To Whomever,
Again, I find myself battling the most bitter forces from beyond the grave. An army of Draugr stood in wait, commanded by Potema as she led me into her inner region. Like a shepherded lamb armed with potions, weapons, armor and magick, I obediently answered her ghostly calls, intent on slaying her one final time. (But will that mean she’s re-dead, dead-dead, or just again dead?)
The wench commanded that I join her, that I bow down and welcome a release from my body in order to fall under her command. I wouldn’t dare join them. I wouldn’t fathom an eternity outside that which makes me flesh and blood.
I have slain so many Draugr, it makes me wonder if I am slaying the same ones over and over again. I pondered previously if there might exist a club of some sort in the afterlife, filled with sorrowful spirits longing for a chance at revenge. Is Potema the orchestrator of this club? The vile mistress of a ghost city hidden from the eye where vengeful spirits lie in wait, biding their time as they float about with nothing to do? Are there no games they can play? Are there no mead halls or drinks or ancient, famously beautiful women remaining there that they can give chase? Or does my blade secretly hold an enchantment that sends them to a limbo, one devoid of an afterlife the priests so often preach?
As I sit here holding Potema’s skull betwixt my blood-soaked digits, I wonder the magnitude of this limbo. After all, I have slain more Draugr than I, or any gold manager, can reasonably count. There can’t possibly be that many trapped souls lying in wait, hidden inside the mangled and desiccated flesh of a Draugr. Imagine that – an entire hidden empire of sorry chaps tricked into accursed damnation when they were weakened by spirits, forced to sit uncomfortably inside a rotting body until some lowly adventurer shows up.
Or is it this merely the infernal club I so often think about? Am I slaying the same four or five men over and over again? Are they just reincarnating throughout the land in an orderly fashion, like customers waiting in line at the local grocer?
What if Camilla is reincarnating with them, angry with me for slaying her deceptive hide? I can’t imagine her simple mind, having been keen on eating bread and staring at blank walls all day, inhabiting the body of a Death Lord. Rather, were she to possess a Draugr spirit, I believe her ineptitude at existence would only command enough strength to muster up an ordinary corpse, one that acts as fodder and a barrier for the more powerful Scourge running behind.
If that be the case, then who is this Scourge? Is it a man I have met in battle many times before? An angry bandit or vampire stricken with spiteful hatred because he was slaughtered so easily by a charismatic master of the arcane arts? Or what if I am incorrect, and this entity is no mere man – but a beast?! A poor little rabbit scorned by flames as it was scurrying to grab a quick drink at the creek! No. An army of poor little rabbits fed up with my rampant slaying spurned out of my own boredom whilst on the road. In their inaudible, filthy obscenity-soaked rages, Potema would have no problem convincing them to inhabit corpse after corpse strewn about dungeons like old furniture. Sit in a coffin here, my child. Lie under a table there, my acolyte.
And here I am, the fool in this charade. My careless wholesale slaughter of the cute and soft will bring about my own demise, as these spirits only seem to become more persistent and powerful when my own strength increases. Is there no way to destroy their rabbit souls permanently, so that my own passage to the afterlife will carry on safely?
Perhaps I should try and negotiate with Alduin…
~Cornelius G. Thundercock
Posts Tagged With: Potema’s Catacomb
Found in Potema’s Catacombs
To Whomever,
Again, I find myself battling the most bitter forces from beyond the grave. An army of Draugr stood in wait, commanded by Potema as she led me into her inner region. Like a shepherded lamb armed with potions, weapons, armor and magick, I obediently answered her ghostly calls, intent on slaying her one final time. (But will that mean she’s re-dead, dead-dead, or just again dead?)
The wench commanded that I join her, that I bow down and welcome a release from my body in order to fall under her command. I wouldn’t dare join them. I wouldn’t fathom an eternity outside that which makes me flesh and blood.
I have slain so many Draugr, it makes me wonder if I am slaying the same ones over and over again. I pondered previously if there might exist a club of some sort in the afterlife, filled with sorrowful spirits longing for a chance at revenge. Is Potema the orchestrator of this club? The vile mistress of a ghost city hidden from the eye where vengeful spirits lie in wait, biding their time as they float about with nothing to do? Are there no games they can play? Are there no mead halls or drinks or ancient, famously beautiful women remaining there that they can give chase? Or does my blade secretly hold an enchantment that sends them to a limbo, one devoid of an afterlife the priests so often preach?
As I sit here holding Potema’s skull betwixt my blood-soaked digits, I wonder the magnitude of this limbo. After all, I have slain more Draugr than I, or any gold manager, can reasonably count. There can’t possibly be that many trapped souls lying in wait, hidden inside the mangled and desiccated flesh of a Draugr. Imagine that – an entire hidden empire of sorry chaps tricked into accursed damnation when they were weakened by spirits, forced to sit uncomfortably inside a rotting body until some lowly adventurer shows up.
Or is it this merely the infernal club I so often think about? Am I slaying the same four or five men over and over again? Are they just reincarnating throughout the land in an orderly fashion, like customers waiting in line at the local grocer?
What if Camilla is reincarnating with them, angry with me for slaying her deceptive hide? I can’t imagine her simple mind, having been keen on eating bread and staring at blank walls all day, inhabiting the body of a Death Lord. Rather, were she to possess a Draugr spirit, I believe her ineptitude at existence would only command enough strength to muster up an ordinary corpse, one that acts as fodder and a barrier for the more powerful Scourge running behind.
If that be the case, then who is this Scourge? Is it a man I have met in battle many times before? An angry bandit or vampire stricken with spiteful hatred because he was slaughtered so easily by a charismatic master of the arcane arts? Or what if I am incorrect, and this entity is no mere man – but a beast?! A poor little rabbit scorned by flames as it was scurrying to grab a quick drink at the creek! No. An army of poor little rabbits fed up with my rampant slaying spurned out of my own boredom whilst on the road. In their inaudible, filthy obscenity-soaked rages, Potema would have no problem convincing them to inhabit corpse after corpse strewn about dungeons like old furniture. Sit in a coffin here, my child. Lie under a table there, my acolyte.
And here I am, the fool in this charade. My careless wholesale slaughter of the cute and soft will bring about my own demise, as these spirits only seem to become more persistent and powerful when my own strength increases. Is there no way to destroy their rabbit souls permanently, so that my own passage to the afterlife will carry on safely?
Perhaps I should try and negotiate with Alduin…
~Cornelius G. Thundercock
