Birth of a Necromancer 042

“Don’t manhandle the cargo!” Zennereth shouted to the countless walking corpses, that were carrying various foodstuffs; mostly salted fish and hams, alcohol of different sorts, and the bodies of those who could work no longer.

While the lich was directing the minions, Ash was staring at the frozen land they’d cast anchor by. It wasn’t anything beautiful, like the scenery Evitagen had shown him, but it was entrancing in other ways. The glittering snow on the ground, and the snow-covered forest in the distance, were both extremely beautiful in their own strange way.

“I’m gonna go explore for a bit, servant. Get a fire going while I’m gone, okay?”

“Master, wait—” the lich began but it was too late. Ash had already started running toward the white forest.

A few minutes later, the young elf was standing by the edge of the forest. He was feeling strangely drawn to it, and it wasn’t just because of its snow-covered exterior. Ash turned to look at his servant, who was hard at work administering the living dead, before finally entering the woods—eager to discover the source of its entrancing aura.

“Really, now…” he mumbled, as he kept pressing forward.

Snow was also starting to fall, now, and it wasn’t exactly motivating the young elf. He was just about to loudly express his disappointment with the seemingly empty forest, but had to hold that thought when he reached a glade that wasn’t deserted at all.

‘How the hell didn’t I hear—’

“Hey, you!” someone shouted, before Ash could even finish thinking.

“Wha—”

“Don’t just stand there. Come warm yourself by the fire!”

“R—Right…” the young elf said, and followed the voice, which turned out to belong to a tall, muscly man holding a long axe and a shield.

“So, what brings you here? I haven’t seen you around before, elf.”

Ash wasn’t completely sure how to respond. He didn’t think it’d be a good idea to share the fact that he’d brought an army of the dead to their shores, so he decided to lie.

“I was travelling with my father, a merchant from The Empire. We were carrying a cargo of rum and meats, and were expecting to rack in quite a hefty sum. Unfortunately, we fell victim to sea raiders, who were more in it for sport than plunder. They sank our ship, and killed my father and our crew. I jumped into the ocean, fully expecting to die, but instead I ended up here.”

“Bullshit,” he said, “You came with those ships, didn’t you?”

Ash grabbed his dagger under his robes, completely taken aback by the warrior’s sharp intuition.

“W—Who are you?”

“Does it matter? Now sit down,” he said, and pushed Ash toward one of many logs that surrounded a large bonfire in the midst of the village.

There were a lot of equally muscly villagers—warriors, by the looks of it—sitting around the bonfire.

“No, seriously—who are you?” the young elf asked again, as he sat down next to the seemingly benevolent villagers.

It wasn’t the villager who’d come to greet Ash that answered. Instead, it was a much larger, redheaded man with an equally red beard that answered him, “We’re their followers,” he said, and brushed his hair to the side, revealing a grim-looking tattoo of something that looked all too familiar to the young elf.

“W-who are ‘they’?” Ash asked. His voice was shaking.

“You’re one of those, eh? Citizens from The Empire, Redrag, and Kanburrough—you’re all the same,” he drank deeply from the wooden mug he was holding, “Completely ignorant of the dark ones.”

Ash didn’t understand. Whatever the villager was talking about couldn’t be what the young elf was thinking of. The person he was thinking of surely hadn’t made his existence known to anyone except Ash.

“Please tell me more about your god.”

“Gods,” another man—a brown-haired man wearing chainmail—said.

“Sorry,” Ash replied, trying not to let his annoyance show, “Pardon my ignorance but I’ve been raised on the basis of there being but a single god, the elf-hating menace, Icarus.”

The redheaded villager nodded in acknowledgement of the young elf’s excuse, but his ice-blue eyes, which were staring directly into the young elf’s own, didn’t look as acknowledging.

“We’re happy to share what we know, but you have to understand that there are no scriptures in our faith, so what you hear may vary from tribe to tribe, as we only have what little knowledge the emissaries have left us,” he said, while twirling his long, red beard around his finger.

“Please, as much as you can possibly tell me,” the necromancer said, desperate to grasp this opportunity to learn.

“Very well,” the red-haired man said, and took another swig of his beverage, “We don’t know where they came from, nor do we know why they came here; it is simply not known. All we know is that one day, a handful of men who called themselves ‘emissaries’ appeared, telling tales of gods residing in a world beyond our comprehension.”

Ash’s mind immediately flashed to imagines of Evitagen’s world, the void.

“The emissaries would appear in every city—big and small—to tell tales of the benefits there were to be reaped from following ‘The Dark Ones’, as they called them. According to the emissaries, The Dark Ones had bestowed wisdom of immeasurable magnitude upon them, and showed them how to live more fulfilling lives.”

“Let me guess, they wanted a full purse in exchange for sharing this wisdom with the masses, right?” Ash asked, eyebrows raised.

