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It had been over three centuries since his Lord asked for his help with a plan, and almost as long since he found a body to possess and leave these rotten ruins. When his Lord received a compelling message from some god or higher power, he suddenly decided to care about this ruined world. The change felt like falling into a freezing river: One day his Lord would do nothing more exciting than stare at the skies, and the next he demanded plans and preparations.
Sometimes Caradoc felt like the only one who still maintained some sliver of life in him; the corpses of those that attempted to fight his Lord weren’t so talkative and even the rest of the undead always looked at him with such dumb expressions, like they were surprised he could talk. He wished he could flick something into their eyesocket, that was bound to cause some sort of reaction.
Anyway, all of the boredom, all of his annoyance and anger, they were all worth it, when he heard the telltale stomping of his Lord’s heavy armour approach his study. Caradoc fiddled with his necklace — it used to be a gilded rose, a gift from him, a demonstration of loyalty to the strongest Knight of the Order — he figured that it held enough significance in life to appear even in this… ghostly form.
Old habits die hard, and Caradoc deeply bowed to his Lord’s presence. He hadn’t felt this giddy in a long time, Loren would join him in the study for hours at a time just like back then; Loren proposing his ideas, his aim — and Caradoc finding a way to make it happen. Apparently the “mysterious power” was the Dragon Queen, who offered Soth and all those that followed him freedom and an escape from their dusty and moldy undeath.
Really, it was a shame that Loren killed most people before they even reached Caradoc, he could have used a body to fix a few things here and there. The amount of disorder was actually going to make him lose his mind.
A few weeks before their plan was going to be set in motion, Loren’s (lesser) knights ambushed a company of Solamnian knights travelling a little too close to the mountains. They were all killed except for one. That one was for him. The poor guy seemed pretty terrified, it made Caradoc chuckle. He possessed him easily.
(Why hadn’t Loren commanded such a thing to be done earlier? He knew how much this situation bothered him.)
He put that thought behind him. Loren had his reasons. And sure, he berated him for ‘wasting his time’ by using the body to run straight for the study and firstly fix his bones, secondly adjust the decorations as much as he could — but well, anyone was bound to get cranky after three centuries without action of any kind. Yet, it still rubbed him the wrong way.
Caradoc was given control of a group of skeletal knights and sent on his way to deceive a bunch of Kalaman bastards and make way for Loren’s dramatic entrance, it was going to look like something straight out of a play and Caradoc was going to make sure it went perfectly. After all, who could resist a little drama?
Dark clouds loomed above like always, but he could finally taste the humid air himself.
Walking outside, he ran his hand through the thick, wild rose bushes that had turned the Keep into their home. He reveled in the painful sting of their twisted thorns as they caught on his palm, in their venom, and even pain seemed a gift now. He had a whole new appreciation for life and everything. Dying had really… changed his life? Eh, could work on it.
Of course, nothing stopped Caradoc from having a little fun on his way as well, it would take a week and a half to reach the city, and on the way he was going to take as much out of this body as it was able to give. It helped that the guy — oh he hadn’t bothered to ask for a name, whatever — well, the guy wasn’t so bad on the eyes. The two of them would have a great time. Caradoc certainly would hear no complaints from his new meat buddy, that much he was sure of.
___________
As expected, the journey went by without a hitch. Getting into the city? Even easier. A piece of cake. The council was real desperate for help and, despite some commoners giving him and his group the stink eye, their leaders were practically folding at his feet.
He had missed this.
Only one problem with his perfect plan: He hadn’t expected an actual Knight of Solamnia to be present in the castle. For fuck’s sake! He was promised that everyone important was going to be too busy at Steel Springs!
Fine, whatever. It wouldn’t matter, even though it pissed him off. He glanced at Loren, who was still disguised — how exactly had this Knight figured out their ruse? She followed them into the council room, looking at them. It was clear that she was suspicious. Caradoc smiled sweetly at her, but her expression only hardened. Figures.
He turned back to the council and bowed deeply, in the way this kind of stuck-up fools soaked right up. He then started talking, he was good at that, keeping the attention on himself, making things up about the political climate, and vague information on the Dragon Army… Even with most of the council nodding along with him, the lady knight was beginning to get on his nerves with her stare. Did she even know how to smile?
