“The Builder Sect of olde were tasked with construction of the Necropolis. Most constructed one chamber filled with loculi awaiting interments. Once inside it was the last time any builder saw the light of day for the powers of darkness are secretive and unforgiving.” History of of old Empires, Jeremiah Delalande.
“Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?”
Bram Stoker, Dracula
“They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.“
This is another short story for this month’s prompt as I explore the world of the Necromage.
BLOGBATTLE prompt word Provoke
Dragon Stone: Tomb of the Undead
The stairs wound downward in a spiral. In the distance, water dripped, creating the perfect habitat for moss and lichens. It also made parts of the steps treacherous. Old iron sconces sat in the darkness as rusting relics of a bygone era. None had walked this path in centuries if not millennia. It created an atmosphere of ghosts.
The Necromage found it appealing. His limp had almost healed. Dark sorcery proved faster than mere unguents and ointments. They just provoked false hope of recovery.
Darkness suited him. Nothing missed his gaze. Not even the chambers holding bones as he moved from stairs to atria. Each long-dead mage, builder or Elder cowered at his passing. These things pleased him more than ensnaring the Husk in a conjurer’s trap. Once the world fell, he would spend time here. The sum of knowledge locked in these annexes was vast, and all would end up revealing their secrets, sooner or later, their choice.
The Builder spoke true. In front of him was the Chapel of the Undead. Unlike the Chapel of the Dead, this building was a ruin. Moss-coated stonework littered the ground. Ivy crawled over unkempt walls, somehow surging in the dim light from luminescent lichens encrusting the cavern ceiling. The smell of dampness permeated everything.
The Necromage paused. Searching the floor for more rune traps. He could see none, but that did not mean they were absent. Ahead, aged doors rotted on rusted hinges. Inside, he knew, was another sarcophagus. The naming of the chapel suggested what might lie within. No matter whether undead, dead, or living could all be turned or slain. The latter was preferable. It made interrogation swifter under the auspices of necromancy.
He reached out with his art and connected with something he felt he should know. An elf came to mind, and the dwarf broke his conjurer’s bubble. He probed deeper. Then it hit him. The elf’s father lay here, meaning there was a secondary entrance to this level. A trail or portal to a place where he could hunt both. It also meant others could stumble upon this sanctuary. Clearly, the sanguisuge had already, but did it know the significance of this sanctuary?
He delved into the world of the dead. Builder, can a rune lock be activated to prevent access from this chamber?
The reply was swift. Few required further motivation to speak once touched by necromancy. Yes, behind are inscriptions. Once activated, the doors will close. Only those who know the rune lock will be able to pass through. What you suspect lies on the other side is an Elder Portal. One who turned to the darkness when this level was under construction. The one in the crypt is an interloper.
Another reply was rapid: The Matriarch. Kill it and seal the Elder Portal.
This reply, he knew, was fear. From here, things could eventually find the hatchery. Stay your concerns. The Builder has revealed the inner door can be rune-locked. The undead is half ours already. If not, then it will perish. But of more significance is access to the old world. Where three roam that I wish to inter. The elven sorceress, Yish, the dwarf who released me, Nahir and the physician known as Raz. Former Keeper of our witchling Morgan.
There was a pause as the great wyvern considered his words before a response came. The answer was short if you are certain. The three concern me, not Necromage. If your plan fails, then I will burn your essence to ash.
The Necromage smiled. The arrogance of a dragon was refreshing. Better than the cowering of those resting in rotted loculi. It was not the first time they had clashed, nor would it be the last. The Matriarch had one ambition at a time. Currently, it was the eggs that had rested in suspended animation for millennia. The next would be the dragon’s breath required to initiate hatching. That, he thought, would prove fascinating.
He mused over what lay inside the Chapel and how to extract the reason it was here without giving away either his presence or what larger complex the vampire had stumbled on. The memories suggested its presence was accidental. Somewhere sought in earnest to recover from the daughter’s betrayal.
Rune lock the cubicula before entering the Chapel.
The send was strong and assured. That is sound advice, Builder. Your skills will be of great value when the lake is empty.
I am in the afterlife, Mage.
You forget I am no ordinary sorcerer.
Apprehension entered the spirit for the first time. The last dealing with one like him did not end well. This reaction pleased the Necromage. Being one step ahead of things was an art most in power seemed unable to comprehend. Another reason they needed erasing from time to be replaced by organised chaos. An oxymoron, perhaps, but leadership required certain qualities that mere mortals lacked.
He turned back to the entrance. A shaft of light from a surface luminaria fell upon a moss-covered wall. Another victim of the dank atmosphere. Mage fire soon burnt it off. Clever Builder. The light falls on the Keystone rune.
There was no reply, but he could smell fear rippling through the galleries. No matter. The Keystone held the answers. The rune lock was two stones to its left. He touched it with a hand of bone, and ancient mechanisms began turning. All blended with enchantments and witchcraft. The finale was a perception field that mimicked the rock and lichens. Even the trail of light from the luminaria had disappeared as another mechanism closed the shaft to the surface.
