The Auto-Gnome Artificer
It goes by many names. The Shadowlands, The Plane of Shadows, Shadow Deep, but most commonly it is known as Shadowfell To most, the Shadowfell seems like a dark and mysterious place. Few stories are written of the lands that most consider to be that of shadows and darkness. To those from other planes, they seem to be creatures of the dead, undead, and shadow, which isn't entirely inaccurate. But, the idea that these are monsters, strange creatures, things to be feared are opinions of those that are unfamiliar with these lands. However, to those that live in the lands, these creatures are as natural and common as a squirrel or a lion. Granted, they can be dangerous, but the more they are familiar, the more one knows and understands how to mitigate such dangers.
One thing that is rarely noted or understood is, much like the Prime Material Plane, the Shadowlands also have their kingdoms, their rulers, their hierarchies. Some of the kingdoms are tucked away, hidden even from the other citizens of Shadowfell, in a method of protection from the creatures that may lurk within. But some kingdoms are as bold and shining, even in their darkness, as any kingdom from the PMP. Some kingdoms are as vibrant, as filled with trade. Cities like Sphur Upra and Chaul'mur'ssin. Such kingdoms have their lords and ladies, as any other. Some are ruled by higher entities, those that gain control through raw personal power, others through hereditary means, among a variety of other methods. Ulric Shadedragon, family name acquired through the forefather's methods of slaying and conquering over the dark dragons seen throughout Shadowfell, was no Lord, nor was his wife a Lady of any kingdom. But, they were still considered royalty, through methods of political maneuvering through their lives. He was a Baron of within the Shadar-Kai kingdom, who held the title and governed over a relatively small village as a suburb of a larger city. They loved one another and grew in power for years until in the darkness, they had a child.
And even in that, their strength and power continued to grow. They prospered under the Raven Queen, offering faith and service to those that represented the dark entity that had drawn them all to Shadowfell. For, though they were of political nature, it was the clergy that truly held the power. Growing up in the Shadowlands, under the influence of the Raven Queen clergy, death was viewed differently. It was revered, practically worshiped. It wasn't something to fear, but to be respected. But, as with all living creatures, it still was rarely something that was actively sought. But it was something that was easily, eagerly, given, particularly to the enemies of those that worshiped.
Corum Shadedragon, the son of Ulric, was raised in that love of death. He was raised as royalty, focusing on a certain sense of decorum, how to behave in what the Shadar considered ‘polite society’ (which was significantly different from what would be considered polite society in the PMP). He was taught to be as cunning and ruthless as any creature that had been met on the Material Plane. He was taught in the ways of combat, for the Shadowlands could be very treacherous to those that didn’t know how to defend themselves. Everyone learned at least some form of combat, and those considered royalty were prone to learning to an even greater degree, for a myriad of reasons. Corum even trained under the clerics of death for a good portion of his time, learning the faith, lethal methodology, the rites and sacraments for the dead, various poisons and their effects—He was taught nearly everything he could be taught on the subject of the religion of death, except for the actual dark mystical arts that the clerics would regularly practice, for though he learned under them, he was not a part of the clergy and was considered ‘unworthy’ of learning such things. One of the very few downsides to his privileged upbringing.
One area he had grown particularly interested in with his studies was the concept of the paladin. Warriors who fought for their gods and despite the fact that they were renowned warriors, they were also effective magic users. Any dark wizard that touched on the subject with Corum would remind him that, yes, they can cast magic, but they are a poor substitute for a true spell caster. This didn’t matter to Corum, for others refused to teach him, anyway. Though he was a strong fighter, and very physically capable, he was not generally considered as intelligent as most magic users would be. And he lacked the natural magical talent that a sorcerer possessed, other than the few ‘talents’ that all of the Shadar-Kai possessed. So, the fact that no one permitted him to be trained in magic made the topic taboo and even more interesting. And as he was a strong fighter, and considered himself a man of faith, he felt a strong appeal to the paladin. Then, there was the fact that there were no paladins in Shadowfell, a point he didn’t well understand, and no one was willing to explain. One mentor he had asked mentioned that their precise philosophies didn’t mesh very well with those of Shadowfell, never being told that a paladin wouldn’t worship the gods of death. Not as they did.
He became very familiar to the hazards of Shadowfell, familiar with the creatures and the magics to be aware of. He certainly trained well. But, his parents sought to have their child learn more than just what the Plane of Shadows had to offer. Many who served under the Raven Queen were sent to other lands to collect various tokens of importance for the deity, so the Shadar leaving Shadowfell to explore other lands wasn’t unusual, but it wasn’t something everyone in the populace was fortunate enough to be able to do. And even if his official mission was to search for the benefit of the dark goddess, his parent assured him that what they really wanted for him was to gain a greater sense of the reality beyond their dark borders. For one can never truly appreciate the shadows until they have seen the harsh light of the day. They had certainly trained him well enough. He was incredibly young when they sent him off, a mere 30 years of age, but they felt he was prepared as well as he could be, for what they were able to teach him, by that time.
