Speaker 1: The Necromancer of Pricene contains adult content and may not
be suitable for children. Parental guidance is suggested. In the
world of Turinlay rests an enormous island called Pricene. The
nation of Pricene is governed by a king and council,
though the real power rests in the hands of ten
cursed immortals, powerful supernatural figures who serve only their self interests.
The land is plagued with black blooded monsters, corrupt political leaders,
and bloodthirsty bandits, and the one man who is willing
to stand up to them all just so happens to
be an unholy abomination, a summoner of the undead, the
Necromancer of Pricene.
Speaker 2: Welcome back, my fellow scoundrels, outcasts and miscreants.
Speaker 3: Allow me to summarize what's happened thus far.
Speaker 2: Anya the thief stole my money, so I spent the
morning mucking out the stables for the innkeeper Mike. After finishing,
I hit the road with Frank and we returned to
the bandit hideout to see if the advents had missed anything.
While I was walking, Anya reappeared as thieves do, wearing
her signature smirk and gifted me my money back.
Speaker 3: Super thoughtful of her.
Speaker 2: I know she'd been watching me, claimed she saw me
raise the vivifide and referred to me as a black mage.
Speaker 3: I'm not, but.
Speaker 2: Convincing her of anything else feels like wrestling the wind.
When we returned to the hideout, I found a stash
of luke empty, of course, because Anya had already taken it.
Speaker 3: She's the worst. She made a deal with me.
Speaker 2: I tell her about my black magic, and I get
a gem. It's not black magic, but I told her
my secret and she held up her end. I left
with an emerald. Now it's time to head back to
the town to participate in the Festival of the Advents.
Nothing like a whole town celebrating a bunch of lying,
murderous assholes. But hey, there should be some good music.
My name is Charts. I have the ability to reanimate
the dead, and I'm on a quest to kill the
most powerful man in pri scene after I check out
this festival. Chapter five, The Advent Festival. By the time
we neared willows Ben, we could already hear the sounds
of the festival in full swing. Despite the limited preparation time,
laughter and music drifted through the trees, mingling with the
sense of roasting meat and sweet cider carried on a
light breeze. Even from a distance, it felt like the
town was alive with celebration, every note and cheer.
Speaker 3: Inviting us in.
Speaker 2: I decided the stables were no longer the best place
for Frank. The festival crowd would soon spill out, and
keeping him hidden inside the town was asking for trouble.
A small clearing just off the main road offered a
better option. Tall grass brushed against my knees, while giant
cone flowers, their purple petals streaked with sunlight, provided perfect
cover for Frank. Once he sat down, Anya caught me
glancing at her, and for a second she looked as
if she wanted to ask me something. Instead of speaking,
she gave me a knowing grin. That sly smile of hers,
the one that said she knew more than she let
on lingered a moment too long. I had no intention
of discussing Frank with her, or anyone for that matter.
We left the glade, silence falling between us As we
made our way back to town. The weather couldn't have
been more perfect. Sunlight warmed the air, and Willow's Ben
buzzed with activity. Laughter mixed with music, and the town
had come alive for the festival. Children dutted about in
a game of tag well adults moved through the market square,
carrying goods and greeting each other with wide grins. I
turned to ask Anya if she was familiar with any
particular traditions of Willow's Bend, but unsurprisingly found that the
little thief had already disappeared.
Speaker 3: Typical.
Speaker 2: My stomach clenched and my hands quickly grasped for my belongings.
My coin, the emerald, and most importantly, the life seeds
were firmly secured in their rightful places. I let out
a soft exhale, and then continued toward the market square.
Several games had been staged throughout the area. Children giggled
as they dunked their heads into barrels, trying to snag apples.
Speaker 3: With their teeth.
Speaker 2: Their faces were painted in bright shades of yellow and purple,
mimicking the forest animals they imagined themselves to be. They
danced and played while darting in and out of crowds,
only pausing to beg their parents for treats. Adults joined
in the festivities too, acts throwing, whittling challenges, sack races,
a ring toss game I'd never seen before, and other
games had popped up throughout the square. At the same time,
other areas were still being assembled for future games. Four
large pots had been placed near the shops, and several
teams of men and women were working to brew their
family stews. Mike, the ever hospitable owner of the Rusted Saw,
poured cider from a keg with a generous hand. A
sider sounded lovely, but it was still early and I
wanted to keep my head clear for a little while.
