In the far east of the Dwarven Mountains, where the Black Ridge stretches south-east, casting its shadows upon the Old Alliance-Road, rises a high menacing dark claw. Mag-Ogor, the Mountain of Darkness, has always been home to a large variety of terrifying creatures and the 2nd era was no different. Back then, when the Alliance had recently been forged, living corpses roamed its highlands and lurked in its many caves, all answering to their master; Arthom, Garfereas a'Har.
The winds were howling outside the mountain and their screams reached the heart through all the cracks and openings in the mountain's slopes. Through one of these tunnels a man walked, shadows played with the light from the torch he was carrying on the walls around him. Tall with black hair, proud posture and a longsword in his belt, a thin face with determined eyes, all these descriptions could fit any noble of the Indorim but there was something darker behind his cold eyes. He walked as if he knew the dark caves like his own home. He knew he was followed, and now he also sensed a presence in front of him, but he did not stop.
“Who goes there?” A voice called out. “Who enters the domain of the dead?”
The man ignored the voice and did not stop. Soon after his path was blocked by two corpses, standing with swords in their half decayed hands.
“Stop right where you stand. We will take you to our master.” One of them said, same one from which the voice came earlier.
“Get out of my way or I'll just cut you down.” The answer came with no fear or hesitation, more as if with annoyance.
“Reconsider.” The corpse said as several more entered the light behind the man.
The man did not reconsider. With a sudden flash his sword had been drawn and the first head rolled on the cold stone floor. In rage the other undead leapt towards him. But he proved too nimble. They all fell without him even dropping his torch.
“Seker!” He shouted, “control your minions! You knew very well that I was coming!”
No answer. With a sigh he sheathed his sword and continued through the tunnel. He was not stopped another time, and all corpses he met either stepped aside or already lay rotting on the ground.
He reached a large hall, lit with many torches and different kinds of ornaments in some wicked and twisted motives carved in the wall. From the hall there were several doors leading to other room or corridors, through which one he entered. He walked up a long staircase and reached a smaller room but more furnished. The walls had no ornaments but instead there were rows of bookshelves, in the middle there was a large desk with chairs on both sides, there were also a few books open there, as if some invisible person was reading them. In the far end there was a large opening leading to a balcony, looking down into the valley beneath and far to the south west the plain were the Clans roamed could be seen on days with a clearer sky than this afternoon.
Today was indeed not one with a clear sky. Not only was the wind enough to fell some of the mightiest trees in the forests covering the highlands, but there were clouds coming in from the west carrying rain, a lot of it. The first drops began to fall, creating the sound of thousands of small feet running on the balcony.
By a bookshelf along the wall on the left, with a large book open in one hand while the other was leading the eyes over the page, stood an old man in a large deep blue cape.
“Master Arthom! If Seker sends his decomposed pack in my way one more time I will make him die a second time!” He shouted to the man as he entered, walking straight to the table.
“Oh Keemon...” Arthom sighed, “you should appreciate it. His minions are no challenge to you so it is nothing more than practise for your blade. And please do not end him, he is one of my most important commanders.”
Keemon was about to answer.
“Also...” Arthom continued, “don't you dare go look into my studies. Step away from those books!”
Keemon had almost reached the desk but was stopped by two reanimated warriors clad in armour, wielding an axe and a spear respectively.
Arthom closed his book and walked slowly over to the desk and sat down facing Keemon. After looking over the open books he leaned back and waved his hand towards the books as if telling them to go away. Which they did, all closed and floated through the room to their respective place in the shelves. Then he looked at Keemon.
“Keemon, my dear son...” he began with a smile.
“I'm not your son, let us keep it as 'disciple' can we?” Keemon sighed.
“Whatever you prefer, young necromancer.”
“I thought I didn't deserve that title until I can control the power behind the green flame?”
“That is true. Not much of a necromancer if you can't control the power to control life?”
Keemon only looked at him, waiting for the old man to reach what he wanted to get to.
“Still as few worded as ever, I do enjoy that side of you. That is a good feature in a disciple, makes them easy to teach.”
