Mhournhul Ba'avarakh the Master of the Occult

Role

Chapter 11

This is the only new entry that I added. All the prevailing chapters were
added on the Day of the Bull - 29th of the Month of Battle - 1758. Hence,
when reading the role, keep in mind that the the origins of the earlier
chapters (IE 6 years ago) are from the 29th of the Month of Battle. I feel
that I should add this sidenote to the story because it was my intent of
how to formulate the role (however, due to a memory leakage, it couldn't be
shown).

Role

Chapter 10

Somehow, I had obtained immortality for my beloved. Although in the
form of a puppet, She is with me, always, and for now, I am content.
One day, I will need to find a proper vessel for Her, and somehow find a
way to transfer Her spirit to such vessel. Any undead container will not
suffice - although 'undead', by its very nature, typically is defined as
a creature without sentience, Lyn clearly has sentience.

To this day, I am unsure how She came to be in this state. The more I
speak to Her, the more I am confident that it is Lyn, but a twisted
version of Lyn. Regardless, I am content that my beloved is with me. I
have theories - perhaps the demons and devils I bartered with had decided
to accept my pleas. Or perhaps, it is the magic that saturated the air
of the laboratory. Maybe Her gypsy blood had a part in Her transference.
It is unknown for now, but I have lifetime to discover how She came to be.

Even now, as I write this, Lyn whispers to me that She is anxious to
create the greatest Play in all the lands. Her vigor, as always, is
infectious. I had promised Her a stage - all of Thera will be my stage.
The puppets will be the undead, and we will manipulate them with simple
commands. Lyn and I have been discussing how the play should be, and
the various Acts and their configurations. I deduce that obtaining all
the performers will be a nightmare! At least we will not have to negotiate
pay with any guilds or unions.

***Written in a small scripture below the main body***

Sometimes, when Lyn is looking at me, I sense a darker spirit than Hers.
A mysterious Eyes in the Darkness, a being of great knowledge of Death. It
frightens me and intrigues me at the same time.

Role

Chapter 9

"How..how is this possible?"

Mhournhul, dumbfounded, began to babble like an incoherent lunatic as he
stared at the puppet and the embodied corpse of Lyn on the altar.

'Oh Mhournhul, I do not know. I laid in that body, tormented because I
could not do anything for you, for so long.'

The puppet's mouth moved only slightly, but the voice of Lyn was clear
and strong.

"Lyn, is it truly you?"

'Yes my beloved, oh yes!'

Weeping after many months of frustration, Mhournhul held the puppet
closely to himself. The quest for immortality had ended.

'Beloved, what now? I am yours for all eternity,'

"I...I do not know."

'Beloved, if I can suggest. The happiest time that we had together was
when I was with you, working on our Act.'

"Yes, as was mine Lyn."

'Beloved, my dearest wish is to put on the greatest Act in the world.
Alas, I fear I cannot use my fingers as I once did. I cannot control
the puppets.'

Mhournhul chuckled with glee.

"Lyn, there are more than one way to create puppets. How would you like
to direct the greatest puppets in the world?"

'Oh beloved, that would be splendid!'

"Then there is much to do."

Since that day, the laboratory had remained empty. The rumors that
circulated in Hamsah about heinous dark magic performed beneath the
crypts during those four months became like any other rumor, some
aspects truth, some aspects fabrication, swept away in the desert winds.

Role

Chapter 8

The last vestige of pride appeared stripped away from Mhournhul. No matter
his talent, no matter the various necromancers he bribed to save Lyn, he
had been unsuccessful. The extent of stalling Lyn's spirit from escaping
her body had nearly expired. Her body had entered the state of
decomposition, and in a few months, it would be as dried as a mummy. How
he wept at his failure. The only moment of sanity he had was crading his
puppet of Lyn, or otherwise, crafting deranged puppets. Thus far, most of
his research had yielded that the only way to save Lyn was learning of
immortality, a fable that many contend do not exist.

It was a day like any other. He had stolen away to the library of the
Sultan via a secret passageway, following another hopeless lead. Upon his
return to his laboratory, he noticed various oddities. The deranged
puppets that he created were all but missing, smashed on the ground, as
if they were the losers in a war. Triumphantly sitting on top of an altar
was the puppet that he created for Lyn, scuffled from some altercation.
Certain body parts were missing, and the dress that he had sewn together
was torn. Bewildered, he set himself to fixing the puppet for the
remainder of the night.

