All my possessions now accounted for, I am faced with the decision of what to do next.
Stay here? Hardly. This place is a prison to my ambition. I would be unworthy of Ner Ngal’s favor if I stayed here; to live out my days a tamed wolf among sheep.
Head west to Plor and set my eyes on a different ocean? No, it will be no different than here; a fight just to keep my head above the waves of a banal and petty existence. Only with sterner laws.
I can go south, I realize. The Wildlands are strange and volatile, but the ruins of untold civilizations are cradled in its occult deserts and jungles. Among those uncharted lands and savage peoples there might be a way forward. I could conquer another tribe; humans this time. Forge them into my minions and begin to build the empire I envision. Sweep my reach across the Wildlands from shore to shore and then head north to crash over the rest of the continent before dispatching ships to conquer far off lands, as well as the islands of the Shattered Coast. Even Varasht.
There are a lot of suppositions in that path. First, that there are capable and pliable men that merely need the right leader to come along to hone them into a great army. Second, that the Wildlands—named so for the shifting nature of the land—can even be conquered. All stories I’d ever heard tell of empires rising from nowhere or disappearing without a trace, of men vanishing when standing right next to you only to be replaced later with another who speaks as though he has always been there, of arcane storms so potent that the sky bleeds and the landscape shifts, and of impossible creatures swallowing entire expeditions. Third, there doesn’t need to be a third thing; two is enough.
Going back east is not the worst idea. The Hegemony is home to many nations that thrive on ambition and intellect. The nation of Dromatica, with its magical artificing and half-devil lords, would be an ideal staging ground, with potent allies and civilized rivalries. Khanhein promotes knowledge and power such that it is the only nation I have heard of that openly recognizes Ngal in its pantheon, though I do not know whether they distinguish the two sides—creation and destruction—in their churches. Still, their entire pantheon is comprised of potent gods who have shaped the nation into a union of pragmatism and strength. It is the hobgoblins of Khanhein who are responsible for the Hegemony as it stands today; bringing to heel the war-mad gnolls of Ngyoll’mac, the scrupulous lizardmen in Solmienya, the strangely-honorable-while-still-violent kobolds of Nikori, and the once-depraved humans of Dromatica.
Without changing my species, rising to power in Nhgyo’llen, Solmienya, or Nikori will be near to impossible. It would be much more effective to work through a proxy.
It’s been twenty years since I fled from Dromatica. Their Inquisitors discovered that my patron there, who had recruited me as a scholar and scribe, had been a member of a Demonologist insurgence in the region. Abyssal worship is strictly illegal, as is studying demons, handling any paraphernalia, or speaking the Abyssal tongue. I was, and am, no demon worshiper, but my quest for knowledge has been rife with these things. I realized, nearly too late, what my host’s true purpose had been and only barely made it out with my life when the Inquisitors began rounding up the cadre. Was my identity or my part even known? I had not stayed to find out.
I avoided large cities after that. No need to take chances unnecessarily.
I turn my thoughts to the Orc Hordes: Kadraka. Tribal, warlike, hardy. Many of the qualities attractive about the Wildlands can be found in Kadraka—only without the chaotic environment. Their capitol is even situated around one of the only Towers of the Nine remaining, and the only one still standing. To master that tower could unlock power so great and terrible that even the gods would take notice. It had happened once before.
I know very little about the Time of Suffering—no one does. The Nine had ruled the Material plane until a thousand years ago. Each had a tower, thought to be the center of their power. Then, suddenly, the towers were eradicated or lay dormant; their masters gone. No one since has had the knowledge or strength to unlock the secrets within. Most who say they are intent on trying find themselves on the wrong end of something pointy before too long.
Fear is such a basic emotion that there is not a person alive who does not feel it. It crosses all borders and is transcends all language. Not surprising, then, that the only sentiment that exists of that age is one of terror. The Nine were vile and malevolent gods who descended on the land and used men and beast as toys. Pitting armies against one another with no intent to win.
It is known that Ner Ngal grew weary of them and rose up a champion to slay them. The once-mortal Hastar ascended to godhood and was tasked with their destruction, which he carried out within one year’s time.
Does my destiny reside within the tower? Would Ner Ngal strike down His Chosen for claiming a relic of the Nine? Even if there is no more power within its walls, it is still a symbol to all that its master is beyond reproach of mere mortals.
This kind of thinking is folly. Though men wish to be ruled, they will bite the hand of their master for keeping them chained. It is his nature to be vicious and domineering. No, men must be led to believe that they are unfettered. Once that is done, once he senses his own free will, a man will forfeit all that he is for what he believes. Better than taming men and bringing them under my will—expending greater and greater force to keep man’s true nature at bay—is to prey on his nature. Employ subversive tactics. Let him act with his own conviction to events of my choosing. Let him carry my orders across the land because he believes the words are his own. Let him seek out my counsel with assurance that I have his best interests in mind.
I cannot start with power. I first need influence. I need loyal followers. And a figurehead to inspire them. One who will bend to my will and catch the accolades and ire of those I control. The one who will be torn down when men sense their bondage, only to be replaced by my next pawn.
As the spider must build a web before he can catch the fly, so too must I build a network of people and information before I can thread my influence into the world. Before I can pull those strings to spread prosperity or topple nations. Whatever serves the Apocalypse when it comes at last.
No matter which nation I build my seat of power from, it will be served by what I can gain from a great wizard such as Val Maxis. Whatever arcane, divine, or mundane knowledges I can garner; whatever enchanted items or awakened artifacts I can carry with me; whatever material, ethereal, or planar influence I can build will be a boon to my path.
An open offer from a celebrated and powerful wizard. I would be a fool not to take it. Even though it will mean years under the scrutiny of others, the price is fair for the gain.
I leave the ruin of my shop, billowing ash from the hem of my robes as I make for the southern gate. Good-bye, Nodkis. I hope you die.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
Follow @LieseAdler