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In the dim light of early morning, the marshes lay shrouded in a cold, lifeless quiet. The sun must have risen by now, and daylight was creeping somewhere beyond the clouds. It was silent. No living soul moved upon these wetlands, not even orcs who feared their lights. But he was not looking for the living, nor did he have a reason to fear. He had lit up most of the lights, after all. He smiled at the thought, and the marshes snarled in response.
Mist floated lazily above the puddles and wet soil. It shivered slightly as he passed through; this water had lived with the dead long enough to be startled by any living being - even someone as half-alive as him. Bones of forgotten things jutted from the mud like ribs, half-swallowed by the ground's greedy maw. The cold air was thick with a pungent, rotten smell of decay. The marsh was convenient in terms of repelling unwanted visitors, and obviously for its other, more unconventional purposes, but in the end it was just a putrid wasteland he detested.
He walked faster now, and the wet soil underneath kept gulping and gasping, sticking to his feet. It was getting tiresome, and he was in a hurry. He knew what he was looking for, but only the marshes knew where their secrets lay, and they would not make it easy for him. So he stood still and asked. Once, then again, this time making it more of a demand. It got very quiet. Then, slowly the soil started reforming, and water escaped into small pools to make way for the ground rising to meet its master’s feet.
He let out a breath and looked around. It was not pleasant to treat with this soil; it was stubborn and held a grudge so deep and hostile that all the ages of the world would not heal it. Thousands of years had passed and still the earth remembered whom it had once belonged to. But despite its petulance, it did not have the strength to resist him. He had claimed it easily and eventually it had succumbed to the darkness, as all things do. Sooner or later, it would forget. All things did.
The earth had settled again and a clear path had formed in front of him. Black veins of water twisted and turned around the path. He followed it, and soon he reached a pool, dark and still and bottomless as a void. Under the surface a pale face shone, white hair floating like a cloud around hollow cheeks, a crown resting on its head. It was just an apparition, really - a memory the marshes refused to let go of. A proof of sins committed. But he had learned to live with the swamp and its tricks, and this little memorial had proven immensely useful for him. With the right words, a memory of a thing was just enough to bring it back to life. Or, as close to life as it could be.
He placed his hand above the pool and watched small ripples form on the surface. He focused, opened his mind, and reached for the depths. At first, nothing happened. The wind grew and the lights flickered, but the water remained still. He frowned and focused again, this time drawing more from his ring. A strong, sudden force was tugging his hand lower towards the water, and he had to fight the pull. Then, suddenly, it released him. The flames went completely out. He held out his hand, muttering words to himself, bending the earth to his will. Then, slowly, the lights started coming back. One by one they were lit up and flickered in the darkness.
The water started bubbling and boiling, and out of it rose a corpse. It was made of ash and bone, and it wore remains of once brilliant elven armor. The body was lifted high above the water before it finally collapsed onto the wet soil. Slowly, it started to get up. It was struggling to rearrange its bones: stumbling like a newborn calf, shaking and cracking and falling down again and again.
Finally, it stood up, back hunched, clutching its hands to its chest like a child. Hovering in front of him, the thing turned its face upwards. Its skull was bare and a dead white light shone where its eyes had once been. Its teeth had rotted away, and its jaw was half gone. The crown on its head was tilted, and missing half of its adornments.
“Aren’t you a dreadful thing, lord,” he smiled. “Do not be troubled. We will clean you up nicely. Your son will be most pleased to meet you again.”