A Refreshing Cleansing
For those who never have seen a Necromancer work towards a humanitarian goal, what they saw right in front of them defies belief. Nevertheless one cannot deny the unnerving synchronistic movements of the undead working hand in hand like a macabre clock. Some skeleton's hands were stained by moss and bark colors from their scraping and clearing of trees, others were more darkened by the earth from digging through the muck and soil of bugs and other unpleasantries as they had laid the groundwork of stone and pipes. If one were to take notice, the haunting sounds and sights of Hex Wraiths were in the periphery, phasing through the forests and undergrowth, looking for trespassers who would dark interrupt the vital duties of their masters and compatriots. And at the center of this orchestra of bone works were none other than the state sanctioned necromancers. Some stood, others leaned hard on their gnarled staffs adorned with fetishes and charms, all focused towards their current goals. The council had determined that improving the lives of the newcomers is necessary or else the state would lose necessary land and manpower needed to expand border and prepare against rival Border Princes. Those necromancers who weren't preoccupied with the hygiene works in the new territories, were busy ordering the skeleton legions to till soils for state owned farms and grain reserves to feed the growing masses.
Despite the typical view of a necromancer lazing on their throne whilst their armies conquer the lands for them, the finer points of commanding the undead requires more finesse, more control over death, and in turn, more exposure to Dhar. Dhar, the ever present malignance within the world, corrupting all that it touches and driving one mad, a poison of the mind, body and soul.
Now Necromancy in of itself doesn't necessarily drive one to madness, but improper and abuse of necromantic energies are often the causes of megalomania. These necromancers often then find themselves amongst more forbidden and tainted lores, ultimately finding themselves on a self destructive past until some larger power inevitably destroys them at a moment of weakness. But the Republic does contain a noted difference between those wannabe world conquerors, a healthy care and community. For those unfortunate souls, it is often the isolation and lack of a support network that dooms them just as much as the overexposures to tainted winds.
Take for instance, this one average agent of the republic, just finished with their shift of building the new bathhouse for the new territories. She was quite tired, her eyes had circles around them and even a casual passerby could see her fingers growing withered like dying twigs. If she was alone, she may have pushed her limits, trying to draw deeper from the winds, tempted by just a little more and all they wanted shall be better. And truth be told, she may just have thought those same thoughts. But she wasn't alone, and was instructed to take time off. The skeletons went limp, and soon after rose again, as if nothing had changed and work still needed to be done.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure was coined by many housewives of the Empire and beyond, but what of those cases where the cure is needed? For the necromancer agent of the Republic, told to take a sabbatical until she removed the excess Dhar from her body, the cure was not a pleasant experience. In a remote part of the Republic territories, far from the prying eyes of citizens, rogue states, goblins or worse, the necromancer works to cleanse herself. Cloth bags were unfurled revealing spices and herbal roots, languages that were not meant for unwanted visitors were hummed, and ritual bathings had begun. Removing poison from oneself is never easy, and for her, it was not just a poison like rotten food, but as if something was clinging onto her very soul, like a tick engorging itself upon her very being. She had took a knife, a bowl, a pestle, and begun her bleeding.
While she was gritting her teeth and focusing her efforts on these cleansing actions to keep her body, mind and soul focused and tranquil, her fellow of the necromantic arts kept a far eye out for their sister member. In truth while this is only a minute trace of corruption, all knew the consequences of leaving Dhar corruption unchecked, and what that would mean for the fledgling Republic. Mass Panic, family turning upon one another and an unwritten scar upon the lands that will be conquered and reconquered as it had been for countless moons. For now all they could do is step in if assistance was required and wait for their sister to conclude their endeavor.
The necromancer felt the Dhar seep out of her body like poisoned sap from a vine. Bit by bit, day by day, from rest and constant meditation of her goals, her mission to the republic and family, her body while exhausted, felt more at peace. While this could be said for her, her surroundings could not say the same.
The clearing, the air, the plants, the soil, even the winds themselves upon the final release of Dhar, died a little. For a brief flash of existence, all that was felt as if a blanket of wrongness had clunk to the world like smog, only to slowly fade away into the breeze.
The others had decided to step in, well those who could afford to stay, for there was much work to do, crops to farm and public works to cement the new people's desire to remain as citizens of the Republic.
As for the newly cleansed necromancer, she was able to sleep well, for the first time in a while. Not to say nightmares of the sort, at this dosage the worst would be impulsive and poor decision making. There was still much to do, many people to defend and foes to face for the right to continue existing. But for now she was able to savor the prospect of a warm bed instead of the cold ground.