Satisfied, he turned back to the Chapel, sending waves of necromancy to touch any who lay rotting nearby. Aside from remnants within ruinous loculi, there were none inside the Chapel save its namesake. Even then, he knew the original corpse was missing and rested somewhere on the other side of the portal. It was not a waste. Once through, he would seek it out. With the right ministrations, he could return it to guard the chamber.
His mind washed over the incumbent grave snatcher. Olde he was and dangerous. That it was slumbering suggested it was daylight elsewhere. He probed deeper. Ancient memories filtered through. A young elf chylde playing in a forest before growing into the High Elf sorceress he was hunting. A skirmish where she hewed the arm off her father. He listened to that conversation. Did it make her a dhampir? The memory there was locked. To reach it would awaken the sanguisuge. Not yet. He wanted more. She was half-darkness already if what he had just learned were true. If she would not turn, then she would die, and then she would suffer an eternity of torment. A trophy moved into his domain to play with in death.
The vampire stirred, suggesting twilight was entering the world it had fled from. It was time to enter the Chapel.
The Necromage moved forward, taking great care. The floor was coated in a green slime that covered the runes.
Necromage, the rune traps are dysfunctional. Most have eroded beyond further use. They are nothing but historical artefacts here.
The Builder had found his speech again. Probably deciding hiding would do little good. If you lie, the lake remains, and you will dream of peaceful sleep once the nightmares begin.
Mild amusement because he had suspected as much. Without full reveals, runes atrophied until rendered useless. It escalated the perception of the Rune Lords that first crafted such long-lived stones. One day, he would investigate them and take their secrets from the grave, perhaps while The Matriarch was nursing hatchlings. A future path.
The steps up were equally treacherous. The risers were worn and dipped in the centres. From those in the loculi, could he see images of past times and how this place once looked as first intended. As with The Vault, progress had closed that down and lost the meaning of freedom. Knowledge was cosseted by the few when it was meant for all. These were the legacies he intended to change. Let everyone see what lay hidden. Fools would die in the process; others become lost in the labyrinth of caverns and turn mad. None would have unlimited access to both Necropolis and Vault. Even fewer could harvest the dead Library here. The responsibility of power beckoned any mind that knew how to rule properly.
Thinning out the weak and false followers was destiny. Even nature did such, and few called her a tyrant.
He stood on the slab just beyond the rotted doors, looking at another coffin mounted on a catafalque. Within lay the resting sanguisuge. It was waking. He knew this from the strands of his art that now layered around the vampire’s mind. Soon, it would know that death was so much more than undead lechery over blood.
Wake now, father of YnshaelFaeroris.
Inside the coffin, the vampire stirred. Brutally aware there was a presence in his mind. One who knew of his daughter. An old legend sprang into his thoughts. Something Yish had once said about The Prophecy of the Crow. It seemed a lifetime ago now when she was but a child with an insatiable interest in old parchment. Her room was always in disarray with scrolls and charts and not far from a museum of antiquities. It was amongst some faded writings of a long-dead scribe that she had asked what the Crow was. Did this thing threaten them?
His eyes flew open. A snarl formed as he pushed back the stone lid of the coffin. Rising, he drew out a silver claymore and turned to face the intruder. The sight that greeted him stole his confidence. A shimmering death shroud whose weave fluxed, revealing souls trapped within. A hand of bone clutched a serpentine staff, and the eyes that stared back were like vortices of ice. In an instant, he knew this creature was the Crow his daughter once studied as a child.
“What is it you want, Necromage?”
“Everything Vampire.”
The sanguisuge floated forward, claymore at the ready. “I think not.”
The Necromage watched. He knew speed was a vampire’s greatest strength, at least to such as he. Others would succumb to the glam, and many would fall to sudden surges of power. It amused him that it was using powers of suggestion now. A distraction blended with hope the claymore would strike him down.
He struck the serpent staff onto the floor, and the eyes of the snake flew open. As the vampire launched an attack, the asp’s maw opened, sending a concussion wave forward. The sanguisuge was flung back with sufficient force to crack the casket, knocking it from the catafalque to shatter on the floor.
The vampire was dazed. It was the same downfall that cost him an arm when he clashed with Yish in the cave. He rose again, but this time stood his ground. It confirmed what he had thought, and this was the Crow, and if he wanted to live, then flight was now the best option.
“Impressive Necromage.” He stalled for time.
“Yield Vampire or die.”
“I shall do neither, Crow.” He sheathed the claymore and drew on the fog of the wamphyre, using it to flee toward the portal.
Leave him Necromage. His trail will take you to the elf.
Agreed, dragon.
He turned his thoughts back to the Builder. Give me the Elder Mage who crafted this Dragon Gate.
He lies elsewhere, Necromage. Use your dragon to lock the portal to your Stone.
The mage searched the corpses within the chamber and loculi and cursed. None here were Elders. The suggestion was impressive, though and showed a greater understanding of Elder Magi than first considered. This Builder would prove useful.
Seal the portal now, fool and then release those from the mercuric lake. I want that hatchery secured.
The Necromage allowed that to pass. Rage, he knew, was for those wishing an early death. Besides this time, he knew The Matriarch was right. Opening too many doors at once left strategy in ruin. Some needed closing.
These would be the Dragon Gate, the lake, and the dragon eggs. After that, the elf and dwarf. If the vampire got in his way, then he, too, would fall.
