Caleb's Journey

Undead Legions

The Wild, so called for it remained largely and incoherently settled and served as he home for many unknown creatures, was where Xerax made his lair, deep within the territory underneath a decrepit cemetery. It was always dark and gloomy, but what cared he for such trivial matters as the weather or the environment? He came outside in his royal fur lined, purple robe. Ever the high bred monarch, he felt the need to dress the part. Each finger had a ring possessed of some magical power, power like his dark magic, undead legions and the like, all that was stolen from the planet. If Mithkre had a least loved child, that child was now basking in the sunlight and taking a morning stroll. The sun, watched over by Uua’s brother incinerated lesser undead beings, but not Xerax. Foggy withal, not uncommon for this region, Xerax took no notice of it. He sometimes liked to defy the sun as if to say “I’m better than you, you can’t hurt me.” On this particular day he took in the air for it helped him to think more clearly and he had weighty matters on his mind, raising an army in particular. He rubbed his bare chin as he pondered the means to his end. Then, with a wicked smile which suggested he had found out how to raise an undead army, he retreated back to his lair.

Once inside, he walked down the hallway and stopped at his marble golems. Telepathically he told them to follow him to his laboratory. As he created them, they bent to his will so the duo gave him a nod. Once inside his inner sanctum a thought crept into his mind. “I must remember to kill Nostarius when all of this ends. He annoys me. His wanton hubris makes him an undesirable companion. I know he flatters me out of fear of destruction. I dislike that sort of character, those who are free with their tongue towards me, as it suggests that they no longer fear me and that is a trait I cannot abide in any lesser being.”

As to the matter at hand, Xerax commanded his two servants to gather the wood to heat his cauldron to the point of it being hissing hot. The giant, nearly inanimate goliaths came to the room and began to move at a slow pace. Cold, jet black in color, and lifeless Xerax had taken great care to create them. Sculpted from a mixture of marble and clay he had given them exquisite details, such as tunics, muscled bodies, short, fine haircuts to name but a few of the details. As he had an infinite amount of time he devoted great care to create the most ornate and realistic beings that his talents allowed. He had also endowed them with a basic intellect so that they would only obey his commands and cast spells on them to protect them from harm of fire. Their natural components involved in their creation also made them impervious to most physical attacks.

In the center of this room, sat a capacious iron cauldron set upon an open centered carved stone stand. That it would burn on the ground mattered little, for Xerax made sure that the coming flames harmed nothing, his command over that element being quite potent. The cauldron was obtained when Xerax sent Nostarius to a blacksmith for the purpose of commissioning the project for the express purpose of being able to handle extreme heat. When the blacksmith finished his work and demanded payment he received no recompense aside from serving as Nostarius’ meal for the day, which was far less than satisfactory for the ironmonger.

The behemoths began their task of bringing stacks of wood from the stockpile of timber while Lord Lestrade lounged languidly on his throne of skulls. Calmly, he watched them carry out their menial duty. “I do so love having slaves,” he thought. “It’s best to have others carry out such mundane matters.” Flippantly the master of magic flung a blue orb of flame onto the pile of timber, setting it alight instantly. He did this even though his golems stood near the flame. They neither flinched nor cared and Xerax chuckled at their indifference, swollen with pride at his creations.

“

Children,” he said, “You are about to witness a miracle, the miracle of re-life, whereby I animate legions of dead beings and create an army of skeletons. Your part, a humble one, is finished. Go and lock the door and stand guard. Nobody passes and enters my room on pain of death.”

Then, he poured himself a glass of wine and stared at the fire, watching it grow from a small bit of flames on wood, and after several moments, ablaze, engulfed in an all consuming blaze. The water in the kettle began to bubble and hiss as it boiled. “Water, giver of life, from you I shall bring death. Today marks the dawn of a new age, my age!” He then began to put various alchemical items into the cauldron: the dried out heart of a vampire, snake venom, the skeletal hands of a lich, strands of hair from a werewolf, fangs of an azbler. Next he plunged his magic staff into the bubbling mixture and began to stir in a counterclockwise fashion, gradually increasing his speed until the mixture swirled on its own, like a mini-maelstrom. A dark, deep green cloud rose from the pot.

