and charming.

"It is my honor, your majesty. I'm glad to see you alive and well."

“Thank you. I’ve returned to take my place on the throne, and I need your help.”

End of B3