The room warped and twisted as the fingers of maroon lightning flashed across the stone chamber, vaporizing all that they touch and the air was thick with the stench of death. Thiedreth braced against the unnatural gale, the tip of his mighty blade buried deep in the floor providing salvation against the threat. Tyunnir laughed wildly in the center of the room, whooping with a mirth none of the Kings warriors had ever heard from the sorcerer before. The blood red stone that floated in front of him cast an eerie light as it spun, and beneath it, a crack in the air had begun to form.
Thiedreth called to his team, but none returned his call. They had all been felled in the battle that led to this Chaos, and he now knew he was acting alone. Tyunnir reached out to the crack as it widened, shouting more arcane summons to the land of the dead, and the dead took notice.
A skeletal hand wormed through the crack, which was now at least a foot wide. When it made contact with Tyunnir’s gnarled fingers it began to change, rapidly growing muscle over bone, then skin over that. The crack began ripping the air at an alarming rate allowing more of the skeletal form enter the realm of the living. The light from the unholy portal grew brighter and began to block Thiedreth’s view. He had one chance to end this mess once and for all. In a single move, he wrenched his blade from the floor and flung it in the direction of the necromancer, praying that it would fly true.
A dull thud accompanied the blade reaching its mark. Slowly, the rift began to mend itself, and the light started to fade. When at last his vision cleared, Thiedreth laid his eyes on the scene before him. Tyunnir knelt over the form that had entered from the world beyond. The great blade stuck from his back, rising and falling with each of his increasingly ragged breaths. The form in his arms stirred, then spoke in a weak whisper.
“Tyunnir?”
The sorcerer took a moment to find the air needed to speak. “At last Jiorfa, you’ve returned to me”. He rasped out each word slowly, with a great deal of pain in his voice. “Run from this place before they can gather their wits, my old friend”. A cough rang through the room, wet with blood. “The heroes of this world will never understand what I’ve done here today”.
Thiedreth watched as the sorcerer finally collapsed. The form of the man he had been covering, Jiorfa, sat up, looking over his friend for a moment before locking eyes with the warrior. Tears were streaming down his face. Thiedreth began to stir from his place on the ground, breaking eye contact to look for another weapon, but by the time he looked back up, Jiorfa was gone.
JLyrebird t1_iyf5gmo wrote
Reply to [WP] you are a mage who never we never dreamed of doing necromancy. After your best friend tragically dies though, you start to look for a spell to bring him back. by Interesting_Snow_596
Good Things Must Come
The room warped and twisted as the fingers of maroon lightning flashed across the stone chamber, vaporizing all that they touch and the air was thick with the stench of death. Thiedreth braced against the unnatural gale, the tip of his mighty blade buried deep in the floor providing salvation against the threat. Tyunnir laughed wildly in the center of the room, whooping with a mirth none of the Kings warriors had ever heard from the sorcerer before. The blood red stone that floated in front of him cast an eerie light as it spun, and beneath it, a crack in the air had begun to form.
Thiedreth called to his team, but none returned his call. They had all been felled in the battle that led to this Chaos, and he now knew he was acting alone. Tyunnir reached out to the crack as it widened, shouting more arcane summons to the land of the dead, and the dead took notice.
A skeletal hand wormed through the crack, which was now at least a foot wide. When it made contact with Tyunnir’s gnarled fingers it began to change, rapidly growing muscle over bone, then skin over that. The crack began ripping the air at an alarming rate allowing more of the skeletal form enter the realm of the living. The light from the unholy portal grew brighter and began to block Thiedreth’s view. He had one chance to end this mess once and for all. In a single move, he wrenched his blade from the floor and flung it in the direction of the necromancer, praying that it would fly true.
A dull thud accompanied the blade reaching its mark. Slowly, the rift began to mend itself, and the light started to fade. When at last his vision cleared, Thiedreth laid his eyes on the scene before him. Tyunnir knelt over the form that had entered from the world beyond. The great blade stuck from his back, rising and falling with each of his increasingly ragged breaths. The form in his arms stirred, then spoke in a weak whisper.
“Tyunnir?”
The sorcerer took a moment to find the air needed to speak. “At last Jiorfa, you’ve returned to me”. He rasped out each word slowly, with a great deal of pain in his voice. “Run from this place before they can gather their wits, my old friend”. A cough rang through the room, wet with blood. “The heroes of this world will never understand what I’ve done here today”.
Thiedreth watched as the sorcerer finally collapsed. The form of the man he had been covering, Jiorfa, sat up, looking over his friend for a moment before locking eyes with the warrior. Tears were streaming down his face. Thiedreth began to stir from his place on the ground, breaking eye contact to look for another weapon, but by the time he looked back up, Jiorfa was gone.