Still Keemon remained silent, a silence which fell over the whole room. Arthom leaned forward and sighing he broke the heavy silence.
“Keemon...” he began, then pausing again, “Keemon, I am getting old.”
The atmosphere had change, it was grave and serious, the air itself seemed to be heavier and the light from the torches dimmer.
“Too long have I searched for a way to immortalise myself, in vain too, I am afraid. The only thing I've found have been legends, nothing that I want to risk my life over. But from my studies I might not have learnt much useful, but on the other hand you have grown to become a strong man over the years. Someone worthy of my legacy. Also someone strong enough to handle the wisdom that I now will pass down to you.”
Now Keemon was listening more eagerly, altough not showing it through his cold façade.
“What I am saying is that if I had not... say, 'wasted' my last years here in this library I would've thought you knowledge beyond your comprehension. Now that wont be an issue.”
“So this explains why you greeted me with 'necromancer' I assume.” Keemon answered, “so my time is here then?”
“Yes indeed it is. I want to meet you in the courtyard tomorrow morning to begin you training.”
Keemon bowed deep and turning around he left the room again.
In his heart he rejoiced. It was over ten years since Arthom took him in, sheltering him from the hate of men who couldn't understand his powers to kill by only touching his foe and therefore fearing him and excluding him from his own people. Arthom had promised to teach him how to control this power, and teach him the other side of it too: the power to give life where death came first. Up until now he had been trained in willpower and blade, but Arthom had always said: “It is to prepare you of what is to come.” When Keemon asked why this was more important than the power itself. Now he was finally going to reach that goal, to gain the power he had longed for all this time.
Upon reaching the large hall he was abruptly pulled out of his own thoughts as at least fifty undead came screaming with weapons drawn towards him. Swiftly he once again drew his sword and fought, flawlessly and swift, his years of training had rendered him untouchable by something as dim-witted as a living corpse.
“Enough, enough!” A voice from came from on of the doorways. Soon it proved to belong to Seker, clapping his hands he entered, “as Master Arthom said; nothing more than practise for your blade.”
Seker was no beauty, being one of Arthom's four commanders, he was an undead set to rule over a part of Arthom's army. He was a man who once had died from drowning and now his bloated rotten corpse was resurrected as a front figure of Arthom's domain, perfect to spread fear through his disgusting appearance.
“Indeed you are skilled, young Keemon.” He said with scornfully as his last seven still standing minions backed away from Keemon. “I see our master has finally agreed to teach you the secrets. How does it feel to...”
“Seker!” Keemon interrupted him. His eyes burning with hate, “I've had enough of your games. I have warned him, and heed my words, I will slay you here and now!”
Keemon suddenly leapt forward and slew the last minions and then his sword met Seker's. A duel erupted and though Seker had known Keemon to be skilled with the blade he had not anticipated what that really meant. In a beautiful flow Keemon moved around Seker's blade and their blades rarely even touched. This continued for some time, Seker's blows landed on nothing but the damp air while Keemon seemed to be both behind him all the time but also everywhere else. Finally Seker confronted him with an attempt to tackle him. Even though he did not touch Keemon he caused him to take a step back which Seker used to gain some distance from him.
“Stop this fooling around!” He shouted at Keemon, “I see you can move fast enough, but you seemingly can't land a single blow so let us end this and call it a tie!”
“I can't land a blow?” Keemon laughed a little, “you are full of opening to land any number of blows, even your own minions could outmanoeuvre you.”
Seker was offended by this grave insult, but before he could answer Keemon had buried his blade in Seker's ribcage, exiting between his shoulder blades.
“You... you...” Seker stuttered.
“I told you I would, and I am a man of my word.”
He pulled out the blade through Seker's left, cutting off his arm in the same swing, raised his blade and the final blow cleaved the skull of his foe. The sharp steel slicing through his rotten flesh with ease.
