2011-05-17, 03:33 AM
War Of The Dead
The power does it to everyone. It corrupts us all, or at least those of us who embrace it.
Although we dive right in to be swept away by the black waters of necromancy, its not easy for us to stay afloat. Our humanity is the coastline, the palm trees, the dry land itself. You put your humanity side by side with the fact that youre a wizard of hell, coastline next to infinite expanse of ocean, and you decide being a wizard is more fun. It appeals to you. You cant get away from it, so you dive in and swim out in to the ocean to get a bigger taste. To feel it all over your body, instead of just staring at it and dipping your toes in.
The first time you swim in the ocean of the dead, the waters are electric to your soul. They shock you, show you things that you cant possibly understand but eventually DO come to understand. One day, it just so happens that you might decide youre tired of swimming, so you try to turn around, but the coast is gone. You dont swim back. You keep being swept out. To the sharks and an unknown abyss below you. The only place you can go is down, and that leads to a place that no man has been before.
That is my familys struggle, and they have devised a society and a code over the years. If I have the right person, then the man in front of me has trampled our ideals in to the ground. Our traditions, our laws, our fellowship. In truth, we necromancers are afraid not of the dead, but of each other. We know that one of us might become too potent somewhere down the line because we stumble across the right demon with the right power, or because we sacrifice a particularly powerful spirit to the underworld. We know that one day, one of us might rise up and try to assert a kingdom of the dead on earth.
The Chomhairle believe this is the man who poses that precise threat. They sent me to find him after we found his diary. When my father learned that his own brother had deserted the coven and handed over a bloodstone to a random child due to a disagreement, he put a death sentence on this mans head. We couldnt begin to search for him until he left his bloodstone behind. A trace of his power that we could latch on to, that we could follow.
The man shuffles past me to the urinal with a mumble of excuse me, and he shies away from looking me in the eye. He seems tired and drained. This is a good start. It could be him.
I linger by the sink, lather my hands, and rinse them off, hoping that he will finish in time for me to see his face in the mirror. To strike up a ten second, meaningless conversation. Anything. Its been such a long road here. Ill take what I can get.
I have to know. I cant walk out of this place now, even if Im on the brink of death. I might have to teeter here for awhile. He is so very, very familiar with the spirit world; he might know it more intimately right now in this very moment than I ever will in my lifetime. If this is him, then his guise of deception is stronger than any in our history.
We know some of what he is capable of. But not all.
I hope one minute spent in this bathroom will be the conclusion to the longest wild goose chase in the history of the Chomhairle. If this is him, then Im initiated as a council member. If its not, then Im at least another hundred years out. My ambitions within the council are nothing in comparison to the thirst for power.
The bathroom is fritzy, five star, and new age. Its deep in the heart of Soho, of course. A cesspool of youthful rebellion. The green light in this place is too strong. Thats hint number one that I have the right man. Let me go down the list for you.
When he shakes it off, he spends an extra five seconds scratching his testicles, and then he rubs them a bit as he stares at the ad for the after hours swingers club in the corner above the urinal. Even if this isnt the guy, hes still a pervert, and Ive decided to sacrifice him if hes my sixth case of mistaken identity in a year out of simple frustration.
I wash my hands a second time, waiting on him, trying not to be disgusted. He finally zips his fly and moseys over to the sink. So theres hint number two.
You spill something on yourself? He asks me.
Ive never heard his voice. It sounds different than I expected.
I know how this dangerous sorcerer sees the world. Hes made a mistake, sharing his most intimate confessions with me. He never should have written them down. His ego may be his weakness, if Im strong enough. Maybe.
This has to be him. I say it in my head a thousand times in a split second.
Crawfish bisque. Good as hell, but I cant seem to finish a bowl without spilling it all over my sleeves. I say, squirting a fresh batch of soap on to the paper towel and scrubbing at my perfectly clean fisticuff.
Arent you a little old to be dining here? Id think you would be at the Mesa or the Palm. He says, and he makes a valid point. I do feel out of place here. Im the only person in the building over the age of twenty five.
Hes bold. He thinks hes invincible, and I know that this is hint number three. He says the first thing that comes to mind with impunity, and he always has. That explains the four ex wives and the masculine decorations in his town house.
I stare at his eyes in the mirror, and hes too busy focusing on my pocket. This is hint number four, and this is the best of them all. I know this is the rogue necromancer. His eyes have a green twinkle in the backs of them, something that normal humans cant see. He feels the stone, burning with ice fire in my pocket. He knows its fucking on me, and hes stood next to me for less than half a minute. Thats because he cant ignore the pull. It shows.
