Arick Darkfist, No Soul

Only the sound of silence broken by the heavy footfalls of the troupe of Reavers disturbed the courtroom as Azariaz watched on. Around the court many stood and stared slack jawed as they heavily armored crew carried a familiar corpse, still dripping blood, behind them. Suddenly whispers broke out amongst those waiting to be heard by the dwarf Highlord as they recognized the body.
“Arick”?
“The last Highlord”?
“Darkfist”? Was heard around the courtroom
Theolanthilis, the Infernal Champion, wearing more armor than the Dwarf had ever seen strode directly past the attendant who very briefly raised his hand in an attempt to tell the Dark one he was supposed to wait in line, before thinking twice and remaining silent.
“My lord,” he spoke, “I have brought you Arick Darkfist, he was the one who caused the wall to fall at Nexvicus, as well as poisoned the troops in the town. We have evidence written in his own hand that admits guilt.”
Azariaz looked up and down the group until finally his eyes rested upon the corpse before him. The badly burned man before him with a huge gash in the left arm was surely Arick, though Azariaz couldn’t wrap his mind around why the previous Highlord would have done such a thing.
The Dwarf looked back at the troupe and spoke “He will be brought back to life for a chance to explain his crimes, though he has already paid the price of death, then I will decide on what to do with him.” Azariaz read over the diary entry that was handed to him. “Though this is unmistakably his hand. You have done your job well, and I shall inform the treasurer that he is to hand over the Adamantine Ore to you. Congratulations”
As the troupe left, and the peasants began cheering, none noticed as a feminine dark figure slipped into the shadows in the back of the room.


Later that evening after preparing his spell list, Azariaz stood over the bound body of Arick Darkfist. Near him, Silas Montgommeri, Bob the Jester, and a few of the guard stood at the ready. The dwarf began incanting the spell to resurrect the barbarian turned assassin while everyone watched and waited.
A moment passed as the Healer finished the spell, all stood braced for the large brute to awake and attempt escape. Another moment passed, and another. Silas reached forward and pressed his finger against Arick’s neck. “No, he is still dead… No Heartbeat.”
The dwarf looked around and spoke “Well I cast the spell correctly, it should have worked, Jester, you have the spell, cast it and see if it will work for you.”
The Gnome stepped up flexing his fingers and a crooked smile. “Odd, I take his life, only to return it but as you wish.” With that the Gnome began incanting the spell to bring life back into Arick, yet once again the spell seemed to have no effect.
Silas looked about “While I am the last one to want him alive, perhaps the spells won’t work because of some type of enchantment in the room prevents it?”
Azariaz shook his head “Nay, this be one of the few rooms in the castle where regular magic will work, and healing magic will work better than normal. Something is amiss here.”
The jester laughed, well I have a few tricks up my sleeve, perhaps I shall just reanimate his corpse and see what he thinks about that. Suddenly the Gnome began incanting a new spell, yet once again the dead man was unaffected.
Silas pulled a tobacco filled leaf from the air and while puffing it thoughtfully looked at the body. “I think I have an idea” He knelt down and placed his hands over Arick’s chest and began incanting a spell. After the spell he knelt there for a long time, lips moving, yet no sound came forth.
Suddenly after a few moments he stood. “I know the problem.” Silas went to take a drag from his extinguished tobacco, realizing it was finished he flicked it away. “See, the problem is this brute has no soul. I should have assumed such, sold it to a demon perhaps?” Looking around the others nodded.
“Like when Ozzette had no soul, she could still function, though seemed lost half the time, and was only focused on one thing at a time. Except, Arick here, his soul was never in his body when he died, or something was in its place.” Silas grimaced at the words he spoke, “Which then, begs the question of, if he was even responsible for the crimes his body committed. There could be no way to ever tell.”
“Then if nothing can be done, we should bury him I suppose” Offered the Gnome halfheartedly.
Silas raised his hand and a black vortex of Black nothingness suddenly swirled over it as he grinned “I can save us the trouble” Before anyone could speak or motion for him to stop, a flash of something flew from the shadows in the top corner of the room, threw the air and landed crouched overtop Arick’s Body. In her hand an Ironwood sword slashed like lightning and a sliver only skin deep of Silas’ fingertip floated away. The Vortex suddenly vanished and everyone stood shocked as Ozzette growled at the Wizard.
“Your Grace Azariaz, I ask that the body of my lover be left unscathed. He was mine in life, and I claim it in death for the proper burial. While I have no knowledge of how he came to do these things, the love I had for him was real and I beg your Grace to let me put him in the ground!” She said, the entire time, eyes burning into the shocked wizard who was entirely engrossed and astonished in the small trickle of blood on his fingertip. Just as his eyes raised to Ozzette and fury began to burn in them, he was interrupted.
Azariaz spoke slowly and yet sternly, “My lady, no harm will come to your deceased lovers body. Lower your weapons, and let your eyes not bore a hole through poor Silas, he never actually intended to vaporize Arick’s body…” A slight cough was heard from the Gnome as he looked at Silas unsure of the Highlord’s words.
Quickly Azariaz had shooed everyone from the room, as Ozzette still sat near Arick with cold hard eyes. Turning, the dwarf looked at her and said “We will give you some time to be alone, I know this must be hard for you, but in time you will be okay, trust me dear” and he closed the door softly as Ozzette shot him a menacing glare. As Arick’s corpse grew cold in the room, drops of something wet fell upon his chest.