Fable, p.5
Fable, page 5
The dark necro-mage’s spindly index finger flicked the page over, and ran down the next one slowly. When he thought he got close to finding some information that he could use, the finger came to a stop. He read the text closely and lifted his gray, almost skeletal face up to think.
The hood on his cloak had fallen behind his neck, revealing the necro-mage’s pointed ears, long, gray, wiry hair and dark red, almost black, eyes staring off into the distance as he pondered on his newfound information. He looked down at the large, dusty page one more time before snapping the whole book shut. The echo could be heard throughout the entire level of the castle as he made his way swiftly out of the necro-mage’s chambers and down the hall to where the dark lord once resided.
He had ventured around parts of the castle over time, mostly out of curiosity, although he had not yet entered the room he was heading for. He had a memory fire and knew the information he had just read led to this part of the castle. He was now most curious as to how the dark lord received his original power and if there was something that he could do to hasten his revival.
The necro-mage hobbled up to the room. The door was very large and heavy, and his spiny back and weak, thin body had to work hard to try to open it. But it was locked. The necro-mage took a deep breath. He thought to himself that if he could just leave this body for a moment, he could enter the room, find what he was looking for, and then regain his position back inside the host. However, the scientific part of the Zeytar overrode this thinking. He realized that if he were to leave this host, the body would be so weak without the spell holding it inside the vortex that it would surely perish, leaving him stranded.
At that very moment, another memory neuron fired, and the necromage remembered where the key was. He had it around his neck all this time, along with a green gem, and an unusual set of smaller keys. The necro-mage pulled the frayed string from around his neck. The key was quite large, but it was very light.
He peered through the keyhole and could see nothing but darkness, although upon further inspection he thought he saw something move in the dim shadows. Dismissing any kind of threat, the necromage placed the key inside the lock, and with an almighty push, the door slowly moved open, creaking so loud that some spiral-tailed rats scampered down the hallway. The necro-mage gave another push, and the door was now open wide enough that he could have entered the dark chamber. But he was in no rush as a crash rattled from the east side of the enormous room. He waited just outside the door, listening for any more movement that would give away the intruder’s position.
He eased the creaking door a little farther, and as he pulled his bony hands back, three little goblins, only three feet tall, tried to run past the mage.
They were dark gray, wearing old, plain clothes with what appeared to be bits and pieces of a warrior’s garb. Their noses were quite long and slender, pointing down at the end toward their mouths. Their ears were very long and pointed, like knives, although their actual ear cavity and lobes were rather large.
The first two got past the mage, scampering down the hall to the main foyer and out of sight, but the last one wasn’t so lucky. Encumbered with more trinkets and gold than he could obviously comfortably carry, he tripped at the necro-mage’s feet.
The necro-mage bent down, his stiff spine making cracking sounds as he moved, and put his foot on the goblin’s back, holding him there until he could grab the trickster. The goblin let out a high-pitched scream, still trying to gather together all his treasures while he fought feverishly to shake off the mage’s hold on him. He finally succumbed to the grip of the mage’s foot and then hand, and looked up into his dark red eyes.
“Let me go, creature of darkness, what does thee want from us?” The goblin was aware now that his situation was a lot more dire than he had originally thought. He knew exactly what the dark creature was, even though he had not actually laid eyes on him before. The tales of the dark necro-mage were well known in the dark realm, nearly as widespread as tales of the dark lord himself.
“What are you doing in this room?” The scratchy, hoarse voice of the necro-mage shocked even himself, as it had felt like an eternity since he had used his vocal cords. The sound was almost like that of a weak, old creature taking its last breaths.
The goblin, feeling more confident, made another attempt to struggle out of the way. As he started wriggling around again, the necromage’s gaze became brighter and his eyes changed to a glowing red. While this happened, the green gem around his neck shone brighter. Some subconscious reflex was allowing the necro-mage’s magic to appear. Stunning the goblin with his evil gaze, the mage showed his long, sharp teeth, quite crowded in his mouth, as the upper lip became more menacing. The goblin shook violently, and then passed out.
The mage’s face returned to its normal scowl as he picked the limp goblin up from the floor. After locking the dark lord’s door and returning the key around his neck, he carried the creature all the way back to his lair, where he waited for the thieving trickster to awaken.
He, himself, was still shocked by what had happened, but he liked this power. It was his number one mission now to gain as much of it as he could.
Deep in the dark elm woods, something else had made its way up close to the dark lord’s dwelling, having knocked down the beasts at the edge of the woods and alerted the watchers. Behind the guards, twisted vines surrounded the beginning of steps that led all the way up through mists and over the bridge to the main entrance of the menacing-looking castle.
The cloaked intruder seemed at home in this gloomy setting, and wandered over to the dark Elvenfae guards. The watchers of the dark realm seemed to have got bored of watching, the visitor thought.
The first guard had a lot of confidence, taking every opportunity he could to humiliate anyone that came his way. “You … What do you want? There is nothing here, only death, and I will be glad to give you that. What do you think, Daarr, do you think he came here for death?”
