The First Minion

A forum for followers of Death.
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Grief
Posts: 39
Joined: Fri Sep 09, 2016 8:40 am
Guild: Brotherhood
Temple: Death

The First Minion

Post by Grief »

The Postulant Grief did as was commanded when summoned by his betters to the altar room of Frostfall. An eager student hungry for the teachings of Death.

The Altar Room
Black statues of Corin and Kilana stand in this grotesque room.
At their feet lays a bloodied altar, and several empty carcasses
adorn the floor. You almost think you can see the two images
smiling in anticipation, hoping for a fresh sacrifice.
Superiors in Room:
Nyssa Pari
Items of Note:
The Fresh Cadaver of a Kobold

The lowly Brotherhood Monk bowed his greeting to the Demon and the Ritualist, receiving a nod in exchange from both. He observed in respectful silence as they took their places about the Altar. Though his interested gaze could not help but dart between the cadaver, the Demon, and the Ritualist, curious as to what would come next.

Pari says 'Welcome.'

Which was clearly more of a formality than anything, as she continued with her lesson. Pari pointed towards the bloodied corpse at her feet and then towards altar as the soul of the Kobold faded into view.

Pari asks 'Do you see the soul?'

Grief looked on in bewilderment as the soul appeared on command with such ease.

Grief manages to get out 'I... yes. Amazing.'

Pari says 'The Keeper has granted me the power to illuminate the energy and connections that you will witness for this time. That way it will be easier for you to understand and ultimately control the soul energy. In the future these will not be visible to the eye.'

Grief replies 'Makes sense.'

Pari says 'Now, we are going to guide the soul of the kobold back to its body. In doing so we will retain a portion of the soul for ourself, and that is how we will have power over the creature. I will guide you through it.'

Grief continued listening... as Pari would go on to reveal the marvels of Death.

Pari says 'You must clear your mind of all thoughts. When you feel you are ready, try to reach out with your mind and seek the soul.'

On instruction, Grief took a seat, cross-legged, and closed his eyes, assuming an apparent state of meditation. His face contorted once or twice, as though he were angry with himself for failing to reach clear mindedness.

Pari says 'Do not feel frustration, this all comes with time and practice.'

Finally, he was there.

Grief replies 'Ok.'

Grief opened his eyes and saw the illuminated soul had yet to move. He closed them once again. And suddenly, a thin tendril of energy emanated from the center of Grief's forehead, curling towards the soul.

Pari says 'There, you're doing it. Do you see the energy you are projecting?'

Grief exhaled deeply and continued to focus. He opened his eyes and bore witness to it all.

Grief calmly replies 'Yes.'

Pari says 'Think of it as a rope. Use it to capture the soul.'

Grief lifted a hand for dramatic effect, and to attempt give corporeal strength to the ethereal, gesturing the soul closer to the body. As he did, a trio of similar tendrils to the first lasso'd themselves more tightly around the wayward soul.

Pari says 'Excellent.'

Grief almost smiled, but resisted the urge. He was entranced by his training.

Pari says 'Now, this will be the trickiest part. Try to force the soul back into the body.'

Grief toyed with his somewhat more comfortable command of the soul, and beckoned the soul to where it was touching the corpse. But the soul began to resist, pulling against his guidance.

Pari advises 'Most souls do not wish to return, but others are more eager.'

Grief's focus returned and he visibly narrowed his brow, concentrating.

Pari says 'Now guide him back into the corpse.'

Grief's temple sprouted of a single bead of perspiration as several more tendrils of ether enveloped the corpse and soul alike. With a small grunt, as though the concentration and effort were still taxing for him, the soul began to comply. The Demon and the Ritualist looked on and nodded in approval as the soul finally melded with the body, becoming whole. The fingers of the kobold began to twitch, its eyes opening to look around.

Pari says 'Well done. Now that you have re-connected the two, you must withdraw your energy, but bring a part of the soul with it. Think of your energy as a fishing hook.. Hook the soul and pull a thread back with you.'

Grief gestured at the twitching body before it fully reanimated and held forth his hand in wonder. Slowly, Grief began to extract a visible trail of translucent light from the body. Something about this was done with remarkable ease. The Ritualist nodded to Grief.

