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“The Calling: The Beginning, Part II” Spirits Awakened

Lifebane — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 22:58:10 +0000

Spirits Awakened

They were calling…to me!

That thought struck home. Of course they were calling to me! I am the most reknowned necromancer in all of Telon, who else would they call to?! Mind you not many are known as our nature tends to make us a recluse, but I was infamous! Ah, but we shall return to my gloating at a later time. I calmed my mind and cleared my thoughts, searching for the strongest of the voices. Several moments passed and I began to feel a pull, stronger than the rest, albeit faintly.

The spectre made himself known to me as Kalith Del'Roth. He imparted to me he came from the Dragon Era, named so for its obvious dominant race of dragons. He had been very powerful in life, and it seemed even in death his power had not diminished. At once I knew that I had to be careful around this being. He made it clear he once was of the Siksarva, a race of brutal, intelligient lizard-men. I had heard mentions of them in many of the tomes I had acquired over the years. Each excerpt clearly stated the Siksarva had been a race bent on conquest, enslaving other races to build their cities and serve as guinea pigs for their potent magics. Should I err even in the slightest, the balance between master and servant could and would surely be switched. I did not, at the time have any particularly powerful spells to protect me from such a being. But, perhaps, I mused, this liche could teach me more of his ancient arts. Spells lost to time itself!

The liche notified me that he was trapped in a tomb, high in the mountains of a long lost city. The seal to his tomb had been broken by a crypt-robber centuries before, but the poor soul had met with an undesirable fate when confronted with the protective wards. I pondered the challenge at hand. After many moments, I sent my thoughts to him. After so long in a tomb, his body had to have been turned to dust. I will let him inhabit mine, on certain conditions. I alone rule the body, mind, and spirit. He must teach me the ways of his people and their own malignant arts. Through me he could see his goal fulfilled, and help me rule all else, and with him, I would find magic not even the oldest, wisest sages could ever possibly hope to achieve!

As I laid out my travel plans, packing what belongings I would need and burying the ones I did not, he imparted to me what he remembered of his location. I laughed softly, thinking of the future to come. How dark it appeared! I would become the most feared being in all of Telon! Hosts of undead already awaited my call. Ghosts of long dead soldiers, wraiths of once powerful mages, and zombies and skeletons galore! No, there was no turning back now, I had come too far! The spirits, had awakened.

“The Calling: The Beginning, Part I”

Lifebane — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 22:56:13 +0000

The question I have always asked myself is, "Where to begin?". In truth I am not sure myself where I shall begin, but I will try my best to start from the beginning. Before the cataclysm and the changing of Telon. Before the major cities rose above the scattered towns to stand as beacons for all near. I may be a little rusty, but please, hear my tale, for I doubt you have heard the likes of it before.

The Beginning

It would probably be best to start with my name, after all, I AM telling the story. My name is Vanelir B'Riva, of House Bragnaer Rivanal. I am an only child, decreed so by the fates, and the dark ways of the elves of Undercity. I follow the dark arts, the art of death and undeath. Necromancy. Most people speak the word in hushed tones, believing it to be dead to the known world, or just a fairy tale to scare children into going to bed. It is an art long thought forgotten and lost to all but the sages of Telon. Few study its mysteries, for fear of the unknown. I embrace it whole-heartedly. What is life without death?

I learned many things during my time in the Undercity, and although I was of noble birth, I had no desire to play games of intrigue with the other houses. Their petty squabbles meant nothing to me. I had a passion for one thing only. Power. Power beyond even the wildest dreams of the most long-lived sorcerors. I craved the power of the dead. To bring life to what was once dead, including myself. I studied hard and passed numerous magical tests with flying colors and some to spare. I was hated and revered by all around me. More than once I checked my back, waiting for a dagger to find its way to my heart. I dared them to try, to look into my eyes and see their was no hope of success. Oh how I relished it!!

I was only about a century old when I left the Undercity. I had long since graduated from the Academy, and they put me on menial tasks such as patrol duty, afraid of my growing prowess. That was well over several millenia go. I assume you understand the longevity for most elves, and usually they come no where close to even two millenia, but ah, with the powers of the dead, I have lived to see my sixth thus far. But I get ahead of myself. Once I left the Undercity, I went in search of legends. Of once grand cities now reduced to rubble, with ancient libraries stretching across the span of a castle! What magical runes might I find within these books? Over the years I have accumulated quite a collection, and many are the spells I know that most thought lost to the past. Resurrection of things long dead however, is my forte.

I wandered from land to land in search of lost treasures, artifacts, spellbooks, anything that would help further my quest for knowledge, and ultimately power. I wanted to be the most powerful magi to have ever lived! Ah, but the ways of the dark one are mistaken. I grew anxious as I gathered close that which I had sought. Even the gods themselves began to take notice. I was never so foolish as to challenge one, though more than once the thought crossed my mind. The spirits told me to wait. I would have time later. For they knew the future, the very existance of Telon was held within the Weave, the magic surrounding any and all things. They knew the calling would come soon, so they urged me toward my goal. I was to be the one to set them free from their unrest. To give them shape and form. To coax life to where there should not have been. Clerics have the power to resurrect newly dead allies or foes. But I, I sought to be able to resurrect ancient races. A cleric can resurrect because they have a soul to work with. I steal souls with which to work with. The fabric of the Weave itself warped and snapped under my fingers.