And travel he did. He spent half a decade walking through the lands. He made his way doing minor tasks for those that would permit. He had met other elves that looked drastically different from his pale grey skin and midnight black hair. When he first met a wood elf of golden hair and bronze skin, he at first thought it to be a different race entirely. He knew he would see creatures he had not seen before, and he had been told stories of other types of elves, but learning about these creatures and actually seeing it were very different things. He also learned that these other creatures would often call him a ‘drow’. Of course he was familiar with the drow from the Underdark. He had learned many things of the Underdark having grown up in Shadowfell, as the two were quite similar, and one might easily mistake one for the other. The Shadar often see the drow as undisciplined, power driven, inhumane, with no respect or appreciation for the sanctity of death, merely a blind application. But, they did consider them a kind of distant cousin, more closely aligned with their own philosophies than the PMP elves of any kind. Some philosophized that the brutal ambition of the drow under the methodical guidance of the Shadar-Kai could prove a near unstoppable force. But, the egos of both would hardly permit such a joining of forces.
Corum found that larger towns were much easier to blend in with. In most towns, he would see different creatures wearing cloaks to keep their appearances discrete. A high elf in a human village could relatively blend in nicely if he was able to keep his ears hidden away. But, Corum’s skin tone made him stand out a bit more, even if covered with a thick cloak. When he would stumble across a small town, he would often be taken for a drow, and treated very poorly, if not completely run out. Evidently, there was some reputation with the drow poisoning and enslaving people in such villages, and people didn’t much care to take the chance. Some villages were hurting for financing for one reason or another, and those would be more accommodating to him, but even in such situations they were wary, and he was constantly watched by the local guard.
But in the larger cities, he had a much easier time. People were so busy, they rarely paid much mind to anyone. In some places, he would even encounter drow that not only functioned in such cities, some actually lived and worked there (often representatives from the Underdark to establish trade between the different cultures). Other drow were able to easily identify him for what he was, knowing almost immediately (depending on how much of his features he kept hidden) he wasn’t one of their kind. Still, because of the similarities between them, they were often more friendly towards him than they would be towards others. He would even stumble across other races that could tell the difference between his kind and his dark cousins. He found those that could would often offer a bit more respect to him than others might.
It was after five years of travel, learning the lands, meeting a variety of different types, and offering his blade for hire on a regular basis, he had a truly dramatically changing event. He had been traveling between two smaller cities when he had come across a wide clearing. In the clearing, he saw the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She was a wood elf of subjectively moderate beauty, but there was something about her that just completely appealed to him. She was surrounded by woodland creatures and seemed to be tending to some wildlife garden. She seemed to represent the opposition to everything he had ever really known throughout his life, but it was amazing. Though he was hesitant, he introduced himself and there was an instant connection between the two. She introduced herself as Caitríona.
Years passed. The two grew as close as any two people could be. He continued to travel, and the druid wood elf was happy to join him in his travels. And though the two still got some strange looks where they went, he found that with her at his side, others seemed to be kinder, more respectful of him. He was also a lot more easily recognizable. In places he would visit more than once, he was no longer considered some random drow. Rather, he was the dark elf with the regular elven partner. And though this was still demeaning in some type of way, it was a step up from what he had been used to. In time, they even established a residence just outside of one of the larger cities.
Corum had frequently thought to return to his home in Shadowfell. There was certainly no time limit on when he was expected back, but he would often miss those that he had left behind. Frequently, he would work some kind of way to establish some manner of communication with his parents, usually via some kind of magical means, depending on what kind of town he was in. But, as he and Caitríona grew closer, the time he made for such communication grew in length. Corum began to consider establishing some type of permanent trade route from Shadowfell to the city he now gave residence to. Caitríona had found a bit of land to grow her plants on and made a comfortable living as a skilled botanist. Corum continued to travel, locating strange items from different races to sell to those looking for something ‘unique’. He even made a few visits to the Underdark. For many found the Underdark a dangerous place, he found many similarities between it and his home, to the point that it sometimes almost felt familiar.
For three years Caitríona and Corum were together. But, as with all things, the expected turn would have to be taken. No such story ever continues without tragedy inevitably befalling our hero. All too common is it that intolerance destroys something beautiful, like the love between two that many think should never mix. At least they’re both elves, many would say. But a dark elf, whether Shadar-Kai or drow (for to most, what is really the difference, anyway?), and a ‘normal elf’, whether they be wood, sea, high elf, or even Eladrin, getting together? Many considered such a thing a profanity. The same people that felt any union between an orc and a human was an abomination. The two learned to ignore the ignorance, as those in such a situation would often do. But the ignorant do not respond well to being ignored. And when the intolerant holds any position of authority, they feel it is their obligation to act.
