Necromaster
Disclaimer: Unfinished Story, having fun and taking my time with it but i have no idea where it's going. If you like it feel free to add to it. Includes Necromancy, and links together with several of my other unfinished stories over a longer timeline see if you can guess how. no Yiff...sry/yet. and thats all I can think of so enjoy!
Necromaster
"Please, I'm sorry I'll never do it again just please let me go!"
The man groveling at my feet was convicted of stealing chickens and killing an officer of the Kiernian army. The chickens weren't any big deal, he'd probably only have received a few lashes, but pulling a holy object on and killing the vampire that had been sent to arrest him had earned him the death sentence. I'm not sure what was he was crying about, as a nation of necromancers, the death sentence in Kiernos usually means employment into the Black Legion, our undead army.
It's an honor really, I mused to myself, criminals are given the chance to redeem themselves and even attain eternal glory on the battlefield and in the service of their nation. The downside of this was that as criminals they would be resurrected as mindless zombies or fanatical skeletons. Those who enlisted voluntarily could become vampires or, with training from the mage guild, powerful lichen, both of which retain their original personalities and a rather large measure of free will. In either case voluntary or not the benefit is immortality, unless killed in battle. But lately I have had a more interesting use for fresh souls. Which brings me back to the man kneeling before me.
"What's your name?" I asked him offhandedly, for the death of me I could not remember his name. I find it common courtesy to know someone's name before I sentence them to death, plus a name, while not entirely necessary in all rituals, does make resurrection much easier.
He looked up from the floor, a small glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. "John Bailer, Lord Roxan, Please in the name of God spare me from..."
"What do you know about God?!" I cut him off mid sentence and he looked down so fast that his head hit the marble floor with a dull thud. Without thinking I was on my feet and striding towards the miserable lump of flesh kneeling in the center of my audience chamber. "Was it God that told you to steal seven chickens from an already starving family? Was it God that told you to kill a military officer who had already died for his country once before" As I stood staring down at his pitiful form, I could see his body shiver as he sniveled incoherent apologies. I had no use for God, a god who had abandoned me years before and whose servants even now worked to destroy everything that I had created.
For that reason I felt nothing as I lifted my steel boot and slowly lowered it onto his bowed head. I didn't feel his arms slapping and pushing against my leg as he tried to free himself. I didn't hear his agonizing screams grow louder as I applied steadily more pressure. I didn't even notice when his skull finally gave way and my boot slammed loudly into the floor through a mess of cerebral tissue and blood.
The only thing I did feel was the prickling explosion of energy that signaled the release of a Mr. Bailer's soul. I'd experienced it countless times yet every time felt as amazing as the first. To someone who knows how to sense it, death feels like the orgasm of the soul. It is finally free of pain, suffering and general human toil, it is so excited that it shares its joy with everyone around it, even, in this case, its killer, or releaser as I like to think about it.
With a newly dead corps on my floor it was time for me to begin the ritual. I removed the thick leather glove from my left hand and tossed it back onto my throne, well away from the growing puddle of blood. Next I drew the silver blade that I kept in a sheath on my left arm. It's a ceremonial blade, only about nine inches in length with a phoenix carved into the handle. I used the blade to open the vein in my left wrist and let my blood drip onto the corps lying on the floor. As soon as the blood hit the corpse I felt a rush of energy burst from my body to the corps and then extend through the corpse directly to its eternal soul. I uttered a short incantation as I walked away from Mr. Bailer's corpse and towards the outer perimeter of the audience chamber.
Ringing the chamber were one hundred suits of armor. Each standing eight feet tall and looking roughly human. Each was posed in a kneeling position with their alternating Dragon and Wolf Heads bowed and staring at the floor. With their left arm resting on their left thy and their right arm holding a raised five foot bastard sword to the left side of their chest, it was an impressive sight.
I went to the suit directly behind my throne and removed the helmet. I placed the dragon headed helmet on the floor next to the armor and once again cut myself with the silver knife. The blood from my wrist filled the groves cut into the knife blade like an ink reservoir in a pen. I then used my blood to draw a pentagram inscribed with a cross. As I closed the pentagram around the cross I felt a thread of energy connect the blood seal to an identical looking scar carved into my chest. The armor was now bound to me but as of yet it was still an immobile hunk of metal. It still needed a life force, and that's where Mr. Bailer came in. I walked back towards the corps and carefully wiped all the blood out of the knife.
