<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/2vtQHDS.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong><strong>"Arty" Fellbrook</strong>(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=311048.msg15089568#msg15089568)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Caravan, On Horseback<br/><strong>HP:</strong>42 / 42<br/><strong>AC:</strong>22<strong>Touch:</strong>15<strong>Flat Footed:</strong>17<strong>CMD:</strong>19<br/><strong>Resist:</strong>Electricity 5, Cold 5, Acid 5<br/><strong>Fort:</strong>+4<strong>Reflex:</strong>+3<strong>Will:</strong>+6<br/><strong>Perception:</strong>+10 [Darkvision]<strong>Initiative:</strong>+10<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Most people didn't like the undead. That, of course, went without saying; whenever you wandered through forgotten roads and deep woods, there was a better than average chance that you'd probably end up stumbling across some errant shambler or something who'd see you and want to make your day just that little bit harder. But then, the same could be said of many things; goblins, wolves, bandits, any number of dangers lurked out in the wilderness to turn an unwary traveller into another cautionary tale so why was it that the undead bore a rather unique distaste? People feared wolves, but they didn't hate or revile them. They were just doing what was within their nature, hunting to survive. You might as well hate a horse for galloping, or a dog for barking. Goblins? Well, in large numbers people worried about them, but nobody outright detested them. They scorned them and kicked them and stuff, but there wasn't that revulsion of automatic hatred and disgust whenever one wandered past. Bandits? Well, people hated them, but it was a personal hatred, a kind of "That person there is doing dodgy stuff, so I'm not gonna trust him." But undead? They had a hatred and a<em>fear</em>attached to them that far surpassed any other danger. There might be other creatures that inspired more hatred, or more fear, but not at the same time.<br/><br/>Arty understood, of course. It wasn't just the fact that they tended to come in hordes, or that they implied the presence of something more sinister. Most villagers didn't think that far ahead, or in such abstract terms. Really, it was simply that there was something...<em>other</em>about them. They didn't eat, sleep, breathe or do any of the things that living creatures did. Zombies and skeletons, anyway, just continued on, regardless of what you did to them until their bodies were destroyed. They shambled and shuffled onwards, a reminder of the frailty and finite nature of the mortal races. There was, of course, also the fact that many of them might wear faces that their victims recognised. It was possible that a friend you saw killed only a few hours prior could be the thing knocking down your door and trying to kill you. Wolves, bandits, goblins, these things were alive and had the same desires as their victims (generally speaking), but it was the alienness of them, and the fact that they reminded humans in particular of the ultimate taboo; that their time on this planet was finite, that they would die, they would end, and nothing would stop that. That they were all just suits of meat, animated by that ineffable spark of life that would one day be snuffed from existence, leaving only a husk of meat behind that would either feed the worms...or be used by a wandering Necromancer.<br/><br/>So yeah, Arty understood why people didn't like the Undead. It was all emotional. He'd like to say that he had some grand revelation about their true nature, that he used them as tools because of some high ideal or something, but really...it weren't any of that. They were a tool, no different to a sword or an axe or a crossbow or a Golem, and one that he was particularly deft at wielding, and he was going to use it as much as he needed to in order to bring the Underdark to its knees. They'd been allowed to keep slaves and abuse their charges for far too long, and it was about time that somebody put the fear of the Gods into them. His hand tapped against his mothers blade at his side as he flicked his head, tossing his long braid of red hair over his shoulder to rest across his chest. He didn't care how many people balked at his methods, or how many people thought he was a naive little princess playing with forces he didn't understand. Karsoluthiyl would<em>burn,</em>and from there the fire would spread to consume every corner of the Underdark. Then, and only then, when the Drow Empire lay broken at his feet and the Nobility were as ashes in the wind before him, only when the fires had died and all trace of the Underdark had been scrubbed from history...only<em>then</em>would he<em>consider</em>laying down the art of Necromancy for a time.