View source for UO:2001-05-23: The End of Baron Nocturnis

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{{InfoHeader UOFiction
| shard = Catskills
| title = The End of Baron Nocturnis
| author = Seer Imladris
| type = Player Seer Event News
}}
<i>OOC: The following article follows up on BNN posts and in-game events conducted by [[UO:Seer Imladris]]. It is written by the former seer himself.</i>

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Our longtime colleague Eric Valstrom, crime reporter for the Britannian News Network, attached this story, regarding the end of Baron Nocturnis.

Coercion is something any writer must do at times to get his or her story. I am not above using a bribe even, if the story is good enough. This one was and is the result of such a ploy.

A high ranking official, hitherto unnamed, owed me a rather large favor. So after leaving the presence of the not-so-grand Grand Inquistor, I found the gentleman and explained to him what I needed. With some reluctance he gave me permission to interview a criminal I had long sought to talk with--Baron Malak Nocturnis, recently apprehended in a massive realm-wide roundup of major criminal types. A guard led me to the small cell wherein the Baron was confined, chained to a wall. The guard told me the Baron would be executed privately that very evening for his crimes. I felt certain he would be most agreeable and eager to tell me his side of things.

Nobility often brings out the best in folk, even sadistic wretches like the one who stood before me. What I knew about him came from what I had looked up in some very old books in the Britain library. Generations ago he was an official of Minoc, along with Scaramandine, and was suspected to have ties to the evil mage cult known as the Necromari. While Scaramandine escaped capture by court officials, the Baron holed up in his estate outside of Minoc and unleashed his trained hounds on those sent to arrest him. He was taken into custody eventually, confessed to heinous crimes, and was summarily and judiciously executed. However his body was stolen, presumably by Necromari and from there his history ends. It is my belief, though purely speculation I might add, that Scaramandine transformed him into a liche lord to serve him in some capacity. Clearly though, the person I now looked upon was no liche, even though his skin was quite pale. More necromantic magic, probably.

The Baron was hospitable enough at first. He spoke with a clear voice which never quivered in tone nor gave any hint of worry or fear of impending doom. I actually found him far more congenial than the Grand Inquistor and privately wondered if they were going to execute the right man.

"Come to gape and mock?" he inquired as I stood ready, quill and parchment in hand.

"Nay, sir, I come giving ye the chance to speak thy mind to the public, ere ye die. Surely ye have something meaningful to say--some tale to tell?"

He laughed. "Aye, that I do! Tell thy "public" and the Crown that I did not fail in my pursuit. The Elder shall avenge me! Ye are all dead men."

I was intrigued by his threat. "The 'Elder' ye say? Do ye mean Scaramandine?"

"Who else?"

I nodded, but added, "He is no more sir. He was banished to the netherworld, the abyss, along with his great-grandson Scaramandine II some months ago. There is no return from such a place. That is well known. Why tell such stories when thy demise is imminent--to frighten the children? I am no child sir."

Again he laughed, this time longer and harder. I could see the madness in his eyes, but also a certain disconcerting confidence. "Fool! All of ye--fools!!! Thy magicks pale in comparison to the forgotten necromantic arts in which the Elder tutored me! He foreknew his demise long ago and prepared for it. He filled fifty vials with his own blood, dispersing them in groups of seven, save the one stolen from him, in seven buried chests. Thirty-five of these were recovered and I performed the necessary ritual moments before my arrest."

"Ritual?"

"Aye. Even though I did not have them all and knew it would create difficulties for him in his return, I worked the enchantments to restore him to this realm."

"Then ye still maintain he lives?!"

"He does indeed! Though I have not seen him and now will not and though he is not as powerful as he used to be, he has been freed from his imprisonment in the abyss. That much my devoted followers have told me."

"That is impossible sir!"

"For such as ye perhaps, but the court mages know it is true and even now they scour the lands in search of him. They will fail. Ye shall all fail! And when he recovers the chests containing..." He suddenly fell silent.

"Say on, what do they contain?" I jotted his words down hastily.

He shook his head. "Ye will all know in time, but then it will be too late! This riddle he gave me to tell thee should he be restored to this land. Care to hear it?"

I looked up at him and he, not caring whether I wished it or not, said: "'Seven of one and seven other, seven more to build another. I took them once one by one--I'll have all at once ere I'm done.'" He then paused a moment to let me mull over it. "Know what it means, talebearer?"

I elected to taunt him, hoping he would reveal the meaning in his anger. "Tis the ravings of a lunatic like thyself--incomprehensible jibberish and rhyme of the worst sort. Had ye divulged the orcish word for latrine, I would have been better served."

It proved fortuitous for me that he was chained to the wall, for he lunged, glaring at me from bulging, murderous, hate-filled eyes. I took several steps backward and called out for the guard who came in immediately and knocked him backwards with the butt of his halberd.

"Ready to go are ye?" the guard asked, sensing my nervousness.

I nodded. I had no further desire to speak to the wretched lunatic whose malice-filled eyes glared at me just a few paces away. As I turned to leave, the Baron spoke once more. "Ye know that liches never truly die, don't ye?" he remarked, grinning like a fool. "Til ye destroy their phylacteries that is?"

"Aye, so I have heard," I replied. "Pity then ye are one no longer, eh Baron? Thy doom is near. Make peace with whatever gods ye own."

His hideous, mocking, laughter echoed down the hall behind me as I was escorted out of the prison.

Erik Valstrom

Chronicler
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