“Not at all. Anyone that decided to follow them, to join them in their travels were taught the words of The Dark Ones. Today, however, none of the original emissaries remain. Our tribe has but the knowledge of the gods’ existence, and a few words spoken from one of their mouths.”

“Does your tribe have any records of this god’s words…?

“Life is a game of chess, and your opponent is the world. Think ahead, plan for the future, and eventually you’ll stand above all else.”

Those words sent a chill down Ash’s spine. They resonated with him, just as much as they made him realize that Evitagen had to somehow be connected to ‘The Dark Ones’.

“Do you know the names of any of your gods?”

“Yes”—he positioned his face right in front of Ash’s own—“but we only worship one of them—Goddess Nefaria, the Prosperous One.”

And that was enough for Ash to know for sure. He knew Nefaria, had talked to her, had been saved by her back when Evitagen had taken over his body. If she was a goddess, then that would make Evitagen the polar opposite of what the necromancer had taken him for—a god.

“A—a—are you sure that’s what she’s called?” the young elf.

“Of course.”

“What is it?”

“This goddess of yours… I’ve… I have met her before.”

Many eyebrows were raised at that statement. No-one appeared to believe the elf, who had come to their shores and lied to them the moment he stepped into their village. However, there was one who didn’t frown at the young elf’s words.

“Prove it,” the redheaded tribesman said.

A smile surfaced on Ash’s lips, as he pointed his palm toward the fire.

“Negative Infusion,” he said, and let a gas-like substance flow his fingertips and into the flames where they were devoured by the hungry bonfire.

Many a surprised outcry resounded throughout the village, and soon, everyone was standing around the bonfire. It no longer radiated warmth but there wasn’t cold around it, either. Ash had created a limbo of temperature, which felt as strange as it looked.

“Very good!” the redhead shouted, and pulled the young elf to his feet. “An emissary has come to our village!”

Only the black flames’ crackling could be heard for a bit. Then cheers slowly started erupting around the village.

‘Could this… could this be a good thing?’ Ash wondered, as two villagers lifted him up for all to see.

“Although he does not know our ways, he has surely come here on behalf of the gods!” the same villager shouted. “My name is Sven. I lead this tribe, the Nordmaend”—he put the surprised elf down—“I’d like to humbly ask your own name, O’ great emissary.”

“My name is Ash Tsuga,” he said. “I suppose I might as well tell you the truth, now that you know this much about me.”

He stepped up on one of the logs close to him, so he wouldn’t have to look up every time he wanted to speak to someone. “I’ve been exiled to The North as the result of having become an emissary, and have just cast anchor by your shores. To be honest, meeting you all here was completely by chance.”

The young elf shrugged, “If it wasn’t for the fact that I felt some sort of aura from the forest, we would’ve probably met on different terms.”

“So those ships are yours?” Sven asked. “What about their crews; are they your servants?”

“Minions, rather,” the young elf corrected him. “You see, they have no will of their own, giving me complete and utter control over them. You cannot tempt them with money, power, or lands; their loyalty lies completely with me.”

“Don’t tell me he is… He’s not one of his followers, is he?” one of the villagers, outside Ash’s field of vision, asked. Their voice was shaking.

“The Warped One… Do you worship him?”

“Who?”

“We do not know his name, but we all have his face—the lack thereof—tattooed on our bodies to ward off his evil presence. He’s the one god no-one dares worship, because what he stands for is twisted perversion itself.”

“I believe I know the god—The Warped One, as you call him—”

Ash suddenly stopped mid-sentence. It was like a dark mist had surfaced in his mind, obscuring any thoughts he’d managed to gather.

“You are forgetting yourself. Did you come here to conquer and subjugate, or to bond and socialize?” a voice asked from within the blackish mist. “It has been a while since you last required guidance like this, but I suppose it had to be done at some point.”

“You’re right,” the young elf muttered.

“Sorry, I don’ think I understa—”

A chuckle escaped the necromancer, as his almost friendly smile from before slowly became a madman’s menacing grimace. He bent his head backwards and looked at the skies above him—they were full of dark clouds. Ominous clouds.

“I completely get it now!” he shouted, falling to his knees, arms hanging limb by his sides.

“Elf, are you alrigh—”

“Shut up!” the elf’s voice was constantly cracking and distorting, as if two people were trying to speak through the same mouth, “Please, guide my hand.”

The young elf’s smile was growing ever wider, before completely disappearing in an instant. In its place was a completely blank expression. One that expressed complete indifference toward everyone—everything around him.

“Hello, northerners,” he suddenly said, as if they hadn’t done introductions already. “I, am Evitagen, this boy’s companion.”

He bowed extravagantly—so much, in fact, that the villagers who stood closest to him had to take a step back to avoid his flapping arms.

“Pardon my ignorance, I don’t know that name.”

“Oh,”—Evitagen cocked his head sideways—“but you were talking about me.”

There wasn’t a single person who didn’t know what that meant, and the air became as silent as death itself. That was, until people started falling to their knees with bowed heads. Everyone was waiting for the self-proclaimed Dark One to say something.

