“The Mórrígan, is a mythical beast from a land rich in folklore with little evidence of a basis in reality. She is rumoured to be a great queen, more frequently seen as a phantasm. References suggest the entity is part of a sisterhood triad known as the Morrígna. In battle her cries inspired extraordinary deeds, yet for those that she marks, death soon follows. We must conjecture this is purely a battle myth. To discover one is real would be a poor day for all. If three exist then an army could swipe us all from reality.” Jeremiah Delalande, Lecture on Thaumaturgical Mythology.
“Death is not the end. Death is an ocean on all sides of our lives. Deep and dark and cold, and anything but empty.”
Joey Comeau
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
Washington Irving
This is another short story for this month’s prompt as I explore the world of the Necromage.
Dragon Stone: The Mórrígan
The Necromage paused before approaching the dais. Few things had left him unsettled before, but this creature was legendary, even among his kind. The Oracle of Ang Nafud. An entity with the qualities of a God, or so legend told. Was not the same given to the Husk that now raged inside a conjurer’s bubble like the witch pretender claiming to be his sister?
“What know you of Aurelia Wrenn?”
Colour swirled around the well from which the apparition appeared. Violets flickered with green as ozone drifted across the hypogeum. No solid form materialised.
“Much Necromage. But why seek our knowledge when you thrive on collecting the dead?”
The Necromage placed the bottom of his serpent staff on the stone floor. The eyes of The Matriarch possessed the snake and, through them, forged a connection with the mage.
Care, fool. This is a trickster. Enter no bargains.
Understood.
He moved closer, allowing the snake’s eyes to watch the maelstrom swirling in the mist of colours. “What I seek is known to none. Knowledge passed out of time before those within crawled out of the womb. Only those in the lowest depths might remember. Yet my sister came here to search for a lost Dragon Stone.”
“And found it she did, Necromage. The Moonstone placed upon an altar in the undercroft of old.”
“How did she learn of its existence?”
“She asked, I answered.”
“And you know where all Stones are?”
“Yes.”
The Necromage found anger stirring once more. How dare she contravene his trust and hide all from his sight. Then to seek escape from The Garden of Death was more sacrilege.
“You will tell me, Oracle.”
“None may bear more than one Stone Necromage.”
“That is not why I seek them.”
“Go forth and extract what you will from the old one interred below. Aurelia Wrenn stole what was not hers. No more shall answers be given freely. Unless…” The Oracle paused. The vortex twisted like galaxies in the night sky. “You give up the Matriarch’s Stone to the place from which she stole ours.”
The staff grew warm in his hand. This, the Necromage knew was the start of the Dragon’s Breath, last used on the Husk in the Chapel of the Dead.
“As Oracle, you must know that will never happen.”
“Then begone. But be warned. This place will no longer do thy bidding.” The vortex flared, filling the hypogeum with light before extinguishing, leaving the Necromage in darkness.
Once again, it is you and I Dragon.
You acted well for a fool. Now, seek out this ancient corpse and use caution. Olde magic sleeps here. The Oracle was just the first. In the depths here, there will be more Gods waiting. If bastardised lore holds truth there should also be a path to the old city of Ang Nafud somewhere in the deeps.
Finding that would make this fool’s errand worthwhile.
Agreed. Now, enough banter. The path down will not walk itself.
The Necromage smirked. Dragons were not renowned for their skills in pleasantry. More so, The Matriarch. Ungrateful and full of disdain. Behind the Oracle well, in the distance, was another rune wall. Unlike the hypogeum, it looked ancient. Weathered and more like the Chapel of the Undead. An illusion field, or was that part of the Oracle’s trickery? Care was necessary. A wrong move in the Chapel of the Dead had caused a collapse of the floor and ceiling. There, he had been fortunate not to walk straight into the Husk’s traps.
The rune wall resembled a vertical marsh. Moss and lichen flowed over the surface. Even the lighting now flickered as if nothing had been here for millennia. Most of the runes were illegible through aeons of water erosion. The Necromage frowned, suspecting a perception field. That thought was discarded swiftly. None he knew of could hold strong once either recognised or passed through. It was more likely a temporal force wall that protected the hypogeum, whose edge terminated just before the rune wall. He reached out to confirm this. The slime and messy decay were real.
Necromage is a product of another engine. It nourishes the algae to make the Gate impassable. Beware spores. They are toxic.
The Necromage acknowledged the builder without reply. Cunning were those who raised these buildings and rich in lore that had long become extinct in the world. Ember Jinx was going to prove fascinating.
He studied the runes after scraping debris dripping in moisture. Most were intact, but that might be a ruse. Those faded were illegible, suggesting either frequent use long ago or deliberate defamation. Closing his eyes, he pictured his sister. She had passed, so traces of her scent would linger.
There, fool. See how those runes breathe the stench of her passing.
Agreed. But keep thy senses honed. The Oracle warned of traps lying in wait.
If the harlot Aurelia Wrenn could pass, this should prove simple to a fool.
The Necromage scowled. Dragons belonged to a different age. Nevertheless, The Matriarch was a useful ally. His fingers wandered the traces of his sister. Old mechanisms groaned as counterweights dropped down faultless channels. With a grain and sigh, the wall broke inwards. Stale air flowed into the hypogeum.
Builder, are there engines here?
Yes, Necromage. Do you wish us to restore them?
Dotards regressed at each turn of the wheel. Obviously.
