Book of The Dead

Chapter 47: Locked In

The noise above never ceased. As the hours passed, the piercing cry of the monsters only grew louder over time and Tyron slowly came to the realisation that it wouldn't stop any time soon. After putting the cellar back to rights, cleaning up the mess and laying down his blankets and bedroll on the stone floor, he began to prepare for sleep.

Dove had other ideas.

"Hey," he objected, "you're just going to sleep? What am I supposed to do?"

Tyron blinked owlishly at the skull which still sat on the floor. He'd been awake for several days straight at this point, emotionally drained from the turmoil, destruction and death all around him, all Tyron wanted to do was rest.

"I don't know, Dove," he told the spirit honestly. "I don't know how any of it works. If I'm honest with you, I'm still only half sure how I managed to bind your spirit in the first place."

"Have I told you that you piss me off?"

"Yes. Yes you have."

"Because you do. Piss me off I mean."

"I know."

"It's just… who the fuck casts magick they haven't even studied and aren't quite sure how it works? Worse than that, who does that and succeeds? Just thinking about it makes me furious."

"… I get it."

"I don't think you do."

"Just let me sleep! I'll see what I can do when I wake up. Alright? That's the best I can do right now."

"The best thing you can do is free me from this skull."

"I will. Alright? I will. Just not now."

As a disembodied spirit, there wasn't much Dove could do to argue, so he suppressed his anger.

"Fine. Fine. Go to sleep, kid."

The young mage lay down after kicking off his shoes and dragging off his cloak. He was so exhausted he didn't need to spell himself to sleep, drifting off just minutes after his head had hit the pillow he'd swiped from the house.

Unable to sleep, or breathe, or scratch himself, or do anything, really, Dove tried to take stock of himself. To say he felt strange was an understatement. In a sense, he didn't feel anything at all. He had no sense of touch, or taste or smell. He could see, but only in a sense. The input he received through the flames that burned in the sockets of his skull was far from ideal. Blurred and cast in a strange purple light, it was difficult to make out much detail, if any.

Emotionally, he was… largely numb, which surprised him. He'd thought he'd be more outraged, or sad, or anything. He was dead! Rogil, Monica, Aryll, all gone. Woodsedge was probably already gone. What hadn't been destroyed in the blast was currently being devoured by the hordes of rift-kin that would be pouring into this realm every moment. Another high pitched shriek rang out and a memory flashed into the mind of the former Summoner, of the burning sky beyond the rift, of the enormous, raging beasts who had cut down so many of his friends.

It would take something special to kill those fuckers. Even Magnin and Beory might struggle. For a little while, at least.

The lack of feeling caused him to reflect on the nature of his present incarnation. He existed purely as a spirit, bound to a physical object, his skull, and in some ways that explained his detached state. The normal functions and responses of a human body no longer applied. He couldn't cry, his heart didn't pound with the force of his anger, no adrenaline poured through his veins, no sweat beaded his brow. The emotion he felt was a distant, hollow thing, with no physical outlet that would make it real. The guilt he felt at murdering the inhabitants of the farm was… there… somewhere, but so faint and immaterial that it may as well not have existed.

"Holy shit. This is dreadful," he muttered to himself.

What sort of dreadful acts would a being be able to commit if this was how they felt? The sadness, pain and grief that they experienced, or caused, wouldn't touch them, but drift past, like dust in the breeze. In a sense, it was freedom. Dove was no longer bound by the things that hemmed in everyone else, but the mage was canny enough to recognise what a trap it was. If he lived for too long like this, just how much of his humanity would be lost? How long until he was little different from the monsters he'd devoted his life to defeating?

Even as a spirit, the thought was frightening enough to cause his soul to shiver.

Filled with such thoughts, he sank within himself, unaware that the light burning in his sockets dulled as he did so. In that half aware, half dreaming state, time passed outside of his awareness. It was with total surprise that he came back to himself as Tyron picked him up off the floor.

"Dove? Are you still in there?"

Awareness came flooding back to the spirit as the flames ignited once more.

"Wha? What happened?"

Tyron looked at the skull in his hand curiously.