He raised his hands to the sky as the sleeves of his fur lined, royal purple robe slid down to his elbows and once settled there, dangled loosely. “Hear me bones of the departed! Hear me bones of the soldiers of wars past, bones of ancient civilizations, your master has need of you.” The green cloud that had arisen from the kettle began to slowly drift towards the door and slid underneath the gap between the door and the floor. Slowly it crept down the hallway and up through the secret sarcophagus entrance and out into the morning.

Xerax watched the gas depart like it was an agent sent out on a mission and he began the next part of his incantation. With great alacrity he moved away from the boiling cauldron, tapped on a stone on the wall which opened a secret pathway. He emerged with a worn, leather bound tome of some great size and weight and placed it on his table. “Ah, my true Book of the Undead, exactly the item I was trying to find. It’s filled with all sorts of spells. Nostarius surely wishes he knew of such a book. I gave him a smaller, less copious copy. He never will know the truth of the matter.” Here Xerax paused to let loose with a tiny chuckle. In his mind he saw himself revealing the book to Nostarius in one moment and killing him in the next. A wry smile formed on his face.

Whilst Xerax thumbed through the pages of his spell book the innocuous cumulus mass began to swirl into a dark, energetic orb that seemed to have yellow eyes. It streaked off into the daylight, over the graveyard first, ripping the ancient tombstones from the ground, causing dirt to blast into the air all as rage filled its sinister eyes and a simple thought filled its barely sentient mind, raise the dead. Xerax had begun reading an incantation and urged it onward It flew up into the air like a blazing ball of fire and then came crashing into the ground.

Racing through rocks, hard clay, past insects, past worms, and insects of all kinds the orb of evil only stopped when it came to human remains. When it reached its intended target it pulled it to the surface and imbued it with a form of life, making the skeleton whole again, feet connecting to legs, legs to the torso, and so forth. If the skeleton that was raised and it happened to have a weapon among its remains, than that item was also retrieved by the glowing mass created by Xerax and deposited in the creature’s hand.

Inside Xerax’s abode, he read aloud from his book, chanting magical words that urged the mass onward he growing wearier with every word, as though managing the cloud of death drained even his might. He tested his reserves as the skeletal remnants recovered and ripped from the ground like a tornado, went from a single skeleton in one graveyard above to dozens, then scores, then hundreds, and soon thousands for the orb traveled at an almost incalculable speed through the Wild. In life they would have been a motley crew: thieves, explorers, soldiers from nations long since forgotten, more recent members of society who cared not for its structure and rules so they struck out on their own, even the people who tried to settle this land and had perished numbered amongst the ranks. Who can say what number of bodies fills land over time?

While the skeletons varied in height and width, they all shared a singular trait, that their eye sockets had red orbs that seemed suspended in the middle of that area. Together they all began to march at their master’s bidding, some armed, some unarmed. Those without weapons were instructed by their resuscitator to grab anything that could be used for a weapon as he gave them all the same destination, Yord’s Gulch. What remained of the humanity of these folks, who had dreams, families, and lived and died? Nothing, save for their bones, animated for the express purpose of giving Xerax the army he agreed to supply. United they began their compulsory march towards their destination.

Back at Xerax’s lair, he saw the events unfolding through the eyes of any skeleton he so desired, his power giving him dominion over all undead. It filled him with joy as he saw the orb rise into the sky and then plummeting back into the ground, reaping more bodies for his army. Still, he had expended a great deal of energy to accomplish this task and as the ranks of his army swelled he felt his strength begin to wane. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, he began to feel drowsy. With a grim smile of satisfaction he moved over to his golden, purple cushioned sofa, stretched out, and slumbered.