By the time I was five centuries of age, the land became still. Quiet. Nothing dared to breath for fear of breaking the silence. In the eerie quiet, the whispers began, soft at first, growing in intensity as time wore on. They were odd voices, for they were not of the living. They voices sounded like the dried leaves of autumn against grating bones. Voice of dead things. The Calling was here. They were calling….to me.

"Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian" : ‘Purpose Part I’

Lifebane — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 08:32:50 +0000

“Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian”

“Purpose Part I”

“I am here for a purpose and that purpose is to grow into a mountain, not to shrink to a grain of sand. Henceforth will I apply ALL my efforts to become the highest mountain of all and I will strain my potential until it cries for mercy.”
–Og Mandino

“Get up already would ya, this ain’t no boarding area” A stern voice cut through Aarian’s slumber.

Aarian struggled to open his eyes against a bright and blinding light. A tall man stood before him, dressed in armor and armed with sword and shield.

“Are ya getting up or do I have to get you up myself, I assure you I have a fail proof method” the guard said drawing his sword.

Aarian reacted out of instinct, scurrying to his feet and retreating from the guard. Realization struck as he stared at the man. His body reacted, strong and sturdy. His wounds were gone and the light. A bright sun burned in the brilliant blue sky above. His clothes were new, no signs of blood or combat and a small dagger was attached to his hip along with a small satchel of berries.

Confused Aarian looked to the guard “Where am I?”

The guard looked down at Aarian and smirked. “A little too much wine in the hot sun eh?”

Aarian heard a chuckle from behind him; he turned and looked shielding his eyes from the blazing desert sun. Behind him stood two other individuals laughing at him, mocking him. Neither was guards, but rather wore clothing much like any other citizen of the area.

“I was in a cave, and” Aarian thought about what his next words would be. What would he say? Could he tell the guard he was in a cave in the middle of nowhere because some old man put him there to test his abilities at necromancy? Should he tell the man before him about the horrifying creature that nearly ended his life? Aarian sighed and looked down at the dirt. “I fell asleep, and now I am here. I don’t know how I got here, or where here is”

The guard kneeled down before Aarian; taking his chin in his hands the guard lifted Aarian’s face and stared at him, examined him. He turned Aarian’s head to the left and then to the right, pulled his lips apart and checked his teeth like some kind of animal. Aarian swatted the guards hand away.

The guard huffed and stood. “Well you don’t seem all that worse for wear, you don’t appear to be a vagrant. You were in a cave you say? What cave would that be?”

Aarian thought for a moment. He wasn’t even sure where the man’s house was let alone the cave that ran beneath it. “I’m not sure. I was staying with my teacher out in the hills.”

“Teacher eh?” the guard said curiously. “And what sort of instruction were you taking?”

“I was learning nec” Aarian quickly thought of the possible reaction to the word “sorcery sir. I want to be a sorcerer and he was to teach me”

The guard looked at Aarian dubiously, it seemed as if he did not change his word quick enough and the guard was not as dumb as Aarian would have hoped. “Sorcery eh?” The guard said, beginning to pace in front of Aarian. “Well, we don’t have any use for Sorcerers here so I suggest you gather yourself, get yourself something to eat, and continue on your way.

“But Sir I” Aarian began and the guard cut him off sharply

“You don’t understand, this isn’t an open offer. I suggest strongly that you gather yourself, get something to eat, and continue on your way.” The guard said sternly glaring at Aarian

Aarian stood and dusted himself off “Of course sir, thank you” he said begrudgingly and slowly began to walk away.

He had walked a little bit down a steep dirt and rock hill and when he was sure he was out of sight of the guards behind him he stopped to look around. To one side rose steep rocky cliffs, and to the other was a drop off. A crude fence stood more as a reminder not to walk off the edge than a barrier to prevent such an act. Aarian looked around to make sure the guards were not watching him and approached the fence. He rested his hands on the ropes and looked out over the cliffs.

He could see for miles and in no time his vision cut through the dense fog below to reveal the ocean and the city he knew so well. Sprawled out below him was the grand city of Khal, the gateway to Qalia, his home. He looked around a bit more to get his bearings and a sudden calm overcame him. It took him only a few more moments to realize where he was but still did nothing to let him know how he got here.

So there Aarian stood, leaning against the fence high in the Clefts above Khal, the city and region he called home, and yet in his familiarity he felt a strange sense of separation. His mind began running over the incidents of the day before. Or was it the week before, he suddenly realized he no more a sense of time than he had an idea of how he got here.

What was he to do, and where the hell was the old man?