"I'm not sure. You were kind of still and quiet in there…"

"Fuck. I think I just had the equivalent of a ghost nap. That felt strange."

"Well, at least you didn't have to sit around and wait while I was sleeping."

"I'll take what I can get I suppose. How long were you out?"

The young Necromancer shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"I have no idea. I can't exactly track the movement of the sun from down here. I feel like it was a long time though. I haven't felt this rested in weeks."

Without the pressure of having to do something, to constantly be pushing himself, make decisions and take risks, Tyron had finally been able to sleep peacefully. He was effectively trapped in the cellar for a week. The lack of agency was, in its own way, strangely freeing. Now that he was awake, though, there was plenty to do. He carried the skull toward the food stores and placed him on top of a barrel as he ate a scant breakfast. The two quickly fell into a discussion about magick.

"Effectively, I manifested your spirit as a construct formed of magick by modifying the Speak with Dead spell. Once that was done, I used the binding ritual to seal your spirit into your skull."

"You say that like it's so simple. 'Oh, I stuck your spirit into your skull using a basic binding ritual'. Goddess' tits you did. And how, exactly, do you manifest my ghost as a magick construct? What the fuck does that even mean?"

Tyron grimaced.

"I think, I'm not sure about any of this, but I believe that the Speak with Dead spell essentially… infuses death magick into the ambient spirit that remains after death. I don't think the spell would work on someone that hadn't died recently, since the ghost would have dissipated or moved on by then. What I essentially did was form a … holding cell I suppose you could say, for your infused spirit. A framework of magick that would prevent the spirit from departing and gave me something I could use in the binding."

Dove absorbed this information for a while, churning it over in his ghostly mind. What the kid said made sense, in a twisted sort of way. If a spirit was just a wisp of magick stuck into a literal ghost, then it would be impossible to bind, it was too flimsy for any sort of ritual to take hold.

"Does this mean you could create intelligent undead by binding spirits into skeletons?" he asked.

The Necromancer blanched and nearly choked on the bread he was chewing. After a short coughing fit he looked up at Dove with red eyes.

"What the hell? Why would I do that?"

"Forget the morals for a second, kid, and answer the fucking question."

The intent tone in his voice caused Tyron to sit back and think carefully before he answered in a serious tone.

"I don't think so," he said slowly as he continued to ponder the matter. "I'd have to make huge changes to Raise Dead. I have no idea how to connect the spirit to the body. I could possibly, possibly bind a spirit to an entire skeleton, but that would just stuff them inside it. Having the spirit be in control… that's another question. I also wouldn't know how to ensure… control... over the spirit."

"Those are issues, sure, but I think they could be overcome."

Tyron stared up at the skull, exasperated.

"But why would I want to, Dove?"

"More capable minions. Obviously."

"I'm not enslaving people's souls!"

"Didn't stop you with mine," the Summoner pointed out.

"You aren't enslaved," Tyron pointed out weakly.

"I don't remember volunteering."

"Just… drop it. I'm not going to explore this further. Can we talk about something relevant, please?"

"Fine."

The two fell into a sullen silence for a short time before Dove spoke up again.

"Well we might as well crack into the status ritual. After all the shit you pulled, your status is going to go fucking bonkers. I know you picked up a Mystery, you prick."

"Another one," Tyron nodded.

"Ano… another one? Fuck you piss me off, Tyron."

"I know."

Washing down the last of his meal, Tyron grabbed Dove and ripped another page from his notebook before he calmed himself. After drawing a long breath, he cut his thumb, placed it in the centre of the page, and spoke the words. The blood oozed out to form the words on the page and he leaned forward to read what they said.

Events:

You have attempted to save another, though the result is not as you had hoped. Race: Human has reached level 12. General Skill Selection awarded.

Dismembering remains has increased your proficiency.

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

Application of the Shivering Curse has increased proficiency. Shivering Curse has reached level 2.

Your creation of new undead has increased proficiency. Raise Dead has reached level 5.

The use of Death Blades has increased proficiency. Death Blades has reached level 2.

Your use and study of Death Magick has increased your proficiency. Death Magick has reached level 4.

Improvisation using Commune with Spirits has increased proficiency. Commune with Spirits has reached level 3.