For a while he looked at his fallen opponent. He felt the eyes of his master upon him, standing at the foot of the staircase he had watched his disciple slay one of his most valuable commanders. Without meeting the gaze Keemon turned and walked away. Nothing more was said between master and his disciple that day, but Keemon heard screams echoing through the deeper tunnels, wondering what was amiss.
The night came and as soon as its veil was lifted from the world Keemon went to the courtyard of his master's enormous mountain fortress. Mag-Ogor was naturally a maze of cracks and tunnles. When Arthom settled there he used his hoards of undead as workers and over the years shaped a system of halls and chambers throughout the mountain's south-western slope worthy of Dwarven kings. The only thing the told those who ventured far enough into the mountain that they would not encounter craftsmen of Dwarven heritage was the difference in the architectural style of the gateways and wall ornaments. While Dwarfs prefer straight lines, sharp corners and order, Master Arthom's halls were filled with wicked creatures, horrific motives and chaos, also corpses, both dead and living. It extended from the depths of the earth up almost halfway to Mag-Ogor's mighty peak. The highest chamber was situated at the end of a naturally formed sudden inward bend in the mountain's side. Here was were the master chose to create a massive courtyard, flattening the area into a ledge. When Keemon reached this courtyard his master was already waiting for him.
“Master.” Keemon announced and bowed.
“Look.” Master Arthom extended his arm toward the edge and over the lands below, not turning to face his disciple, “see the gigantic shadow my realm casts upon the lands.”
Keemon walked over to him and looked, it was a clear day and you could see the sun rising over the steppes and the highlands at the foot of the mountain. As the master had said Mag-Ogor's shadow covered a large portion of the visible lands.
“Keemon” Master Arthom broke the silence, as if he suddenly became bored of the view, “do you know what we as necromancers does when we raise the dead?”
“We give them life, Master.”
Master Arthom frowned, “it is not as simple as that, upon our journey through life we absorb the life out of the world itself and that is what we infuse in the lifeless.”
“That would be the green flame?”
“Indeed. This,” he opened his hand and in his palm a flame burned, he looked at it in silence for a while, “this is what we force into the deceased.”
Keemon did not answer, waiting for his master to reach where he wanted to get.
“We bind their bodies to our will and only through us can they get their own will, before this they are mindless slaves.”
Now he looked Keemon straight in his eyes.
“Do you know what happens if a necromancer dies?”
His voice had changed, before it was thoughtful, almost dreamy, as if he was thinking back on times passed. Now he had a more serious tone, talking directly to Keemon and no one else.
“No Master, I would assume the undead return into their lifeless existence again as their source of life ceases to be.” Keemon answered after a moment of hesitation.
“No! No, no, entirely wrong!” Master Arthom shouted, “when you kill the one who has undead underlings they will only loose their bond to their master, nothing else!”
He stopped himself, took a deep breath and calmed himself.
“Do you know what this means?”
“I see, so me killing Seker resulted in...”
“... A quarter of my warriors turning into mindless beasts, slaughtering anything and everything.”
Keemon did not answer.
“Your silence,” He was now back to his thoughtful voice, “is truly golden.”
Before Keemon could get an explanation to this statement Master Arthom continued.
“Now for your training.”
Suddenly all his anger was nowhere to be found.
“You are gifted with the power to absorb the life that I mentioned earlier, but that will not make you a necromancer in any way. What you need is the mean to control it and be able to infuse it into the dead.”
Master Arthom produced a flame in his hand again, turning his hand over and watched it fall to the ground where it kept burning.
“Touch it with your hand.”
Keemon walked over to it, and with not the slightest hint of hesitation he extended his hand into the flame which now reached to the hight of his knees. When his hand touched the flame instantly began to flow into him. He felt the power move through his veins and slowly settle inside him. As the feeling of this force ebbed out Master Arthom nodded approvingly.
“That was pure life, concentrated into a form which is visible to the naked eye.”
He walked over to the edge.
“But is such a small amount it is not enough to make you truly merge with it, to give you the ability to control it. No, what you need is not to receive this form of life, but to take it.”
“Master, did I not just with my own hand take this flame, how is that not me taking it?”