Mr. Bailer's blood had begun to flow in a small stream towards the drain near the entrance of the chamber. A good drainage system is often overlooked when designing an audience chamber. Most architects assume that because it is deep within the castle or palace that no rain will fall and that a drain would be pointless. But Rain isn't the only reason for a drain. Fights often break out during court, and after a few bodyguards and maybe a diplomat or two die floors can become quite slippery without proper drainage.
In the case of Mr. Bailer, the drain and unnoticeable slope of the floor provided a clean river of blood for me to use in the second phase of the ritual. I dipped the tip of the silver knife into the crimson stream and watched the blood flow up into the reservoir. I then walked back to statue and using his own blood, wrote "John Bailer" just below the inscribed cross. The line of power connecting me to the corpse and Mr. Bailer's soul disconnect from me and bound itself to the armor. As I watched the bloody name of John Bailer flowed up the armor and reconfigured itself into the likeness of the now deceased man crucified on the cross. Heh heh name of god indeed. There was a rush of power comparable to that of Mr. Bailer's death; only this time instead of joy there was a feeling of unending despair, fear and panic.
The seal glowed with a brightening intensity and a wave of pain shot from the blood seal to the scar on my chest. The soul was fighting for its freedom. I began the incantation, the third and final phase of the the ritual.
"John Bailer, with the blood of your former body I bind you to this armor". A pulse of energy shot from me to the armor and a line of blood extended from the top left corner of the pentagram and stabbed the right hand of Mr. Bailer's likeness. The Blood man twisted in agony, and I felt his pain, a stabbing sensation in my right hand. I pushed the pain to the back of my mind and continued the incantation.
"By the blood of your king I bind you to this armor". The bottom left corner attached to his right foot and again I felt his pain.
"By the light of the Dark Moon I bind you to this armor". The bottom right corner to his left foot.
"By the strength of the Nine tailed Fox, I bind you to this armor". His Left hand was pierced by the top right corner. Sensing the end of the ritual the blood man began to scream in despair, a wordless magical assault of pure desperation that faded as I spoke the final verse.
"By my will as a necromancer, I bind you to this armor". The miniature figure looked up as the final line of blood descended to pierce his head. When the bloodline touched its head, the figure went still. The pain in my limbs disappeared and the bright red glow of the seal faded to a dark deep purple. I replaced the dragon helm onto the kneeling armor and took a few steps back.
"Rise." Obediently, the armor stood and raised its sword arm in a silent salute. My next command wasn't a spoken one, I merely imagined the armor returning to its kneeling position, and it obeyed. The only evidence that the armor had changed was the blood seal which was safely hidden on the inside of its breastplate, and my newly acquired spiritual bond to the soul inhabiting the armor. Anyone entering the chamber would assume that the suits of armor were merely decoration. Only a magically trained eye could detect the mana threads between me and the armors I control. While normally extending straight from my scar to the blood seals, with a little extra effort I can bend the threads to hide them from view, such as running them along the floor under rugs.
I returned to my throne and admired my work. Now thirty eight of the one hundred armors were bound to a soul and able to fight for my defense should the need arise. The idea for enchanted suits of armor had come about from my need for reliable bodyguards that won't crumble at the first holy attack. For this same reason I've been purchasing gargoyles and other mechanical golems to supplement my border patrols and deal with encroaching priests and crusaders. I've found the Draconian nation of Deras to be especially capable at carving and empowering reliable golems. Sure, they don't have some of the gadgets and awesome devices seen in gnomish creations, but then again I don't have to worry about them blowing up every time I try to use them either.
A loud bang emanated from the huge double doors at the opposite end of the chamber. I marveled at the acoustics of the chamber for just a moment, sound carried clearly across the entire room from any point within it, yet never echoed. It was perfect for holding court, even with all the questioning, yelling and side conversations going on at once, the sound doesn't blend together, and I can easily identify any single voice out of the crowd.
Another bang brought me back to the doors; I was so tired I considered just ignoring them, taking the back exit and going back to my private chambers to sleep for the next week. Magic is a double edged sword, and the more powerful a spell the more draining it is on the caster. Binding a soul into eternal solitude had left me light headed, a slightly euphoric feeling of accomplishment combined with the exhaustion of an all-nighter. I really could have slept for a week. If I'd have had the time. But I was expecting an important guest and unfortunately this was probably her.
"This had better be important", my words carried clearly across the chamber and an answer came back from beyond the doors just as clearly.
"Priestess Yamora has arrived and is demanding to see you immediately". The answering voice belonged to Kira, my second in command. I often used her as a greeter to foreign emissaries, especially ones I disliked, she was beautiful and persuasive and a sadistic bitch in all the best ways. Anyone she couldn't charm into compliance could certainly be persuaded by just half an hour alone behind closed doors.