During that night, as always, he dreamt of the last day that he performed
with her. But this dream was different - it was twisted, where he was the
puppeteer, and the onlookers around him, his puppets. The same exact
sequence happened: a moment in time, frozen, as assassins threw poisonous
darts at Lyn. He attempted to thwart the assassins, but to no avail. The
Lyn that fell in his dream was not the warm physical body of his beloved,
but the puppet that he created for Lyn. The expression on its face was of
glee, instead of the horrid chilling death that happened in reality.

It whispered to him:

'My beloved, do not weep. I am still here.'

"But this is a dream. You are gone. Oh Lyn, I cannot do this without you."

'My beloved, I am still here. You have created me, and I will always be
here for you.'

Mhournhul woke, disturbed and startled by his dream. As he opened his eyes,
sitting on top of him was the puppet he crafted for Lyn.

Laughing half-heartedly to himself, he shook his head in disbelief.

"A strange dream."

'But I am here, my beloved.'

Role

Chapter 7

A dark chill emitted within a hidden laboratory under the graveyards of
Hamsah. Centered on the stone altar within the laboratory was the embalmed
corpse of an attractive dark skinned young woman. Lying next to her was
an ancient black leather tome, various malformed puppets with the darkest
and cruelest of intentions etched on their faces, and embalming tools,
small knives, strings and paint.

After the fateful event 3 months ago, Mhournhul had lost all reason and
happiness. Entering into a state of deranged madness, he fled the scene
with the corpse of his beloved to an ancient crypt hidden deep under the
graveyard of Hamsah. Since that time, he had been living like a rat,
seeking any and all possible means to revive the spirit of his beloved.
Scrounging through ancient scrolls, his realized that his only choices
were by supernatural means.

Even after many months, he sensed the spirit of Lyn keenly, hovering in
the corpse. By any and all means possible, he had stalled its escape, but
time was running out. He had attempted to bargain with demons and devils
to save Lyn's spirit, but to no avail. He had thought to bring Lyn's body
back to life, but he knew that Lyn would be a puppet, under his direct
control. The spark of life would not exist.

Stressed and frantic, his hands often acted on their own. While he rested,
as if possessed, they began crafting deranged puppets - those that would
please only the most demonic crowd. Day after day, the puppets became even
more frightening - some brandishing knives, others covered with leeches,
and more spitting poison. In the midst of chaos, the only puppet that was
untouched, but loved entirely, was the puppet that he had carved to
embody Lyn's spirit so many months ago.

It lay there smiling, motionless among specks of dark magic, witnessing
its creator entering into a state of madness.

Role

Chapter 6

The jovial celebration of the festival took Mhournhul's breath away.
In his absence, it appears that the Sultan's palace took on a new light.
Not only were the most trusted advisors there, even the lower nobilities
attended. He simply hoped that his disguise would prevent anyone from
recognizing him.

The uneasy feeling would not escape, no matter how many times he tried to
console himself. Intensifying his apprehension were the slightest of
movements of his surrounding - a misplaced footstep, a cursory glance,
and shadowy figures where there should be no shadows.

The entire caravan was invited, and initially their performances began
without any issues. Amidst clapping and chattering, his and Lyn's
performance drew the largest crowd. His puppeteering skills, although not
as refined as Lyn's, had dramatically increased. Moreso, the education
that he received from the palace had changed the plays from simply telling
to epic novels.

In the middle of the second Act, he once again gazed at his surrounding
and found himself staring back at his mother's vengeful gaze. Only her
gaze was not at him, but at his beloved. He understood the source of his
apprehension. At that very instance, it appears time had stopped - he
grabbed Lyn in a futile attempt to escape, only to be severely hampered
as the shadowy presences he felt earlier coalesced at his location for a
moment, only to depart the next moment. Lyn's body, covered with multiple
poisonous needles unseen to the untrained eye tipped with the deadliest
poison, shuddered and became limp.

As the eldest son of the Ba'avarakh household, his disgrace at leaving
the prominent family had nearly brought about their downfall. Years of
prestige they held through their lineage had been stripped away. The shift
in the balance of power had changed them from esteemed caretakers to
mere gravediggers.

Panic, then anger surged through him. In the middle of gasps of horror,
he wept silently, and began mentally categorizing ancient magic that he
had learned to save his beloved.

