Dark Age Year 871
Twenty Third day of the Third month
It was a painful journey back to Aurelia Silva for Tharos that afternoon, with the sun slowly setting behind him. As the day turned to dusk and then to night, his efforts to track down the necromancer or the undead horde proved fruitless. However, his investigation of the ley lines and nearby settlements that had been struck with plague yielded some results. Tharos discovered one of the ritual sites where the undead were being created, located about ten miles north-west of Aurelia Silva. The site was a large pit filled with blood and various bones. When it came to other settlements, their fates were the same—all of them poisoned through tainted water, spoiled food stores, and other means.
This necromancer is a clever one.
Based on the faint echoes of Mana lingering at the ritual site, Tharos gained further insights into the necromancer. Judging by the undead creatures’ quality and quantity, as well as the Mana used to animate them, Tharos deduced that the necromancer was likely an Adept-level mage, possibly even reaching the Expert level. Among the seven ranks of mages, most fell within the adept to expert range. Despite their knowledge of arcane arts, many mages encountered barriers that could not be overcome through effort and intelligence alone. To reach the pinnacle of mage hierarchy, one required a substantial amount of Mana. Unlike practitioners of chi arts, whose chi reserves could expand with practice, a mage’s Mana capacity remained fixed. They were born with a set amount of Mana that could not be increased easily. While rare cases existed of mages augmenting their Mana reserves, these instances were exceptional at best.
However, this information was quite useful, as this mage would have had an average to above-average level of Mana to draw upon. This meant that the necromancer had several weaknesses that could be exploited. A mage of that rank would be able to support a few hundred undead and still have Mana left over for simple spells. However, those were just simple spells. If they pushed the necromancer into a direct confrontation and made them burn through their Mana or break their concentration, they would be faced with a hard choice: maintain the undead horde or focus on themselves. Last night had proven that this necromancer couldn’t sustain the undead horde for long. That was the edge they had, the one weakness they could exploit. Even if the necromancer was protected by bodyguards, it wasn’t anything that he or Rayner couldn’t handle.
If a confrontation were to occur tonight, which was highly likely at this point, there was no reason to think otherwise. While he didn’t know what this necromancer’s goal or purpose was, he knew one thing for certain: the necromancer’s current target was this village, and they wouldn’t give up so easily over such a small setback. But Tharos had a secret weapon. It was going to be a full moon tonight, and while this weapon was a double-edged sword, it would be well worth the risk considering the sheer number of enemies that would soon be facing him.
But as he pondered this, a question kept coming up in his mind: why is this happening? Sure, on the surface, this looked like your standard necromancer going rogue. It was a tale as old as time. This wasn’t the first, nor did he suspect it would be the last time he would encounter a necromancer trying to spread death and destruction wherever they went.
Why is this necromancer targeting the village of Aurelia Silva specifically? Perhaps they aim to use the village as a base to create more undead. This seems like a plausible explanation. However, the previous village they investigated and the stories they heard indicated that the necromancer was more subtle before. So, why the sudden change in tactics? Why engage in a direct confrontation with the village of Aurelia Silva when poison and deceit could achieve the same result without raising suspicion? There must be something or someone in the village that the necromancer is after, and the undead army is just a means to an end. But what is the ultimate goal? These thoughts gave Tharos much to ponder.
As the village of Aurelia Silva came into view, Tharos was soon bombarded with the sickly sweet and smoky smell of human remains being burnt. No matter how many times he caught that scent, he didn’t think he would ever get used to it, no matter how long he lived. It was a smell that was paradoxically pleasant, but at the same time awful, as it was the smell of death. It signified that someone had left this world, that they had returned back to the Spiral, and that one day they would come back anew, not as they once were, but something new and hopefully better.
Around the funeral pyre, many villagers were gathered in a semi-circle. Some of them were painted with sad expressions, tears streaming down their faces like droplets of spring rain, their crying forming a wailing chorus. It was a sombre sight, but it did not affect him. While scanning the procession, he observed Rayner off to the side in the distance, maybe a few hundred feet away out of ear shot watching with an expression of utter boredom on his face. As he walked toward Rayner, Rayner looked down at him with a silent nod of acknowledgment, his ice-blue eyes even more bloodshot, his facial features more wolflike, and the hair that covered his body thicker now, like a carpet.