I made my way over to the water barrels and
took a pull from the ladle. A little girl stood nearby,
clutching a handful of yellow flowers, her childish grin wavered
as I approached. People often reacted that way around me,
like I carried some unseen mark that made them uneasy.
Typically it makes little difference to me, but this time
it stung a little for some reason, Possibly recognizing the
pang of hurt in my expression, the girl once more
offered a timid but kind smile.
Speaker 3: It was fake, but I appreciated it.
Speaker 2: The young girl, only six or seven years old, took
two steps forward and wordlessly extended one hand, offering me
one of her flowers. I took the gift, thanked her,
and watched.
Speaker 3: That she melted into the crowd.
Speaker 2: It took very little time to find the Advents amongst
the revelry. Clyde was easy to find, already half drunk
and boasting loudly to a group of women near the
axe throwing competition. Somehow his charm was working. He traded
his usual armor and warhammer for a more festive outfit,
with pink trousers and a yellow tunic already stained with
spilled cider. I couldn't see Finch, but Catamus and Aurora
were taking turns spinning a fictitious tale to an entranced audience,
a gullible townsfold. The would be heroes were eating up
every last bit of the newly acquired small town fame.
Speaker 3: It made my stomach turn. They hated it.
Speaker 2: They were liars and murderers, I'm sure in their perspective.
My vivified were frightening. But they did the advents no harm,
and still Cadmis and his gang slaughtered them. Without a
second thought, and what they did to Goval was even worse.
They murdered the bandit leader in cold blood, simply to
ensure there would be no witnesses to dispute their wild
claims of bullshit heroism. I'd like to think that they're
merely a few rotten eggs, but in my experience, all
heroes are bad people who were fortunate enough to win
the fight and tell their story how they see fit.
It was time to put some distance between me and
the advents. I didn't want my mood to sour more
than it already was. We were having a celebration, and
I was going to enjoy it. I grabbed some jerky
from a nearby stall, letting the spice burn on my tongue.
I wasn't even sure what kind of meat. It was,
probably goat or squirrel, but it didn't matter. I chewed slowly,
trying to calm myself. As I moved through the crowd,
I watched the children play games while their parents engaged
in like conversations.
Speaker 3: There was so much joy and.
Speaker 2: Positivity, but homesickness began to weigh heavy on my chest,
much like the jerky. The day was hotter than expected,
so I saw shade beneath a pine tree near the bakery.
Speaker 3: As I scanned the.
Speaker 2: Crowd, hoping to spot Anya, someone else caught my eye instead,
the Watcher. He stood out amongst the festival goers, dressed
far too formally for the occasion. His gray trousers and
red button up shirt were immaculate, his charcoal vest neatly
tailored with gold stitching. A sword hung from his left
hip and a canteen on his right. He stood mo sless,
surveying the crowd with a cold, measured gaze. People instinctively
kept their distance from him, warily measuring their steps as
they passed. An icy jolt of fear ran down my
spine as the watcher abruptly turned his gaze on me.
Speaker 3: He was more than one hundred feet.
Speaker 2: Away, but his intimidating stare made me wish I was
one hundred feet farther. My instincts screamed for me to
break eye contact, but I forced myself to continue studying it.
I'd been searching for a watcher, and now I found one.
His curly black hair, pock marked face, and the long
scar on the back of his right hand burned themselves
into my memory footsteps sounded from behind me.
Speaker 4: It's almost as if he's staring directly into your soul,
isn't it?
Speaker 3: Excuse me? Oh? Uh finch right?
Speaker 4: Yes? Do you think they teach all Watchers to bore
through people's skulls like that? Or just the ten cursed?
Speaker 3: He's one of the cursed.
Speaker 4: You haven't figured that out yet? With how hard you
or I fucking him?
Speaker 3: I assumed I had no idea.
Speaker 4: How much do you know about the Watchers Guild.
Speaker 3: Enough?
Speaker 2: I know they're the only group allowed to do mercenary
work for gold. They have a monopoly backed by the Crown.
Speaker 4: And Council and the Cursed.
