Book of The Dead

Magick inside the Abyss felt… different. It was strange Tyron had never noticed before. Perhaps he hadn’t been sensitive enough before, his new levels and mysteries granting him insight that he hadn’t possessed in the past. Or perhaps he was simply a better Mage than he had been before, more knowledgeable about his craft and with a finer grasp of the arcane energy that he wielded.

If he were to choose, he would rather the latter were true.

Regardless, surrounded by darkness and absence, his eyes closed and his mind focused, Tyron could feel it. Thinner, certainly, which made sense, but there was a qualitative difference that caught his attention.

Rifts didn’t open into the Abyss, they couldn’t, the veil that separated this realm of nothing from the material was entirely separate from the dimensional weave through which the rifts slowly chewed openings. Yet magick bled through into this place anyway, slipping through the cracks. After all, the Abyss was nowhere, but it was everywhere at the same time. There was not a single realm in the span of creation that had been touched by magick that the Abyss did not exist alongside, a dark neighbour, a malignant shadow.

When the veil was thin, abyssals could slip from one side to the other, destroying themselves in a vain attempt to consume reality. Why could magick, a pervasive form of energy, make the return journey?

As he walked through the darkness, he wondered how he had ever thought that this place was empty. If he didn’t look with his eyes, and if he didn’t listen with ears, the Abyss was filled with treasures.

Voices whispered to him endlessly, gnawing at the edges of his mind, nibbling on the fringes of his sanity. They promised anything and everything, knowledge, secrets, forbidden spells, dark rituals, things that mortals had never been intended to know, things they couldn’t know and remain whole.

What realms of horror existed out there that the Abyss had been able to learn such things? Tyron couldn’t imagine how he would even begin to uncover such knowledge, but then he recalled that the realm of blood in which the Scarlet Court reigned existed. Who knew what the vampires would do in the pursuit of power?

In return for these gifts, the abyssals wanted to feast. Let them into his mind, they whispered, let them consume his thoughts and experiences, let them break apart his flesh and unmake him, or better yet, let them out. Existence was antithetical to them; the material and the Abyss could not tolerate each other, and they yearned to tear it apart.

Tyron fended them off, holding his mind close and tight to preserve his sanity. They would eat through it eventually, regardless of what he did, but his stay would not be that long. Despite his strength, he wouldn’t be able to survive in this place if it weren’t for the patron he had come to see.It loomed over him now, an unfathomable entity of untold age and power. Greater than The Three, greater perhaps than the entire Court, it circled the realm Tyron called home, hungry, yet patient. How a creature of the Abyss grew so powerful, Tyron didn’t know. Perhaps it had eaten other pockets of reality before and found a way to grow stronger.

Communing with it was… difficult. It had no voice, as such, and directly touching its mind would likely obliterate Tyron on the spot. There was only one way it could be achieved: carefully.

Holding up his offering, he felt acceptance from the godlike creature. With several short, sharp gestures, he released the souls he had bound within the stone, watched as they were drawn up and up, towards his patron.

Was there a twinge of regret that hadn’t been there before, the slightest hint of self-loathing? As focused as he was on preserving his mind, it was difficult for the Necromancer to pay too much attention to his emotional state. Whatever the vampires had done to him was supposedly undone. He hoped it wouldn’t prevent him from being able to do what he had to in order to achieve his goals. Offering the souls of peasants, townsfolk and villagers to the Abyss was not something he wanted to do, or enjoyed doing, but it was necessary.

Though pleased with his offering, the patron was still unsatisfied. It would always be unsatisfied.

Content for the moment, it looked down on Tyron, waiting for him to communicate first. This close to it, the other abyssals had retreated, their whispers faded to almost nothing now, the silence inside his head a strange phenomenon in this place.

I know why you want these, he communicated to it, his growing knowledge of the Abyssal tongue helping him get his meaning across.

The colossal entity acknowledged his words, expressing no curiosity, amusement or emotion at all. Perhaps it was beyond such things. Maybe it simply didn’t care.

Tyron had learned a great deal about souls in recent months, about the power they possessed and the possibilities they contained. A unique vessel and container, able to hold things and transform in ways that nothing else he knew of could. Why would the Abyss put such a high priority on souls if not for these possibilities? The Abyss was not concerned with the living or the dead, only the material and the immaterial.

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A soul underwent a qualitative change when it entered the Realm of the Dead, an entirely new form of magick being created in the transition. Why wouldn’t the same be true of the Abyss?