Tharos met his gaze and looked back up at him.
“It’s not like you to be this silent, Rayner. Are you here to pay your respects to the dead?”
“Don’t think I’ve gotten so soft, milk drinker. Just waiting for the whelp to show up. He’s been gone for a few hours,” he continued. “Only cowards ever need to fear death.”
“A fear of loss and of death itself is normal and natural; nothing ever truly lasts forever. But when you learn to accept that, it is when you appreciate the true beauty of things, wouldn’t you agree?”
Rayner responded with nothing but a snort.
“Rich coming from someone who has never faced death,” Rayner said, his voice tense and agitated, his face flushing a deeper shade of red than his fiery crimson hair. Rayner was known for his aggressive and impulsive nature, his emotions burning as fiercely as the sun. Tharos was aware that his temper flared most intensely during the full moon.
Tharos never took offence at Rayner’s tone or his questioning, even though he suspected Rayner might not fully grasp his words or simply choose not to. Despite this, Tharos found Rayner’s perspective intriguing. Unlike Vartark, he wasn’t a fervent debater, but he welcomed disagreement and challenges to his views as if they were the sweetest honey. After being trapped in Zarbar for countless centuries, Tharos yearned for conversation and debate with a hunger surpassing all else.
The only other light in the tunnel was Cenric. Over time, Cenric could develop into a skilled conversationalist and debater. With his attractive appearance, smooth voice, sharp wit, and mild-mannered personality, Cenric had the potential to become a distinguished diplomat and scholar, or perhaps even something more. He saw this potential in him, like a raw piece of clay waiting to be shaped. He envisioned modding Cenric from a plain lump of clay, from the basic elements, into something truly remarkable. A warrior whose sword arm was as sharp as his intellect and eloquence. However, creating such a masterpiece takes time. Before him lay a blank canvas, a solid marble slab that, day by day, brush stroke by brush stroke, chisel by chisel, would eventually transform into an individual that the world could not ignore.
“Tell me, Rayner, do you fear death at all?” After uttering that, Tharos felt a gaze stare upon him with the intensity of the sun.
“I have no fear of death, for after death, the gates of Valhalla await me, unlike these weaklings.”
“An interesting view of the afterlife. For my people, we believe in returning to the Spiral.”
“Spiral?” Rayner looked at him with his bloodshot eyes, now narrowed. “What kind of milk-drinking nonsense are you trying to spew now?”
“Oh, you’re not up for a cosmology debate? I thought you might be considering how bored you are.”
“Keep that nonsense to yourself,” Rayner snapped back
“Suit yourself. I guess we can just keep quiet and watch this sombre view like morbid voyeurs.”
As the two of them stood there watching the roaring fire fueled by the fat and gristle of the golden apples’ former residents, whose ashes would now become one with the earth and sky, the smell of melting human flesh and bones started to fill the air like a smoky haze. Both of them spotted Cenric emerging from the treeline. His legs and boots were covered with dirt, and he had a few new cuts and scratches on his hands and face from tree and bush branches hitting him. As Cenric came into view and headed towards them.
Even though Tharos knew it was dangerous and highly risky to send Cenric out on his own to investigate the farm, especially with undead creatures roaming about, Rayner was right. Treating Cenric with kid gloves would only hinder him in the long run and stunt his potential. Even if nothing of note was found at the farm, it would be good training for him. Cenric, even if he didn’t believe it himself, was quite bright and quick on his feet, traits that served him well.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have sent Cenric off to do such a thing. Because on the surface, the random murder of a farmer or a mage disappearing wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; things like that happened all the time. However, considering these events happened around the same time, in the same locale, and the fact that the village elder lied to him, that was what was suspicious about it. Why the lie? What is there to hide?
As Cenric approached them, Tharos could tell that Cenric had found something. Cenric’s green eyes sparkled with joy, there was a pep in his step, and a small smile graced his face.
“So, did you find anything, Cenric?”
Cenric nodded in response. “Yeah, I found a lot.” Tharos saw Cenric reaching into his satchel and pulling out a few items, which he handed to Tharos: two stacks of paper and a glass vial filled with silvery-blue liquid.
