The Homunculus Knight

Ethical Necromancy

“The plague isn’t natural. It kills too quickly, and our healing arts are only marginally effective. Every victim rises as a grinning ghoul within minutes of death and requires significant effort to destroy. Those who survive the contagion will fall to the undead if not protected. The plague will wipe out entire towns if not dealt with quickly and aggressively.” - Excerpt from Keeper Morri’s report to the Tenth Council (Dated 27th of Cometcome, 1435)

:: Three years before Cole came to Glockmire ::

Cole didn’t like horses, and horses didn’t like him. In fact, few animals liked Cole; his unnatural existence and lack of a scent made most creatures shy away from him. But horses, without exception, reacted especially poorly to Cole. He’d been bit, bucked, bludgeoned, and nearly trampled by the animals on multiple occasions. It's why the Paladin chose to walk everywhere; even the most placid nag wouldn’t have him as a rider. His very presence rendered the animal skittish and unpleasant.

So when Cole approached the plow horse currently working to till rich Ottostuhl farmland, he expected it to flee him, or worse. Instead, the plowhorse surprised Cole. Even when he was a few strides away, it didn’t react. Merely continuing its labors until the farmer working the plow stopped it with a whistle. Patting the beast's side, the farmer strode towards Cole, one hand resting on a root-cutting axe attached to his belt. Cole let out a sigh; with his size and cloak, he didn’t exactly look non-threatening.

Stopping a few steps short of being in arms reach, the farmer called out. “Can I help you stranger?”

Looking at the horse, Cole asked. “I take it I’m near Dreza?”

The farmer nodded. “Aye, you are; the town proper is just a few kilometers up the road. What brings you to our hamlet?”

Cole pointed at the horse, which hadn't moved at all from where the farmer had left it. “I’m here to meet with the Burgrave. To discuss his… contributions to the community.”

The farmer turned back towards the horse and laughed. “Ha! Yeah, Buttercup has served my family for the last forty years; she’s older than I am! Still, she works well and saves us a fortune on oats.”

The plowhorse was dead, nothing more than old bones animated by magic. Nodding to the farmer, Cole sighed and said. “Thank you for your help; I’ll be on my way.”

Leaving the field and returning to the nearby road, Cole glanced back to see the farmer return to work. The skeletal horse dragged the plow behind it without complaint. Scratching his scarred face, Cole grimaced; this would be an interesting mission.

Walking along the old imperial road, Cole reviewed the events that had brought him to the Ottostuhl gap and into this den of undeath. The Hierophant at Silberberg had asked him a favor when he visited the city. Requesting he go north to the small town of Dreza and ‘check on’ one of the Temple’s charges. Burgrave Victor Koph, a well-respected noble and talented Necromancer.

Koph was apparently a Sorcerer, both a natural savant in necromancy and a learned pupil of Magicraft. An extremely dangerous combination that would require entire cadres of skilled warriors and mages to face normally. As he walked down the well-tended road between freshly plowed fields, Cole wondered if he was walking into a trap. The idyllic agrarian plain surrounded by low mountains seemed almost surreal when juxtaposed with its lord, whose presence was becoming clearer with every step.

Normally signs of a necromancer’s lair were ominous, dark things. The Aether and local spirits react to the pain and violation of the dead, giving a region a palpable sense of dread. Instead of hungry crows feasting on discarded corpses or screaming spirits lashed to skeletons, Cole saw signs of a talented Magi helping his community. Necromancy and other spellcraft were put to surprisingly simple uses, like fields guarded by skeletal canines that chased away any bird or rodent brave enough to enter the farmland. Or what Cole was fairly certain was an alarm system created from the remains of crows. Altogether, it created a bizarre landscape, mixing the morbid and mundane in a pleasant, if slightly off, way.