This is him.
The power does it to everyone. It corrupts us all, or at least those of us who embrace it.
Although we dive right in to be swept away by the black waters of necromancy, its not easy for us to stay afloat. Our humanity is the coastline, the palm trees, the dry land itself. You put your humanity side by side with the fact that youre a wizard of hell, coastline next to infinite expanse of ocean, and you decide being a wizard is more fun. It appeals to you. You cant get away from it, so you dive in and swim out in to the ocean to get a bigger taste. To feel it all over your body, instead of just staring at it and dipping your toes in.
The first time you swim in the ocean of the dead, the waters are electric to your soul. They shock you, show you things that you cant possibly understand but eventually DO come to understand. One day, it just so happens that you might decide youre tired of swimming, so you try to turn around, but the coast is gone. You dont swim back. You keep being swept out. To the sharks and an unknown abyss below you. The only place you can go is down, and that leads to a place that no man has been before.
That is my familys struggle, and they have devised a society and a code over the years. If I have the right person, then the man in front of me has trampled our ideals in to the ground. Our traditions, our laws, our fellowship. In truth, we necromancers are afraid not of the dead, but of each other. We know that one of us might become too potent somewhere down the line because we stumble across the right demon with the right power, or because we sacrifice a particularly powerful spirit to the underworld. We know that one day, one of us might rise up and try to assert a kingdom of the dead on earth.
The Chomhairle believe this is the man who poses that precise threat. They sent me to find him after we found his diary. When my father learned that his own brother had deserted the coven and handed over a bloodstone to a random child due to a disagreement, he put a death sentence on this mans head. We couldnt begin to search for him until he left his bloodstone behind. A trace of his power that we could latch on to, that we could follow.
The man shuffles past me to the urinal with a mumble of excuse me, and he shies away from looking me in the eye. He seems tired and drained. This is a good start. It could be him.
I linger by the sink, lather my hands, and rinse them off, hoping that he will finish in time for me to see his face in the mirror. To strike up a ten second, meaningless conversation. Anything. Its been such a long road here. Ill take what I can get.
I have to know. I cant walk out of this place now, even if Im on the brink of death. I might have to teeter here for awhile. He is so very, very familiar with the spirit world; he might know it more intimately right now in this very moment than I ever will in my lifetime. If this is him, then his guise of deception is stronger than any in our history.
We know some of what he is capable of. But not all.
I hope one minute spent in this bathroom will be the conclusion to the longest wild goose chase in the history of the Chomhairle. If this is him, then Im initiated as a council member. If its not, then Im at least another hundred years out. My ambitions within the council are nothing in comparison to the thirst for power.
The bathroom is fritzy, five star, and new age. Its deep in the heart of Soho, of course. A cesspool of youthful rebellion. The green light in this place is too strong. Thats hint number one that I have the right man. Let me go down the list for you.
When he shakes it off, he spends an extra five seconds scratching his testicles, and then he rubs them a bit as he stares at the ad for the after hours swingers club in the corner above the urinal. Even if this isnt the guy, hes still a pervert, and Ive decided to sacrifice him if hes my sixth case of mistaken identity in a year out of simple frustration.
I wash my hands a second time, waiting on him, trying not to be disgusted. He finally zips his fly and moseys over to the sink. So theres hint number two.
You spill something on yourself? He asks me.
Ive never heard his voice. It sounds different than I expected.
I know how this dangerous sorcerer sees the world. Hes made a mistake, sharing his most intimate confessions with me. He never should have written them down. His ego may be his weakness, if Im strong enough. Maybe.
This has to be him. I say it in my head a thousand times in a split second.
Crawfish bisque. Good as hell, but I cant seem to finish a bowl without spilling it all over my sleeves. I say, squirting a fresh batch of soap on to the paper towel and scrubbing at my perfectly clean fisticuff.
Arent you a little old to be dining here? Id think you would be at the Mesa or the Palm. He says, and he makes a valid point. I do feel out of place here. Im the only person in the building over the age of twenty five.
Hes bold. He thinks hes invincible, and I know that this is hint number three. He says the first thing that comes to mind with impunity, and he always has. That explains the four ex wives and the masculine decorations in his town house.
I stare at his eyes in the mirror, and hes too busy focusing on my pocket. This is hint number four, and this is the best of them all. I know this is the rogue necromancer. His eyes have a green twinkle in the backs of them, something that normal humans cant see. He feels the stone, burning with ice fire in my pocket. He knows its fucking on me, and hes stood next to me for less than half a minute. Thats because he cant ignore the pull. It shows.
This is him.