Book of The Dead

Mind awash with conflicting emotions, there was only one thing Tyron could do to distract himself and he threw himself into it wholeheartedly. The thought that he might be responsible, even partially, for the potential disaster that was unfolding right in front of him was enough to drive him to absurd efforts. With his skeletal army in tow he rampaged through the woods, fighting every rift-kin he could find, and lost two minions before he woke up to himself.

No matter how many of these lesser monsters he killed it would have no impact on the slayers’ mission to stop the break. All he was doing was wasting his energy and getting his minions killed. Frustrated and cursing his own stupidity, Tyron grouped his forces, gathered the weapons from his fallen skeletons and began to retreat back to his current hiding place.

When his group moved more slowly and without looking for trouble, they didn’t find many more rift-kin on the way out. Tyron took the time to harvest them, checking for cores and pocketing a few before moving on.

When they eventually returned to the abandoned cabin, Tyron had his skeletons put down the supplies Dove had provided and began to sort through the packs. Organising the food, water and various other niceties that the Summoner had provided, including a change of underpants.

”How did he even guess the size?” Tyron wondered aloud before deciding he’d rather not know.

Sorting the contents of the packs wasn’t enough to distract him for long and once it was done, Tyron turned to the next task. He felt a need to keep himself occupied, to not let thoughts of the impending chaos enter his mind. He’d lost two minions, now he needed two more. Thankfully, he’d been constantly gathering remains over the last few days as he’d hunted so he still had bones to draw from.

He poured all of his focus into preparing and raising his latest two minions, even going so far as to rework and test several passages of the spell. He hadn’t had much time to study the ritual he’d received from his Anathema feat, but the inkling he’d received from the Unseen was enough to give him ideas he could use for modifying Raise Dead.

After six hours of painstaking work, his new minions were ready. The skeletons stood alongside the others, eyes burning with purple fire. Finally done with the preparations and rituals, Tyron collapsed onto his blankets, exhausted. It was late evening now, the sun falling low over the forest as the ever increasing numbers of rift-kin swarmed through the woods.

”Damn it all,” he growled to himself before he cast Sleep, dragging his consciousness under.

When he woke, he ate, drank water to refresh himself before he considered his options.

It wasn’t quite morning, the slayers would be preparing their expedition at this very moment. Soon they’d emerge from the keep and advance directly onto the rifts. Tyron knew enough to understand that they’d likely succeed at clearing the broken lands, but once they entered the rift…

Fighting the monsters here in the forest was one thing, going to Nagrythyn was another entirely. It would be a one way trip and all of them knew it.

Is there really nothing I can do to help?

Tyron wracked his brain to find a solution, even allowing himself to explore wild, dangerous possibilities. Could he allow an Abyssal to cross over during Pierce the Veil? It would almost definitely kill him, and even if it didn’t, he would have no control over the creature. It would be just as dangerous to the slayers as the rift-kin, perhaps more so. If he was able to level up Anathema he could learn another ritual, one that contacted a different group of his ’sponsors’. Perhaps the Dark Ones or the Red Court would be able to help in some way?

Or they’d try and invade his mind or kill him in some other, brutal fashion. After his experience with the abyss, Tyron didn’t have a lot of trust left for the three entities responsible for his sub-class.

Outside of appealing to these barely understood, powerful forces, he had no way of being able to prevent disaster from occurring. With seven minions he could continue to hunt packs of small fry or lone medium sized kin, but anything more than that was well outside of his capabilities. In truth, he should leave. This place was already becoming too dangerous. The stronger monsters were becoming more common every day and the odds of him encountering something he couldn’t handle rose higher every day.

Dove had told him to go.

It was the right move. If the break did happen, this entire area would be flooded with rift-kin. Woodsedge would be overrun in hours and the forest not far behind. Remaining here was out of the question, yet some part of him just refused to let it go. Despite the assurances Dove had given him, he couldn’t help but feel responsible. The restrictions placed on slayers, his fault. The fact his parents weren’t available to help, his fault.

If he turned himself in, Magnin and Beory would immediately be free to come and help. When he thought of all the people who would be saved if he were to do so, his heart ached.

It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? What right did he have to save himself when he could sacrifice himself to preserve others? Ultimately, isn’t that what he’d wanted to do in the first place? He’d run away in order to fight rift-kin, save people and be admired, just as his parents were, for defending others. If he turned himself in, wouldn’t he achieve all of his goals?

Tyron rolled the same thoughts around in his mind over and over, trying to think of an optimal solution, but no matter what he did, doubts plagued him.

If he turned himself in, would his mother and father even make it in time to save the people here? Would his give his life for nothing? In which case, was it better for him to be selfish, run, and try to help in other ways when he’d grown stronger? The more he thought on it, the more tangled his thoughts became. Could he justify running away if there was even a chance that the people would be saved? There wasn’t, surely. There couldn’t be. And yet…

Deep inside himself, where the secret thoughts dwelt, the ones that were so rarely taken out and examined in the light it was easy for a person to forget that they existed, he knew he couldn’t do it. What did he yearn for? What was the real reason he’d run away and devoted himself to raising his Necromancy class?