Aarian’s emotions began to run wild. Confused, abandoned, and left for who knows what purpose he began to formulate a plan. He knew he couldn’t go around telling everyone about his new found abilities or aspirations so he must keep them closely guarded. At least until he found the old man to find out just what this was all about.

With a sense of purpose about him, Aarian took one longer look at the city below him. He would make his way there shortly once he gathered some food and perhaps some better clothing. He wouldn’t stay long however, he couldn’t. He needed to find the old man and make him explain himself; explain why he was dumped here without even a hint as to what he was to do.

“They have fallen!” A loud voice boomed against the wind. Aarian jerked his head towards the cry and found a middle aged man in long brown robes and cream colored head wrap shouting, pointing frantically down the hill. The man was just on the other side of a small stand of tents and buildings; he could barely make out features, but could hear him clearly.

“They have fallen, we must get to them!”

Aarian ran down the hill towards the man, by the time he reached him a small gathering of people had formed all staring down into a small valley.

Aarian stared in shock. The valley floor seemed alive as dozen of scorpions, some as large as a man crawled along, around and over each other in a chitenous writhing orgy of insect frenzy. In the center of the valley floor he saw the bodies of 3 men. All dressed similarly to the men standing around him, long cotton robes and wooden sticks. Their skin a sickly blue with cuts and gashes and large gaping wounds in their chests.

Some of the scorpions hovered over the bodies, tearing pieces and feasting on their victory.

“Someone must stop them or they will come to the village!” The man yelled again. At this point several people began loading up their carts, muttering in a frantic rush about leaving the hillside to the scorpions. Others in another area of the small makeshift village were gathering sticks and small daggers, planning an attack on the overgrown insects.
“They will die” a familiar voice said near him

“They will”

Aarian looked around, he knew the voices. They were the ghosts from the cave, but where were they. He looked all around him but could not see them.

“It is day and he looks for us”

“He should focus”

“He should”

“Focus” the voices said in harmony

“Focus on what?” Aarian asked the invisible voices

“They will die, you can help”

“You can help, or they will die”

“Help? Do what? Become scorpion food? I think not!” Aarian snapped and began to walk towards the tents.

“You have power, they do not, and you can help”

“You should help”

“Practice”

Aarian continued to look around him for the voices, he knew what they looked like from the cave, but here in the blazing desert sun they were invisible; but he continued to look. As he did, he caught sight of a young girl on a nearby rock. Head in her hand, sobbing.

Aarian tried to ignore the child, but something inside him refused to allow it. With a defeated sigh he approached the child.

“Are you hurt?” Aarian asked, glancing over the child’s body for signs of injury

The child looked up at Aarian, eyes red and swollen, streams of tears flowing down her cheeks. She looked towards the scorpion valley and then back to Aarian. “My brother, he went and he won’t be back”

Aarian felt his heart sink. He looked up from the child and to the village folk gathering to go into the valley.

“They will fail” the invisible voices said in chorus

Aarian knew they were right, and something inside told him he had to do something.

“It will be okay” Aarian said the child rubbing his hair before walking towards the crowd. He firmly parted the crowd; the villagers stared incredulously as Aarian approached the ramp leading down into the small valley.

Without taking his eyes off the disgusting writhing mass he took a deep breath, adjusted his tunic, and made his way towards the valley floor.

"Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian" : ‘Teachings and Trials: Part 2′

Lifebane — Thu, 29 Mar 2007 06:29:28 +0000

“Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian”

“Teachings and Trials: Part 2”

Aarian lay ragged and worn on the earthen floor of the small room. He tried to open his eyes but could manage only a flutter, catching fleeting glimpses through what seemed like distorted glass. He tried to move his arm but his muscles protested with pain mixed with numbness; he was too tired to sort it out.

Is this what it feels like to die?

It was all he could think about; surely he was doomed to join the bones and debris littered across the floor. He would be but one more reminder of a failed attempt to be something more. Would the next person be able to get out, or would he too find himself in the same position. Feeling his life struggle to hang on while looking at the bones around him wondering how they had fared.

Aarian attempted to lift his head again, his neck thickened as if trying to life a cart of bricks, but it didn’t even lift half an inch.

There are many ways a person meets his fate. Some go out in the thrill of battle, dying for a cause, protecting the weak and defending a belief. Others, less fortunate die of sickness, a natural death beyond the poor victim’s control. Some would die of old age while some at the hands of a lunatic. Not he however, he was left to die alone. Chasing a fools dream to be more than he was, facing horrors no one would ever know, and dying in a place that no one knew about. He would disappear.

Surely his family would be distraught, frantically searching for a son who could not be found, not that if he could it would be in time to be saved. They would search, but soon even they would resign themselves to the fact that their son had just vanished. In the beginning the explanations would be simple enough, but over time the stories would grow. Perhaps kidnapped by pirates and taken to a far off island. Maybe eaten by a dragon that lived in the nearby mountains, one that none has seen but are convinced lives there.

