|The Ascending Dead
Author: Xavier Rhal PM
In the room there was a table. At the table there was a chair. Sitting in the chair, at the table there was a boy.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy/Adventure - Words: 1,949 - Favs: 1 - Published: 01-28-10 - id: 5701515
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
In the room there was a table.
At the table there was a chair.
Sitting in the chair, at the table there was a boy.
Not really a boy, seeming how he was 19 years of age, but then again for some people time is relative.
Anyways, back to the boy. He idly drummed his fingers against the table, causing ripples to pass through the glass of water; his other hand brushed his shaggy black hair out of his eyes.
Ah yes, there is a glass of water and a half empty glass urn on the table.
The boy casually picked up the glass and took a sip from it.
Before he could even place the glass back upon the table, the door had been flung open, strangely causing his ears to pop. A taller man in a red leather traveler's jacket and leggings and boots of red leather as well walked in, a clear swagger in his step; his hand resting on the pommel of what seemed to be a giant butcher's knife. The knife was four feet long and stained red with blood.
"Ah, I see they sent a professional." The boy quipped.
"Well, if you want it done right and all that." The man responded. His outfit clearly characterized him of the Red Necromancer class.
"I thought I smelled something dead around here." The boy responded.
"Yes," the Red Necromancer responded, "well that is soon to be you I'm afraid. You see, I'm running out of fresh corpses in my freezer"
"Well, I'd hate to disappoint you, but I've some business in Vendrillion," the boy stood up; his emerald green eyes flashing dangerously at the older man.
Just as fast as the boy stood, the Necromancer flung his hand out, sending a stream of flame across the table. The boy quickly held his hand out, palm outwards and the flames merely stopped at his hand. The Red Necromancer saw this and quickly stopped, bringing his butchers knife up to bare. A blinding flash filled the room and the older gentleman was thrown back out the door that was still open. He landed supine on the floor, a smoking flesh wound in his chest. In the next instance, the boy was standing above him.
"Seems, you won't be needing corpses anymore," he stated.
The Necromancer coughed, blood flowing from his mouth freely now.
"Yes, seems that way. Business in Vendrillion eh? Provisioned like that, you won't make it out of Wyvern City." The old man laughed, "The Dead will over run this city in no time. There are more of my order working here." He laughed again, blood causing him to cough. Then he continued to laugh, turning into a cackle. The Boy took the keys off his leather belt, hoping that if he came to any locked doors this would come in handy. He considered taking the weapon but it was tainted by dark magicks of necromancy. The dying necromancer was still laughing as he walked away and continued laughing until silenced by a coughing fit, which claimed his life.
As the boy walked, he was trying to surmise whether he was in the basement or in a higher story of the building, but he could not find any windows so that left the conclusion he was trapped in the basement. Such a strange basement it was, dust covering everything and only dust free thing was a path across the floor. He followed the path. He followed the path, winding through a long stretch of twisting corridor until he reached a divergence in the path. A door to the left, and a door to the right. The well worn path led to the right. He decided that the quickest route was to follow the well beaten trail. He turned to the right, but as he did so he caught a glimpse of another door, in the center, between the two other doors. It was a very slim door, patterned as the rest of the wall. He turned back to it and it disappeared. The boy looked around slightly confused and then he realized it was an optical illusion, a defense to hide the door. The door was about half the width of a normal door and covered in dust. He grasped the doors' handle and twisted, surprised to find it heat under his touch.
"Interesting," he muttered to himself as he stepped through the slim door.
