Library:Of Bones and Thrones

Lady FireLotus relates an overheard conversation that hints at dark tidings in the south within this journal entry. The story was first published on the Shroud of the Avatar Forum, and the first four paragraphs were excerpted in Update of the Avatar #85.

Of Bones and Thrones
by FireLotus

One of the perks of running a bar, no matter where (or when) you are, is that drunk people tend to talk. Loudly... and about things they wouldn’t normally talk about in public. It’s meant that I’ve been privy to a lot of useless gossip, but it’s also revealed some real jewels of information.

The other night, some of Lord Enmar’s men settled in for a pint and about a half dozen later, their whispered tones begin to grow and it wasn’t long before tales of undead began to fill the front corner of the Tavern. Luckily for me, there is a spot in the loft that has excellent acoustics, and fate so happened to require that I fetch a fresh bottle of rye just as the conversation started getting interesting.

It would seem that a while back, Lord Enmar sent a group of his men to the ruins of Ravensmoor, a mostly unexplored area at the southern edge of the Vale. From what I could gather, the purpose of this scouting party was to determine if the ruins were somehow “ground zero” for the current undead threat. It seems Enmar also hoped they could scale the size of that threat to Owl's Head. Not unexpected really, as everyone has been a bit ill at ease since rumors of what happened in Braemar started spreading like wildfire through the town.

And from what else was overheard, I believe his suspicions that the onslaught somehow originated there were well-founded. Only one survivor returned from the expedition; the leader of the party, a guard named Winslow. And according to the men, he was gravely injured in the process. As they raised a toast in his honor, it was clear they were doubtful that he would survive much longer.

They spoke of wounds that were most unnatural. Concerns that whatever malady that was keeping the dead from their slumber would eventually ravage Winslow as well. And then, as often happens when drinking is involved, their conversation turned to bravado; each of the guards began to boast about how many undead they believed they could stand against. They oldest of the men even went as far as to say that if he had led the scouting party, the “Throne of Bone” would have been theirs. So... it seems the ruins have a new nickname in the barracks.

I retrieved what I had gone up to the loft for and made my way back downstairs, certain nothing more of value would be gleaned from the conversation. As I descended though, I pondered a bit more on the phrase; Throne of Bone. Sure, it was just a nickname, but sometimes you can learn a lot simply from what something is called. In any case, fact or fiction, it confirmed something I’ve been suspect of all along. That the undead were being led by someone... or something. After all, one does not command a throne unless they are powerful enough to sit upon it unchallenged.