How would he be remembered? Would the old man go to the nearby villages and speak the truth of his demise or would he just let it be what it may be. Would he even be remembered? He wasn’t a great warrior, or a powerful wizard, he was in fact, nothing.

“Nothing he says, he thinks he is nothing” a strange voice cut the silence of the room, pausing his thoughts. It was a quiet voice, but chilling and unearthly.

“He does, he thinks he is nothing, perhaps he is nothing” a second voice, this one deeper than the first but with the same feel as the first.

“Then we should leave him, he doesn’t need us. Let him join the others” the first voice spoke

“Agreed”

Leave me? Aarian lay perfectly still frantically trying to make sense of things. Don’t leave me. It was all he could think, all he could focus on. He didn’t know who was in the room with him, or what their intentions were, but he knew he did not want them to leave.

“He wants us to stay” the second voice said, still no inflection in its voice; Just a silky smooth yet unreal tone.

“Should we?” Replied the first voice.

“We should ask him why”

“Agreed”

“Why should we stay, you have already decided you are nothing.
We came to find a necromancer, a confident master of life and death, a commander of the mystical” The second voice spoke almost tauntingly.

“That is what we came for, but not what we found”

“Not what we found”

“We found a boy, a tired whelp.” The first voice said displeasingly

Aarian found himself getting angry. Why had these people come, to taunt him? Tease him? He could feel his pulse quicken, he could not move-could not see-felt nothing but dull numbness in some of his body and burning pain in the rest; but he was angry.
Without thinking about it, without realizing it his lips were moving. He heard his own voice, weak yet commanding. “I am no whelp”

“He says he is no whelp”

“He says”

“Perhaps we were mistaken”

“Perhaps”

The voices volleyed back and forth moving around him in the room. He was becoming more aware, his anger breathing new life into his body. He could not see, or lift himself but he was aware. The voices, whoever they were, were circling him slowly. Yet, he heard no footsteps. “Help me” he said quietly.

“He wants help”

“He needs help”

“He must help himself”

“He must”

The voices continued to bounce and circle around him. He found himself getting angrier.

“He is angry, his emotions are not damaged”

“Perhaps he is angry because he is afraid”

“Afraid of us? Afraid of death?”

“Perhaps. Are you afraid of us whelp? Afraid of death?”

Aarian was now furious. He was dying and these people were toying with him? Aarian focused and forced his eyes open, this time they obeyed, popping open like bloody pods. From somewhere deep inside he summoned more strength, his anger fueling his determination. He lifted his head from the dirt and looked towards one of the voices.

There, hovering above the ground was a translucent man. He was dressed in majestic robes, hints of purples and blues shone through the misty form. It was then realization set in. He was being tormented by a ghost. He was lying here, surely spending his last minutes not only in cold tearing pain, but being teased and prodded by a ghost.

“You are not death” He said. “You are dead, but not death. I am not afraid of you. Leave me be”

Aarian allowed his head to drop back to the earth. Any sense of hope dashed.

“He is wise” the man said

“He is” the other voices said.

Aarian’s curiosity wanted him to look to the other voice, but realistically he knew it was probably nothing more than the man’s counterpart. Another ghostly image capable of doing nothing but taunt and tease.

“Do you fear death Aarian, true death?”

“No, I do not” Aarian replied. Maybe at some point in his life he did fear death. It was unknown, a mystery. He no more understood death than he understood life in general. Here, however, facing death he found he did not fear it. It didn’t come in the form of a monster stealing baby’s breaths in the night. It wasn’t a horrible monstrosity, cutting swaths of destruction. It was in fact quiet; cold and quiet. Death was a quiet being who sat and waited for the right time at which point he was sure he would just stop.

It was strange actually. Here in a cave, being taunted by ghosts, bleeding into the ground, he found himself admiring death. He understood death. It was, nothing more, than the absence of life.

“He is ready” he heard the male figure say.

“He is ready” the second voice said in confirmation.

“You welcome and understand death, and in doing so have made death your ally. Call on it young Aarian when you need aid and it will aid you. Summon it when you need vengeance, and you will have vengeance. Talk to it, when you need comfort, and it will comfort you. It is now your friend, your ally, and as such you are now ready”

The voices stopped and the room fell silent once again. He was aware however. He was not alone in the room. He could feel the souls before him flittering about their ways as if he were invisible. Although the voices had only just left he played their words over in his head. When you need aid, it will aid you.

Aarian focused on the souls around him; although his eyes were closed he could see them, feel them. Although he had never met any of them in their former life, he knew them.

Aarian felt with his mind for one who seemed stronger than the others, more powerful. He found one, a fallen soldier from a war long forgotten. He reached out to him Help me he thought, hoping it was all that was needed. To his surprise and comfort it was. He felt the soul approach him. It hesitated for a moment and then forced itself into Aarian’s limp frame. He suddenly felt strong, his wounds remained, but the pain subsided. His mind was clearer and he was able to think. He didn’t know how to describe it, he was filled with strength, but not natural strength achieved through training and practice, it was in fact the strength of the dead.

