[ WP ] You are the leader of a band of mercenaries . It always amazes them how you win your battles with such an unconventional weapon .

For the first time in several thousand years, the elf-lord necromancer Ithkiil, the Scourge of Heroes and Raiser of Dead, was running like hell. 
 Ithkiil was what one might call a “ bad guy ”. Some necromancers ended up working for the Adventurers ’ Guild in the bustling city of Ravenwing, using the wisdom of those who had fallen in battle to teach the adventurers. But necromancy had a bad rap, and now Ithkiil had taken a home in the Caves of Death and raised a zombie army. 
 
 The necromancer was never afraid. The adventurers from the guild tended to be zombie chow, soft and squishy food for Ithkiil ’ s undead army. But there was one adventurer Ithkiil couldn ’ t face, and she was floating on the ground, walking on air as if it were solid, chasing him. 
 
 “ You know, the ability to fly is often a metaphor, ” mused the pursuer. “ Flight often represents the human desire to transcend boundaries, and it seems fitting that I am doing so. ” 
 
 The lady behind Ithkiil was a philosopher-adventurer. Ever since the Academy of Ravenwing was shut down by the necromancer-lord Arakagh Völu, the scientists and philosophers of Ravenwing were flocking to new careers. Nobody expected the “ academic-adventurers ” to do any good, but as it turns out necromancy is difficult when you ’ re distracted by philosophy. 
 
 “ Begone! ” Ithkiil threw a bolt of lightning at the floating woman. She sidestepped lazily. “ A terminal velocity of five meters per second, ” she noted. “ Arakagh Völu could do nine on a bad day. In fact, five meters per second is a standard deviation below the mean. ” 
 
 Ithkiil sensed a corpse beneath him. Clenching his hands into fists, he began to churn the earth beneath him, hoping to raise the body. All he needed to do was focus… 
 
 “ Have you ever considered the ethics behind that? ” the philosopher-adventurer called. “ I suppose it depends on your belief in a soul. ” 
 
 Ithkiil struggled harder, the ground beneath him slowly shifting to make way for the corpse he would raise. 
 
 “ Imagine, ” the philosopher-adventurer continued, “ as a thought experiment, that the corpse is Sir Isaac Newton. Are you desecrating a lifetime of achievements in optics, calculus, and physics? ” 
 
 With that, Ithkiil ’ s power dwindled. All he needed was to get the body to the surface, but his brain suddenly felt otherwise. Subconsciously, the necromancer was opening a mental channel with the spirit realm. The mercenary academic had a point. 
 
 “ While you speak directly to the dead, I learn from them through the ideas they published, ” the adventurer rambled. But as much as Ithkiil wanted to listen, he could feel his unconscious mind being pulled into the spirit realm. That was the last thing he heard before everything went black. 
 ***** 
 Ithkiil awoke in formless five-dimensional space, next to a very angry-looking spirit. 
 
 “ Mortal! ” the spirit shouted, “ why have I not been freed from the chains binding my soul to the spirit world? ” 
 
 “ I ’ m sorry, ” Ithkiil said sheepishly, “ but it was another academic. There are more and more of them now, you know. ” 
 
 “ Pathetic one of flesh and bone! ” The spirit ’ s voice crackled with emotion. “ I am Ragnar of the Wastes! I am the Scourge of Bone, the Rolling Thunder of Ravenwing. I will not be stopped by a textbook-toting mercenary. ” 
 
 “ You don ’ t understand! ” Ithkiil moaned. “ It ’ s impossible! I wish you could see— “ 
 
 Ithkiil stopped midsentence when he made the realization that he had messed up. All a spirit needed for possession of a living body was permission. And “ I wish you could see ” was more than enough permission. 
 
 With that said, Ithkiil ’ s soul was pushed aside as his spiritual master took control. 
 
 
 ***** 
 Ragnar opened his newfound vessel ’ s eyes to a smiling face above him—the face of the adventurer-philosopher. 
 
 “ I find it amusing that the process for entry into the spiritual realm involves closing one ’ s eyes, ” she said calmly, taking out her rapier. “ It is reminiscent of dreaming. ” 
 
 Ragnar commanded Ithkiil ’ s arm to swing at his opponent, knocking her into the air. “ Descartes asserted ‘ I think, therefore I am ’ only because of dreams. ” 
 
 The mercenary was stunned momentarily. Ragnar used the time to finish raising the corpse that Ithkiil had tried to raise. 
 
 “ What about its soul? ” the flying woman began. Ragnar threw a fireball at the woman and, hands over the earth, pulled the body out of the ground. He smiled as he realized what species it was—cave giant, about fifteen feet tall and probably capable of primitive magic. With a hand over his heart, he watched with malicious glee as the giant ’ s eyes opened and gained color. Flesh reattached, and breath entered the giant ’ s body. 
 
 “ It has no soul, ” shouted Ragnar. “ An atom of carbon in this undead is equivalent to an atom of carbon in my body. We are all just an arrangement of molecules, and nothing more! ” 
 
 With that, he raised a hand and thought violent thoughts. Instinctively, as if it were programmed to do so, the zombie raised a fist and crushed his opponent. 
 
 “ Then is the brain not a soul? ” The sorceress managed to wheeze out one last question before Ragnar commanded the zombie to throw her into the caves. She could have flown, but it looked as if she were out of mental capacity. 
 
 “ We won! ” Ithkiil ’ s spirit shouted. “ Can I have my body back? ” 
 
 “ Actually, I think I rather like it, ” stated Ragnar aloud. “ And as your foe in the caves could tell you, morality is relative. ” 
 
 And Ithkiil ’ s screams filled the valley as his soul was banished from his body. The sorceress might call it a side effect of Ragnar ’ s archetype, but Ragnar called it fairness. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