<br/><br/>He forced himself to focus away from those dark, stormy thoughts; they were best had in silent, private moments in the dead of night when the screams from his imagination might lull him to sleep. Not when he was on the road with his friends and companions, when he was travelling the open road with no walls, no stone, no confines to keep him back. Despite the dark turn his thoughts had taken, he was actually happy! He was smiling in a relaxed, absent kind of way as he enjoyed the gentle breeze and the quiet birdsong as he trotted down the road, enjoying the full range of nature and the freedom of just being able to see the sky and the trees...too long he'd spent trapped in one slave pen or other, stuck staring at the brick wall, or underground with the walls closing in around him. He gave a shudder. No...no, he liked the outdoors. He liked the freedom, the life, the space the sounds the smells, all of it. In another life, he liked to believe that he could have been a Druid. Sitting in the forest communing with animals, walking the wildlife and speaking with the trees...it didn't sound half bad, y'know?<br/><br/>He smiled to himself again as he shifted his weight astride his trusty steed, Patches. Patches, for his part, clopped on down the road without a care in the world, his pace never wavering or tiring, such was his reliability. He did earn some odd looks from the mercenaries that had joined them on the escort mission, and he could feel Ian and Uxia's judgemental eyes boring into his back every now and then, but he didn't let it spoil his mood. He patted the side of Patches' neck affectionately. Of course, Patches didn't acknowledge the contact. That was the problem with zombies; they didn't tend to acknowledge much of anything unless told to. Patches was actually the only zombie he had at the moment that had survived their last mission. Annoying to lose so many in a pointless grind against bandits, but better them than him! They were expendable, after all.<br/><br/>But not Patches. Patches was the first Fast Zombie he'd ever created - out of the corpse of his last horse which had unfortunately died in the wild - and Arty had, he'd admit, grown a little attached to him. He was loyal, steadfast and he'd not let him down yet! He could run faster, further and for longer than any living horse, and he never had to be told to do anything twice. He stroked Patches scraggly hair - a clump coming out in his hand, which he nonchalantly shook off - and ignored the uncomfortable glances. Luckily, Cormyr was one of the countries where Necromancy was actually not illegal, so he'd not risk being attacked by guards on a legal basis, at least. But odd looks and uncomfortable coughs? Yeah, he had to endure those, alas. Ah well, he was used to them! They'd turn to different types of stares when he was sucking down their cocks during the evening. I mean, a week or two on the road? Yeah, he'd need a bit of a top up, for certain, and he didn't think Ian was gonna oblige him. His ears caught the tail end of the conversation behind him, ears pricking up. He gave a small chuckle and turned on Patches' back, his cloak falling to one side.<strong>"The other end'a this road?"</strong>He called with a cheerful smile.<strong>"What's always waiting! Coin, bed and another quest! Ain't that the Adventurers Life you were lookin' for?"</strong><br/><br/>He pulled on the reins and Patches slowed down to allow the rest to catch up.<strong>"'Sides! It's good tha' you can feel it from our perspective for a while, Maxy. Even on a horse, you lot're all at least a foot taller'n me. Y're lucky that I like taller peeps."</strong>He blew a kiss towards Rishi and Uxia.<strong>"But hey, y' know what they say; good things come in small packages!"</strong>He gave Ian a wink.<strong>"At least, tha's what y' tell the girls, eh?"</strong>He gave a sly, devilish smile and a wink to indicate that he meant no harm; that was what you did to friends, after all. You teased them! At least...he thought they did. He had to admit, his experience of "Friends" was...not extensive. Honestly, he was still getting used to the idea of having them in the first place. Suddenly, he was worried that maybe he'd already gone too far. What would he do if Ian took offence? A flicker of a frown appeared across his brow, but he smoothed it out quickly. No. No good came from worrying over something like that. They were his friends. Disagreements over methods aside...they'd know he was joking. He hoped.