With new hope and a resurgence of faith that he was not going to die here, alone and forgotten, he allowed himself to sleep.

********************************************************************

“Get up already would ya, this ain’t no boarding area” A stern voice cut through Aarian’s slumber.

Aarian struggled to open his eyes against a bright and blinding light. A tall man stood before him, dressed in armor and armed with sword and shield.

“Are ya getting up or do I have to get you up myself, I assure you I have a fail proof method” the guard said drawing his sword.

Confused Aarian looked to the guard “Where am I?”

"Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian" : ‘Teachings and Trials’

Lifebane — Wed, 14 Mar 2007 23:47:17 +0000

“Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian”

“Teachings and Trials”

“We learn by example and by direct experience because there are real limits to the adequacy of verbal instruction.
–Malcolm Gladwell

Aarian stepped through the transparent door and into a long earthen corridor illuminated by small glowing orbs of brilliant blue light. The smell of stale air filled his nostrils as he moved forward, his progress encouraged by the old man behind him.

“Where does this go?” Aarian asked

“Every journey begins with a step. This, young Aarian, is your first step” The old man replied

Before Aarian could ask any more questions they reached a small wooden door; pristine in condition it stood in stark contrast to the earthen wall. The old man moved ahead of Aarian and rested his hand on the doors handle.

“You must ask yourself Aarian, are you sure you are ready for what is to come? You may turn back now, but once on the journey, there is no turning back”

Aarian looked to his feet for a moment, breathing deeply. “Ready as I will ever be I guess”

The old man grabbed Aarian’s shoulder firmly, shaking him briefly.

“There is no guessing boy, you are about to go down a road few can handle, and even less survive. You must know damnit, heart and soul. You are about to see things you could not imagine, and only if you are sure will you have a chance at understanding them” The old man turned away. “Maybe this is a mistake”.

“No, I am ready. I just don’t know what to be ready for” Aarian retorted.

“You see, that is the point. You need to be ready for the unknown as well as the known. Anyone can prepare for what they can see, touch and understand. Only the true powerful ones, the ones who master their art, master their destiny, are ready for that which they do not know.” The old man paused, reading Aarian’s face. “I ask you again, are you ready?”

Aarian straightened his back, breathed sharply and staring back into the old man’s ancient eyes nodded his head. “Yes”

“Behind this door you will find your destiny realized, or your fate. Pay attention to what you see, learn from it. Inside you will learn the very basics of what it takes to be a necromancer. If you can master the lessons behind this door, then your journey will begin.”

“What if I come out and I haven’t learned anything?” Aarian asked with concern.

“Son, if you don’t learn anything behind this door, you won’t be coming out” The old man replied swinging the door open and ushering Aarian through. “Remember, watch and learn” the old man said as he closed the door.

Aarian stood, back flat against the door. The room was moderate in size, the torches by the door able to illuminate about half of the room, leaving the far half blanketed in a still, disconcerting darkness. The floor was unsteady beneath is feet, like walking on loose rock. Bending over to get a closer look in the amber haze he saw that it was not rock at all, but a bed of loose dirt and bone. Aarian stood back up rapidly losing his balance he slammed his hand against the wall. Rather than smooth cold stone beneath his hand he felt a sticky roughness. He steadied himself and looked at his hand which was now covered in sticky ochre; A mixture of moss, mold and dried blood.

Aarian’s eyes widened as realization overtook him. He was going to die.

As if in response to the thought, a low primeval chuckle emanated from the dark half of the room. The sound sent icy shivers down Aarian’s spine, freezing him in place.

Aarian squinted into the darkness trying to see what was there, but could not penetrate the inky black. “Who‘s there?” He asked shakily.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Aarian began to wonder if perhaps he had been hearing things, his mind playing tricks on him. This room certainly was such that it was easy to spook oneself. Aarian resigned himself to his paranoia and went back to scanning the room.

“I am your fate” a gravely, wispy voice said from somewhere in the dark, frightening Aarian; sending him sprawling backwards. “You come here to learn, and learn you shall. You will learn whether you are Necromancer, or are weak” The ragged voice continued, hollow, listless. “You will learn power, or you will learn mortality.”

“Who are you?” Aarian could barely force the question from his lips.

From the darkness he could feel a strange energy, suddenly a violet glow from somewhere in the back flashed and disappeared as something slammed into Aarian’s shoulder. Searing pain shot through his arm and up his neck as the force knocked him against the wall and to the ground. “You ask questions that have already been answered. You will learn though, you will learn”

Aarian looked at his shoulder bringing his hand to examine the wound. A tiny piece of bone protruded from the wound. Aarian removed it and tossed it to the ground. Wincing he returned to his feet.