Daarr looked at his colleague, someone he had obviously spent a long time with over many moons, protecting with ease something that was worth protecting in their minds. It was only a matter of time, they thought, before the dark lord awoke.
“Yes, death, Fladinn, it’s definitely death,” the other guard spat his unwanted comment out into the world.
The hooded figure finally spoke, “Why is there light up in the dark? Why is there light where no one dares to dwell? You are supposed to be the watchers of the dark realm and all I can see is incompetents and stupidity. Now tell me everything that you have witnessed.” The cloaked figure was not playing games. It was obvious that whoever this was had been here before and was likely to come back again. The guards now realized who they were talking to, and decided to be more forthcoming.
“Darkness has awoken. There have been green lights, there have been storms, shadows, and screams throughout the castle. We both have seen this, and we know it is not the dark lord. The necro-mage has awoken, and we are all under his command,” the dark Elvenfae guard, obviously frightened, said.
Without a word, the dark hooded creature turned, walked back down the most dangerous path of the elm forest, and disappeared into the dense, foreboding brush.
“So, Daarr, who was that?” Fladinn said as the figure disappeared.
“I don’t know, but I’ve seen him once before, long ago.”
They knew they had screwed up, as every creature that approached the dark castle had to be taken before the necro-mage. This was the reason they were there in the first place. They lived in the bottom of the castle, about eleven of them, rotating through shifts, century after century, keeping the steps clear so no one could take ownership of the dark dwelling until the dark lord’s return. They all believed that would be soon, although this was the first visitor they had encountered since the early days after the war, so they were a little taken aback.
Glinoxx awoke, not calm by any means, more a mess of violent emotions and sounds that would likely wake the dead.
“Shut it, please,” the necro-mage snapped, before calming his deep, dark-toned voice.
“What do you want, crazy mage—?” But before the tiny goblin could finish, the tall, ugly necro-mage was on top of him.
“If you don’t want your tongue eaten by me while you watch, then I suggest you shut it!”
Glinoxx sucked his long tongue in very swiftly, sat back, and said very carefully, “Please, my master, what is it you desire of me? I will do anything.”
As the goblin finished spitting his venom out into the world, one of the dark Elvenfae guards entered the room.
“You wanted us to … tell you, sir, if something came through … to … um …” The frightened guard had known many moons of darkness and fear over his lifetime, especially during and immediately after the dark war. He was now broken—broken by time and the scars of ages. But he was not defeated just yet, and that was why he was standing there, in front of the dark necro-mage.
Looking away from his goblin slave, the Zeytar in necro-mage’s body turned to the guard, and whispered, “Yes, I did, didn’t I. Now get me whatever it was, or whoever came through. I want to see them.” He had absolutely no idea what the previous instructions were or who they were given to over the many cycles. All he knew now was that he did not want any betrayal or interruptions as he made plans for his own benefits.
The guards were very swift. They had their orders, and they went into the forest as fast as they could go. But when in the haste of their pursuit it seemed they had accidentally awoken Maliin, the rock troll, they knew they had some extra work on their hands.
The rock troll hadn’t actually been asleep; they had just caught it at the wrong time. Now it swung its left arm over both guards. The land was mostly green here as they were close to the edge of the dark elm forest, however that made no difference to the troll. Bang, and again, then again. It hit one of the horses and knocked them all to the ground.
The beast stood over the two guards and lifted its mighty club up to bring it down on them. Just then a flood of flying scroot bats came from nowhere, benevolent creatures, happy to continue on with their own unknown mission. The momentary distraction was enough for both guards to leap onto Fladinn’s horse, and move away from the troll toward their target.
Meanwhile, the hooded figure, who was nearly out of the dark forest by then, turned, saw the commotion in the distance, and headed back to rage at the guards for following him.
He was still covered up but wearier now. “What, why is it you would follow me, I should—” But before the hooded one could finish, the guards told him they had been instructed to take him back to speak with the necro-mage. He agreed, eager to discover what was going on in the castle.
Before long, the hooded one was kneeling before the Zeytar in necromage’s body and awaiting his response.
Swiping the hood off the captured creature in front of him, the new necro-mage fired off a barrage of questions. Eventually, after the interrogation, the hood was back in its place again over the stranger’s head. An understanding had been reached and a new alliance made, before the hooded stranger was escorted by dark elves back to the edge of the foreboding forest.
The creature walked out of the dark elm woods, and its disguise of grotesque features crumbled away. As he disappeared into the night, the trees folded back to their original positions.
The guards withdrew, shaking their heads, confused about what had happened. Only the necro-mage and the hooded creature were privy to the conversations that were had in the castle, and any plans or conspiracies were only known to the two of them. The guards had been sent out of the room for the duration of the talks and had to wait until they were finished. They preferred that, anyway. As long as they were fed, they didn’t care; it was none of their business who this stranger was.
Turning their horses around, they took the safest way back through the forest.
