He felt the pull. It drew him to Hell, and for no apparent reason, he went. He found the cultist, and for a moment thought to join them, but somehow he knew, they were not what he was looking for. He stood on a hill, overlooking the mess, observing these “cultists” in their sacrifices. With every thrust of their blades into innocent flesh he felt his flesh crawl. Somehow their actions were polluting all he holds dear, but he had no way of knowing what was happening, or why, so he simply observed.
He had heard tales of Hell. He heard of Echo, and was never quite sure if he respected the man, or need to destroy him. Luckily that choice is no longer his. So he watched.
The cultists were dancing, and singing. Not music and rhythm though, but a cacophony of sound and movement. Suddenly everything went silent.
He revelled in the silence, for with the silence came a sense of his powers returning. Within the silence came another pull, and when he looked up he saw her, far on another mound, a woman in a dark travel worn cloak. He knew she was important, but did not immediately know why.
He saw her opening her eyes, and as they opened he could feel his magic has returned, but something was wrong. Something has changed. His powers felt darker, unnatural.
The cultists were busy raising those they sacrificed! They were making an unnatural army using the corruption of chaos magic!
The woman opened her eyes and saw what the cultists were doing. He saw a light flash in her eyes, and in a moment her sword was in her hand. There was a glow emanating from a pendant that she was wearing. He stood silently on his hill, leaning on his walking stick, watching the woman wade into the necromancers, leaving their dead bodies behind her in a wake of destruction. He smiled, for at that moment he knew why he was drawn here.
As the last decapitated body fell to the floor the light from her pendant receded, and the woman fell to the ground.
“Right” he said to himself, allowing the magic to play on his finger tips.
Thaddeus paced the cold corridors of his tower for the umpteenth time this week. His research could go nowhere if his magics were haywire. There was a pile of now mouldering corpses in the basement that were merely going to stink up the place if he didn’t make a plan. He had searched his libraries to no avail; he was at his wits end. He could not afford to set another corpse on fire instead of raising it, the makeshift supports he had erected in the laboratory were rickety at best and he doubted the tower would last much longer should he muck up again.
A rat scurried in his path as he turned the corner. In his annoyance he lashed out at it. That was when he felt it, just a hint, as if trying to tease him like a freshly dug grave. The familiar feeling of untainted chaos tickled inside him.
Could it be? Was it possible? Should he dare?
He mulled it over for a split second. The rat looked at him with mixed fear and curiosity from where it had hidden itself in-between some loose boards. Thaddeus drew on the chaos within him entrusting his mind to its guidance as familiar words tumbled from his lips “ I call upon chaos to cause wounds” the dark lilac sphere of baleful energy that burst into existence in his hand drew a wicked smile to his lips. With pinpoint accuracy it hurtled through the air toward the rat. It barely had time to let out a startled squeak before gaping sores and bright red lacerations spread over its body, the wounds ending its life in a flash.
Thaddeus chuckled to himself as he turned around, it was about time he put those corpses to good use.
(Written by Duane Havenga)