Speaker 2: I know that the leadership of the Watcher's Guild is
broken into three groups. There's an administrative wing, a political wing,
and the cursed wing. They handle different guild functions, but
collaborate on all major decisions.
Speaker 4: And do you know what the Cursed do? Not?
Speaker 3: Really?
Speaker 4: Neither do I, but I know they are dangerous.
Speaker 3: Do you think he's here to recruit you and your friends?
Speaker 4: The others do, or at least they think he can
put in a good word for us. You don't, No,
The Curse don't care about recruits. Are putting in a
word for others. They have their own agendas because of
their extended lives, they don't even see the world the
same way we do. We are inconsequential to them and
their ambitions.
Speaker 2: They actually live longer than the rest of us.
Speaker 4: I'm not sure, but I've heard that the leader of
the guild, Torch, could be as old as two hundred years.
I've also heard that it's all bullshit. Some think it's
just the name that lives forever, and the cursed title
is passed down from one watcher to another.
Speaker 3: The title and the weapon.
Speaker 4: Yes, the title and the weapon. So now that you
know what to look for, which of the cursed do
you think he is?
Speaker 2: If he's one of the ten cursed? And I'm not
convinced he is, but he'd be Wrath. Wrath is the
only one that carries a sword.
Speaker 4: It's a Felshion. But yeah, you're correct, that's Wrath.
Speaker 3: You're sure of that.
Speaker 4: As sure as one can be without asking him directly.
Speaker 2: And why are you sharing all this with me?
Speaker 4: Because I saw the way you looked at him. It's
the same way you look at kid. You want something,
I'm just unsure what it is.
Speaker 3: I don't know what you mean.
Speaker 4: Sure you do, and now you know I'm watching you
as well, and I'm better at it than you are.
Speaker 3: Look, i'm not trying to start anything.
Speaker 4: Good. Then we won't have a problem. Of course, not wonderful.
I'm sure I'll see you around charts.
Speaker 2: Oh uh, okay, goodbye. I stared after Finch as she
disappeared into the crowd. I thought I'd been more careful,
better guarded with my emotions.
Speaker 3: That I was wrong.
Speaker 2: She'd been watching me the entire time. How much she
picked up on did you see Frank? Did you know
about my visit to the bandit hideout? The uncertainty gnawed
at me. Maybe it was time to find another group
of advents to track before this party dug too deep.
I turned to walk in the opposite direction, putting distance
between myself and Finch. But as I shifted my gaze,
there he was again watching me. Not just any watcher, Wrath,
one of the Cursed.
Speaker 1: The necromancer of Pricene, will return after these messages. Hey everyone,
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Speaker 2: Despite my unsettling conversation with Finch and the unnerving presence
of one of the cursed, I found myself syncing into
the festival's rhythm.
Speaker 3: I should have.
Speaker 2: Felt overwhelmed, maybe even anxious, but the infectious joy radiating
from the townsfolk soothed my tension quickly. The Faded Four
wasted no time getting drunk, their humility tossed aside with
the same carelessness as Clyde spilled cider. As annoying as
I found the advents, the townsfolk adore them. Katomis and
Aurora were cozying up to the landlord, Big George Barlow
and the innkeeper Might. Katomis threw his head back in
a hearty laugh at something Big George.
Speaker 3: Had said, while Aurora lightly.
Speaker 2: Ran her fingers along the landowner's forearm, nauseating I know Clyde,
already swaying from one too many drinks, was playing a
game with some kids. Each child would try to lift
the heaviest item they could, and then Clyde would in
turn lift both the kid and the item. The giant
man would tussle the kid's hair before sitting them back
on the ground.
Speaker 3: The children ate it up. Finch, who had rejoined.
Speaker 2: The festivities, stood next to a small family complete with husband, wife,
and two children, as an artist scrawled out a caricature
of the group. The archer smiled broadly with her mouth,
but her eyes reflected no such mirth as they shifted
from face to face, assessing the area for signs of danger.
She was as high I strung as her bow, and
likely the only one of.
Speaker 3: The four advents that hadn't taken to the cups.
Speaker 2: A murmur rippled through the crowd, like the wind through leaves.
The townsfolk began to flow slowly toward the advents. I
unsuccessfully attempted to discern the message disseminating through the crowd. Unfortunately,
people tend to avoid me, but I followed the flow.