He’d lived in the shadow of his parents all his life. Whenever someone looked at him, it was Magnin and Beory that they saw. Tyron refused to live like that. Until he had risen as high as he could, until he had reached their level or surpassed it, he couldn’t rest. That was his ambition. That was what drove him even now. If he surrendered to the marshals, allowed himself to be executed, there was a chance that the people would be saved. But he couldn’t allow it. How could he die with all of his things that he wanted still out of reach?

His back pressed against the wall of the cabin, Tyron curled his fingers as he stared down at the digits. Not so long ago they had been clean and soft, the only mark a callous he’d developed from holding a pen for too long. Now they were stained with dirt, the skin rough and cracked. A person could change a lot in a few weeks, his hands proved it.

I’m such a selfish bastard.

He hung his head and felt a storm of guilt boil in his gut. He wouldn’t surrender. He couldn’t. But he would do what he could to help.

I’ve only got a few days until the expedition to the rift either succeeds or fails. Between now and then, what can I do? Every rift-kin I kill will be one that doesn’t have to be fought later if a break occurs. If the slayers fail, then they’ll try to fall back to the keep, and I can help them then. But I need to be stronger or I’ll just be swept aside.

With a clear purpose in mind, Tyron rose to his feet. Did he feel happy with his decisions? No. But he would live with them. With a mental command he summoned his skeletons, still seven strong, to his side as he strode from the cabin. If he was able to slay enough rift-kin, then he would reach level ten in Necromancer, a boost that would enable him to manage more servants and select another feat. It wouldn’t be enough for him to suddenly sweep the monsters around the rift clear, not even remotely close, but it would enable him to be more than he currently could.

Perhaps enough to find redemption.

”Let’s go,” he ordered his minions as he strode forth.

Don’t talk to the minions, idiot.

Six hours later, he returned to the cabin, exhausted, drained of magick and wounded. He issued silent commands to his remaining skeletons and they followed them in the mindless way in which they did everything. Weapons were arranged leaning against the side of the cabin, hilts on the ground to keep the blades out of the damp soil. Two skeletons unloaded armfuls of bones onto the cleared floor within the cabin itself. Enough for him to replenish his skeletons, and add several more. If he were able to increase his level, then hopefully Tyron could manage up to nine skeletons. If each of his minions were as good as he could make them, then perhaps he’d be able to manage ten, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

Nine would have to be enough. He wanted to sleep, it was always a good idea to perform the ritual with a rested and calm mind, but Tyron didn’t dare wait. He didn’t intend to rest. He would perform the ritual, raise his new minions, and get back out there. There were so many monsters leaking from the rift that the woods were crawling with them. He’d lost multiple skeletons in fights against larger kin, able to slice through his clumsy minions if he didn’t manage them carefully. He’d been forced to resort to using suppress mind more than he’d like; pitting himself in battles of will against the minor creatures had been easy, but these hadn’t been pushovers.

Which had exposed a significant weakness in the spell. Once cast, Tyron locked himself and the target into mental combat as he attempted to crush their will, but they could do the same to him. If he were to attempt it against something with a stronger mind than he had, he shuddered to think of the consequences. A lesson learned.

Tyron retrieved his notebook, tore free a page and quickly enacted the ritual, watching as his blood spread across the page before forming letters. When the process was done he leaned forward eagerly to read.

Events:

Your attempts at Sneak have increased proficiency.

Dismembering remains has increased your proficiency.

Your sad attempts to prepare food have increased your proficiency.

Use of the Magick Bolt spell against a living creature has increased your proficiency.

Your creation of new undead has increased proficiency. Raise Dead has reached level 4.

Dominating the minds of those weaker has increased your proficiency.

Use of the Bone Stitching technique has increased your proficiency. Bone Stitching has reached level 4.

Your use and study of Death Magick has increased your proficiency. Death Magick has reached level 3.

You have raised minions and they have fought on your behalf. Necromancer has reached level 10. You have received +2 Intelligence, +1 Wisdom, +1 Constitution and +1 Manipulation. At this level you may choose a Feat.

Your patrons revel in your selfish decision to preserve yourself at the expense of others. The Court desire that you make contact. Anathema has reached level 6. You have received +2 Intelligence, +2 Willpower, +2 Constitution. At this level you may choose a class ability.

Name: Tyron Steelarm.

Age: 18

Race: Human (Level 11)

Class:

Necromancer (Level 10).

Sub-Classes:

Anathema (Level 6).NoneNone (Locked)Racial Feats:

Level 5: Steady Hand.

Level 10: Night Owl.

