Tales of Malus: Prelude and Chapter One

Prelude

Death is often the last journey for most every living creature in this world. Some fear it, some accept it, and some are bitterly indifferent. No matter what is done in Life, Death is always to follow. Some, however, either die in most unpleasant ways or choose not to pass on; they linger, clinging to life as shades of their former selves. For lack of a better term, we will call these creatures undead. They are neither alive nor dead, but stuck in a limbo between these two states.

As it would sound, this state of existence makes these creatures considerably more difficult to slay in combat. They have what we call the fortitude of undeath. Undead, excluding those in spirit form, lack the ability to feel pain and some even the ability to think, and use this to their advantage. They have increased endurance, strength, and resistance to the elements. They can’t be poisoned, nor can they contract diseases. To be frank, they have many natural abilities that make them physically superior to many creatures among the living.

An important thing to remember when combating the undead is that they will    almost never be both highly intelligent and physically strong. Your basic risen corpse, a zombie as many know it, is just that; a corpse animated by its master to do his or her bidding. They are slow, clumsy, and incredibly stupid, but at the same time have enough strength to tear a grown man limb from limb. On the other hand, a necromancer who sacrifices his mortality for the immortality of undeath, a lich, lacks physical strength but is immensely intelligent and holds arcane powers that rival even those of the Archmages of the Sorcerer’s Council.

It is important for any self-respecting spellcaster, regardless of their specialty, to know how to properly deal with and vanquish the undead. Necromancers have a distinct advantage in this field because they specialize in the undead and death-related magic. Sadly, most necromancers are consumed by their craft and become little more than minions of the dark masters they chose to serve.

You however, Malus Darkskull, are different; I can see it in your eyes. Though you have chosen the much-avoided art of necromancy as your school of choice, you seek not to blight the world but to banish those who would scourge it. I can teach you many things, but the day will come when you must seek the Necronomicon. The book, written by the founder of clan Darkskull, Kirinor Darkskull, contains every scrap of necromantic knowledge in existence. Once you obtain it, you will have to prove yourself for it to show you new and more powerful skills. The book writes itself, it is an intelligent entity that gauges your skill and provides likewise knowledge.

If I remember correctly, you will find the Necronomicon in the crypt of your father. The door of his crypt will only open when you are ready though, and only you will know when you are ready. Now then, let us move away from such a distant subject. Your first lesson will be to control your fear. Fear kills the senses and induces panic. As a necromancer, you will come face-to-face with many horrific entities that will most likely give you cause for fear. If they sense weakness, you may find yourself the minion and them the master. Now, repeat after me . . .

~Malzaren Darkraven~

~


Chapter One

Pale moonlight broke through the swaying branches of the towering pine trees, casting eerie shadows that danced with every gust of wind. The Darkskull family plot was finally in sight after many a week of travel. Malus sighed, knowing that the journey that had taken him so far north was the easiest of the challenge. Brushing a strand of long black hair from his eyes, he muttered a word that caused a nearby branch to burst into flames. He grabbed a kettle from his haversack and set about making some tea to calm his nerves.

While the tea was brewing, he arranged a makeshift camp and took in his surroundings. Trees surrounded him as far as the eye could see, towering pine trees that went on for leagues in all directions. So this is the Ebon Hollow he thought. The winding cobblestone path that led to the cemetery was a comfort, a familiar sight in a sea of the unknown. The whistling of the kettle snapped him from his thoughts.

He took a small tin cup from his pack and filled it with the tea. Though it was incredibly bitter – his master believed sugar was a luxury and should be avoided – and tasted faintly of pine needles, the tea did help to sooth his anxiety. What am I to expect in that long abandoned cemetery? His father had died when he was very young, so a lot could have changed in this forsaken plot of land.

I will enter the crypt tonight while my will is still strong. I mustn’t let fear overpower my senses. Measure your breathing Malus, control your fear and use it against those that inspire it. Remember what Malzaren always said, “Fear kills the senses and induces panic.”

Malus sat quietly on his travel-worn bedroll for several minutes, composing himself and reviewing the lessons that his master and teacher Malzaren Darkraven had taught him. A creature howled somewhere off in the Ebon Hollow, piercing the false serenity of the night. The shadows being cast by the trees seemed much more ominous now, bearing down on the small camp like the hungering fangs of some wild beast. Damn it Malus, control your fear!

I must go now. A man could easily lose his sanity sitting idle in this dark corner of the Elder Grove. Malus rose to his feet and put out the fire with an arcane infused word. Darkness engulfed the small camp as soon as the fire disappeared. But darkness is a friend to those who wish not to be noticed, is it not? He knew this was a lie, the undead did not hunt by sight, they could sense the living, feel their presence.

Focusing on the air in front of him, Malus snapped his fingers and a small globe of light instantly appeared, illuminating the camp once more. Sighing, he began up the path towards the Darkskull family cemetery, step by agonizingly slow step. Hadn’t the locals of this area given the plot a new name? Shallow Grave they called it, for the dead did not rest easy here. Malus shuttered, he had never encountered an undead outside the Wizard’s Academy, and there they had been controlled and bound.

The rusty iron gates of the cemetery loomed in front of him, spiked bars jutting upward as if attempting to impale the sky. He could feel it; death was everywhere here; saturating every fiber of the land. Upon reaching the gate, he noticed a heavy lock that prevented any entry into the cemetery. After attempting several spells of unlocking, it became obvious that the lock could not be removed without a key.

“Ahem, if I may, is your name Malus of clan Darkskull?” a disembodied voice asked.