The dark necro-mage, the bodiless Zeytar’s host, was originally a dark elven stray guard who “defected” before the war. He was nearly good enough to be one of the twelve dark warrior guards for the dark lord, however when he was denied this, he became bitter, even spiteful enough to turn against all he knew. He began practicing forbidden dark magic, learning as much as he could to earn a place inside the castle.
Eventually he became so dark and twisted that the forest feared him. The Fae feared him, and after he saved the dark lord from a flock of long-winged swamp vipers, turning them into stone, the dark lord finally saw his potential and let him rise through the ranks of mages to become the main and only dark necro-mage. He was entrusted with every secret and became the dark lord’s number two over every other creature working for him, until the last day when the king, queen, and their warriors, including Felvora, overpowered them all.
They destroyed all the guards and warriors, and defeated the dark lord along with the necro-mage in a battle of magic and power with Felvora, nearly killing her before she sent his mind into a time vortex and stopped his powerful evil once and for all.
The downside to Felvora’s victory was that she had had to use energy from the Fae, killing some of her own friends and guards to gain enough power to fulfill the spell. Felvora had not noticed this, as she thought the power was coming from within her, but she had become so depleted that energy tore out of two of the queen’s close guards and friends. So although Felvora had saved everyone that day and put a stop to the destructive evil plaguing the realms, she was banished to the Aurora Forest, and there she had stayed since.
This memory was still very vivid inside the newly awoken necromage. He wanted Felvora very much, as he watched her in his mind’s eye, playing out the last scenes of the war before his host succumbed to her power. He wanted her power now and would include this as part of his plan, which was slowly unfolding.
He still could not remember his name, or rather the name of his host, which would be vital in order for him to conceal his true Zeytar identity as his agenda rolled out. He wondered where he could find that information, as his mind was blank when it came to these important details.
As he pondered some more on this, he heard the goblin screaming from down the hallway. He was still smiling at the new alliance that had just been established, and the possibility of eventually awakening the dark lord to complete what he started all those cycles earlier.
The necro-mage wandered down the hall. The goblin was wailing and carrying on like a child who’d had his favorite toy stolen, hissing and scratching at his arm, trying to break free from the tight binds that held the grotesque creature on the chair.
As the necro-mage entered the room, the goblin, who thought he’d been forgotten, let out another cry. “Are you crazy, mage, what if I choked, or something came in and ate me?” Glinoxx was obviously being dramatic, although he calmed his tone very swiftly when the necro-mage’s eyes started turning that same dark red color they had been earlier.
“Do I need to remind you what I can do to you, imp, or are you ready to compromise and work for me? You will be rewarded for your efforts as I try to build the castle back up and awaken the dark lord.”
The goblin’s face dropped. His wrinkled gray face, filled with growths as well as his permanent, sad-looking scowl, was no longer moving as he responded to the latest announcement, “You are waking the dark lord? How, why, I mean, how?” Glinoxx looked confused. Goblins were usually tricky and vile little creatures, but his whole temperament had changed into a childlike state, and he was genuinely concerned.
“Yes, and I need your help. If you tell me the truth as to why you were in his room thieving, and if you agree to be my assistant, I will set you free and give you and your friends whatever they desire once the dark one is awake. However, if you betray me, I will hunt every goblin down, skin them all, and eat their carcasses slowly while they scream, all while you watch. Do you understand me, goblin?”
Glinoxx just stared, his confidence shot, his quick vile tongue silent. He had nothing to say; he could only nod slowly up and down.
The Zeytar inside the mage had bonded well, and more of the host’s personality was creeping through. Things the Zeytar would never do or say in his own body were flowing out. The hybrid of minds would eventually be a more formidable one than he could have ever expected, and these changes would continue as time went on. “Oh, I was hoping you would say no, as I was looking forward to a nice, tasty goblin feast. But anyway, good for you. Now, why were you inside that room and what were you taking?” The croaky hiss of the mage’s voice was still very off-putting, although the goblin was slowly becoming used to its eerie pitch.
“Well, master, we heard that there were some dark treasures in that room. We are thieves, so we worked together to open the lock, not thinking anyone dwelled there anymore. We plundered what we could and also wanted to steal the Torc, you know, the bracelet the dark lord wore with the stone of Toozookus on it to control weaker creatures. We just wanted the stone to sell.” Glinoxx looked away for a moment, and then returned the necro-mage’s stare once more, awaiting a response.
“Did you find such a prize?” the necro-mage whispered as he slowly walked around the goblin, intimidating him as was usual during an interrogation.
“No, my master. We scampered when we heard you. My brothers and I only found pieces of gold and trinkets from the realm of humans, nothing of worth, my master.”
The necro-mage knew he was telling the truth. The Zeytar still had that connection of mind in a small way, more intuitiveness than anything else now, but he was satisfied.
“Please, sire, will you be finished soon? I have answered your desired questions.” Glinoxx was getting really agitated. Goblins could not sit long at one time as they were a hyperactive species of twisted gnome folk that needed to be constantly moving.