Pari declares 'This is your first minion.'

Grief lowered his hand and shivered as the light of the soul sank into him, fading away. The chill and power of Death.

Pari says 'Maintaining control of him will become like breathing, you will not have to concentrate to do it. You can sever the link whenever you wish, but for now you can keep him for a while.'

Grief says 'Indeed, the second part, once our soul was back where we wanted him, certainly was easier than the first.'

Pari nodded toward the Gnome.

Pari says 'By this time next week I expect you to have three minions at your beck and call.'

Pari smirked as the kobold stood, took up his crossbow, and then knelt at Grief's feet. That was a strange new feeling.

Pari says 'Trial your endeavours and make sure to document this episode first.'

He nodded, soaking in the lesson.

Pari says 'Stick to the lesser creatures for now, build up your strength until they cannot resist your call.'

Grief says 'I am most proud. Thank you for the lessons. This is most amazing.'

Pari says 'When you do this on the surface it will be different, the souls will be desperate to enter the underworld. You will have to be quick to bind them.'

That concluded the lesson.

Pari says 'That will be it for today.'

With a bow, Grief dismissed himself, and his first minion followed closely behind.

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Grief
Posts: 39
Joined: Fri Sep 09, 2016 8:40 am
Guild: Brotherhood
Temple: Death

The Second Minion of Many More

Post by Grief »

The River Yare had proven to be a fantastic place to test his body and overall resiliency. He was growing fond of that place, had become a strong swimmer, and even found favorite little places where he might suffer ever more (to his delight, of course).

Yet, there was one thing that kept rubbing him the wrong way: that man, that... court man with the fishing rod. Grief was used to the strange looks he received, after all he could barely afford clothes to cover the self-inflicted wounds he issued routinely to himself. But, the court man with the fishing rod always took it one step further. He would often make disparaging comments as the Gnome passed to enjoy his favorite swimming spots. Largely, Grief had ignored these. Until now.


I wonder...


Grief recalled the literature he had consumed, the lessons he had assimilated from his superiors, and the rather direct order received to command souls.


Maybe I can reciprocate his inner disgust in kind, using what I've learned. Apply the teachings of my betters in a functional way...

"Stick to the lesser creatures for now, build up your strength until they cannot resist your call."


Death had been set in abundance by the sad little wretch, but now he thought to use that energy he had made manifest. If souls had a smell, it would have reeked of them, but instead it was more of a foul 'dead fish' aroma out on the river. Grief peered upon the aftermath of his slaughter and then set his gaze on the most lowly of the vessels, as instructed. A leech.

With curiosity and wonder in his eyes, he attempted to muster the focus he had at the altar, concentrating. And then he felt, but this time did not see, the procedure unfold. As he absorbed that similar sensation, the tingle and chill of Death bringing the power of souls into ones own oversight, this felt like a much lesser soul at his command than his first minion. It nevertheless would serve his purpose. He even smiled slightly as he watched the leech swim before him in a non-aggressive state.


Go my pet.


Up the river the leech swam under the command of the Gnome, floating amid a few pieces of driftwood and barely noticeable as it neared that court man with the fishing rod. As though it were commanded by some otherworldly will of the postulant, the leech attached to the man's ankle and began to sap the sustenance it craved from within.

Perhaps the court man with the fishing rod hadn't noticed, or wouldn't for awhile, but this was certainly enough vengeance for Grief, and for a second time he put application to his lesson.


I sure hope that leaves an ugly blister.


Grief then set about with similar exercises throughout the evening, in keeping with the continuity of his service to Death, to the Keeper of Souls.

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Grief
Posts: 39
Joined: Fri Sep 09, 2016 8:40 am
Guild: Brotherhood
Temple: Death

The Third Minion: Crook-Neck

Post by Grief »

“You can do better than a leech, Grief.”

As amused as he had been with his triumph in soul command, apparently he had not impressed Death’s Ritualist. This, he took, as a failure. And there was only one way ameliorate failure: beat himself until his suffering reached such degrees that he would pass out. So, Grief returned to the lower levels of the Brotherhood and did just that.