Suddenly, he heard the distinct sound of wood against wood as the bar lock slid to shut the doors from outside.
Then, a few things happened at the same time: The Knight drew her sword, Caradoc grinned in glee as he stepped right behind his Lord. “Didn’t you mention you needed a living body, Loren?” he said and her eyes widened. Caradoc pointed at her. “I’m sure she has all of the information you need.” Loren seemed to agree and copied the gesture — she had already moved but it wasn’t going to help. He had a first-class view of her body crumpling like a leaf in a fire. Someone started screaming. Here we go.
In the corner of his eye, Caradoc saw Loren grab her by the hair and drag her to the catacombs. He shrugged. It was necessary to make that magical-soul-fire exchange or whatever. Arcane stuff wasn’t exactly his forté.
“Hey, Loren. Not even a ‘thank you’?” he joked.
Loren did not deign him with a gesture, much less gratitude. Caradoc scoffed, muttering to himself. Bastard.
“Alright, esteemed imbeciles of the Beacon of the East.” He bowed again, one hand already on the hilt of his sword. “Which one of you fucking dared to scream and ruin my entrance?” He snarled, his eyes — and soon his hands — already on the culprit.
Somewhere around the room, he recognised the distinctive sounds of weapons drawing, likely the guards. He didn’t worry about them, he knew that the lone undead soldier they had brought along would be more than enough to deal with them.
He looked around the room, at the council leaders and their reactions as — thunk — he slammed the head of the man against the hardwood table, and he had to admit that it was pretty good quality, because it didn’t show even a dent as the man’s skull hit it repeatedly. At the third hit, the man's eyes rolled at the back of his head, Caradoc heard him groan, “Oh? What is it?,” he commented, “is this your first time?” Caradoc wrinkled his nose, the amount of blood likely meant that he had broken his nose, and that didn’t make him look exactly pretty. He kept his grip tight on the man’s hair. At the fourth hit, he heard a cracking sound that assured him that his face had crumbled like stale bread in the broth of his brain, but he gave it another slam for the satisfaction of hearing it again.
Oh, that felt good.
The bloody body almost slid onto him, but he sidestepped it gracefully. He felt like he was dancing, most of his worries gone, and began to hum a little tune. A few of them were stuck to their chairs in terror, looking delightfully distraught between himself and- and the stupid skeleton ruining his show too? Oh, that just wouldn’t do. With the same grace, he motioned to the skeleton to walk closer to him, and gently took its gloved hand in his own. It didn’t seem to understand what was happening. There was a guard’s body on the ground, no, a few of them. The sword, next to a chair. Three people sitting. One dead, on the floor. Four clawing at the door or standing. One… hiding. He was going to search for that one later.
Caradoc put a hand on the thing’s hip, it stumbled, clearly having been damaged by the earlier fight. He couldn’t hold his sigh in, but then took a step back, and it copied him. They moved a little until Caradoc got bored of their improvised waltz. Caradoc softly cradled the skeleton’s jaw in his hand after removing it from its hip and gazed deeply into its socket. “Who were you?” he whispered low, like a secret. Obviously, it didn’t answer him, the useless thing. His grip changed from tender to painful and he was sure that the being couldn’t feel it. Those pale and brittle bones soon gave away to his fingers, its jaw removed. It did not flinch, but Caradoc did. His patience was running thin. He ended up just grabbing his sword roughly and shoving the pummel into its frontal bone so hard it cracked, and the body crumpled.
A moment passed. And then it was gone. Caradoc stepped onto one of the chairs, then onto the table and made sure his steps echoed loudly in the council room, almost overpowering the gasps and screams of these people. Annoyance finally gave way to excitement. He enjoyed it. The power he held over them distracted him enough that he didn’t even notice when his foot hit a scroll, making it roll off the table. He didn’t even care.
He jumped off the table and — whoops — there goes someone’s neck. That was so ungraceful, putting their body in front of his blade like that.
He glanced at the body as it dropped, but only briefly, and walked over to the next one. Another head fell in one swift motion.