“How do I learn, I can’t even see…” Aarian froze; jaw dropping in wonder, heart beating in terror as a figure emerged from the dark. At first it appeared human as it stepped into the light, but once in full view it was nothing short of a nightmarish mockery of humanity. Ragged cloth clung to strips of rotted flesh hanging from decrepit bone; its skull, burnt and scarred, eyeless hollow sockets and chipped random teeth. The figure held its hand out to the side, palm down.

“You will watch, and you will learn, or you will fail” the figure turned its hand and forced it towards Aarian. Another bright reddish-violet glow and a small projectile struck Aarian’s thigh, pushing his legs out from under him, face planting in the dirt.

Aarian paused a moment, the burning pain in his thigh blinding him. He dragged his feet under him and forced himself to stand. “How do I learn? I can’t see what you are doing?” Aarian asked shakily

“Watch, and learn!” The voice said forcefully. Again turning its hand and forcing it towards Aarian; another shard nicked his forearm bouncing harmlessly off the back wall. Aarian could feel the terror he felt being replaced with helpless aggravation.

“I understand, but how without your instruc…” another shard barely missed his face as Aarian turned his head to avoid it.

“Focus, watch, and learn!” The voice commanded. Aarian watched the thing’s hand hoping to dodge the next inevitable attack. This time he noticed something he hadn’t before. Just before the thing attacked, a small puff of dust came from the ground beneath his hand. A bone shard stabbed forcefully into Aarian’s stomach, doubling him over. He had been paying too much attention to what the dust meant to dodge the attack.

He’s pulling the bone from the ground, Aarian thought to himself, but how?

“But how indeed. Watch, and Learn!” The voice commanded again, flinging another tiny barb. Aarian stepped to the side as the projectile flew by.

Aarian stared at the thing in front of him and stretched his hand out to his side, palm down. He must be envisioning it, he thought as he tried to picture a small piece of bone appearing in his hand.

If the creature had lips Aarian would swear it smiled as it spoke again, acrid breath over rotted vocal chords. “Called, not conjured. Watch and learn!”

The next barb came to fast and embedded itself deep in Aarian’s side as he tried to turn away. The pain was intolerable. Aarian crumpled to the floor, suddenly aware of his precarious situation. The wounds he had suffered continued to bleed making his clothes stick to his skin. He struggled back to his feet, his knees weak. He stretched his hand out to the side again, this time he envisioned the shard coming to his hand; stripped from the bones of the long dead buried deep in the earth. Suddenly he felt a small object smack against his hand. He paused and looked down to see a tiny bone shard in his palm. Wild excitement filled his weakening body.

He looked up to the thing before him, confident he had learned when another tiny shard struck him in the face just below his right eye. This one had more force than the others, or perhaps he was just too weak for it lifted him from his feet sending him backwards hard against the wall. His head swimming with confusion, and fear realizing he hadn’t the strength to stand he looked to the nightmarish creature. “But I learned” he said shakily.

“Watch and Learn!” the being said as if taunting Aarian. The thing's hand began to turn to send another bone his way; surely it would be the last one. Aarian lifted his arm and forced his hand forward envisioning the small bone leaving his hand with force and flight.

A dull violet light encircled Aarian’s had and the shard left his palm at blinding speed striking the creature square in the chest knocking it backwards; and all went silent.

Aarian, unable to fully stand, remained on the floor on all fours staring from a half lifted head towards the darkness waiting for the thing to come back.

“You have learned” the undead spoke; Aarian suddenly felt alone. And in the chamber which he thought he would realize his destiny, he was sure he realized his fate. Too long to learn kid his inner voice said to him you took too long, and now look where you are. Aarian’s limbs gave way to his weight, too weak to hold himself up he lay on the dirt ground staring at the bones around him. I wonder how long it took them his inner voice pondered at least I learned.

At least I learned.

Aarian breathed heavily, slowly, as the world around him slowly faded.

"Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian" : ‘Destiny’ – Part 2

Lifebane — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 23:34:48 +0000

“Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian”

“Destiny” Part 2

“What have you done??” He heard the old man shout from the back door of his home.

Aarian looked up to see his instructor frantically limping towards him, closing the gap at an incredible speed. He was shaking, filled with a sense of wonder and fear at what he had done to the stud; unable to retreat from his frantic instructor all he could do was stare, slack jawed and wide-eyed.

The old man grabbed Aarian by the ear with amazing strength and turned back to the house. Wincing, Aarian grabbed the old man by the wrist, attempting to relieve some of the tension as he was dragged back into the small shack.

The old man shoved Aarian to the ground as he hurried to the windows, slamming them shut with frantic conviction.

“How did you do it?” he snapped as he moved to the next window. “How boy?” He moved to the door hurriedly scanning the landscape before he slammed the door tight with a loud crack that silenced the room.

The old man paused, leaning his head against the door, the room eerily quiet.

“You must tell me how you did it” the old man said with disconcerting calmness

Aarian was silent, unable to find the words to describe what had just happened. He wasn’t even sure if he could find the words that he could find the nerve to utter them.