Finally, the town of Dreza came into view, a typical collection of rural buildings that just outgrew the categorization of village. Dreza lacked walls, and as Cole came closer, he noticed many of the outer buildings in the town were abandoned. They were still being maintained, but to a canny eye, it was clear no one was using them. Their gardens were overgrown, and no smoke issued from their chimneys, but someone had recently reshingled many of the roofs. If Cole was to guess, these were homes of plague victims, left empty until immigrants or a growing population could fill them anew.

Entering the town proper, Cole got more than a few strange looks from villagers going about their business, but no one stopped him. He wondered if this was a testament to the town’s peacefulness or warped sense of normality. As he saw a portly woman lead two skeletal oxen past him and down the road he came, Cole decided it was both.

The sound of laughing children caught Cole’s attention, and out of curiosity, he followed the noise. He found a small park, a stretch of grasses and flowers surrounding an old oak tree. In the shade of the old tree was a gaggle of children playing a game of catch. Not an unusual sight, except the ‘ball’ was a human skull, and the children appeared to be playing keep-away with a decapitated rattler.

Cole watched dumbstruck as one child tossed the skull to another just as the animated skeleton almost reached them. Instantly the rattler turned and trotted towards the new skull holder, and she tossed it to a friend repeating the game. One of the playing children spotted Cole and pointed him out to the others. With something new to keep their attention, the current skull holder tossed his prize to the skeleton, who quickly reattached it and walked away.

One girl with buckteeth and freckles asked. “Who are you, stranger?” as her playmates swarmed around Cole without nary a fear.

Frowning at the children, Cole pulled down his hood and received several gasps. Instead of running away as he expected, the children crowded in closer, the lead girl jumping up and down excitedly. “You a patchwork man? The lord said he wasn’t making any more, but I guess he fibbed!”

Cole’s eyes widened, ‘patchwork men’ was slang for flesh golems. “I’m not a patchwork man; how do you know about such things, child?”

The girl squinted at Cole’s scarred face and said. “Really? Look like the one the lord made to fight the troll last year.”

Another child bobbed his head excitedly. “Yeah! There was a great big troll up in the hills! It was stealing goats until the lord sent his monster after it! The patchwork man wrestled the troll and kicked it right out of the gap!”

Digesting this, Cole asked. “I’m here to meet with the lord. Can you tell me where to find him?”

The children looked at each other, wordlessly debating sharing the sought information. With the precocious brashness only a happy child could manage, the lead girl asked. “What do you want with him? The lord is a busy man; why should you get to bother him?”

An amused snort escaped Cole, and he pulled up his amulet, showing the battered hourglass to the children. “I am a servant of Master Time; I’m here to check on your lord.”

Putting her hands on her hips, the lead girl frowned at Cole. “You aren’t going to try and hurt him, are you? Cause if you do, then you really will end up a patchwork man!”

Trying to suppress his laughter, Cole shook his head. “That is not my intent or desire. So could you please tell me where to find him so you can go back to your… game”

The abused skeleton had found a broom and resumed its task of sweeping the street without children to torment it. Frowning, Cole decided to push his luck. “And do you happen to know who those bones belonged to?”

The lead girl scrunched up her face. “Probably one of the plague ghouls; lord says it's not a sin to make a monster out of a monster.”

Deciding debating ethics with the child wouldn’t be a good use of his time, Cole accepted that and repeated his first question. “Interesting, now, can you tell me where the lord is?”

Frowning, the girl spat. “I was getting to that! He lives up in the big house that way. You can’t miss it; it's the only place fit for a lord.”

Sighing, Cole nodded, thanked the children, and left them to whatever questionable pursuits they would get up to. Following the girl’s directions, Cole headed along one of the town roads until he reached the edge of Dreza and found a well-kept manor house on the settlement’s north edge. It was a stately building roughly twice the size of any other structure in Dreza, with stone walls and narrow windows. The only thing that set it apart from countless other homes of minor nobility was its questionable earthworks.

