Oe morning, an hour or two after the weak sun struggled up into the gray sky, we reached the top of a hill and saw a large village nestled in the valley below us. We had arrived at Hothgrum.
There were a few hundred wooden cabins and a large longhouse at the center of the village. The entire village was surrounded by a 15-foot-high palisade. The sentries spotted us approaching, and the gates opened as we made our way down the dirt track that wound a passage down the steep hillside. Immediately, several dozen warriors—all huge, hairy, and reeking, like Drok—stormed out of Hothgrum. Drok bellowed a joyous greeting in the tongue of his people, and the warriors responded with an equally enthusiastic cheer, raising their battle-axes above their heads. Then, they started bashing their axes against their wooden shields and chanting something in their language. Their attention seemed to be focused entirely on me.
“What are they saying?” I asked Drok.
“They say ‘Raiser of the Dead,’” he answered. “They been waiting for you come here for long time. Wise Woman tell everyone in Hothgrum about Raiser of the Dead. When he come, we now have hope for future. For long time, everyone in Hothgrum feel a great evil growing in world. Everyone very worried. But Wise Woman say Raiser of the Dead can fight great evil. Everyone excited for you, Vance!”
“When I became the God of Death,” I muttered, shaking my head, “I hadn’t exactly imagined that ‘saving the entire fucking world’ would be part of the job description.”
We entered Hothgrum flanked by cheering warriors. It was a true hero’s welcome in this part of the world, but I couldn’t help feeling like I hadn’t accomplished my task yet. I wouldn’t feel like a true hero until I’d defeated the Blood God. Just inside the town walls, the peasants were waiting for us too, lining the sides of the road like the warriors had outside.
Out of the crowd, a massive woman suddenly charged, wild red hair streaming around her enormous shoulders as she sprinted. She looked like she weighed over 300 pounds, and the barbarian furs that wrapped around her massive form only made her appear larger. I wondered how the hell she was able to run at all.
As soon as Drok noticed her, he threw down his battle-axe and sprinted right for her. I now knew what Drok’s wife looked like. A female version of him, really, with red hair and only marginally less unattractive in the face department. They crashed into each other and embraced, jabbering excitedly in their own language. Then they started kissing, and I had to stifle a chuckle as I looked to my left and saw Isu’s face scrunch into an expression of absolute disgust. I glanced to my right and saw Elyse wearing only a slightly more suppressed nauseated expression.
Drok and his wife’s kissing became more passionate, and within seconds, they were rolling around on the road, pawing at each other. It looked as if they were about to start screwing then and there. I realized I knew nothing about these giants’ customs, so it could very well be their intention. With a not-so-subtle rushed gesture, I commanded Rollar, Isu, and Elyse to follow me toward the longhouse.
“You’re going to have to be my translator,” I said to Rollar. “It looks like Drok is going to be occupied for the time being.”
“Can do, Lord Vance,” Rollar said. “We’re not shy about physical love in this part of the world. And Drok has been without his wife for many moons. Can you blame him for diving right in?” He gave me a broad grin.
“Oh, I get it, believe me. I just don’t want to be around to see, or smell, Drok’s, uh, joy.”
By this time, my small army had started filing into Hothgrum behind us. Unlike the people of Brakith, the people of Hothgrum didn’t seem at all intimidated by the presence of the undead. Instead, they cheered my undead soldiers on—not that the skeletons and zombies gave much of a shit about being cheered for.
“Why aren’t they afraid of my undead troops?” I asked Rollar.
“In this part of the world, necromancers are not seen as evil or immoral,” he answered. “Instead, the gift of being able to raise the dead is seen as just that: a gift. And it sounds like the Wise Woman of Hothgrum has been doing a lot of preaching on your behalf. These people see you as someone who will save them from a great evil. Your undead troops are seen as soldiers fighting against that evil. Remember, we are in a part of the world in which the Church of Light, with all its puritanical, restrictive teachings, has not yet managed to infiltrate. My own tribe is far closer to ‘civilization’ than Hothgrum, and we were conquered when I was a boy. But here, in the unconquered territories, where the Church of Light has no power, the old beliefs still prevail.”
Before the front doors of the longhouse, the chieftain of Hothgrum was waiting for us. He was an old fellow, bald-headed with wispy gray hair, but he was barrel-chested and still carried himself with the air of a warrior. His face was tattooed all over, more blue ink than pale skin to be seen. He was dressed in all white furs and leather armor, along with a burnished steel breastplate that was full of dents. He’d obviously seen his fair share of battles. He smiled broadly at us as we approached before he bowed before me. He boomed out what I assumed was a welcome greeting in his language.
“He says,” Rollar translated, “that his name is Hegmun, and he is honored to welcome the Raiser of the Dead to Hothgrum. He says that this is a most momentous day, one that he and his people have been waiting many