The old man slowly turned to face Aarian. Then, without warning, he rushed towards him. Hand frantically groping Aarian’s clothing, searching pockets and cuffs, creases and seams. “How did you do
it boy? Was it poison? A dagger perhaps?”

“I don’t know” Aarian said nervously trying to fight off the old man’s groping

“How?”

“I don’t know”

“You must tell me!” the old man snapped.

“I don’t know!” Aarian retorted, continuing to slap the old man’s hands away.

“You must…”

Aarian pushed the old man to the ground and retreated to the wall “I willed it!” he shouted.

The air was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Carefully the old man stood, brushed himself off and slowly pulled a chair from the table and sat. His brow furrowed as he thought, mouthing inaudible words, seemingly arguing with himself.

Aarian took a moment and then joined the old man at the table. He waited a few moments, staring at floor, before he spoke. “How did I do that” he said calmly, quietly.

The old man looked up, “I have an answer, but I don’t understand it. But then, I don’t know if it matters what I understand”

“What is it?” Aarian asked solemnly. “Was it magic?”

“Indeed” The instructor said as he lifted his body from the chair and made his way to a small bookshelf near the fireplace. “It is most assuredly a form of magic, but not like you are thinking. “ He let his hands drift over the tomes hovering over one particular volume and pausing as if questioning his choice.

Curling his lips in resignation he pulled the book from its resting place and returned to the table placing the book in front of Aarian.

Aarian looked down at the book. Its aged black binding showed no signs of extensive use, in fact it looked as if it had hardly been used at all. The cover was in excellent condition, covered in leather-like material he had never seen before. He turned the book right side up so he could see the title.

‘Necromancy: The lessons of the dead’.

Surely the old man wasn’t serious. He had heard the word Necromancer before, but as he had thought earlier, only in nightmarish stories. Stories which were meant to frighten children into submission, turn people way from things or places they shouldn’t be. They certainly weren’t real.

“What is this?” Aarian asked skeptically

“That will be yours, I am afraid. Every man woman child and beast here on Telon is born with a destiny chosen for them. It is our job, or duty, to find it and live it to the best of our abilities. We may not
agree with the choice that has been made for us, but it is not our place to defy it. It would appear, your path lies there” The old man pointed at the book as he pulled an old dusty bottle from a small area he used as a pantry. Taking a sip off the bottle, inhaling through his teeth he continued. “The physical natures tend to be easiest to find. They are straightforward; the only question is the path they would ultimately take. The mystical, however is a bit harder to discern. The magic’s are so closely tied together that the nuances between the paths sometimes can be muddied. What many identified in you as an affinity for the elements was in fact, something much different.”

“You’re mad” Aarian snorted, pushing the book across the table.

“Am I? Then how do you explain it. You killed my prized stud without arrow or sword, without poison. Choked the life from its body without ever laying a finger. You didn’t use fire, or ice, or storm. You
didn’t use divine graces from the spirits that surround us, nor did you draw power from the trees. You did, however, see its very soul, and from there. . .”

“Stop it!” Aarian cut the old man off. “So, what are you saying, I am evil? Some vile creature who takes pleasure in the death and decay of others? Some kind of nightmarish…“

“No.” The old man moved to Aarian placing a hand on his shoulder. “I never said anything about evil, not now anyway. That is a choice you will make as you advance your skills and your teachings. I said
you have the affinity, how you handle that – how you deal with that- is purely in your hands. Destiny only goes so far, you control your fate”

Aarian paced around the room, occasionally glancing at the book on the table. “So, what do we do now?”

The old man opened a closet door and pulled aside some old clothing revealing a wall with hundreds of odd shapes. He recognized some of the shapes as being the language of other races around Telon.

The old man spoke some words in a bastardized sentence of several languages and the wall faded. It could still be seen, but could see through to the other side.

Aarian approached the closet carefully, eyeing the old man accusingly.

“Let’s go inside and we will discuss what to do next”

Aarian stood in front of the transparent door for a moment then, prodded by the old man, stepped through.

(To be continued next "Teachings and Trials" Part 1).

"Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian" : ‘Destiny’ – Part 1

Lifebane — Wed, 07 Mar 2007 01:22:25 +0000

“Shadowpath: The Saga of Aarian”

“Destiny” Part 1

“Every man has his destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him”
– Henry Miller

“Concentrate damn you, focus on the result not the means” The instructor snapped at young Aarian who stood awkwardly, palm outstretched. A small flicker of light hovered in the air above his palm, his eyes squinting as he focused. The light began to pulse and grow. It doubled in size, it tripled in sized, and then…gone.

Aarian let out a long sigh and lowered his head, purposely dodging his instructors glare. “Useless I tell you, useless. They send me a boy with no hope.” The old man hobbled around the room muttering to himself.

“He has potential they tell me. He has a natural gift they tell me. Well you know what I say, rubbish”

Aarian let his mumbling drift into the background as he thought back and wondered why he was here. His parents, aristocrats to the City of Khal, had placed him in the care of the old man for the sole purpose of making a sorcerer out of him.

