Book of The Dead

“I fucking knew it!” Tyron crowed.

“Wai - wha?” Dove spluttered awake, the light blooming in his hollow sockets. He saw Tyon examining five skeletons in front of him, face alight with glee.

“Weren’t you going to do the status ritual? And wake me up when you were ready to do it?”

“What? Oh, you’re awake. Dove, I finally figured it out!”

“Figured what out?”

The once-Summoner was a little confused. He didn’t exactly feel groggy or dazed after he awoke in his current form, but sometimes, it took him a little while to get his bearings again. Sometimes, he forgot what he had become entirely, trying to reach up to rub his eyes with hands he no longer had, or stretch out the kinks in a spine he hadn’t possessed for over a month.

Every time. Every single time, the realisation of what he had become struck him numb.

Oblivious to his friend’s shifting emotions, Tyron turned to beam at him.

“The energy transfer between the undead! I found it!”

“Wait… what do you mean? Are you talking about the way Death Magick is propagated between sets of remains?”

“Yes. Exactly that! Except I find that it happens in undead minions as well!”

The young Necromancer gestured to the skeletons in front of him, lined up inside Ortan’s house which they had borrowed for the purposes of enacting the status ritual.

Clearly, Tyron had gotten distracted.

“These five were all raised at the same time, right? That means I used the current process, which includes setting the bones apart as a set and allowing the energy to spread between them, bringing them up to the saturation point. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Dove said irritably. He got like this when something magick and awesome was happening that he didn’t understand. Something Tyron did to him more and more often.

“It turns out, that process creates a sort of… sympathetic binding between the skeletons! Undead on which we used this method, continue to move energy between themselves even after I raise them, but only between themselves.”

The young mage got up and started pacing around the small, sparsely furnished room, his eyes alive with possibilities.

“I knew I was feeling something off about the minions after we used this method, but I was never sure what. It turns out that these groups use slightly less energy, or, more accurately, they drain less energy from me, because they share some between each other!”

Now Dove was finally starting to catch on. This was actually really interesting.

“So, if you were to raise a larger group at once. Say… a hundred.”

“Theoretically, they would generate a larger amount of Death Magick and then share it amongst themselves, defraying the cost of maintaining them,” Tyron grinned. “If I were to find a way to enhance this method, then I could make larger groups of minions even more efficient. This could explain how Arhinan the Black was able to create and maintain whole armies of undead!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, kid. That prick was like… level a hundred or something ridiculous.”

Tyron stopped in his stride and turned to face the skull sitting on the table.

“He was? How do you know what level he reached?”

“There’s a little more detail in the history available to silver ranked Slayers, kid,” Dove drawled. “Once you crack level forty as a Slayer, you count as someone who matters. A few doors open up to you, societal-wise, including access to some more detailed history.”

Tyron nodded. That made sense.

“I suppose I’m not so much surprised that such a practice exists, but rather that you would take advantage of it. Since when did you care about historical Necromancers?”

“Since I met one in Woodsedge and decided I should read into it,” The skull huffed. “There wasn’t much to go on, but there was a little about your man Mr Black. If there were anything useful to know, I would have told you about it already, so forget that. On the other hand, I think you might be onto something with this discovery.”

The young man grinned, always pleased when Dove praised him. Tyron was so desperate for approval that it would have caused the skull physical pain, had he the capacity to feel it. Certainly, it had while he’d still been alive. Raised in a remote backwater, he had nobody to share his passion for magick with either.

Why the fuck did Magnin and Beory abandoned him there? Just because his aunt and uncle were there? That’s such bullshit.

If he could, the Summoner would shake his head. Who was he to judge such high and mighty people? Still, the Steelarms truly were shit parents.

“This is great and all -”

“I know! There could be other applications for this as well…. If a conduit exists between the minions, and it must for this phenomenon to take place, then what other ways can it be taken advantage of? First, I have to find a way to identify it… locate it. Once I’ve done that, I need to see if I can utilise it…. And I need to see if there’s a way to increase the amount of magick each minion is generating. The more they make, the less I need to provide…. This could change everything!”

“Tyron! You’re supposed to be performing your status ritual, remember?” Dove cut in, having to shout to cut off the kid before he gathered too much steam.

He’d seen this before. Another few minutes and Tyron would be frothing at the mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head as he went about trying to create new techniques and methods for the next forty-eight hours.

“Oh,” the Necromancer blinked. “Right.”

“Tch,” a voice came from the corner.

“Yor?!” Tyron jumped.

Dove would have jumped.

“Sweet mammaries, woman!” he burst out. “Let a skull know when you’re in the room. Tyron, turn me around.”