Next, a white-haired woman with a tear-streaked face begged him for mercy. “Sorry,” he drawled, “ran out of that a couple centuries back.” Her eyes barely had enough time to widen in confusion, before she was thrown on the other side of the room, knocking into someone else and into a wall. He heard a crack. That was surely going to look nasty. Yikes.
He stabbed the person she had knocked into for good measure.
At that point, a gasp distracted him, who…? A young woman still sat at the table, her eyes were so wide they looked like they might pop out of her head. He walked toward her slowly, he would hate to scare her any further…
Once near, he took a better look at her: dark eyes, round face; he ran his hand through her hair, very soft. He lowered himself so that he could whisper in her ear. “You are quite the beauty, dear, do you know that?” She was shaking, but he took no notice of it. “Do you mind?” He gestured lightly to her chair — she immediately rose to leave it to him but — “Oh, no, no,” he shook his head, pushing her back down by the shoulder, “I only wanted to look at you up close, what’s your name, beautiful?”
It took her a second, but when Caradoc started trailing a hand from her knee and up, up, up… she flinched and in a single breath said “Liah.” And right after: “Please don’t kill me.” He had stopped his roaming, and just moved to sit in her lap— he was holding part of his weight on the table, with the heavy armour he was sure to break her leg otherwise, and forgetting such a thing would be quite unknightly of him.
“Liah.” He repeated, seeming to taste the name on his tongue, “It matches you. It must take a lot of work to maintain such soft hair, what a shame.” He resumed moving his fingers through the strands for a few minutes, her breathing was quick and weak, and easily ignored. Then, when the curious hand brushed against her chin, neck, shoulder, the pleading resumed. He stilled, a feather-light touch on her collarbones. His moment was ruined. “Calm down, I’m not going to do anything to you — well, not what you’re thinking of right now. You know, I had just missed the feeling of a woman’s skin.” He stopped holding his own weight and, as expected, the metal plates crushed her leg. “I guess I’ll kill you now.” He sighed.
Caradoc touched her neck again, but this time the grip stayed there, squeezing until it bruised, until she didn’t have enough air to even choke on it, until she stopped trying to grab his arm. Then he heard a crack and her head lolled uselessly to one side. He whistled, broken neck, he hadn’t meant to do that.
A man was staring at him from the far end of the room, the light from the windows glinting off his expensive-looking ring — a wedding ring? He didn’t plead when he was stabbed and kept up with Caradoc’s stare. He longed to make him suffer a little more, but he already looked sickly and pale, and Caradoc was pretty sure it wasn't because of him. Shivering and sweating rivers, he hardly reacted at all, as if his body and mind were in different places. So he twisted his sword and left him to choke on his own blood.
The governor hadn't moved from his chair and he was likely in shock, so Caradoc was still missing one…There weren’t many places to hide in.
He stayed still.
His steps had covered it before, but now he could hear the ragged breathing… From under the table.
He reached out and grabbed it, the little creature squealed like a mouse, how cute. “Hey, hey. I know what you just saw is a little scary, but I just want to chat.” He smiled, “You're a kender, aren't you? What's your name?”
“Woolin.” And, “s-sir,” he added after a second. Caradoc already liked this little man.
The conversation with Woolin was quite pleasant, unexpectedly so. He sheathed his sword sometime during it. Caradoc discovered that he had a wife, Meulara, and he nodded along as he described her, obviously still lovestruck. He added a comment himself one time or another: “You two sound like a wonderful couple.” or, “do you have any kids?” They did, a daughter who started her first journey a year back, but that wrote to them often. Woolin never stopped being tense, but he wasn't as anxious as before.
Caradoc gave Woolin a couple pats on his head. “Woolin? You are a very good man,” Caradoc smiled, “you were the best out of all of them.” And the kender's hopeful expression dropped. “I'm sure your family and your friends will miss you greatly. I will give you the honour of last words. But don't plead.”
Woolin sniffed once, trying to hold back emotion. “I just- I can't understand why you are doing this. But, I love my family and this city, there is nothing else I can say.” Caradoc nodded, his expression solemn.
