C is for Caerac

I’ve been dead and buried for so long, yet my name, my legacy lives on in this very Keep’s walls. When I lived, it was a time of change. The Jasior Empire had been battered to pieces from without, while crumbling from within. The Order of the Unicorn was doing its best to gore and drag the Order of the Dragon through the mud, trampling them with their accusations of heresy, of using the very tools the Serpent delighted in while slithering Her way across every land She found something delicious. Fear of the Serpent was what united those lands under Serena Jasior, the Imperatrix’s rule. Once the Serpent had been cast in chains into the darkness, once the Imperatrix died, there was nothing to hold those lands together. The Imperatrix left her legend behind to inspire all of those fighting to build a legacy of their own in a world which had shattered. 

I was one of those fighters. I took my sword and battled across the monster-infested chaos of Rowenda. Orcs, trolls, kobolds, goblins, shapeshifters, not the mention the various undead some fool of a necromancer raised, they poured out of the north in my helpless country, no longer protected by the Dragons or the Empire. Only one Dragon continued to fight, even though his own order abandoned him. 

His name was Corwyth. His courage was only slightly less than his beauty. He was one of the brighter aspects in my life and I admired his ideals, even if I didn’t share them. 

Mine might have been a time of chaos, but it was also a time of opportunity. While Corwyth was obsessed with hunting down the undead, discovering their connection to the Serpent, I was obsessed with obtaining enough treasure to build a home for myself. Not just any home. I recalled tales of the opulence and wealth of the Empire. I wanted to recreate some of that, even if it was just a little piece. 

First I established a fort, which became a castle. The castle became a walled city, a Keep. My Keep, Caerac Keep. Nor was I the only Rowendian adventurer whom accomplished this. My rival and companion, Gwyneth was even more obsessed with legends of the lost Empire, of recreating it than I was. She built an even bigger Keep than I did with more guilds, traders, and a lot more trouble. Still our Keeps became not only our Legacies, but bastions of hope in Rowenda. They were the closest things our poor lost land had to civilization and a link to the past. 

I died an old man, reaping the rewards of my life of fighting. A far better fate than what happened to Gwyneth. Better still than what happened to Corwyth. That boy was entirely too brave and too beautiful for his own good, not to mention too fixated upon going after the undead. His fate shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, all things considered, even if it’s one that makes any cleric shudder. 

Does such a fate still make a cleric shudder? Times have changed, from what I saw of the younglings fool enough to resurrect me. Don’t they know better than to play around with such powers? Things may be more civilized, but with civilization comes forgetfulness. There’s Trouble at Caerac Keep and the young have forgotten to be afraid. They forgotten that monsters are monsters. Sympathize with them too much and you’ll get eaten. They’re forgotten that resurrecting the dead is a terrible power with a terrible price. I doubt any of these young fools are capable of paying it. 

I’d weep if I had any tears left. 

(Caerac is a background character in my Work in Progress, Trouble at Caerac Keep. He’s the founder of the Keep, dead and buried until he’s resurrected. He’s not happy about that.)