“I’m gonna tell you what I told the elf: prove it.”

“You dare”—the black bonfire’s flames grew more violent—“question my power?”

His face remained completely unfeeling, so did his voice, but one didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that he was upset by the challenge.

“Very well,” he said, after a while. “I trust you have prepared yourselves for the consequences.”

“Of course,” Sven instantly replied. His arms were crossed, and his ginger eyebrows were raised, making him practically radiate skepticism.

The elven puppet ignored the nordmaen’s comment and held his palm outstretched in front of itself. Its eyes were fixated on the ground, as if it saw something none of the others could.

“Ex profundis venit mors,” Evitagen whispered with a voice that sounded too powerful, too loud, to be anything Ash’s lungs could ever procure. He was creating immense vibrations, that could be felt in one’s bones, with just the power of his voice. Except they weren’t coming from his voice.

Soon, another claw-like, gloved hand shot up from underneath, cracking the frozen earth around it. The creature beneath quickly started trying to pull itself out of the ice, with just the use of its two hands. Its arms—covered in armor, decorated with strange engravings—followed, and added to the speed with which the horror in the ice was emerging.

Plate armor, engraved with runes and various holy symbols, a metallic skull on each shoulder, and a helmet with no openings at all—not even for the eyes.

“Witness my champion!” Evitagen shouted, prompting the runes on the creature to suddenly emit a faint, icy-blue light, and the monster itself to screech at a deafening pitch.

“This proves nothing,” he said and picked up a long axe, which had been lying next to the log he was standing by, “I suppose I’ll have to fight it, in order to grasp your power.”

All those who’d been lowering their heads were now attentively watching the massive man position himself in front of the cold creature, the self-proclaimed god had summoned forth.

“Let’s see what you can do!” he shouted and swung at the giant’s arm.

But, no sound came when the two pieces of metal met; they never made contact in the first place. An icy membrane had formed around the armored being’s arm, nanoseconds before it would’ve been hit by the axe head, which was now stuck in the ice with but a millimeter separating its sharp edge from the armor beneath it.

“That’s quite a beast,” he said through heavy, tired breathing. The cold around the creature was clearly a bit of a burden on him. But that didn’t stop him from attacking the still unmoving hulk.

Even as the redhead’s fist approached its abdomen, it didn’t flinch. Nor did it turn to look at the northerner when his fist broke against the icy membrane that surfaced on its armor. It took for him to fall to his knees in pain, before the giant emitted a dark and foreboding screech, picked him up by the head and hurled him toward a nearby tree, subsequently throwing its strange weapon with such speed that it caught up to Sven mid-air, and nailed him to the tree.

And there he remained. He wasn’t dead, but he was definitely out of commission for the time being. His shoulder had been penetrated with such force that the weapon was sticking out on the other side of the tree. Luckily, no blood was flowing from the wound, as it had been frozen shut by the spear-like weapon.

“That will do. Get him down from there,” Evitagen commanded the armored hulk, which nodded and did as it was told.

As it moved through the snow, people slowly started getting on their feet—some accepting and applauding the fact that a god had come to their midst; others, not so much. There were those who just couldn’t accept Evitagen’s coming to their village and beating up their elder; they were vocal about that fact. They were mumbling amongst themselves and throwing shrewd glances toward the powerful figure in the middle of the crowd.

“I trust this is enough to support my claim,” Evitagen said, as he watched his terrifying minion carry back Sven’s limp body. “You may heal him,” the demon continued, with his eyes on the malcontent few. “But, I must say, these parts sure have changed. Back in the day, you northerners would have thrown yourselves at any given opportunity to serve your gods. Fanaticism sure is hard to come by, these days.”

“Great Warped One, you misunderstand,” the villager who’d greeted Ash at first stood up, “We’re simply wondering whatever you could want from us.”

“You will serve me, but for now I command you to comply with dear Ash’s wishes. You see, I cannot be in this world for very long at a time. Until that changes, he serves as my link to this word; a world I see as a block of marble for myself to sculpture into a marvelous statue, that will be remembered for generations to come.”

The elf placed a hand on the villager’s shoulder, “I like you. Like the man over there”—he pointed toward Sven, who was being treated on the ground—“you are unafraid to state your opinion. I want the two of you to act as Ash’s advisors. Be his eyes and ears—help him overcome his shortcomings.”

“G-Great one, I am honored!” the villager bellowed and knelt before Evitagen.

“Very good. Now, follow me. You tribesmen appear strong; you can help your new leader unload his ships.”

And so, the elf, who had come alone, left, with almost the entire village’s worth of people following right behind him. Lighthearted chit-chat was passing around between some of the villagers, while others were busy gawking at Evitagen’s monster, which was making up the rearguard. The sun was rapidly setting in front of them, so they were all walking as fast as they possibly could, without leaving anyone behind.

“I wonder where to your soul is drifting right now, Ash,” the demon whispered to itself.

Chapter end