The manor was surrounded on three sides by a large crescent-shaped berm. At first, Cole thought the berm was the remnant of some old defenses, but that idea quickly died. The ‘berm’ was, in truth, the earthen roof of a huge semi-buried ice house. The type used to store cold foods or bodies…. Cole didn’t even need to guess which one the subterranean structure held.

Going to the manor’s front door, Cole found a wolf’s head door knocker made of silver. Using it, he announced himself to the manor and waited. After maybe a minute, the door swung open, and Cole was greeted by a withered cadaver. Instinct took over, and Cole had his axe in hand before the corpse could raise its hands in alarm.

In a creaky voice, the body rasped. “Wait, wait! I mean you no harm, stranger; I apologize for my appearance. I was the young master’s first success, and he clearly had much to learn.”

Frowning, Cole looked at the corpse and tentatively asked. “You are a Gangerwight?”

The corpse nodded. “Yes, I believe that is my technical title, but I prefer to be called Steward Stark, the chief servant of the Burgrave.”

Cole noted the gentle but present rebuke in those words and said. “I am Restbringer Cole, sent from Silberberg to meet with your master and discuss… well, his work.”

Stark made a nasal noise Cole assumed was the corpse equivalent of a snort. “Ah, another of the temple minders, I take it? Well, follow me and ask your questions.”

Spinning on his heels, the steward went deeper into the house, and Cole followed, more than a little unsettled by this turn of events. The manor was well-kept but poorly lit and surprisingly cold. Steward Stark plucked a glowstone from a fixture and used it to light the way as they ascended a wooden staircase. As they climbed, Cole asked. “How did you become the being you are now?”

Stark made that same nasal noise. “Straight to the point, then? Well, I’ve been in the employ of the Koph family since I was a boy and served three generations of the house. They have always been good lords, and I’m proud to be part of their household. I’ve gladly sworn oaths to die for House Koph, and when the plague came, I got the opportunity to honor those oaths. “

Cole winced at that; the great pestilence had sloshed around the continent for nearly a century. Decimating entire nations and raising up the victims as ghouls. Even now, reports of it in the Blood Duchies were worrying the southeastern members of the Holy League.

Running one withered hand along the banister, Stark said. “Yes, this was in 1422, twenty-five years ago. The young master just returned from his studies when the plague struck. Only the young master and I survived the pestilence, but the plague ghouls injured me greatly. Surrounded by the dead, my liege’s knack awoke, and he found a way to save me and the village. Once the crisis passed, he offered to free me, but I declined. I will serve House Koph until I am destroyed or dismissed.”

Frowning, Cole knew there had to be more. No novice in Necromancy, even a savant and Magi, could manage to create a Gangerwight on the first try. Especially one as stable and powerful as this Steward appeared to be. Cole let the abnormality go unaddressed; it could wait till a better time to be discussed.

Following Stark down a hallway, Cole waited while the Wight knocked on the door and announced him. “Young master, someone from the temple is here to speak with you, a Restbringer Cole.”

The sound of shuffling papers, clattering glass, and what might have been shifting furniture issued from the room. Eventually, after a loud thunk and scrape, the door opened, revealing a gaunt man of indeterminable age with sandy-blond hair and a hooked nose. Heavy purple bags hung beneath his spectacled eyes, and an ungroomed reddish-blond beard covered his face. He was wrapped in a comfortable-looking robe, not a monastic or scholarly garb but an actual bathrobe. Only the collection of talismans dangling from his neck and hands contested the image of scruffy aristocracy.

Rubbing exhaustion from his eyes, Burgrave Victor Koph suppressed a yawn. “Awwwwhh- Oh, excuse me. Is it really that time of year already? I thought my next check-up was due in a few months?”

Cole shrugged, “I don’t know; I was in the area, and Hierophant Hedla asked me to visit you.”

Scratching at his beard, the Burgrave opened the door wider and gestured into the room. “Well, you best come in and find a seat. Stark, would you please get us some tea?”