"See to it that she's made comfortable, I need this chamber cleaned before it receives guests. And bring me something to drink", I took off my remaining glove and clapped my now bare hands. As the sound filled the room I looked up towards the double doors. The two closest armors on either side of the doors rose from their kneeling position and marched silently to the steel doors. Rubber pads on the soles of their feet allowed my metallic guards to move silently across the marble floors, as well as preventing their steel shoes from scratching the expensive marble. They each grabbed one of the four thick steel chains that hung from the doors and did an about face. Like a well oiled machine they marched outwards, dragging open the huge doors without making a sound.
"Oh she's comfortable, her room has a splendid view of the Parade Grounds, and I've sent Olaf to tend to her every need", she couldn't even say it with a straight face. The so called "Parade Grounds", that she was referring to was an arena where ravenous three headed dogs and other mutated monstrosities fought to the death for the entertainment of excited citizens. It's all in good fun, free entertainment for the peasants, and an easy way to get rid of the mage guilds failed experiments. But what I've always seen as good fun, the uptight priestess would no doubt consider cruel treatment of innocent animals. And Olaf, well he's just not pleasant in general.
Olaf was one of my mage guilds' "successes". He was a chimera of sorts, a merger of human and hog flesh bound together on a cellular level and remaining together without magical influence. All previous attempts had fallen apart as soon as the spell casting had ended. But Olaf had survived, it had taken a few stitches and not even his creators could call him beautiful, but at least he had stayed together. As u can guess Olaf had not been entirely willing when the guild decided to merge his body with that of a pig, and that had left in a permanent ill temper, with a tendency to randomly attack beautiful people just out of spite.
"You know that that's just going to make her angry and harder to deal with".
"I think it'll be a humbling experience for her", she said as she slowly strolled into the room. "She's far too arrogant for a priestess anyway. A little time alone with Olaf will make her welcome your company".
"Assuming she doesn't just kill him", I pointed out.
She shrugged "I never liked him anyways, so it's a win-win". She grinned at me showing off her pearly white teeth and two long beastlike fangs. She was a Relton, my last reminder of my former life, of what I was before I died. She followed the now black line of blood from the drain near the door to the carcass in the center of the room, her bare feet narrowly avoiding the blood as she intentionally crossed it time and again.
"Hmph, killing him might be more humane than keeping him alive", I shrugged, deciding that I didn't really care either way. "Would you like to make a wager?"
"What are the stakes?" she had stopped walking and was now standing over the late Mr. Bailer, gently prodding him with her clawed toes.
"The loser has to eat Olaf's nose", now I was grinning, because I knew which side of the bet she would take.
"I'll wager that she kills him and then storms in here in a full rage over your horrible hospitality".
"Well either way she'll be angry about my hospitality, but I think she'll restrain herself and leave Olaf alive, if not totally unharmed". I took a handkerchief and a small bottle of cleanser out of a side compartment of my thrones armchair and began to clean the blood off my dagger. Blood will eat away at a knife's blade and tarnish the silver shine. Aside from the practicality, rubbing the blade gave me something to do while I waited for the priestess to arrive. "Clean up that body will ya".
"As you wish". She was now standing on the dead man's corpse, giving me a perfect view of her slender frame and perfect abs. As a Relton, she had the body of a human with the ears, fangs, and tail of a fox. Her hands and feet were human but ended in razor sharp claws. She was wearing a black robe with a red flame boarder. She wore her robe open in the front so that anyone could see her perfectly nude body. Reltons don't have the same sense of modesty that most humans do, and usually don't wear any clothes. Reltons only use clothes to mark their class; royalty wears gold, soldiers wear armor, and mages wear robes of their school. In Kira's case, she wore the black and red robes of a pyromancer.
She spread her arms wide and then brought them together in front of her face in a clear and resounding clap. A pulse of energy spread from between her hands, fanning out in all directions. It was like a faint shimmer of light radiating from between her palms that was followed by an eruption of flames. The flames engulfed her entire body in an orange and blue glow. She dropped to her knees and the flames all over her body grew in size and intensity, taking on the shape of a flaming fox. The flaming beast grew in size until it filled half of the chamber, its intense flames made the metal sentinels ringing the chamber glow red with heat. The fire fox's burning blue eyes looked at me with a strange intensity and its mouth curled into a grin that was all Kira. Its grin vanished as it lowered its head to sniff the body. It opened its flaming jaws and Mr. Bailers clothes burst into flames, it closed its jaws around his leg and with a flick of its head it tossed Mr. Bailer into the air and sent him flying over my head across the chamber. After a moment's pause the fox leapt across the chamber and caught the flying corps in mid air.