Beyond the Gate was a vast stairwell. Like most of those he’d witnessed, the riser centres were eroded in use. Smooth walls followed it down, illuminated by another engine of yesteryear. Using the art of necromancy, he could see ghosts of the past flowing through time. More than one turned to stare at him before flinching and shirking away. Almost knowing he would seek them out once their bones were laid to rest. He could not help but wonder if the Husk held dominion in those times past or arrived after the fall of Ang Nafud. Certainly, it was here during the time of the Elder Magi. The vast collection of knowledge resting in the loculi proved that.
At the bottom of the stairs was another vast cavern. Here, vast monoliths rose to the ceiling. Half etched with more runes, before turning to intricate masonry depicting hieroglyphic markings. Those, he knew, predated the runes. He tested the aura, sending waves of necromancy outwards. No sign of Ember Jinx. Not yet.
Careful Necromage. She is a Mórrígan. The great queen of Ang Nafud who now resides as the phantom queen. The sigils upon the menhirs are warnings. She walks as a Crow and appears in the face of impending war, death or both.
A Mórrígan. The Necromage had heard of such before. Olde lectures by the Scribes back in Tor Angra on Lores of Mythology and Legend. Such phantoms were supposed to incite armies to berserk and guard their people with ruthless vigour. Even mark those fated to die before their time. Coincidence, she too bore the mark of the Crow. Did that mean the Prophecy held duplicity?
Fool crows flock and mate for life. This one could be of great use. The Oracle foretold of Gods deep within this place. This queen will not suffer necromancy. Be warned.
The Necromage paused before another vast escalier. He could still see the traces of Aurelia drifting through time. She had passed down from here in search of the Moonstone. Had she stolen a sacred relic belonging to this Ember Jinx? As he considered this, he heard a sound echo from below. The unmistakable caw of a corvid.
She knows you are here, Necromage. This time, the builder sounded scared. Your scent mirrors that of the witch who took something sacred to her.
You show fear too often, builder. If she wields a disagreement, it is with Aurelia Wrenn.
It made him halt near the bottom of the stairs. Never before had he considered his presence might be disclosed by essences other than death. Was it possible this phantasm could detect the underlying familial aroma? They were twins, after all. If so, matters had just become more complicated. Then again, he shared the name of a Prophecy with this Mórrígan.
Builder, how far to the altar?
Another three levels.
Three levels, and already he was detected. Or were there spies within the Assassin’s network? Another aspect of this Necropolis that he needed to unravel. It was clear that other skills than necromancy would be necessary. Perhaps a visit to her entourage. It was doubtful that her bones lay on their own.
Know you nothing, fool. Any dead near the chamber of the Mórrígan are there under free will or fear. Neither you nor I will fill them with dread. This must be handled by that accursed enchantment others call politics.
Uni-directional tact, Dragon. Make us not sound like those of Tor Angra. Our way is not to be lowered to those of the Keep.
As you wish, but do not endanger the hatchery.
His grip on the staff tightened. Always the hatchery first. Had they not tried to limit dragonkind before? Now, The Matriarch seemed more like some bird gathering twigs and straw. Always reasons, and if The Black were the donor, then this new breed would all be as chaotic as them. He needed a full list of Stones and who wielded them. So few were known after the Elder Magi fled or died trying. After that, wyverns all but disappeared. All save the watcher of the Bone Yard.
The Magi of Enigma must double their efforts. That decided, he drew breath and redoubled his efforts to follow that accursed Aurelia Wrenn’s path. Time wore on. Two further chambers passed by like leaves on the wind. That they contained many things was for another visit. Ambulacra disappeared into hidden paths. Ossuary stacked upon each ossuary. Ember Jinx would be in a crypt defended by unknown magic. The altar his sister visited was close.
Builder, what wards guard the Altar Room?
None that we are aware of. Aurelia Wrenn discharged most of the enchantments.
Always her name. It was grating on his nerves now. That and knowing she was a skilled sorceress and one that rivalled his abilities. However, he had the edge when it came to necromancy. Her counter had been to layer force walls of her own. It annoyed him that he was unable to see into The Garden of Death more so as it was well documented that the caster of a conjurer’s bubble should retain an ability to spy.
She vexed him constantly, and knowing she was trying to escape had unsettled his thoughts. The Necromage used controlled aggression to thrust the staff onto the masonry of the floor. This was not the time to lose concentration.
The Altar chamber was smaller than he expected. Dim lighting of olde construction flickered as if failing. Not that he needed illumination. It smelt of stale air and reeked of his sister. Another catafalque rested in the centre with the top prised open. It was empty. Not only had she taken the Moonstone, but the bones that had lain here for millennia. That meant she knew he would track her trail if he ever learned she had taken a Stone.
“Curse you, Wrenn.” He spoke aloud in vexation.
The room gasped as cold air flowed inside. “So unlike thy sister, Necromage. Now tell me why you are really here.”
The Necromage was aware that a dark presence had entered. Unexpected as that crypt was buried deep. Behind the altar, a spectral entity fluxed in and out of reality. This, he knew, was the Mórrígan, the phantom queen all were afraid of.
“I was not expecting you so soon, Ember Jinx.”
Dragon Stone: Garden of Death
Layer upon layer. Very atmospheric confrontation of mages, steeped in ancient agenda.
Impressive Gary
Too kind Roger except I’ve almost forgotten what I put into this one! Too busy with a sanguisuge and that time thing… still, this triad of witches is based on a real myth if you want to learn more before the next posts haha