The undead manservant nodded and left them. Cole followed the Burgrave into what was apparently a horribly organized study. Books, spare papers, and enough bones to make two human skeletons covered every flat surface in the room. The central desk alone carried a dozen tomes, a few arcane diagrams, and a rune-marked skull.

Blinking in surprise, the Burgrave looked to Cole and back to the room. “I could have sworn it wasn’t this messy. Ah well, let's go downstairs to the parlor.”

Leaving the study, the Burgrave lead Cole back down the stairs and into a posh drawing room. Cole sat down at his host's insistence and was served tea by a walking corpse. The Burgrave had plopped down on a cushioned seat and was looking at Cole with undisguised interest, a cup of the herbal drink in hand.

“You’ve fought many undead, haven’t you, Restbringer?” the noble asked, blowing on his tea as he did.

Cole nodded. “I have; why do you ask, Burgrave Koph?”

Waiving his free hand, the Burgrave said. “Please call me Victor and because you aren’t afraid of Stark, but never let your eyes leave him for long when he’s in the room. Most newcomers act like scared rabbits around him, but you watch him like a wary hawk.”

Raising an eyebrow at that, Cole set his untasted tea on the nearby low table. “You are using the bones of plague victims to do menial labor. I find that objectionable, Victor.”

Nodding, Victor set down his own tea. “Ah, straight to the point. Yes, my previous guests had objections to that as well. I’ll tell you what I told them; no souls are bound to those bones or any family to claim them. I’m simply putting them to good use while they last. I’m committing no crime in the eyes of the land.”

Frowning, Cole thought about that. Victor was the local noble and had a fair amount of leeway to decide what was ‘legal’ in his little patch of the Holy League. He, of course, could be overruled by someone higher up the list of peerage. But that was unlikely to happen; the petty nobles of Ottostuhl prized their autonomy. They’d be leery of setting any precedent of intervention without a literally damning reason.

From what Cole had seen of the Burgrave, his necromancy was not technically violating any cardinal tenets of the Temple. Master Time had handed down very specific commandments about the manipulation of souls and the treatment of remains. Victor Koph appeared to be in accordance with them, or at least his violations were pitiful compared to the good he did.

Forcing himself to pick up and drink the tea, Cole barely noticed the flavor. He was too busy regretting agreeing to this favor. This job was for a bureaucrat or liturgical scholar, not a Paladin. (even a mediocre one)

Gesturing to the tea, Cole had drunk, Victor asked. “How is it? The stuff is violently expensive, but I still have a stock of it from my grandmother’s time.”

Cole shrugged. “I’m no expert, but it was enjoyable. Now, do you have other bound souls or just your steward?”

Victor scrunched up his face. “I wouldn’t say Stark is bound per se; I’ve offered to free him multiple times. But to answer your question, I mainly work with animal souls. There have been a few exceptions like Stark, but they have been with consent. I even have signed documents testifying to that.”

Choosing not to remark on how well prepared Victor was in the face of accusations, Cole asked. “What were some of these other exceptions?”

Victor smiled. “Oh well, one was Mrs. Opperman; she got deathly sick maybe a week before her son’s wedding. She asked me to help her… linger until then. Another was Timok; he slipped while reshingling a roof and didn’t have a proper will. I helped communicate his wishes before the funeral. It's generally been things like that; Stark is the only soul I’ve kept here for any serious length of time.”

Nodding, Cole decided now would be a good time to poke this situation a bit. “About Stark, it's very impressive you managed to create a stable Gangerwight as your first proper bit of necromancy.”

Shrugging, Victor said. “It wasn’t too terribly complicated, I’m a savant when it comes to this sort of thing, and Stark’s stoic nature helped.”

Letting out a breath, Cole sprung his trap. “No, it is very complicated. The process of freeing a soul and then rebinding it to its own flesh; while preserving and enhancing said body is very tricky. I doubt any natural knack would guide you through the myriad steps in correctly creating a Gangerwight. At least not without some previous experience.”