Helm was not an inherently intolerant god. Yet many of the ignorant would fight in his name, as they felt as he was the god of protectors, he would be accepting of those who sought to protect their way of life. For years, certain sects that worshipped Helm fought to keep elves out of human cities. Some smaller villages still utilized such justification, a group Corum had grown all too familiar with over the years. But even those that decided to at least tolerate different races in their village found this affront to their faith to be too much. Maybe if the two had lived within the city walls, they’d have been better protected. But their home was out in the woods, more secluded in an effort to keep their ‘shame’ more discrete from those that would be otherwise offended. They had hoped this would keep people from being too upset at their forbidden love. Instead, it offered that same discretion to those that decided to deal with their offense of forbidden love. In the darkness of the night an order of paladins that had felt they’d been ignored in a modern society decided to make their voices heard. They made it heard with fire. They barred the door to the elven home and lit the thatch roof on fire in multiple locations, ensuring as much of the building to fall as quickly as possible.
The flame quickly grew, surrounding the entire house. The paladins stood back, blocking the only road from the house, where they watched the house become consumed by the flames. Inside, the roar of the fire soon woke Corum up. With the fire already well under way, it didn’t take much to wake his partner. The two quickly realized the situation they were in, even if not fully aware of the source or reasoning. As would be expected, they quickly made their way to the front of the building, where they found the door barred. Already smoke filled the building and was quickly being inhaled by both. Corum continued to beat at the door while Caitríona grabbed one of his axes, his favored weapon since his youth. With axe in hand, he was able to make quick work of the wooden door. As the doorway opened, smoke and flames erupted, the sudden oxygen from the outside feeding the blaze. Both elves dove to the ground, coughing and barely hanging on to life. Yet they still lived… That’s when they noticed the paladins that walked up to them. Corum attempted to plea, attempted to get up, attempted to defend himself and his mate. He attempted to ask ‘why?’ His lungs were still filled with smoke, his body aching from the fight against the jammed door and the flames. He couldn’t even get to his knees before their fists came down, pummeling both elven bodies upon the floor. Corum lost consciousness long before the beatings had stopped.
When Corum woke, he was on a stone slab. The entire area was draped in darkness. Wherever he was, there seemed to be nothing but stone all around. Underground, perhaps? He felt beaten, bruised. He felt as if he was barely hanging on to life. He wasn’t even sure how he was awake. His gaze looked around, observing several others that seemed to be barely more alive than he felt. He couldn’t tell if he was surrounded by the undead, or the barely living. There was no theme of race among them. There were elves, but they were so pale he couldn’t tell if they were darkened high elves or pale drow. There were humans, gnomes, dwarves, everything. Wherever he was, it was clearly less concerned about race than where he had last been.
“He awakens.” A gravely voice that resembled death itself spoke. Corum turned and looked to a creature that resembled some morbid mixture of undead appearances. Had he not been so used to such a strange assortment of creatures of death, he might have been terrified by all that surrounded him. “Leave us.” The voice commanded. And with this, the others turned and walked away.
Corum attempted to speak, but found breathing was painful, let alone any attempt to talk. “Say nothing. Just listen.” The figure turned and took a few steps away from the stone slab that Corum laid upon. “I go by many names. Some call me the Corpse King. The Skin Merchant. The lich.” The creature began. Corum looked harder at him as he turned, trying to make out what race this morbid appearance originated from. He simply could not tell. Maybe he was still dazed from the beating. The beating… Caitríona! His eyes widened in urgency. The other seemed to have noticed. “Worry not about your mate. Death has already made claim for her soul. And nearly yours. It took deep magics to keep you from crossing over, as well. I am sorry that we were not able to reach her before she was gone. Take comfort that she was given the proper rites of death.” As he spoke, he turned back to face the dark elf, sitting himself into what looked to be a stone throne. “This is one of my many strongholds. It was the closest location we could get to from where you were. The Paladin’s of Helm are the ones responsible for this.” He hesitated for a long moment, shifting his approach before starting again. “We have followed you for years. We noticed that you were a warrior of death. I know your sect, and I know who you have served in the past. Many here have served some manner of dark god. But, the gods have failed each of us. We have found them to be lacking. Now, we no longer limit ourselves simply to serve some minor godling. I, and those under me, serve the spirit of death itself. The Raven Queen has failed you, as well. Where was she when your mate was being beat by the zealots of a lesser god? While your home was burning to the ground?”
