In matters of death, ask not the living. (The Origin of the Cackling Cadaver)

The Brigand had been doing well for himself of late.

He had set up shop north of the gate from the Commonlands and west of the rapids in Nektolus Forest. Though it was off the beaten path, it was a shortcut that many a traveler availed themselves. Where travelers roam, so to should an enterprising brigand.

Because of the profit this ambush point provided, he decided months back that he would leave no witnesses and only go after solo prey lest one of his victims carry word back that this short cut was no longer safe. Like a spooked deer, all it takes is one to go bounding into the forest to cause them all to flee in fear.

This logical bent didn’t stray far from his natural proclivities. As a child he enjoyed torturing small animals. Theirs howls or squeals amused and filled him with a sense of power and control. As he grew older he gravitated to entertainments that fulfilled his need to see suffering and fear. He was always as close as he could get to the execution platform so he could see all the details. Would this one beg for mercy and piss himself? Or would he be so far gone into catatonia and denial of what was happening to him that he’d quietly meet his end? Oh, how he would laugh and throw rotten vegetables at the condemned. He would mock them and feel the better for it.
And his lust to see pain and people not in control just got worse as he became an adult.

When he found this secluded short cut, he’d found paradise. He’d lay in wait for single traveler. At which point he’d burst forth and challenge them for their money. Sometimes the traveler would try to fight back and those muggings ended unfullingly quick. Most times, however, his victim would cringe in fear and comply with his demands and beg for mercy.

He’d made a game of it with these victims after tying them up. He’d lead them on, letting them think that once he had all their valuables they would be allowed on their way. He’d let them think that he was letting them live against his better judgment and they would weep and thank him for his mercy.

Once he had everything he wanted, indubitably those thanks would turn into shrill screams as he laughed and cackled in delight until the light vanished from his victims’ eyes.

He reminisced fondly about his last victim. She was a very lovely lass indeed. He enjoyed her several times until he had grown tired of the sport and flayed the skin from her body with his razor sharp knife.

His reminiscence was interrupted by the form of a robed form walking slowly near the shore of the river. He leaned heavily on his staff and was looking down as if lost in thought. The Brigand smiled in anticipation.

The rogue stepped out from behind the tree he was hiding behind and called, “This doesn’t appear to be your lucky day traveler. Give me all your money and valuables! Comply with all my demands and you just might live to see tomorrow!”

The robed man looked for the entire world as if he didn’t hear the brigand. But after his fifth step halted and looked up at his challenger.

His soon to be victim was a dark elf. He’d killed a few dark elves in his time. One of the things they all had in common was a near permanent sneer and look of hate. Even when cutting them up they would scream their eternal hate and vengeance up until their last breath. He usually enjoyed them the most. He would cackle and say, “What can you do? I’m the one in power; I own your life and body! Soon you will be dead and rotting, forgotten in the leaves and I will be the better for it.”

But this one, he showed no emotion on his face. No fear of what was to come and no hate or anger at being robbed. Not even feint arrogance, boredom or bravado. The same emotions he showed on his face were similar to what one would show when looking at a wall or a rock.

The dark elf looked at the brigand for a moment.

“Are you Groatif? Groatif Canig, from Temple Street?” The dark elf asked.

“What?” Groatif blurted out in surprise, “How do you know my name, elf?”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Impossible!” Groatif growled in anger. “No one knows I’m here, and soon neither will you!”

With that said, Groatif charged the Dark Elf. “He must be a mage of some sort so I need to deal with him fast,” He thought.

But Groatif wasn’t fast enough. The Dark elf’s hand shot up and whispered something under his breath. At his final gesture, rusted and foul smelling chains shot up out of the grown and wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

Groatif went sprawling into the dirt face first and just as abruptly he was pulled back up onto his knees by the chains around his wrists. Once he was in a kneeling position the chains pulled his arms apart and placed painful pressure on his shoulder joints. Groatif looked around frantically for the knife he’d dropped when he tripped and cursed when he spotted it a good three meters away.