That vial looks familiar.
Before he could examine in greater detail, Cenric spoke up. “There is a mage study at the farm in the cellar, filled with books, scrolls, and magical things…” Before Cenric could continue, Tharos cut him off.
“A mage’s study?”
“Yeah, but it gets better. I think it belonged to Faustina. She and Ozias were living together, they were even…” Tharos saw Cenric’s pale face turn a slight shade of red. “They were even expecting a child…”
Tharos, for a moment, wanted to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming. A mage’s study was a treasure trove of knowledge, and to think this wellspring was only a few miles away. However, he would have to hold back his growing excitement, for there were more pressing concerns.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, aside from the house being empty, all of their stuff is still there and untouched, which is kinda odd. Back home, if someone got murdered, people would be helping themselves to their stuff.” Cenric paused for a moment. “I almost got trapped in the house by some more skeletons, but they didn’t see me, and I got away,” Rayner interjected with a snort. “Kid, you don’t need to run away from such weaklings,” Cenric responded. “There were a lot of them, and one of them looked really tough.”
Tharos turned his head towards Rayner. “That is enough input from you for now,” turning his head back to Cenric. “You did well, go clean yourself and take a quick break.”
“Okay,” Cenric said, giving a quick nod and rushing off.
As he did so, Tharos read through the two stacks of paper. One of them was an alchemical formula for a potion. It was, for all intents and purposes, a magical poison that could mimic and simulate the effects of a plague. In layman’s terms, it would make someone appear as if they had contracted the plague, while it slowly killed them.
A rather nasty concoction.
Taking a look at the glass vial in his hand, Tharos slowly unscrewed the lid and gave it a quick sniff. As he did so, he was quickly thankful he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink recently; if he had, he was sure he would have voided all the contents of his stomach. The smell was so awful and rank that it almost made him lose his composure. It was the type of smell that would make your eyes water and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Rayner, who was only a few paces away from him, started to recoil and cover his nose, drawing the attention of a few villagers who were watching the bonfire.
“By the north, that smell,” Rayner exclaimed.
Tharos quickly screwed the lid back on, and as he did, the smell started to dissipate. Tharos noticed there was something familiar about this smell. Although stronger, it was similar to the smell in the well.
So this must be the poison that was used.
Tharos gave a small smile before turning to Rayner. “do you know what this is.”
“Yah, something that smells worse than pig shit.”
“Close, but this is the poison that was used in the settlements.”
“And what good does that do?”
“Well, for starters, we might just have the location of the necromancer, or at least narrow it down.”
Rayner looked at him with a grin of wolfish excitement. “Why didn’t you say so? This is the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“I would agree, Cenric did a good job.”
Quickly looking through the other stack of paper Cenric had handed him, Tharos found a drawing of a woman posing Provocatively in different outfits. She was a quite pretty woman with short, curly hair and a slim, petite body that gave her a delicate appearance, one that Tharos found somewhat appealing. On the back of the paper were dates, the most recent one being dated at least a few months ago. Flipping through, in the corner of each of the papers was the name “Faustina.” On the most recent drawing, there were the starting signs of a baby bump.
This is what she looks like. Ozias was surely blessed to have her.
But Tharos now knew for certain that he had not seen Faustina in the village. A woman this pretty would have caught his eye. As he continued pondering, puzzle pieces started slipping into place, and he had a theory about what was going on. The fates of Ozias and Faustina were no coincidence. Clearly, this necromancer had something to do with it. However, he felt there was still something missing. He didn’t have all the pieces just yet, and there was still one nagging question: why did Nico lie to him? That was the big question on his mind, but now he had a lead. That farm was clearly of some interest to the necromancer, and with any hope, that might be where their current base is.
Tharos, after finishing that thought, turned his head toward Rayner. “New plan: we head to this farm tonight. With any luck, the necromancer will be there, and we will be able to nip this issue in the bud.”
Rayner responded with a wide grin. “That’s more like it.”
The two of them would then go find Cenric and talk to the village elder about their plan and the next course of action. If Tharos was right, there would be another attack, and these attacks would keep coming until this necromancer was stopped. However, little did the three of them know at the time, this would be easier said than done.