Victor’s hands started to shake, making his teacup rattle slightly. “That is… You are very knowledgeable about how a Gangerwight is created. But I assure you the process is easier than the formulas a necromantical text lays out. Once you get into the flow of it, then-”

Cole cut him off with a raised hand. “I’ve seen them being created before by Necromancers with far more experience than you. I know the level of concentration and preparation required. It isn’t something a complete novice can do while in a crisis. So how about you tell me the real story of Stark’s binding?”

Eyes wide, Victor’s gaze flicked to Cole’s belt and the axe there. Tapping his weapon, Cole said. “I know there are shades of grey in everything, even undeath. I’m not going to execute you unless you really really deserve it.”

Nervously, Victor said. “We were under siege; every house in the town was beset by ghouls. The accursed plague took every good sword arm, and my offensive magic has always been lacking. We needed a weapon to defend ourselves, and Stark was already sick. It took me two weeks, but I got the magic right, and he saved us.”

Frowning, Cole asked. “Why did you lie to the Temple? It seems like a strange choice. Eventually, someone like me would check and notice the oddity.”

Shrugging, Victor set down his tea cup. “People react better to the idea my first act of necromancy was accidental. Using a power I didn’t ask for, to do good, is easier to accept than the truth.”

Cole leaned back in the chair; Victor had accidentally confirmed what Cole suspected. “You aren’t a savant, are you?”

The Necromancer flinched like he’d been slapped. Nodding to himself, Cole said. “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you, Burgrave Victor. You were right; your ‘check-up’ is due in a few months. I’m not here to inspect your work but to finish a hunt.”

Reaching into a pocket, Cole pulled out five bone dice. He set them on the table with a clatter and watched the color drain from Victor’s face. Each of the dice was marked with traditional number pips, except for one blank side. The side varied between dice, with each of the five missing one numbered side. The missing one, three, four, five, and six were all present on the table; only the number two die was missing.

Victor shut his eyes and let out a very tired sigh. “So they finally got caught?”

Cole nodded. “I found one of these dice on each member of the Brotherhood. When the absence became apparent, I did some looking and found you. Needless to say, Hierophant Hedla was concerned and asked me to finish my work.”

Running a hand through his greasy hair, Victor pleaded. “You need to understand; I left once I realized where the Tombstone Brotherhood was heading. I…I didn’t want to be part of that. I left and swore never to use what I learned. I know I broke that promise, but I’ve only used the knowledge to help.”

Victor was rambling, thirty years of guilt spilling out of him. Cole grimaced and asked. “Why didn’t you say anything when you left? Many people died thanks to those five, and you could have stopped them.”

Putting his head in his hands, Victor pleaded. “I didn’t want to betray them! They were my friends, I thought… I thought maybe after I left; they’d wake up and… and…. Jagged edges, I was a coward.”

Cole sighed. “You were brave enough to leave but not enough to prevent a tragedy. I don’t think you are a coward, just selfish.”

A bitter laugh escaped Victor, and he bobbed his head in agreement. “What did they do? When I was part of the Brotherhood, we were just dumb ivory students making anatomy corpses dance. I left when talk of soul manipulation went from theoretical discussion to actual plans.”

Looking at the dice on the table, Cole said. “They were selling their ‘services’ to anyone who could pay. Flesh golems for corrupt lords, soul offerings for cults, curses, and contagions for anyone with the coin. The Tombstone Brotherhood were all talented Magi, and they put those skills to their worst possible uses.”

Letting out a tired breath, Victor mused. “Mercenary Necromancers, such a waste of knowledge and skill. Do you know what good can be done with that kind of magic? How many of the world's problems can be alleviated using necromancy with a modicum of ethics? It's such a waste.”