The Dark Elf abruptly began to walk unhurriedly towards Groatif and when he was one meter away stopped just as abruptly. After planting his staff into the ground his hands slid slowly down its shaft and he took a knee in front of the Brigand.

Once they were face to face the Dark Elf introduced himself. “Hail Groatif, My name in Kibroth Hata’avah. I hope this morning had found you happy and content for I fear the same may not hold true for this evening.”

Groatif spit in Kibroth’s face and laughed. “These chains can’t last forever mage, eventually the spell will fail and your death will be assured! So talk, talk away what little time you have!”

Kibroth paused long enough to pull a handkerchief out of the folds in his robe and wipe the spit from his face.

“Ah, you have me wrong Groatif. I’m not a mage. I am a necromancer, or to be more specific, a Nexlexian necromancer. I come here for answers to questions that plague my sleep. You are, however, correct that your restraints will vanish but I hope to get these answers before then.”

Groatif had never heard of a Nexlexian, though he’d seen a few necromancers in his day. They always had an undead servant following them. That’s why he mistook him for a mage. He’d never heard of a conjuror or necromancer travelling without their trademark thrall.

“What the devil is a Nexlexian? I’ve never heard of your kind.” Groatif hissed through his teeth. The chains were beginning to cause his arms to throb.

“Yes, there are only a few of us left in this world. It’s interesting to note that the Nexlexians predate the Necromancer by many millennia and Necromancy is largely derived from our teachings.” Kibroth looked around. “Ah, I see why you though I was a mage initially. I have no servant. That is one of the major differences between the Necromancer and us. One of our fundamental teachings is to give the dead an outlet or means of enacting change in the world, not to serve us. No, never to serve us. In fact it is we who serve them, and in our service to them they provide aid to us.”

This talk about giving the dead an outlet was making the Brigand uneasy. “What do you want of me?”

Kibroth looked up to the sky for a moment as if looking for answer. He must not have found it for after a few moments he looked back down and asked, “Are you happy with your life? Do you feel regret, even fleetingly, to actions you have taken in the past? Have you, when sitting before a fire that gives you warmth and comfort without question, thought to yourself that there must be a better way?”

Groatif’s stared at the Nexlexian in open mouth surprise, then burst into laughter before replying.

“Of course I’m happy with my life! I take what I want and find joy from taking from the weak! I find no greater pleasure from taking control of the lives of others and taking the lives of those whose only value is giving me that pleasure!”

Kibroth nodded as if expecting his answer.

“There are those…” Kibroth paused and looked over his shoulder. After a moment he turned back to Groatif. “There are those who feel that life is a sacred thing. That no one has the right to take the life of another and will raise their voices in defense of truly evil beings. There are others that believe the value of another’s life is based solely on what they’ve done in life, and will raise their voice in condemnation of truly evil beings.”

Groatif began to feel a growing dread in the pit of his stomach. His earlier bravado had fled as the dawning realization came to him that he was not in control of this situation. Damn it all! When are these chains going to dissipate!
Kibroth place his right hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye.
“There is a major flaw in both these beliefs. Neither those who speak up to defend or condemn have the right to prevent or accelerate the eventual fate that awaits us all. They die now or they die fifty years from now, in the end they die. Don’t misunderstand me, I have nothing against a violent end. In the wilderness animals kill and eat each other all the time, and not necessarily in that order. I stand against emotions, both emotions that stand in the way of what could be done in a rational manner, or outrage and vengeance that demands something that could be done in the same rational manner.

“Those that speak out for monsters to be spared forget that all living things die. Maybe they think that by deigning this fact they don’t have to deal of their own inevitable death. Or maybe they truly believe that through this very act of mercy they could better the world. How can it make the world a better place when by the very act of keeping the status quo, nothing is made better. True, it won’t make things any worse than to where it’s already progressing. Regardless, this view is ultimately selfish. It’s not about the criminal, it about the ones crusading on their behalf. It makes them feel good about themselves, righteous.