No sooner had the flaming fox closed its jaws around Mr. Bailer than the entire apparition evaporated, the flames dispersing to reveal Kira falling lightly to the marble floor. It was an impressive feat, there was no trace left of the dead man, the magic flames had turned him to dust, and had even destroyed all trace of the blood that had streamed across the floor moments ago. The only evidence of the event left was the bright red glowing statues.
I was staring at the floor, wondering how the blood had been incinerated until it turned to ash and was blown away by the rush of power, and yet there was no burn mark left on the black marble floor. I also came to the realization that I daydream a lot, and when I do so I block out my surroundings, something that may be a fatal mistake in the future, because when I came to my senses again Kira was kneeling beside my throne with her head in my lap. Her fiery eyes had dulled to a drunken haze, she was drunk with power. It's common knowledge that magic is addictive. It's what drives mages to create bigger and more powerful spells, and why young mages often get in over their heads and end up as undead lichen in the black legion. I've found it's a good recruitment policy to station necromancers at graveyards near magic academies. Maybe that's what priestess Yamora wanted to talk about. On second thought, I doubt it.
I put the dagger back into its sheath on my arm and returned the cloth to its compartment. With this last chore finished I could final forget about Mr. Bailer, and focus on the beautiful woman staring up at me. All magic users find using their powers pleasurable and somewhat addictive, but the affects differ from race to race and person to person, and increase with the complexity and power of the spell being cast. In Kira's case using a powerful spell is more pleasurable than a thousand orgasms rolled into one. With her lust sated she was able to give me a look of complete contentment. All I could do while looking into her eyes was smile and use my ungloved hand to stroke her beautiful blond hair. Her tail swept lazily side to side and the snow white fur at its tip turned grey as it picked up bits of ash that had begun to settled on the marble floor.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, the idea was to block out the world and focus on the feel of Kira's head lying in my lap. The actual effect was a panorama view of the two of us as seen through the eyes of my guardian statues. It was amazing, seeing myself from every angle all at once; it's something that only a god should be able to do. Hmph me, a god, I liked the sound of that. Kings die and emperors fade into history, but a god? I could sit here forever, the eternal ruler of Kiernos.
To rule forever, such a dream may be impossible, but why? Simple mortality prevents most kings from reaching this goal, but those who have the will and determination can overcome this obstacle. A blood pact with the Nine Tailed Fox has kept me alive long after I should have died and, barring any outside interference, will keep me alive till the end of time. But eternity is a long time without a hobby and for one hundred years mine has been the creation and expansion of Kiernos, the beautiful land of darkness. Unfortunately others do not share my love of the darkness, and as Kiernos grows in size and power it attracts the attention of others.
Others like the King Priest of Zanarkand, for whom Priestess Yamora was a diplomat. The King Priest, and his cult of summoner, had vowed, before every god that would listen, to cut the undead "Cancer" out of the Black Lake Range. Heh "Cancer" ha! If anything, Kiernos has improved the Black Lake Range. But this was the kind of zealotry that I had to face in order to survive. An endless tide of zealots waiting for an excuse to invade my borders and storm my capital. All in the name of God or whoever. And people wonder why I have a grudge against god.
"She's here", Kira said playfully with just a hint of annoyance. She nuzzled against my lap one last time before moving away to take up a standing position at my right hand.
My attention turned once again to the massive doors in front of me as a voice announced the arrival of Priestess Yamora. Again the steel guardians rose from their kneeling positions to open the chamber doors, silently carrying out the duty they had been designated to do for the rest of eternity. Assuming I lived that long. Again the steel doors swung open seemingly without effort to reveal Priestess Yamora and her honor guard of no less than twelve knights.
Priestess Yamora stood flanked by two rows of six knights apiece. She was wearing the robes of a Zanarkand High Priestess, she'd been promoted since last we met. Her pure white silken robes were form fitting but not tight, they showed that the high priestess was slim but not sickly. Her raven black hair stood in stark contrast to her immaculate robes and hung down low, reaching the top of her breast. She stood no more than five feet six inches tall but she carried herself with an air of quiet command, like someone who is used to being obeyed without question. Her face was an emotionless mask, it might have been a pretty face if she had been smiling. But there was no smile as she stood just outside my throne room, only that emotionless mask of a face.
The priestess's honor guard snapped to attention at a command from their captain, identifiable by the white wings adorning his helmet. The silver shine of the knight's freshly polished armor was unmarred by dents or scratches or any other signs of combat for that matter. In fact the only markings on the otherwise mirror like armor was a pair of golden wings on the knights' right shoulder plate, marking them as paladins of Veretas patron god of Zanarkand.