Finally meeting Cole’s eyes for the first time since the dice were revealed, Victor asked. “So what will you do with me? I lied to the temple, destroyed important records, and consorted with arcane criminals. I’m assuming the other members are dead. Will I be joining them?”

Picking up the dice and putting them in his pocket, Cole said. “Three are dead; two are imprisoned. As for you, well, I think you should come with me to Silberburg. The Temple will decide your fate.”

The door to the parlor opened then, revealing Steward Stark carrying a hulking greatsword. In his creaky corpse voice, the Gangerwight said. “I’m afraid I cannot allow that. The young master has more than made up for any youthful mistakes. He’s used his power to save this town and make it into something his family would be proud of. I’m not going to let your dogma destroy everything.”

Both Cole and Victor sprung to their feet. The necromancer put himself between Cole and his servant. “Stark! Stop this! I’ve lied for too long; I must face the consequences.”

Stark smiled, or the closest expression his withered face could make. “You are a true, noble, young master. Forgive me for taking this choice from you, but it's my duty as steward to protect House Koph from any adversity. “

The Gangerwight knocked his master aside and charged Cole, greatsword held high. Cole dodged the first brutal slash and lashed out with his unsheathed axe. Stark was strong but slow, and Cole got his axe under one of the Gangerwight’s armpits. The axehead sunk half a handspan into dead flesh and stopped. Stark clamped his arm down on the weapon and yanked it out of Cole’s grip.

Cursing, the Restbringer leaped back and barely escaped a cleaving strike from the greatsword. Stark was clearly more than a simple Gangerwight. Victor had put considerable effort into turning his manservant into a formidable monster. Unsheathing his knife, Cole danced left, trying to keep closer to Stark’s injured arm. The Gangerwight struck out again, his blows predictable but dangerously strong. Two chairs and a small table died to Stark’s wrath.

As the undead steward swung again and again, Cole rolled underneath a strike and got within Stark’s guard. Moving with remarkable agility, Cole gripped onto his trapped axe with his right hand while slipping around Stark’s side to put his dagger into the Gangerwight’s spine. The strike was clean and slipped between Stark’s shoulder blades. It should have paralyzed the intelligent ghoul, but it merely infuriated him. Cole took a violent backhand to the chest and was sent sprawling to the floor. But the Restbringer had held onto his axe, yanking the weapon free when he fell.

Rolling with the impact and coming to his feet, Cole nicked his arm and lengthened his weapon into a pole axe. Cutting Stark was more like chopping through fresh timber than flesh. Adding extra reach and momentum to Cole’s blows would make this easier.

Letting blood drip down into his hand, Cole flung his hand at the Gangerwight, whispering an incantation as he did. “Mist of my veins, assist me against these remains.”

The blood sizzled and bloomed into a thick red fog. Stark hesitated and stepped back, uncertain of what he faced. Cole punished the Gangerwight’s doubt and came in low, pushing through the fog and coming for Stark’s knee. With both hands on the pole-axe, Cole drove the weapon into the side of Stark’s leg and chopped it off at the calf.

The Restbringer half expected the Gangerwight to grow a new limb or project some spectral support, but thankfully Stark fell. Collapsing like a rotten oak in a bad wind storm. As he tumbled, Stark frantically swung his greatsword; Cole caught the blow on his weapon’s haft. Even without proper leverage, the strike pushed Cole back a step.

Victor threw himself into the newly created space between the two opponents. “WAIT STOP! Please don’t do this!”

Stark let out a sigh, plunged his greatsword into the ground, and used it to pull himself up. Balancing with the weapon, he rasped. “I’m sorry young master, but I must protect you.”

Grimacing, Victor shouted. “You aren’t protecting me! I need to go with the Restbringer! I need to face this!”

Nodding, Stark growled. “I need to protect you, even from yourself.”

Shaking his head, Victor spat, “Even if you kill the Restbringer, I will go to Sliberburg. I must end this charade; you aren’t helping me, Stark!”