Attributes:

Strength:

12

Dexterity:

11

Constitution:

34

Intelligence:

47

Wisdom:

24

Willpower:

32

Charisma:

13

Manipulation:

19

Poise:

13

General Skills:

Arithmetic (Level 5)(Max)

Handwriting (Level 4)

Concentration (Level 5)(Max)

Cooking (Level 1)

Sling (Level 3)

Swordsmanship (Level 1)

Sneak (Level 3)

Butchery (Level 3)

Skill Selections Available: 1

Necromancer Skills:

Corpse Appraisal (Level 3)

Corpse Preparation (Level 3)

Death Magick (Level 3)

General Spells:

Globe of Light (Level 5)(Max)

Sleep (Level 4)

Magick Bolt (Level 4)

Necromancer Spells:

Raise Dead (Level 3)

Bone Stitching (Level 4)

Commune with Spirits (Level 1)

Shivering Curse (Level 1)

Anathema Spells:

Pierce the Veil (Level 4)

Suppress Mind (Level 3)

Repository (Level 1)

Mysteries:

Spell Shaping (Initial): INT +3 WIS +3

Necromancer level 10. Choose an additional Spell:

Shorten Raise Dead - A modified version of Raise Dead that is quicker to cast.

Bewildering Curse - Disorient and confuse those affected.

Death Blades - Temporarily grant your minions Death Magick attuned weapons.

Flesh Mending - Repair dead flesh.

Please choose an additional Skill:

Flesh Crafting - Mould flesh as clay.

Empower Servant - Feed mana to your minions.

Anathema level 6. Choose an additional Spell:

Dark Communion - Beg intercession from the Dark Ones.

Appeal to the Court - Attempt to commune with the Scarlett Court.

Air of Menace - Surround oneself in a dread aura.

Pain - Inflict the target with severe pain.

Fear - Inflict the target with fear.

Anathema level 6. Choose an additional Spell:

Dark Communion - Beg intercession from the Dark Ones.

Appeal to the Court - Attempt to commune with the Scarlet Court.

Air of Menace - Surround oneself in a dread aura.

Pain - Inflict the target with severe pain.

Fear - Inflict the target with fear.

When he’d reached level eight in Necromancer, Tyron had been given the choice between two curses, one that slowed those affected, the Shivering Curse, or one that disoriented them, the Bewildering Curse. Against the rift-kin he’d felt it would be far more beneficial if he could slow them down to allow his skeletons to compete on a more level field. The only issue was the amount of magick the curse demanded to cast. The greatest bottleneck that he experienced continued to be the raw amount of magick he could hold; no matter how much he gained it never seemed to be enough.

Two new skills were offered for level ten. From the Class manuals he’d studied he knew that level ten abilities were often foundational to a particular class. Despite his high hopes, the new abilities did not match his expectations. Flesh Crafting, a skill that no doubt related to the creation of zombies. From context, he could imagine it would allow him to ’sculpt’ the unliving flesh of his creations to create larger, or more threatening zombies. Despite the possibilities, he had no intention of straying from his earlier decision to concentrate on skeletons. This option was out.

The second, a faster cast for Raise Dead, was interesting, but not game changing. For one, he could possibly arrive at such a ritual himself, given enough time and experimentation. He’d already modified the original version of the spell significantly and that was without any help. In addition, although it would be convenient to create minions faster, currently the bulk of the time creating his servants wasn’t in the ritual itself, that only took an hour. Perhaps if he chose this spell and mastered it he would be able to complete the spell in minutes, but that didn’t interest him. He would happily take the extra time to create a superior servant.

He selected Death Blades for his ability and placed a mark next to it with his thumb. Now for the Feats.

Magick Battery I and Efficient Minions I were both tempting choices for this reason. With a boost to the amount of Arcane energy at his disposal, his options would be greatly expanded. Even so, he was still inclined to choose Skeleton Focus II. Having stronger minions was never the wrong choice; they were the foundation of his Class after all. As long as he continued to gain experience, then he would continue to increase the amount of magick he could hold, but nothing could replace the added strength the Unseen granted his skeletons through the focus feat.

Then the Anathema choice. The message from the Court was concerning, and perhaps there would be repercussions if he didn’t choose Appeal to the Court and use it, but in this moment he hardly cared. He wanted to try and help the slayers escape if their attack on the rift failed, not risk his life calling on powers he didn’t understand. Besides, he could select both of the unknown rituals through a feat if he really wanted to. That left Air of Menace, which he wasn’t interested in at all, or the two new options, Pain and Fear.

Pain… was horrific and Tyron passed over it immediately. Fear he could tolerate.

With little time to consider everything as well as he should, Tyron marked Skeleton Focus II and Fear before he ended the ritual. Immediately the changes took place and he endured it silently until the process was finished, then rose and moved straight to the remains his skeletons had carried back. He had work to do.