Use of Repository for means other than intended has increased proficiency. Repository has reached level 2.

You have raised minions and they have fought on your behalf. Necromancer has reached level 11. You have received +2 Intelligence, +1 Wisdom, +1 Constitution and +1 Manipulation.

Chaos reigns wherever you tread and your patrons delight in the madness. Their investment in you has proven to be wise, though they hope you ensure it continues to prove so. Anathema has reached level 8. You have received +4 Intelligence, +4 Willpower, +4 Constitution. At this level you may choose a class ability.

Your incredible feat of mastery has impressed the Unseen. You have been granted the Words of Power Mystery in recognition of your skill. Few have displayed such an intuitive knowledge over the form of Magick. Cultivate this talent to receive greater rewards. Words of Power Mystery has been granted.

Name: Tyron Steelarm.

Age: 18

Race: Human (Level 12)

Class:

Necromancer (Level 11).

Sub-Classes:

1. Anathema (Level 8).
2. None
3. None (Locked)

Racial Feats:

Level 5: Steady Hand.

Level 10: Night Owl.

Attributes:

Strength:

12

Dexterity:

11

Constitution:

39

Intelligence:

53

Wisdom:

25

Willpower:

32

Charisma:

13

Manipulation:

20

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: 2

Necromancer Skills:

Corpse Appraisal (Level 3)

Corpse Preparation (Level 3)

Death Magick (Level 4)

General Spells:

Globe of Light (Level 5)(Max)

Sleep (Level 4)

Magick Bolt (Level 4)

Necromancer Spells:

Raise Dead (Level 5)

Bone Stitching (Level 4)

Commune with Spirits (Level 3)

Shivering Curse (Level 2)

Death Blades (Level 2)

Anathema Spells:

Pierce the Veil (Level 4)

Suppress Mind (Level 3)

Repository (Level 2)

Fear (Level 1)

Necromancer Feats:

Skeleton Focus II

Anathema Feats:

Repository

Mysteries:

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

Words of Power (Initial): WIS +3 CHA +3

Anathema level 8. 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.

Invasive Persuasion - Open a weakness to manipulation in a suppressed mind.

Fear Implant - Leave an impression of fear within a suppressed mind.

A second Mystery. Beyond the boost to his attributes, the real prize was the aid the Unseen would provide when utilising that aspect of its power. Now that he had two magick related Mysteries, it was likely they would work together to push his casting to an even higher level.

The rush of levels was also extremely welcome. Three levels provided another welcome influx of attributes along with a new skill choice, though browsing the options left a bad taste in Tyron's mouth. Suppress Mind was already an ugly spell, these additional options were… bordering on evil. Both stunk of mind control, a practice so forbidden it would be worse than being a Necromancer in the eyes of the public. It wasn't like he could be double executed, but he still hoped to redeem himself one day.

A precious general skill point for raising his race level was a shock, though a welcome one. Another level in Raise Dead gave Tyron another surge of triumph. All in all, he was pleased with his gains, very pleased. He was rapidly approaching the threshold of upgrading his Class and he had to make up a lot of ground with his skills if he hoped to be ready. Raise Dead and Death Magick, at the very least, had to be brought to level 10 before Necromancer reached level 20.

With a frown, he turned his attention back to the Anathema choices and placed a mark next to Appeal to the Court. Hopefully, this ritual would prove to be the lesser evil.

He ended the ritual and experienced the influx of power that accompanied his growth, though he managed to not faint this time. Dove watched the whole process from beside him.

"I miss that rush," the former Summoner mused. "You don’t get that feeling as you get further along. The gains are further apart and the attributes you get are more per level, but a smaller percentage. Having the Unseen just reach in and change you in such a big way… it's heady stuff."

Tyron gulped down a few breaths as he adjusted to his new self. The feeling of change still tingled throughout his body, but he didn’t have the time to wait for it to fade completely.

"Right," he said to his somewhat mentor. "We have a week down here, I need to improve my magick as much as I can in that time. Can you help me?"

The purple flame burned bright in the eyes of the skull.

"Fuck kid, I haven't got anything else to do."