Grief woke the next day in a pile of his own mostly-dried blood, with soiled robes and garb mangled from the self-inflicted lacerations he so rightly deserved. He rose from the sticky mess caked around him and set forth an enlightened and most determined little Gnome for the forest of Dirimloth. It is here that he would try again.


A troll is larger. Stronger. More powerful than the leech or the kobold.

It was not long after his arrival that Grief encountered such a creature. Grief callously approached this aged troll, placed either hand on the sides of its skull, and twisted the abomination’s rather grotesque head until an audible snap evidenced the neckbone had broken. The next sound was something like a thud on the plantlife and foliage below, as what once lived was now a hollow shell.

Time to wake up, friend.

Grief performed the ritual he had learned once again, the ethereal energy and refreshing pleasure of souls flowing through him as he bid that which he had taken to return. The little wretch of a Gnome climbed atop the troll victoriously. He slapped the face of the deceased forest villain to whom he had laid waste. Then, the eyes of his victim, which had not yet shut in death, blinked. Satisfied, Grief dismounted.


Hi there, ugly. Get up.

The troll climbed to its feet, and lumbered toward Grief. As they strode from the forest, they were an amusing pair to behold. One, a plebely self-beaten Gnome. The other, the troll at his beck and call that always seemed to be looking to the “left” due to “neck trouble”.
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Grief
Posts: 39
Joined: Fri Sep 09, 2016 8:40 am
Guild: Brotherhood
Temple: Death

The Fourth Minion

Post by Grief »

Managing the more powerful soul, as was his new minion the forest troll, filled him with positive emotions, and surprisingly was not the least bit taxing upon him.

He had named the troll “Crook-Neck”, for its mangled appearance. And there was some logic to that comical name. At least in Grief’s mind, to give a minion some sort of meaningful assign seemed to defeat the sentiment behind it being a servant at his disposal—attachment to minions would hardly serve him. Nevertheless, the Gnome and his troll went many places, together pledging their service to the Keeper and exacting such through bloodshed. That was at least until a fateful adventure brought the pair to the forest of Nirimloth.

In the forest this day was a symphony of fresh demise and carnage composed by Grief. Together, a Gnome and his bumbling colleague found great success, dispatching each new ambush. It was business as usual. And then amid all that violence he felt something strange.

What was that? Wh- ugly? Ugly?

Grief experienced an extension of his power extinguished well before he saw what had become of Crook-Neck—it was like a shiver of abject loss that he was yet familiar with, the soul of his minion had returned to the Keeper. Something he would not soon forget but swiftly understood once he beheld the (again) lifeless troll at the other end of a particularly nasty ogre’s club.

I guess that was bound to happen at some point.

Motivated by vengeance, Grief swiftly ripped the intestines from the stomach of the villainous ogre, wrapped the organs around its neck and hung it from a nearby tree. He wiped the excess gore on his trousers and began to depart before thinking better of it.

I guess this one would be an upgrade, wouldn’t it? If he was able to best the last minion…

So Grief brandished his kama, severed the swinging oaf from its branch, and began the ritual of souls. This one did not go easy. He could feel the soul struggle and resist. It was unwilling to return to its worldly vessel. Whether it was due to Grief’s stature, practice, or the soul of the ogre itself was a question for those more studied in the arts of Death than he. And then finally, the soul acquiesced.

I barely did that this time... I should return to the Ritualist to ask some questions. Put your guts back in, big guy, we have things to learn. Well, I do anyway.

The ogre bundled up the long cord-like innards that had spilled from its stomach and did as was commanded, holding the open wound in his belly shut as he followed Grief from the forest.
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Kilogoth
Posts: 58
Joined: Mon Aug 05, 2013 12:21 pm
Guild: Brotherhood
Temple: Immortal of Death

Re: The First Minion

Post by Kilogoth »

The Keeper smiled as he saw the tendrils of one of his chosen reach into the Underworld to snatch the soul of the descending ogre.

He remarked to a nearby demon, "it would seem that the Postulant's training is progressing well. Please convey my approval to the Ritualists."

With a soft pop, the demon vanished to carry out his task.
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