Corum stared at the creature as he spoke. He felt resistance. He had served his entire life to the Raven Queen, and chaffed at the mocking she now received. Still, the questions certainly hit deep within his broken body. “You are not saved, yet. Your body is greatly weakened. It is possible you may never recover. At least, not through natural means. We could attempt to transport you back to Shadowfell, maybe there the clerics of your faith might be able to restore some manner of functionality to your body. Or…” There was a long pause. As expected, there was no argument from Corum, rather he laid there, curious to hear the alternative. The lich continued. “Or you can forsake your patron goddess, give your allegiance to death itself. I can imbue you with the magics of death, make you something greater than you have ever been. And you can extract your revenge on the creatures who supposedly fight for the living. You may continue to serve, in a far greater capacity, against the chaos of those who profane the sanctity of death.” Either the lich knew and followed well the path that the shadar-kai followed, or he was at least familiar with the path and knew exactly how to appeal to the very inherent training within him. “I can give you power that you have only dreamed of before. The power that your patron has clearly denied you up to this point.” Corum began to consider. Then he remembered the demands a god had for what little power they provided. What, then, would a creature such as this demand? He still couldn’t speak, but the lich was well familiar with the conversation, and he knew the questions one would ask. “No, I don’t demand unquestioning obedience. I am not filled with the ego of your gods. No, I serve death, as I would ask of you to. Yes, there are the tenants of death, the pacts that you would be expected to learn, know, and follow. The rules by which all true servants of death follow. I will expect you to work for me, yes. Especially in the beginning as you learn what it means to be what I offer. But, in the end, you will be more your own than you had ever been before. No longer will you stand by while those you love are killed. No longer will you suffer the intolerance of those weaker than you. In time, you may even discover the secrets to immortality itself.”
The conversation continued much in the same manner for a short time remaining. Then Corum was allowed to rest, again. But, the conversation picked back up and continued for hours the following day. The three Pacts in Allegiance to Death were explained in great detail. And even as days passed, Corum continued to feel weak. He never felt as if it was certain whether death would take him or not. Many times his host offered to send him back home, if that was what he wished. He stressed that the position was not something he was to be forced into. That it was a position he would have to willingly take, if he desired it. Corum met with others in the stronghold. Few, if any, held the position he was being offered. Some were merely the undead, fighting for the grace of death. Most were simply servants of death, each in their own way. Some were fighters, some were clerics of death. Some were mages, competent and skilled in the mystic arts driven to serve all aspects of death. But, it was stressed that none of them would hold the position that he was being offered. Corum then asked why… Why would he be offered that which none other here had.
“Make no mistake…” The creature began in response. “You would not be the only of your kind. You are not the first. But, the others that I had created in this manner have long moved on, and now I seek a new one to train, to serve. To learn. Those here had their own skills when they came to me. You, however, are a traveler. I sense in you a certain uniqueness that most others do not possess. You are strong, there is no doubt of that. But, you have been raised in the teachings of death. Most here found their love for the darkness long after they were raised in some other way. Within you, I sense the desire to be something more. I’ve seen how you watch the mages. I can sense you have a greater desire for magic than any fighter here has. You have greater strength than any cleric in my employ. You have a strength in personality that few possess. You have the perfect balance to be exactly what I need.”
“And what is it you need?” Corum asked bluntly.
“I need a champion of death. Death needs a defender, a protector, an advocate, a victor. I need a Death Knight.”
With this, Corum finally concluded to accept the offer. A hidden ceremony in a secret location was held. Corum was infused with the magic that the lich offered. He was informed that if he betrayed the tenants of death, he would lose his power. And when the ceremony was over, the creator looked to his creation and said; “You are reborn in death’s image. No longer are you what you once were. Your old identity, your old life, anything you were before has no meaning now. You are reborn, you are renamed. You are now the Death Knight, Kintu.” And so, Kintu was born.
In the months that followed, Kintu was taught the ways of the Death Knight. His body was stronger than it had ever been before. He found skills that he had never even seen the clerics of the Raven Queen accomplish. He was shown skills that he would eventually learn. His ability to use his axe far exceeded any training he had before. He could feel the necrotic energies flow through him, powering his movements. It was quite the shock to him the first time his eyes began to glow blue. But, it was an even greater shock to those around him that had angered him to that point. Regardless of how bravely they stood before him before that point, each had cowered away from him, frightened. It made him feel stronger. Braver.
And finally the day came when the lich taught him how to create his rune weapon. From the void he had created and pulled a large greataxe, which felt much lighter than anything he had held before. He was informed that the blade would grow stronger as he grew stronger. And with that, he was able to focus his magics. The very concept was foreign to Kintu. He would finally learn his first spell. A spell in which he was able to target an entity and cause a deep freeze that would cause significant damage. And with this, he gained such proficiency, he knew he would be able to cast such a spell endless. Yet he was warned that some spells would be found to be more draining than others.
After some time, the Death Knight’s training was complete. At least, as far as the lich intended to train him. He would continue to learn, continue to grow in power, and to always keep death as his primary focus.