As the congregation gathered near the makeshift stage, I trailed
behind the crowd, ensuring a comfortable distance between me and
the nearest group. As the advents reached the makeshift stage,
the group paused to exchange handshakes and cheek kisses with
the locals basking in the warmth of vagulation. When they
finally ascended the stage, taking their places at the side
of the podium, Mike stepped forward.
Speaker 5: Ladies and gentlemen, townsfolk of Willows Bend, our esteemed landowner
Big George Barlan has invited me to give a small speech.
Now you all know I'm terrible it's this type of thing,
but I will try to do our heroes the justice
they deserve. My friends and neighbors, Today we gather not
merely to celebrate a festival, but to honor a legend
in the making, a legend that has breathed new life
into our town, rekindled our spirits, and restored our hope.
Today we celebrate the fated four, our saviors, our heroes,
our champions. Many of you may have heard rumors regarding
the highway bandits that plagued our woods, disrupted commerce, and
even took the lives of some of our longtime friends.
While the traveling merchants may not have been residents of
Willow's Bend. The impact of their loss will be felt
among our town for years to come. But in such
times of darkness, the light of hope is always sparked,
and heroes rise to the occasion. The Faded four took
on this mantle, coming to us from great distances to
free us of these nightmares. Bravely they set forth into
the forest to hunt down the villains and bring them
to justice. But little did they know black magic was
at play. For not only were the villains greater in number,
but they had made a deal with the dark and
summoned a creature from the under realm to serve their bidding.
Led by the bravery of Catamis, the fated fore charged
into battle, struck down the horror, faced off against the bandits,
and reclaimed the lost treasures of our fallen merchants. Like
heroes from one of Old NaN's tales, they returned victorious,
bringing joy and tranquility back to our town. So Raizer
cups to Catamis, Aurora, Clyde, and Finch in honor of
their valor, dedication, and altruism. They have shown us that
heroes are not born but made through acts of bravery, unity,
and selflessness. They have proven that no darkness is too
great to overcome, no foe too formidable to defeat. When
we stand together, with hearts united to the fated foe,
we extend our deepest gratitude and highest praise. Your deeds
have transformed our town and inspired us all. May your
legacy be a beacon of hope and courage for generations
to come. As we light the fires and raise our
voices in song and cheer, let us remember that this
celebration is not just for today, but for the countless
tomorrows that your bravery has secured. Willow's Bend stand strong
and free because of you. Thank you, Faded for for
saving our town. Your courage will forever light our way.
Let the festivities continue.
Speaker 2: Cheers irrupted from the crowd. Cups were lifted into the air,
and the band resumed their melody as the Advents bowed
in perfect practice.
Speaker 3: Unison. Didn't Mike say that he was terrible at these things.
Speaker 2: Clearly he was just as full of shit as the Advits.
The speech was textbook story weaving. I felt my blood boil.
Every fiber of my being wanted to screen the truth.
The Faded Four were frauds, liars who painted themselves as saviors.
Speaker 3: But what would that have done.
Speaker 2: The town was drunk on the fantasy, and nothing I
could say would sober them up.
Speaker 3: Besides, what did it really matter?
Speaker 2: The town was safe, even if honesty and decency weren't.
The Faded Four with their stupid name, were getting exactly
what they wanted and what I needed, attention from the
Watcher's Guild. Just as the cheers reached their peak, a
sharp and sudden scream pierced the air, freezing the festival
in its tracks. Another followed, louder and more frantic, unraveling
the joy of the crowd. I turned toward the back,
where chaos was erupting. Townsfolk were already scrambling.
Speaker 3: And then I saw them.
Speaker 2: Three monstrous creatures barreling straight toward the heart of the festival.
Chaos exploded around me, instantly shattering the festivities. Shouts of
glee twisted into shrieks of terror as the monstrous beasts
rampaged through a cluster of towns. Photo their hulking forms,
twisted mockeries of dire bears sent festival goers scattering in
every direction. Hearts splintered and barrels were overturned, sending sider
cascading through the streets, the sweet aroma of the drink
blending with the sickening metallic scent of blood. One creature
scaled the side of a building with horrifying ease, perching
atop the roof like some grotesque gargoyle, eyes gleaming as
it surveyed the chaos below. The other two barrel into
the crowd, indiscriminately, ripping.