Malus whirled around, his heart racing. Where had that voice come from, and how did the speaker know his name? “Behind you sir, I have been awaiting your arrival for some time now.” The voice was that of an older man, kindly yet rasping. Turning around slowly, Malus noticed an elderly man in a fine silk suit standing next to the gate, right off the road.  He had an extravagant mustache, but little hair otherwise. This was no man though, he was slightly transparent and had a faint blue glow in his eye; a spirit of some sort.

“You know my name, how?” Malus inquired.

“Oh, terribly sorry sir, I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Olaf, steward of Kirinor Darkskull and keeper of the Darkskull family cemetery. Your father, Andrael, alerted me to the fact that his son would soon be arriving to claim that which is his by right of birth. You do come seeking the Necronomicon, do you not?”

“I do indeed come seeking that book. I have been told that it is in the crypt of my father, have I been instructed correctly?” Malus replied.

“You are not mistaken; the book does lie within the tomb of your father. However, he wishes to speak with you before you obtain it.” With that, Olaf turned around, inserted a large key crafted in the likeness of a skull into the lock and disappeared.

The key twisted of its own accord, causing the heavy lock to fall to the ground, clattering on the cobblestone path. The key vanished without a trace, and the massive iron gates slid open with a loud creak. The cemetery was quite large, for many generations of the Darkskull family were buried here along with those who served them. A pale white mist coiled around the crypts and gravestones, masking the ground from view. Many of the stones and crypts were of marvelous masonry, but Malus had eyes for only one.

Striding down the path that led throughout the graveyard, Malus made his way to one of the more humble crypts. The globe of light illuminated the door of the crypt, revealing the name Andrael Darkskull. Malzaren always said my father had humble taste. Olaf suddenly appeared beside the door, “This is your father’s crypt, as I’m sure you already know. Shall I open it for you?” he inquired.

“Please,” Malus replied, though his voice sounded more anxious than he would have liked. The fear of the unknown was beginning to creep up through his body again, to shake his nerves and rattle his resolve. Why am I so frightened to enter my own father’s crypt? I came here many years ago as a boy and was not in the least bit scared. But that was many years ago, he thought to himself, many things could have changed since I was a youth.

The sound of grinding stone broke Malus from his reverie. The door of the crypt stood wide open, revealing a pitch black void that led downward into the earth. Olaf was nowhere in sight, so Malus descended into the tomb alone. A cloud passed over the moon, leaving his diminutive luminescent globe the only light in the engulfing darkness. Small motes of dust rose from the stone stairs with each step he took, taking him deeper and deeper into the ground. The air was thick and musty in the crypt, smelling heavily of death and decay.

However, it wasn’t the gloomy atmosphere that disturbed Malus; it was that he sensed the presence of an extraordinarily powerful undead entity nearby. After a minute of descending into the crypt, the stairs leveled out and Malus found himself in a small chamber supported by tall stone pillars, three to the left and three to the right. Carvings of events in his father’s life adorned the walls, and the bases of each of the pillars were decorated with the Darkskull family crest; a large black skull with a blade behind it. At the end of the chamber was his father’s coffin, plain and humble as he had expected. In fact, the only distinguishing feature of the coffin was that a heavy lock in the likeness of the Darkskull family crest was implanted in its side.

Malus knew what was to come next, and braced himself for the wretched chill that permeated the atmosphere around a greater undead. A fine blue mist rose from the keyhole on the coffin, condensing above it in the shape of a man. Though Malus knew better, his father did not appear undead in any way; he even avoided the transparency of a spirit. He was always startled by his resemblance to his father. Pale skin the color of moonlight, piercing crystal blue eyes, even his gaunt body frame was similar. The only thing he seemed to have inherited from his mother was her long black hair.

“Welcome, my son, it has been far too long since we last spoke,” Andrael said in a strange, distant tone. “I assume you have finally come to claim that which is yours by birth? The Necronomicon will be yours soon enough, but first; I must speak to you on a very different and urgent matter.” Why is his face so grave, Malus thought, worried.

“It has come to my attention,” Andrael continued, “that your few surviving relatives have not taken the path that you have. They have become . . . changed.”

“What do you mean father? Surely Sylviana would not pass into the darkness, I know her well, she would not do such a thing!” Malus replied in shock.

“It is not that. Your sister, Sylviana, has more or less become consumed by jealousy. She was always envious of you, but now it seems she wishes you dead so she can claim the Necronomicon as her own. I tell you this so that you will guard the book with your life. You must not let it fall into the hands of those with such rash emotions. I have tried to reason with her, but it is of no avail,” Andrael explained.

“This is sad news . . . very sad indeed,” Malus muttered mostly to himself. “What of my uncle? What of Morius?” he inquired.

“These tidings are even more grave, I’m afraid. Your uncle has been consumed by darkness; he gave up his mortality and is now a lich.” Andrael replied. “He wishes you dead as well so that he may obtain the Necronomicon for his own nefarious purposes.”

Malus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, so much bad news at one time. “I will do my best to keep them away, father.”

“I thought you would. There is not much else to be said I suppose. Malus, I want you to know just how big a responsibility this book is. It literally contains every scrap of necromantic knowledge in existence,” Andrael said.

“I know father, I know,” was Malus’s reply.

“My time in Life is short, so I must be swift,” turning around, Andrael placed both hands on the wall behind the coffin. Instantly, the air was filled with arcane energy, called forth by the words Andrael was chanting. The wall appeared to fold in on itself, brick by brick until a small passageway became visible. “Go forth my son, your mother and I will always be with you.” With these words, Andrael faded into nothing; not a hint of Malus’s father remained.

“Father . . . mother . . .,” Malus whispered. Straitening up, he strode forward into the passage. The way is open, and my destiny lies before me. So be it.