“If I was the one in charge, I probably would have let you live. Alas, I'm not.” He took a hold of his sword again. “I'll make it quick.” He muttered. The kender was crying again, and did not answer him. He stabbed him in the heart, gently lowering him to the ground.
When the little creature let out his last breath, Caradoc looked up to see the cowardly governor had finally abandoned his seat. The poor fool was now desperately banging against the locked door. How boring, he mused, if he was to inconvenience Caradoc by moving away, he could have at least tried to put up a fight. This was just… pathetic, really. He slowly pulled his sword out, the kender sliding off it with little resistance, and turned towards the governor. Silent even in his armour, he closed the distance between them. Miat was trembling as he hit the door over and over again, clawed at the gaps as if that would be any help. But he turned stock still once Caradoc laid a hand on his shoulder and he felt the hot breath pooling against his neck. Cute. Almost amicably he squeezed his shoulder, just before he teasingly poked the tip of his greatsword against the governor’s back. That brought back the shaking and crying. And the begging.
“Please,” the governor gasped out. Caradoc’s smile widened.
“Oh, when you ask so nicely,” he cooed and with one careful push he pressed him against the door and plunged his greatsword through his chest. Not through the heart, no, not yet. He followed the tensing body, crowded it against the door. When was the last time he held someone like this? Too long… even before his death.
“Bet that feels really good,” he sighed, pushing the blade just an inch further. While the governor was choking on his own blood, Caradoc was letting out a pleased little hum. “Want me to do it again?”
He got no answer, only more sputtering. But Caradoc was a man who lived to serve, and he needed no words to do it. So he drew out his blade, slowly, twisting it on the way out and just when it was almost all the way there… he used all his force this time to shove it back in. And then he did again. And again. By the time the governor stopped reacting, the blade not only went through the governor, but also had pierced the wood of the door. Caradoc chuckled at the thought of someone passing by, spotting the weapon sticking out on the other side.
Ordeal complete, Caradoc scanned the room contentedly. He had time to kill (good pun, nobody to share it with) and started cleaning up the mess. The blood splatters could be considered artistic, in a way, but the bodies scattered around the room just wouldn't do. He quickly placed everyone on their respective chairs (he didn't know exactly which, but he gauged a few guesses), making sure that the few severed heads were placed in front of their respective owners. What else? Ah, he grabbed a handkerchief from one of the corpses that had remained particularly clean, it was drilled into him since he started training: a knight's armour must be kept with the utmost care.
At one point he tried to fiddle with his necklace, but it was as spectral as the rest of him.
He found himself staring at Miat, sitting all high and mighty in his seat of honour. With his blond hair and well-kept beard he almost seemed like a slightly older version of Loren. Caradoc's face soured at the thought. “Nothing more than a coward, your death was truly embarrassing. Instead, he died with honour.” And steadied his gaze on the enormous tapestries. Had to be old, because he remembered the style becoming popular in his youth.
His gaze flickered back to Miat. “See something you like?” His smirk fell immediately. It wasn't going to be much different from the other corpses he had spoken with.
A sigh. Bloodlust satiated and adrenaline subsiding, anger started to seep in. Miat had died with an expression that was something between horror and fear. It just looked displeased to Caradoc. “What?!” He snapped, “did I not satisfy you, sir? Is something wrong, my Lord?” He walked right up to the blond man and slammed his hands on the table. “Too high and mighty to thank me, is that so?”
He tried running a hand through his hair but forgot that the guy he was possessing didn’t have any. He missed his body more and more.
A few seconds later and he couldn't take it anymore, he stabbed through the man's chest, through his heart, with so much force that the greatsword remained lodged in place. That made him feel a little better. His anger subsided. He moved an extra chair next to the governor, propping his booted feet on the table. This way he could admire his handiwork and keep an eye on the entrance.
Now he had to wait.
He knew it wouldn't be long, and his predictions were revealed to be correct when he heard the sound of a fight outside and worried voices. The doors opened with a bang and Caradoc chuckled. Too late. He stood up, cleared his throat and bombastically declared:
“Hail, friends, and fear not — your heroes have arrived!”