Speaker 3: Through flesh and bone.
Speaker 2: One of them began to unhinge its jaw, much like
the beast from the day before, but a low snarl
from the other stopped at mid motion. Its mouth snapped
shut as it pounced on a woman who had stumbled
in her flight, her scream cut short as it ripped
into it.
Speaker 3: These creatures weren't.
Speaker 2: Simple, mindless beasts. There was a chilling intelligence behind their
black eyes, a calculating malice that made them all the
more terrified. They weren't here to feed, they were here
to slaughter. The third beast sprinted across rooftops, moving with
unnatural predatory grace, until it found a group of terrified
townsfolk large enough to feed its bloodlust With a violent leap,
it launched itself from the roof of the cobbler's shop
and landed on two me panicked men.
Speaker 3: Their screens were.
Speaker 2: Swallowed by the chaos as the beast savagely tore into them.
This attack brought the creature close enough to the stage
that the advents finally snapped into action. Finch loosed arrow
after arrow, each one striking true, but the monster barely flinched.
It was too far gone, lost in the throes of hatred.
The arrows might as well event pin pricks. Meanwhile, the
other three advents wabbled and stumbled their way toward the monstrosity.
The idiots were still drunk from their revelry. They barely
seemed able to focus on the fight. I lost sight
of it until I saw Clyde hurtling backward through the air,
his massive frame colliding with the edge of the stage
with a sickening thud before he crumpled to the ground.
Screams from the far side of the festival pulled my attention.
Townsfolk surged toward the rusted saw, desperate to find refuge
from the chaos. Constable Larune sword in one hand, held
the door open with the other bellowing.
Speaker 3: Orders to the terrified crowd.
Speaker 2: His voice boomed over the chaos, beckoning more citizens to
his signal. But the festival doers were not the only
ones to hear his call. One of the enormous bear
like creatures lifted its gaze from its most recent victim,
twisted its head like an owl, its eyes locking onto
a room with a predatory intensity. The constable's face paled
his bravado, crumbling under the creature's gaze. Without a second thought,
he shoved the last two people into the tavern, quickly
followed them inside, and bolted the door behind them them.
The creature's snarl grew into a roar as it charged
toward the rusted saw. Its massive body hurtled the porch
and barreled into the building without slowing. Splintered wood sprayed
into the street, and as screams erupted from the tavern,
what had once been a safe haven had now become
a slaughterhouse. I couldn't see inside the building, and if
I'm being honest, I didn't want to panicked. I placed
my back against a wooden wall, scanning the chaos for
anything I could do to help what I found instead,
disgusted Aurora and Cad were dragging Clyde's limp form away
from the fray, while Finch kept her bow trained on
the creature.
Speaker 3: No longer firing. The so called.
Speaker 2: Heroes weren't fighting, They were fleeing so much for the
faded four of Willow's Bend. A fire spread throughout the
rusted saw, adding to the chaos inside. I looked for
the third creeture. It wasn't difficult to find. The monster
that began unhinging its jaw earlier was tearing at the
food cart full of jerky monsters. Hunger must have overcome
its clothes. I frantically searched for a weapon, something, anything
that I could use to sneak up on the creature,
but there was nothing in the vicinity, and the beast
was still some distance away. My initiative turned out to
be unnecessary, as the Watcher appeared just behind the corrupted bear.
A diagonal slash across the back from Wrath's blade drew
the creature's attenshion. It turned with fury in its silence,
only to be met with two more quick slashes. The
first separated the right arm from the beast, the second
took its head. Black icher gushed from the wounds, pulling
on the ground as the fiend collapsed. Without sparing a
glance at the fallen creature, the Watcher flicked his singe
blade through the air, flinging itcher.
Speaker 3: From its edges to the earth. A sound drew his attention.
Speaker 2: He turned and began a slow jog toward the rusted saw,
which was now burning vigorous. As the chaos whirled around me,
my eyes scanned the remnants of the nearly deserted festival,
desperate for.
Speaker 3: Something I could do.