They believed that he had a natural ability that just needed the right training. Besides, imagine the prestige a sorcerer in the family would bring them. He could hear them at night giggling with delight at how that would easily reinforce their stature in the city and then they truly would be looked up to, as they rightfully should be.

Aarian sighed again as he realized he had let them down. If he had any power it was barely enough to light a candle let alone command the mystical and elemental forces of the world.

“Are you listening to me boy!” the old man’s voice snapped Aarian back as he grasped his arm firmly, shouting in his ear. “Bad enough you are useless as a sorcerer, don’t make it worse by ignoring me. What am I supposed to tell your family? They have paid me good money to make a wizard out of you, and I doubt I could make you much more than a dung farmer. So tell me, what good are you?”

Aarian began to murmur but was quickly stifled “Don’t speak, just sit and wallow. Better yet, go out back and tend to my goats. You can do that much can’t you? I will come get you when I have figured out the matter; you may want to take something to sleep on”.

Aarian nodded his head reluctantly and gathered up some old blankets as he made his way out the back door to the goat pens. They were typical pens for the small farms of the area. Rickety wooden posts surrounded a meager section of the yard where a dozen or so goats wandered about, passing away their mundane existence. Some were milk goats chosen carefully at the auctions for their production ability. The sturdier goats were there passing their days awaiting their turn at slaughter.

Amongst them all, standing away from the meandering herd, was one rather large male. Perfect in every way, from the shape and symmetry of his horns, to the perfect fur pattern and color, he was special. He was the old man’s stud. Here for one purpose and one only. Spared the butcher’s hammer and treated like a king.

Aarian lay his blankets under the shade of a nearby aukfruit tree and want over to the fence to get a better view. The more he stared at the stud the more he saw, and the more he saw the more he stared. He was focused, amazed at the power and grace of the animal. This one was in every way, shape and forms superior to the others. As he stared at the animal, taking in every detail he began to notice something odd.

A strange haze surrounding and penetrating the animal It was fog-like, yet there was no fog on the nearby ground and to late in the afternoon for fog anyway. The more he stared the clearer it became.

“What is that” Aarian whispered under his breath.

He carefully moved towards the stud to get a better view. The closer he got the more the fog seemed to shimmer: almost shine. He stopped and looked around the surrounding area. The other goats were surrounded in a similar fog, yet not as brilliant as the studs. Some were brilliant and clear; others, the older goats, were – for lack of a better word – lifeless.

It was then he noticed the fence, it did not have the same foglike surroundings. The fence was just that, a fence. He looked away for a moment, to the ground. Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him. He clenched his eyes shut tight in hopes of cleansing his vision. When he opened his eyes, returning his gaze to the goats, it was just as before. Strange fog surrounded the animals, but not the fence.

He looked around frantically at everything around him. The trough, the stones, the house and the wagon did not share the same phenomenon. Yet the horse tethered to the wagon, the old man’s cat meandering by, the bird flying from the tree; they were encased in this fog.

“Could it be” he questioned himself “could it be their, soul?”

Oh, it was too ridiculous to entertain. One cannot see a soul, but Aarian had no other explanation. The living had the fog, the unliving did not.

What else could it be? He had heard tales of people able to see and even manipulate the soul. Those were dark stories, told only in private. Bedtime ghost stories meant to frighten children into compliance when traditional methods failed. Ridiculous or not, he could see it, but could he – touch it?

Aarian reached out to one of the less skittish goats. Expecting to touch soft fur, he jerked his hand back in a panic when he touched the fog. He felt it. It had mass; it was warm to the touch, comforting to him in some way. He quickly went back to the fence to observe from a distance. His mind racing to comprehend all of this new information as he continued to stare, afraid if the fog left, he would never be able to see it again.

He focused on the stud once more. This one had the most prominent soul of the others: the brightest and most tangible. As he stared he began envisioning the soul growing and shrinking. Soon he noticed it was more than a vision. As he pictured the soul moving, it would respond. He would picture the soul growing and it would begin to leave its containment and grow like a cloud. As he pictured it constricting, it would in fact respond in kind.

He pictured the soul shrinking down to a speck, a molecule of dust. If he could do that then he could make the soul grow just as much the other way. He was fascinated. As he envisioned the soul shrinking he noticed resistance the smaller it got. It was fighting him. So, the more it resisted the harder he concentrated. He was enthralled with the challenge and with this new ability. So much so he failed to hear the bleating of the goat.

The panicked wailing and thrashing as the soul got smaller and smaller. As the soul shrank, the tormented cries of the goat became louder until suddenly all was silent and the soul was gone.

When the soul disappeared and Aarian’s focus dwindled he looked around him. The souls were gone. He looked back to the stud and gasped when he saw it lying on the ground, a hollow shell of the massive stud that stood there only moments ago.

“What have I done?” Aarian whispered to himself incredulously

“What have you done??!!” He heard the old man shout from the back door of his home

(To be continued next "Destiny" Part 2).