Role

Chapter 5

The last year had been blissful. Although against family tradition,
Mhournhul had proposed to Lyn, who had accepted his love and agreed to
elope. The shackles that had binded him to his fate as a manservant - no, a
dog - to the Sultan of Hamsah Mu'tazz had been broken by the cheerful smile
that he woke up next to every day. He was aware of the turmoil brought upon
his family and the shift in the balance of political power. Yet, for once
in his life, he did not care.

Amidst the contentment, the teachings of his past would not go away. He
dreamed of lessons of his mentors, of faces that he would no longer see,
and even more disturbing, of the cadavers and soulless creatures he brought
back to life to protect the Sultan. It appears true - once you have dabbled
in necromancy, your dreams are tainted and dark magic will haunt your spirit
forever. The comfort of Lyn's presence assuaged his torment, but at the very
fringe of his conscious mind, it was always there.

He had been disowned by his family as a castaway and a renegade. Fleeing his
family and the Sultan's wrath, he joined his beloveds caravan, only taking
with him the puppet that he created to capture Lyn's spirit. Together with
Lyn, they had formed an extravagant puppet act and authored various plays -
many in a false name.

On one eve, the caravan was summoned before the Sultan's palace for a
ceremony in six months. The name of the ceremony escaped Mhournhul, nor did
he know of any such event at such time. A sense of apprehension emerged in
the pit of Mhournhul's stomach. No matter how much he attempted to dissuade
Lyn and the rest of his new found family to stay away, they would not listen.
The spirits of the gypsies was not be to be revoked nor worried about what
may happen.

If not for this foolish ideal, perhaps Mhournhul's happiness would have
lasted. Perhaps he would not know of the cursed fate that still binded him.

Role

Chapter 4

Finally! She had arrived! The news of the arrival of the gypsy caravan
ignited Mhournhul's blood. In the midst of his puberty, he was courted by
many females in an attempt to raise their families political prowess. While
he obliged their efforts, the only girl that he thought of was Lyn. Her
last message to him was that she was returning with a special gift. Her
caravan had been displaced for longer than a few months - the Empress of
Seantryn Modan had unexpectedly personally requested her caravan's
appearance at a ceremony honoring the glory of Seantryn.

Chuckling wryly to himself, Mhournhul gazed unbashfully at the finished
puppet. During his studies of necromancy, he had learned about reading the
spirits of living beings near him. He had not realized that he had always
unconsciously sensed the darkest desires of his peers - he had always
attributed those senses toward his discomfort with his own life. He created
the puppet not only the exact physical replica of Lyn, but of her spirit.

With childlike abundance, Mhournhul scrambled across the great courtyard of
the Sultan's Palace, through the crowded Center of Hamsah, and into the
foray and busy streets of the Seaports. As he panted for breath, he saw her
- and his breath was caught in his throat.

His memory of her was a shade compared her alluring physique. Not only had
she grown to be an extremely beautiful woman, but her spirit had sharpened
to the point of manifestation. All thoughts of the other girls who sought
his attention dissipated in an instant. Hidden in a dark cloak, he stealthily
approached the show she was performing and watched from the back.

She was marvelous. Each puppet moved seemingly at the slightly gesture of
any of her fingers. The smoothness and continuity of the puppets displayed
a mastery that was unseen before. It was almost as if the puppets were alive
and in the midst of a war as they clashed against each other. What little
success he had in necromancy was feeble compared to the fluidity and
liveliness of Lyn's play.

Along with the entire crowd, Mhournhul was bedazzled by the spectacle Lyn's
fingers demonstrated. He would wait until the play ended before approaching
his childhood friend.

Role

Chapter 3

A tall gangly boy looked out at the sea yearnfully and sighed dramatically.
He was seated at the highest tower of Hamsah, studying the latest
dissertation published by yet another supposedly famous necromancer who
had uncovered the secret of immortality. No matter how he attempted to
concentrate upon the dark magic that spilled from the very words themselves,
he could not focus at the task at hand.

Yesterday has been a crowning achievement, where he animated a small rodent
for a brief moment. Two years of effort spent at mastering necromancy, and
a simple rat had brought accolades amongst his peers. There was no truth
to their congratulations - his position dictated that others follow suit.
It was rumored that animating any type of creature took many years of
studying. The praise enveloped upon him by his peers should have amounted
to something - yet he was distracted.