“It was not you, it was the life being pulled into your hollow inside.”
Keemon did not continue, the master did not expect him to either.
“I will show you.”
Once again Master Arthom raised a flame, but this time he threw it out over the edge where it seemingly landed in the middle of its flight. As soon as it 'landed' it grew rapidly, towering over both of them. It easily was more than double Keemon's height, and he would be considered tall by most measures. Keemon had never seen his master's power in this way before.
“This is what you need to wield the power that you have been blessed with.” Master Arthom paused, “now, the only thing you need to do to complete your training is to take the flame.”
“How can I, Master? I am a fine swordsman but I have not yet learnt how to fly.”
“Save your wittiness! This is all I am telling you, that you need to take that flame, nothing else.”
With these words the master turned his back upon his disciple and left.
Keemon remained in the courtyard all day, trying to figure out his master's task to him. There was no way to reach the green orb of life from the edge. Not even if he tried to jump would he reach it, he did not try this, anyone could've judged the distance as too far. The once beautiful day dissolved into a cloudy evening and soon the flame's mysterious green light was the only thing that illuminated lone Keemon as he sat on the edge, staring at it, close, but yet unreachable. It was as if even when he close his eyes, everything from the length of a blink to the moments when he closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. He felt like he was being mocked, as if this inanimate object of pure life was there only to show him how feeble and helpless he was when met by a challenge. He stood up. Walked away from the edge and then turned and looked at it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There it was, right in front of him, refusing him his short pause. Eyes opened, the only thing that changed was that the flame now was surrounded by the sky, the edge, the mountainside, all these things it shared space with in Keemon's field of vision.
It was getting late, maybe even late enough for the morning to once again shed its light upon the world, marking the first day of defeat for the man standing in the middle of the courtyard in Master Arthom's mountain stronghold. Keemon walked back towards the massive door through which he had entered, next to the door were two benches, one on each side of the entrance. He sat down, tired physically and his mind exhausted but no progress on his task had been made. Leaning against Mag-Ogor cold stone his eyes closed and he was thrown down into a deep dreamless sleep.
When he woke the first thing he saw was his foe, the green flame which would give him the power to control life and death, unreachable to him. He was surprised to see that the world was even darker now than before, so dark the light from the fire could not reach the edge of the courtyard. But that was not it. He opened his eyes, finding himself completely enclosed in a thick fog. Somehow the flame made it inside his mind, even with his eyes closed it was not only visible, but as vivid as when his eyes were open. Except for now. He stood up, the fog made the flame barely visible, a green faded light was the only thing piercing all the way to Keemon. He closed his eyes once again, at once the flame was visible as clear as it was the day before. He felt something stir inside him. He felt as if he had made progress, getting closer to reaching the flame. With his eyes closed he looked at the flame. With his mind focused on the fire he took a step forward, then another one, his mind was telling him that he was walking forward but he did not feel his body move at all. He had halved the distance between him and the flame, then he opened his eyes. The flame was as far away as it was before he closed his eyes once again. He sat down again, making sure that he would not move. Then he closed his eyes again. He tried to look around, but before him was only the flame. Then he once again began to walk, once again only in his mind, his senses told him he was still sitting on the cold bench. The flame was getting closer and closer, he had found it, he had found the answer to the cryptic task his master had left him. He was now standing by it, it looked even larger this close. He hesitated, the power it was emitting was almost overwhelming, then he plunged into it.
What happened after he could never remembered clearly. There was an intensive burning inside him as his veins drank the life of the flame, when the first wave reached his heart it doubled its speed as if to spread the fire throughout his body as fast as possible, sending shocks of pain with each beat. He fell to the ground screaming, green tongues of fire surrounding him.
Only moments later Master Arthom arrived through the doors to find Keemon passed out. He sent four undead that had accompanied him to lift Keemon's still body and carry him inside. But as soon as they touched him huge flames rose from his body, nothing but ashes remained of the four. Slowly Keemon rose, flames intensively whirling around him. His eyes focused on his master.