His patron was not interested in souls, but rather the unique power they conveyed to it. Knowing that didn’t necessarily help him in his negotiations with the unfathomable being, but it did give him a little insight into its motivations and capabilities. At the very least, he now had a better grasp on exactly what he was giving it.

What do you want?

Although he felt he knew the answer already, it was worth asking. If he were to make further deals with this entity, it was important that they understand each other.

Where he expected the answer to arrive in the form of unimaginable hunger and loathing, instead he received an entirely different impression. Not the overwhelming urge to consume, but an urge to understand and know, a desire for knowledge that it could not attain without assistance from the other side.

Surprised, Tyron cocked his head to the side, thinking. Possibly it was lying to him, trying to lure him into further cooperation while aiming to devour the realm at a later date. It wanted to, he was as sure of that as he was his own name.

What do you want to know?

Was there something specific it desired, or was this a more generic search for information?

Again, he was surprised. There was something specific the patron desired to know, a piece of knowledge it sought for reasons of its own. It wasn’t easy for it to communicate something so specific through the sliver of its awareness it allowed to touch Tyron’s mind, but he was able to understand it eventually.

He frowned.

Such a secret…. What could an entity such as this do with knowledge such as that? Maybe nothing… maybe everything. It would be dangerous beyond belief to gamble and hand it over, even if he were somehow able to find the answer.

Ever patient, the entity continued to drift in the void, immense and uncaring. If he could provide what it sought, it would reward him. If not, no matter, there would be another chance, eventually.

What do you offer in exchange?

He had to ask, and the entity was more than willing to provide him with an answer. A single voice, a dreadful whisper that caused his thoughts to bubble and fray, nearly broke through his defences in an instant. He grit his teeth and held firm, shaken by the fact that it wasn’t even trying to attack him, merely to communicate.

But what it promised… magick beyond his wildest dreams, secrets of the Unseen that would shake even The Five Divines, rip them from their hiding places and force them into the material realm. Yet there was more and more besides, new forms of Necromancy that would enable him to create minions that put his current creations to shame, dark spells that were capable of crippling even the gods.

It was always this way with the patrons. Everything he could possibly want or need to achieve his vengeance was right there, if only he was willing to pay the price.

With difficulty, he shook his head.

No deal.

There was no fury or rage from the Abyss, only acknowledgement. It was content that it would have what it wanted in the end, if not from him, then from another, if not here, then somewhere else. It was a relief that it was so willing to accept being rebuffed directly to its face. The Scarlet Court certainly wouldn’t be so forgiving.

There is something I want, Tyron said. If I tell you, then will you name your price?

He didn’t come here for nothing, after all. Above him a creature older and more powerful than a god looked down; he would be a fool to rebuff its help entirely.

It acknowledged his request. It was willing to listen.

My need relates to the Realm of the Dead. Do you have the answers I seek?

Again, the being responded in the affirmative. It knew of the Realm of the Dead. After all, to the Abyss, that realm was just as close as Tyron’s own.

Slowly and deliberately, he explained what it was he wanted to know. The entity listened, considered, and replied with the price of knowledge.

A steep price. But one he was willing to pay.

Stepping out of the Abyss and back onto his ritual circle, Tyron couldn’t help but breath a sigh of relief. The voices and whispers, desperate to take hold of him, spoke urgently while the abyssals pressed against the bindings he had created over the opening in the veil, searching for any sign of weakness that would allow them to slip through. There was none, of course, but that didn’t stop them from trying, from pressing and begging and reaching and promising.

Standing straight, Tyron snapped out a series of sharp gestures as he spoke the Words of Power and brought the ritual to a close. Once again, the veil was made whole, the opening closed and sealed tight, preventing egress by the creatures on the other side.

Fire crackled in the hearth, sending shadows dancing around the sitting room of his chambers beneath the temple. Within the centre of the ritual circle he had drawn on the floor, Tyron took a few moments to collect himself. Travelling into the Abyss was unspeakably dangerous, but the rewards were more than worth the risk. Hopefully this latest transaction would be enough to keep this particular patron off his back for a time and give him space to work.

Not that Tyron hadn’t benefited. Trusting in his ability to deliver what he had promised, he had been given the knowledge he sought the moment the bargain had been struck. It would take time for him to unpack what he had learned and make full use of it, but the possibilities it could unlock would help propel him forward considerably.

Sighing to himself, the Necromancer looked down at his work. It had taken a significant amount of time to clear off the blood and mess he had made in order to contact the Court, and while this was certainly cleaner than that process, it would still take time to make right.

And once it was done, he would move immediately to the third ritual. There was still one more patron that needed to be appeased, after all.