Setting aside his book, he began whittling away at a block of red wood. He
had purchased it from a vendor at the Seaports, who stated that it was
raided from the very home of the Outlanders. He had started on it the last
time he spoke to Lyn, when she told him that her journey to the Caravans
of Jhaana would take many months. After many failed efforts to lavish her
with gifts and to stay with him, he relented to her free will and bid her
fair well. A few months alone would assist in his studies, and perhaps,
halt his mother's constant nagging about his 'tramp girlfriend' and 'useless
hobbies.'

This puppet would be his gift to her upon her return. Maybe she will finally
understand his need of her spirit.

He sighed once again and began shaving and drilling a hole in where the eyes
of the puppet would be.

Role

Chapter 2

Ever since his meeting with Lyn a year ago, Mhournhul's baneful existence
became tolerable, even pleasant sometimes. His rebellious antics became
more attuned with spending every waking moment with Lyn. However, to
please his mentors and to leave their scrutinizing glare, certain
sacrifices had to be made. Outwardly, he showed a behavior of agreement
towards his fated life. He even learned to accept (or ignore) the envious
gazes of his mentors.

Lyn was a creature of grace and passion. To Mhournhul's sight, she
epitomized everything he truly wanted - freedom, passion, and a thirst
of life. Her clan wandered the three continents, spreading joy and comfort
through their songs, dances and plays. Lyn herself was a master at
puppeteering and brought untold comic to the children at her shows.
Although others knew that she was a side act, she seemed not to mind. Her
penchant of acceptance was a refreshing attitude to the stiff regimented
structure of Mhournhul's life.

As Mhournhul delved deeper into his studies, he quickly became consumed
with everything regarding Lyn. In a guise, he surreptitiously frequented
the Hamsah Seaport in the scheduled time to merely speak to her. She was
charming and understanding of his life. He learned to live vicariously
through her stories and her travels. She taught him to sing, to dance,
to laugh, and to creature and play with puppets. He would practice his
newfound skills alongside the court jesters and acrobatics. Soon, he
became as proficient as Lyn in bringing a smile and laughter to others.

However, he knew the facade of amusement among his peers. He was laughed
at, not laughed with. The taste of freedom and joy brought a renovated
anger towards his fate.

If only he had been born a gypsy.

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 1

'Get back here you rascal!'

The angry screams of a stern teacher echoed in his ear as Mhournhul
scampered across the graveyards of Hamsah, weaving a thin thread and
dodging the coffins, tombs and grave markers of Hamsah's past. A dark
alleyway rushed towards his face, greeting like and a welcoming parent,
as he ran towards the Seaports of Hamsah Mu'tazz.

As the eldest son of the Ba'avarakh family, his entire childhood was
devoted to learning the ways of the royal family. His family was the
chief caretaker of the Sultan, in life and in death. Not only was he
educated in politics and proper etiquette of the court, but also of
rituals and traditional burial rites. Although some may believe their
position of power to be welcoming and a blessing, Mhournhul new better.
Fate had played a twisted game upon his birth, and freedom was almost
a non-existent thought.

As a reminder of his position, the name Mhournhul - or, in his ancestor's
language, Chains of Death - was given to him at the Sultan's bequest.
His family considered it an honor that the next generation be named by
the Sultan himself. But Mhournhul knew better, that it was a brand,
like one would brand a cattle, to mark as property. Ever since he could
remember, he detested the training and tutors that came to 'educate'
him of his place in life. The expression of revelry that his peers
held disgusted him. Now, at the ripe age of 12, his rebellious nature and
years of corked grief began to emerge.

Thus, we find ourselves in this predicament. On this seemingly uneventful
day, Mhournhul was to be introduced into the arts of necromancy, to
gather creatures to safeguard the crypt of the Sultan's family. Dragged
kicking and screaming before the Hamsah graveyard, the wiry student had
escaped from the hands of the Sultan guards to find refuge away from his
life.

CRASH!!

Jumping through the air, enthralled with the glee of freedom, Mhournhul
failed to see a cart filled with various mannequins and dolls and slammed
into it. A feminine shriek pierced the air at the same time. Groaning in
discomfort, Mhournhul opened his eyes, only to see the most alluring
gypsy staring back at him with fright and curiosity. The Gods seemed to
have turned a blissful gaze upon his life.

Her name was Lyn.

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