“Master. I have completed the task you gave me.” It was voice filled with confidence and power, deep as if the ancient spirits of the world talked through him.
Master Arthom did not react at first, just looked at his disciple, on what he had become. Then he smiled, one of the few times Keemon had ever seen him smile.
“I am proud of you, Keemon.”
That was all he said, then he turned and walked away. Keemon's flames settled inside him and he felt renewed. He stayed in the courtyard for a while. Feeling the power of life moving through his body. He extended his right hand, palm facing up. He hesitated only for a second then closed his eyes and focused. As the flame rose in his hand he felt the life of thousands of beings all moving and merging within him, filling him, releasing all their power inside him.
Over the next few months Keemon practised daily to control his newly gained power. He soon realised that the hardest part of controlling and using his power was acquiring it, once he actually had it in him it was like, as his master had told him, it merged with him and all of his being. He could manipulate the power as easily as he would move his own limbs. To raise the dead gave him a feeling of control, being greater than the average man that is controlled by death, he had risen above it.
Years passed and his power grew stronger for each day. He had only a few hundred warriors under him even though his power could easily control thousand mindless slaves, mostly because Master Arthom did not enjoy the thought of having so many corpses around that weren’t under his command. But over the years did not only his power grow, but also the master's respect towards his old disciple. Soon he even treated him as an fellow necromancer and no longer like an underling. The times Master Arthom went down into the lands for any reason, personal affairs, war or what he called 'harvest', he left Keemon to look after the fortress and even allowed him to use his study. So as soon as his master left Keemon would go and study all of his master's books and tomes, often not leave the study for days, through this he learnt even more about the art of necromancy and about the life of the world. But even necromancers can not control time, and even they grow older.
Master Arthom came back from a war with the Clans, Keemon was in his study when he entered. Cursing the horsemen for slaying hundreds of his finest warriors. The war had not went in his favour and he had now been forced to retreat back to the highlands where they would not dare to engage his hoards of undead, a stalemate was reached once again and both sides returned to their respective homes. He sat down in a chair and sighed.
“If only there was a way to erase those pesky riders. Their footmen are no match to our numbers but their horses outmanoeuvre us, surround us and then slaughters my finest.”
Keemon did not raise his eyes from the book he was reading. Next to him were piles of books, read and unread.
“Maybe you should stop fighting them, it always ends the same way. You both loose a lot of men but still neither get anywhere.”
Master Arthom ignored this.
“I will need to strike directly at their heart. Their puny towns are barely fortified, under the cover of darkness I should be able to slay all their loved ones first, then turn to the enraged and disordered army.”
“Indeed, maybe it will work next time.”
“We will see, truly we will see.”
He sank back into some deep thought. Keemon closed his book and went to find its place.
“See I've been thinking about putting more focus on stronger folks, only harvest bigger brutes, not waste life on skinny corpses.”
Keemon barely listened at this point.
“I read somewhere about a way to infuse more life than one being is intended to have, was some way to do it without the body disintegrating. Would make my army unstoppable.”
He got up and began to search the bookshelves for some specific book.
“I am sure that it should be...”
That was as far as he got. The dagger Keemon held had been forced through his neck and out his throat. Keemon twisted it and ripped it out. Master Arthom fell to the ground, giving him one last terrified look before his life left him. Standing over his corpse Keemon absorbed all his power as it left its vessel in the search of a new host. When it was done he walked over to the studies doors, listening to the screams of tens of thousands living dead slaughtering each other. He locked the doors. Walked back to the large desk, sat down and opened another book.
-Rcah
-Rcah
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Needs work, descriptions are weak. But not terrible.
ReplyDeleteI do agree this is the weakest part of the Necromancer's trilogy. Descriptions are indeed something that make or break a good story, but as you know we are not experienced writers and this is a journey of improvement as much as much as it is a project to being Helitheren's extensive lore to life. You are welcome to join us along the way and I hope the stories we post in the coming years will be better than the once we post today.
DeleteThank you for the feedback.
//RcaH