As you can imagine I was less than thrilled to have twelve Paladins enter my throne room, but telling them to wait outside would be too close to admitting I was afraid of them. No, It was better to give a show of strength, than risk appearing weak.
"High Priestess Yamora", I called out in a commanding voice, "welcome to Kiernos". As I spoke, thirty of my enchanted armors rose to their feet and advanced towards the center of the room. The armors assembled in two lines facing each other from a distance of about six feet apart. In unison, the assembled armors raised their swords in a military salute, creating a perfect tunnel from the doorway to the center of my throne room.
To her credit, the high priestess did not so much as bat an eye at what I considered a rather clever use of my armors. Instead she made a formal bow, the kind one would expect of a visiting dignitary and with a nod to her guard, her procession started forward.
They couldn't walk through the tunnel three abreast so the knights formed two blocks, two wide and three deep, one in front and one behind. The priestess walked alone between the two blocks of knights, her light steps lost among the clang of armored boots. She walked with an easy confidence, or was it faith? Faith in a god that had led her to this land of death? A god that would have no trouble sacrificing her to further its own ends. Whatever it was, it pissed me off.
It wasn't just that she believed her god would protect her; it's that he probably would. I could see the depth of her faith just by looking into her pale green eyes. They told me that she had placed her life entirely into the hands of her god, and that there was no question in her mind that her god would protect her from any harm. Faith like that has always bugged me. People will do amazing things for their faith, amazingly terrible things.
When the procession reached the royal seal of Kiernos, which was engraved into the floor exactly fifteen feet from the foot of my throne, the guards fanned out to each side with priestess Yamora standing directly before me. The Paladin's beat their breastplates in unison as the high priestess took one final step forward, and bowed deeply. Her robes gave hints to a well toned body hidden beneath that thin layer of silk, as it was pulled tight over her back. She lingered there in a show of humility, for just a second, before rising to her full height. Her raven hair framed her pale cheeks as her face set into a serious stare.
She stared at me with all the dignity and authority that can only come from a noble upbringing and called out.
"Lord Roxan, the Child King, Eternal Ruler of Kiernos, I carry a message from the King Priest of Zanarkand". She paused, to let me digest the importance of her coming message, before resuming. "The Gods have declared you and your kingdom blight on the continent of Terra. The king priest has vowed to wipe your corruption from the land, and bring light to the Black Hills once more".
"It sounds to me like your King Priest is about to declare war on me," I interrupted, "Interesting move sending a high priestess on a messenger run that is sure to be met with a hostile reply". Kira's hand was resting on the armrest of my throne; I moved my right hand to hold hers as I spoke. I could feel the magical tension building inside her, she was hoping for a fight. "Especially since your country is so much bigger than mine," I looked away from Kira's hand and back to the High Priestess, not that I had every really lost sight of her, "if the Gods demand it, why hasn't the King Priest mobilized his armies yet? Why are there only twelve paladins and one High Priestess standing in my Throne room?" Anyone else getting a bad vibe?
"The King Priest does not want a war. Instead he offers you redemption and redemption to any poor soul in your realm who wishes to return to the light", the priestess spoke with such serene confidence that for a moment I felt as though she actually believed the bullshit she was spouting. On the outside she was a pious and compassionate priestess of the light, but the slightest hint of a smile that peeked through her lips when she was finished talking showed something more devious lurking just beneath the surface. She knew exactly what was in store for anyone seeking the King Priest's offered "redemption", death. The undead cannot return to the living, only to the dead.
"Redemption?" I laughed the word back in her face, "You would have me bound in chains and presented to the King Priest as some kind of trophy. So that he could kill me personally and take credit for single handedly destroying the 'Evil Empire' of Kiernos, am I correct?"
"His Holiness is not concerned with personal glory, only the well being of his people and the decree of the gods. Mounting your cured hide on the wall of his bed chamber would merely be a bonus". That twinge of a smile had grown into quite a smug little grin.
"So you do have a sense of humor," I straightened in my chair, I had a feeling things were about to get interesting. "I was beginning to think you were all work and no play. So tell me priestess, what happens if I refuse the King Priests 'generous' offer? Will Zanarkand unleash the righteous furry of its armies?"
"If it comes to that, yes. But even the most evil of snakes cannot live without its head. And if the head of kiernos is severed, its body will fall without a fight. This war will end before it begins, no innocent lives need be sacrificed. Only one soul must die".
"Assassination? That is your great plan?"