After he stepped through the door, it slammed and locked behind him. His ears popped a little, as if the room sealed itself and was hermetically sealed. He raised his hand in a sign for light and a glowing ball of white light lit itself and floated above his head and bobbed along above him as he walked deeper into the chamber. The chamber was not much of a chamber, but rather an entry way that led to another door. The boy crossed half way into the little hall and the keys he was carrying dropped to the floor in a shower of sparks. The boy looked around and then looked up. The ceiling was red with runes that protect against the evil of necromancy. The keys must have been worked with the magick of the dead. He kept walking, he was not fearful, he knew he was not evil, nor dead. He finished the short walk to the door on the other side of the room. As he grasped the door knob he felt it heat as did the first door. He realized that it was testing his magick for evil and corruption. The Boy creaked open the door a crack and took a peek inside, readying a spell of light and destruction if there happened to be any enemies waiting for him, but the room was dark and empty. He stepped through and once again the door sealed behind him. Not surprised, he crept forward. There was a table. On the table there was a chest. On the chest there was a menagerie of runes for protection and sealing and binding. As the boy touched it, he felt there were deeper runes of anti dead and necromancy. The most peculiar thing was the lock. The chest was black, with an ornate lock that was in the shape of a W. The W had two holes, one in each V of the letter. He couldn't resist, he place his index and middle finger into a hole in the W. The lock warmed and then with a whirring and clicking the lid of the chest flipped open. Lights came on in the chamber, illuminating what appeared to be a conference room. The walls were lined with chairs and tables set in a senatorial design, the table with the chest as the center of the circular room. This must have been one of the original senate buildings before the empire was designed to fight the original rising dead. The current empire is a decadent version of the first empire which was created by a senatorial group as a line of organized defense against the first rising dead. When the dead were laid to rest again and the Red Necromancy back into hiding, the Empire refused to disband and waged war on the senate. The senate was compiled of very powerful mages from every order: Black, White, and Green. There were rumors there were even representatives of the elusive Time Mages that even then were rare to meet or find adepts to train. Each order had a type of magick they controlled and had secret arts in. There was mundane magicks every order could use such as weather working and shielding spells. Black Mages could use destruction magicks adeptly but were relatively very weak in healing arts. They were rumored to have a secret art that could double their powers, some even triple it if the person was strong enough to endure the secret trial. The art was long lost with the destruction of the senate and its followers. White Mages were adept in healing powers, and they are said that when a white mage reaches a certain level of mastery they can cast their healing spells in finer focus, giving them etreme;y powerful destructive properties. Properties of light and fire. Green Necromancy is an art of earth and is the anathema to Red Necromancy. Where Red Necromancy is the art to raise and control the dead for dark purposes, Green Necromancy is to stop and lay the dead to rest. Always destined to fight each other, a battle of forever. Red Necromancy has only the power of destruction and raising dead, can never harness powers of creation such as healing powers or light energy. Their very nature opposite of Red Necromancy. All orders have powers of the other orders just very weak. Almost nonexistent, but as with each individual it is in relation to the strength of their power. The stronger the mage, the stronger their weaker powers are as well. Each order has resorted to living in secrecy after having been nearly wiped out in the war. They hide in one corner of the continent or another having minimal contact with the outside world.
The chest was emitting a powerful aura of Black Magicks. The boy lifted a piece of parchment out of the box.
To whomever unlocks my chest: May these armaments serve you as well as they did me. -W.W
"W.W. hmm, I wonder could it mean Wendril Wyvern, founder of this city?" the boy whispered out loud. Wendril Wyvern was the leader of the Black Mage order in his time and he founded this city, Wyvern City. He pulled out the first item: A beautiful black leather travelers coat that looks like it was reently made. Perfect flawless color and design, more of a flowing coat then a jacket. A leather vest, black as well. The next item was a black linen shirt with a v neck and silver lining around the collar and cuffs. There was also a pair of black leather pants. The pants flowed out at the bottom, for boots, and there they were. Silver buckled black leather boots that came up knee high for water wading. A leather belt was sitting beside the boots, a silver buckle of course along with a long black cloak. A few other peculiar items were packed in there as well. There was a pouch, a pair of leather gloves and a long parcel. He picked up the pouch and opened it. Within the pouch there was a bead work tassel, a locket, and a red leather wrist band. The boy closed the pouch and grasped the parcel. It was heavy. He opened the parcel and contained within it was a sword. The scabbard was a black material edged in a silver metal. The sword made a soft ring as he pulled it free. The blade was black, with a black hilt and a silver guard and pommel. On the underside of the pommel there was an inscription that read, Wyvernix, Scourge of the Dead. On closer inspection of the blade he saw that there were runes for fire and deastruction of the Dead spelled into the blade.
"I wondered what I was going to call you," as the boy said that and alarm started to go off in the building. The dead guard must have been found. He quickly stripped down and started to redress in the leather ensemble. "Fiting Black mage attire for a black mage," he thought as he buckled the boots. He was a very accomplished adept in the Black Mage Order.