“For those that condemn evil acts and wish to see the evil doer pay with their life, the same holds true. They don’t want to see a wrong made right or justice. The murdered isn’t any less dead once the murderer is gone. How can there be justice when the wronged is dead and cannot say they are satisfied with the punishment? Even the loved ones of the dead can’t say that they had been wronged to the same degree as the deceased. No, these people speak up out of fear and grief. Fear that they or a loved one could have been a victim, and may yet still become a victim while the criminal lives. Grief guides the actions of others; they wish an end to the emotional pain that won’t go away. Again, it’s for their own self interest and a catharsis for their grief, it’s not about the dead.

“Neither of these views can be right because they are views held by the living. Neither side thinks to ask what the dead want in these matters. Those that do, do so conjecturally. They think of what the deceased would have wanted if they were alive. The flaw is those that are alive are not dead. In matters of death there is only one view that counts, those of the dead.” With that said, Kibroth slowly got to his feet.

Sensing that this conversation was coming to a close and dreading what happens after Groatif cried, “Mercy! I’m sorry for what I’ve done, I promise to do only good works! Let me live!”

Kibroth looked down at him, hugging his staff to his chest. As Kibroth had done before, he looked over his shoulder into the shadows. When he looked back to Groatif, the brigand saw the first emotion on the dark elf since he met him. Kibroth had looked down in sadness.

“No Groatif, I am not going to kill you.” Kibroth turned away and began to slowly walk back the way he’d come.
As the Dark elf retreated, “Thank you! Thank you merciful Kibroth! I’ll forever sing your praises.” Groatif’s eyes went back to the knife that had fallen from his hands. Smiling to himself he thought, “As soon as these binding fails I’m going to kill that sanctimonious elf. This time I’m not going to give him any time to defend himself.”

So intent was his gaze on the knife he failed to notice that he and the dark elf were no longer the only ones near the river. The sound of cackling drew his attention away from the knife and saw the small crowd. Most of them he didn’t recognize, likely due to the advanced state of decay. But a few he did, he recognized them because every single one of them had met their end on his knife as he laughed at them.

“No! I’m in control! I killed you and you will stay dead! My power over you is absolute! Stay away! Stay away!”

One cadaver in particular who stood closest to him was naked, her dress long since discarded. He remembered that face well as he repeated used her. It was the woman he had killed just last week.

In his fear, Groatif’s mind snapped. In the unreality of his plight his soul poured forth, unfiltered for the whole world to see.

“I see you’ve come back to me woman,” he laughed. “You couldn’t get enough of my gentle touch. You wanted me to cut you, to own you. You knew I was in control and got off on it. Now you’ve come back for more, eh?”

The Brigand’s eye darted over the laughing undead and laughed with them. “I see you’ve all come back for more. Fear not, I’ll take ultimate power over you all. Maybe you’ll all come back to me again for some more? Wouldn’t that be great?”

Groatif continued to laugh as the undead shambled forward and grabbed his arms. As they did the chains disintegrated. Still laughing, Groatif tried to break free of the undead grip, but it was even more unyielding then the chains. When it became apparent to his insane mind that he didn’t have power over the undead and couldn’t force them to let go he stopped laughing and began to curse at them and demand to be let go.

The corpse of the naked woman shuffled up to the rogue and slowly reached out with one hand. There was only a thumb and index finger left on that hand since the rest had been removed while she was still alive. Yet they were sufficient enough for when she reached out to caress the side of Groatif’s face. Then, with a slow deliberateness that only the undead can attain, she took his ear and began to slowly rip it off of his head.

He howled in surprise and pain and thrashed about in the grip of the undead. “How can this hurt so much?” His thoughts were hazy from the pain. “They must know that this pain is real, not like the pain they had suffered. Don’t they know this is wrong?”

As if by some unspoken sign, the cackling cadavers converged on the helpless man and they began to slowly peel the flesh from his body. Groatif’s screams continued throughout the night. The undead were in no hurry; they were dead and had an eternity.