NIRU

Some spend their entire lives fearing that one inevitability that comes for every living thing. Most go about their days, not considering how closely death walks alongside us with every step we take. A few take a different approach. It is, after all, the unknown that we fear. Even death, if we hold it closely and know it well, loses that terrifying and mysterious aspect. Niru has held death more closely than anyone.

When warm blood still moved through his limbs, when he still enjoyed the feeling of the sun on his face, Niru was a field medic. He would follow the king's forces from battle to battle, encampment to encampment, fort to fort. During times of relative peace, he loved his work. There was blood and pain, but it was manageable. Accidents happen, illnesses spread, and someone must set things to right. It was during battle that he encountered true horror. The suffering and violence he saw was well beyond what he'd thought possible. These wounds, this pain, the cries of agony, they weren't accidents. Every instance of harm on the battlefield was intentional, inflicted in hatred or in fear. It was chaos on a grand scale. It was unmanageable, and no one could set it to right. There were so many wounded. There was no way to attend to everyone. Even among those he could reach, there was often nothing to be done except wait for the mangled forms before him to gracelessly expire in blood and tears.

People have the remarkable ability, however, to become accustomed to anything. As the bodies continued to pile up, Niru began to forget the faces of the men who had died in front of him as well as those he had saved. He grew callous, surely, but this was largely a blessing. He stalked through the field with purpose, quickly assessing the situation, performing triage with the greatest efficacy. With his cold eyes and case of sharp instruments, he often frightened even those whose lives he was saving, but any soldier who found himself short a limb could count himself lucky to receive Niru's attentions. This cold efficiency led to Niru's questionable method of dealing with the fatally injured. With a flat expression, he would whisper "You're going to be alright. Just stay still a moment" as he deftly severed a major artery, using a scalpel so sharp the recipient often didn't even feel it. A few brief moments later, the wounded soldier would cross the veil. He viewed this as a kindness, but also became fascinated with the process of dying and with what lay beyond those darkened gates. He began to seek out knowledge of necromancy. He would collect arcane tomes and greedily compile all the information he could gather on the subject. When away from the fighting, he would pore over his books, forgetting to eat or sleep. On the field, he would discreetly perform a quick ritual here, a whispered spell there, noting their effects and adding it to his rapidly expanding library of forbidden knowledge.

Niru was an expert surgeon, and among the gruesome array of war injuries, his small, precise incisions were never noticed. However, those around him became curious about his notebooks, sketches, and increasingly unusual surgical instruments. The men became suspicious, and when an officer was asked to investigate the nature of these items, it was too late for the talented healer. When he was arrested and brought to trial, he simply sneered at the judges and questioners. It was beneath him to defend undertaking actions with such clear benefits. If these unenlightened bureaucrats wished to sentence him for a crime, then so be it The death sentence was handed down without much deliberation. The following dawn, announced the judge, Niru would witness his final sunrise. Those watching the condemned man upon this announcement were perplexed. How could he be wearing such a contented smile when death was at the door?

The night before the verdict was to be carried out, locked in a cold cell, Niru bit deeply into his fingers. With a series of arcane exhortations and spiteful incantations he traced out complex symbols on the stone floor with his blood. There he sat, murmuring in the dark, occasionally hearing other voices murmur back. This lasted until they came to take him away, by which time the deed was done. Days after his execution and burial, he rose, more powerful than he ever could have been in life.

"Embrace the inevitable"