Speaker 2: That's when my gaze locked onto a small figure huddled
near the water barris the Flower Girl. She was trembling
under a pile of rubble, still clutching her last yellow
flower as if it could protect her from the nightmare
unfolding around her. A man with a limp was stumbling
in her direction, unaware that he was leading.
Speaker 3: One of the creatures straight toward her.
Speaker 2: Panic surged through me as I first shouted at him
to stop, and then at the flower Girl to run,
but the chaos swallowed my words. She was trapped, too
scared to move, and I could see the b sides
locking onto its prey. There was no time to think,
only to act. I ran, muscles, burning, hurtling over wreckage
and bodies, desperately trying to close the distance. The creature
reached the man first. I heard the sickening crunch of
bone and the wet pair of flat as it fell
upon him. His scream cut short as the life drained
from I dropped to my knees beside the girl, pulling
her close and covering her ears to mute the horror.
Her small body shook as she pressed her face against
my chest, muffling her sobs in her trembling hand. The
yellow flower still remained like some fragile piece of hope.
Speaker 3: In this nightmare.
Speaker 2: I gave her a cursory look for wounds, then lifted
her into my arms.
Speaker 3: The beast was close, too close.
Speaker 2: If it didn't smell us, it surely would sense our fear.
I might not be able to defeat these creatures, but
I could save this girl.
Speaker 3: I checked over my right shoulder.
Speaker 2: The man was still being ravaged by the creature, although
he no longer resisted. I gripped the girl firmly and ran.
After only a few heartbeats, the girl squealed out in terror.
I did not mean to look back to know the
cree had seen us and was now in pursuit. I
ran as fast as possible, hoping something someone else might
steal the creature's attention.
Speaker 3: Nothing did. I felt the girl tighten her body in terror.
It was close.
Speaker 2: I dove to the side just as the beast tripped
and tumbled past us. It was back on all fours
before I could fully regain my feet. I left the
girl on the ground where we had fallen and lifted
a piece of metal from the destroyed wagon. It wasn't
much for a weapon, but it was what I had.
The creature charged, I planted myself between it and the girl,
thrusting the metal spike forward. It wasn't much, but it
was enough to bury the metal in its chest. Black
dickre gushed out, coating my hand and making the weapon
slick and impossible to retrieve. The beast was hardly phased.
It lifted me into the air like a rag doll.
At full height, the creature was nearly fifteen feet tall.
It roared, tightening its grip and lift me higher. The
foul stench of death and decay assaulted my senses as
its grotesque jaw unhinged, ready to tear me apart. I
kicked and thrashed, trying to dislaud myself, but its strength
was overwhelming. Saliva dripped from its moss, splattering onto my legs.
Speaker 3: Time slowed to a crawl. This was it.
Speaker 2: Then came the burst of searing pain, exploding through my
chest like molten fire. My body convulsed. At first I
thought it was the creature's bite, but no, the pain
was sharper precise. I looked down in shock, finding a
black falcion protruding from the right side of my chest,
just below the collar bone. The singed blade had pierced
through me into the creature's eye socket. Its grip faltered
as it let out a guttural howl. Its body jerked
and spasmed, dropping me to the ground with a sickening thud.
My knees hit the dirt, but I barely felt it.
The beast collapsed beside me, its massive form twitching before
finally going still. Black acre drained from the monster's skull,
oozing across the cobblestones, slick and glistening. I lay there,
chest heaving the dark liquid seeped toward me, merging with
the bright crimson that pumped from my veins, and I
could feel the warmth of life draining away. The world faded,
my vision narrowing to a single point, just the black
acre and my blood swirling together, indistinguishable in the fading light.
My pulse slowed and darkness devoured me.
Speaker 1: Charts is voiced by Josh Allen. Finch is voiced by
Taylor Shay. Mike the Tavern Keeper is voiced by Richard Collins.
Audio engineering by Adam Culbertson and Richard Collins, editing by
Tisha Zang. Music provided in part by Elizabeth Blakeley and
written by Nico Rodriguez. The Necromancer of Pricene is a
Creative Typo entertainment production. For more information about this show,
our cast, or other shows under Creative Typo, please check
out our website at www dot Creative typo dot com.
And thank you for listening. A very special thank you
to our executive producers from Patreon, Nick Mead and Patrick
t Arsenal