Stark’s face contorted into a true death rictus, his dead eyes filled with mad zeal. “Then I will stop you from going. You cannot be allowed to make this mistake. By the time your legs heal, you will understand the necessity of this.”

Victor leaned back slightly, his pained expression hardening into cold resolve. Holding one hand up, he muttered something in an arcane tongue, and Stark collapsed. Whatever power kept the Gangerwight moving with a severed spine was revoked.

Turning to Cole, the necromancer sucked in a breath and hissed. “Free him.”

Blinking in surprise, Cole hesitated, and Victor shouted. “FREE HIM! Please… please before I lose my nerve.”

Moving over to the corpse, Cole ignored its accusatory eyes and touched Stark’s forehead. With a whispered prayer and expenditure of power, Cole snapped the bindings keeping Stark in his flesh. Without a Necromancer’s will to contend with, it was easy. The soul fled into the Beyond with a flash of silver only Cole could see.

Facing Victor, Cole asked, “Did you know how much he had degraded?”

Grief swallowed the necromancer, and he forced down sobs to answer. “I… I thought he was stronger. He has… had existed like that for twenty-five years. I know what the texts say, but I thought his will would protect him.”

Cole sighed. “It's why creating things like him is taboo. Undeath changes a being, warping them until nothing remains intact. I honestly think it's worse with people like Stark. They are strong enough not to fall fast. Instead, they degrade so slowly you don’t notice until something snaps. I’m sorry, Victor; I’m sorry you had to see that and be part of it.”

A near-hysterical laugh escaped the necromancer. “You are apologizing to me? I lied to people for half a lifetime, and my servant tried to kill you.”

Sheathing his axe, Cole asked. “Why are you willing to go with me? You might be facing imprisonment or even execution, depending on what is decided. I don’t think simple guilt would motivate that.”

Collapsing into one of the surviving chairs, Victor rubbed his head. “I wanted to prove necromancy can be used correctly. I thought maybe the fact I chose this path, and it hasn’t corrupted me, would be enough to change some minds.”

Looking down at the body of Stark, Victor rasped. “Now… now I think I understand. Even if this type of magic doesn’t corrupt me, it will others around me. I stretched out Stark’s existence until he wasn’t himself anymore. I didn’t save his life… I prolonged his death.”

Cole asked. “What did you do with your die, the one from the Tombstone Brotherhood?”

Confused by the change of topic, Victor said. “I threw it in a river years ago. At the time, I thought I was cutting off that part of my life, but now… now I think I was just trying to run away from my mistakes.”

Accepting that answer, Cole said. “You aren’t a bad person; the other members of the Brotherhood were. They were selfish, cruel people who used the same knowledge you did to do terrible things. I think that speaks volumes about you, so does this town and what you did with Stark in the end.”

Going over to Stark’s body, Cole pulled his knife from the corpse’s back and grabbed a nearby scrap of fabric to cover the Gangerwight’s face. “Let me help bury your friend, and then I’ll leave and tell the Temple to assign a permanent warden to stay with you here.”

A series of emotions crossed Victor’s face, but he settled on confusion. “What?”

Cole shrugged. “You’ve managed to do a lot of good with very dark power; I can admire and understand that. I think stopping you from doing more good would be a sin. So I’m going to help you and ensure no one else gets hurt.”

Slack-jawed Victor just sputtered. “You can’t just-”

Raising an eyebrow, Cole asked. “Would you prefer I killed you for your duplicity and dark magic?”

A nervous noise escaped Victor. “I guess not. I…I ur… Thank you.”

Hoisting up Stark’s body, Cole asked. “Where should we bury him?”

Wincing, Victor sucked in a breath. “His wife and son are buried in the town cemetery; I think he’d like to be with them.”

Nodding, Cole pondered this and said. “Let's lay him to rest and then discuss the future. I think your ideas have some merit, Victor; I just hope you can live up to their potential.”