A moment later, he was facing the right way and could look the Vampire in the eye. He chose to focus on other areas, but he could look her in the eye. She glared at him.

Cragwhistle appeared to have been good for the Vampire. She’d found some new clothing and a decent set of boots at last. The dark purple dress wasn’t particularly form fitting, but she made it work somehow. The footwear didn’t quite match, but she appeared to think it worth the sacrifice to get something better made on her feet. It was doubtful she needed well made shoes to help her walk, but appearances did seem to matter to her quite a bit.

“Sorry, Yor,” Tyron apologised awkwardly. “I didn’t see you there.”

The flawless woman chuckled, dark red eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“If I had wanted you to see me, then you would have seen me. I only make myself known because it seems the possibility of further developments has been put on hold.”

She flicked an irritated glance down at the skull on the table and Dove bristled, spiritually.

“He doesn’t have time to lose his fucking mind and work on magick right now. He needs to perform the status ritual, and get the fuck out of here. Otherwise, he’s going to get his shit kicked in by Slayers, or rift-kin, or goodness knows what else is going to leap out the shadows to punch him in the head.”

“There would have been time enough. Growth is the priority,” Yor rebuffed.

Caught in the middle of the argument, Tyron couldn’t help but feel a little put out that both of them assumed he would lose control of himself and get lost in his work.

I’m not that bad. Sometimes I get a bit carried is all….

“Stop your bickering,” he told them. “I’ll do the status ritual, alright? Then we get out of here and up into the mountains. Maybe I'll have some time to do a bit of study for a change.”

He continued to grumble as he rummaged in his pack, withdrawing his notebook and tearing free another precious page. He possibly could have performed the ritual on the table, but he didn’t know if such a thing could be traced. Better to do it the cleaner way, use a sheet of paper and then burn the hell out of it, scattering the ashes for good measure.

The last thing he wanted was for someone to see his full and unabridged status, with Dark Gods and Anathema references plain to see.

“Right, then, here we go.”

Quick and simple, he performed the ritual, the now familiar, slightly nauseating feeling of blood running out of his veins and onto the page, forming the words and numbers that described his totality in the eyes of the Unseen.

There had been a number of events since his last ritual. A considerable amount of fighting, as well as new discoveries in the application of his abilities.

Notable improvements were his Death Magick Skill reaching level 10. To make any further gains, he would need to improve the maximum level he could achieve in it. Advanced Death Magick became even more important.

Most of his Necromancer Skills had seen some progress, though not as much as he might have liked. Corpse Appraisal and Preparation weren’t moving, but then again, he hadn’t had the opportunity to test and refine new methods.

Likewise, his spells had seen incremental gains.

You have raised minions and they have fought on your behalf. Undead Weaver has reached level 30. You have received +2 Strength, +4 Constitution, +6 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom, +2 Willpower, +2 Manipulation and +4 Poise.

Another feat and ability choice. That was excellent, and could prove crucial. His levelling speed was sure to slow from this point onward, so he had to make them count.

Your patrons continue to enjoy the chaos that ripples out from your actions, much further than you can know. Crossroads approach, and any choice will prove entertaining. Anathema has reached level 19. You have received +4 Constitution, +4 Intelligence, +4 Willpower.

Mention of crossroads was more than a little ominous, as was the sub-class reaching level 19. One more and it would advance. Although advancing a sub-class was not normally anything near as impactful as advancing a main class, Anathema was not like normal sub-classes. Who knows what choices he would get, or what they would ask him to commit to?

Name: Tyron Steelarm.

Age: 18

Race: Human (Level 14)

Class:

Undead Weaver (Level 30)

Sub-Classes:

• Anathema (Level 19)
• None
• None (Locked)

Racial Feats:

Level 5: Steady Hand.

Level 10: Night Owl.

Attributes:

Strength:

32

Dexterity:

21

Constitution:

100

Intelligence:

150

Wisdom:

91

Willpower:

74

Charisma:

43

Manipulation:

49

Poise:

43

General Skills:

Arithmetic (Level 5)(Max)

Handwriting (Level 5)(Max)

Concentration (Level 5)(Max)

Cooking (Level 3)

Sling (Level 3)

Swordsmanship (Level 2)

Sneak (Level 3)

Butchery (Level 5)(Max)

Skill Selections Available: 3

Necromancer Skills:

Corpse Appraisal (Level 11)

Corpse Preparation (Level 11)

Death Magick (Level 10)(Max)

Bone Mending (Level 7)

Minion Commander (Level 4)

Undead Control (Level 3)

Minion Modification (Level 4)

Bone-Soul Melding (Level 3)

Bone Weapon Sculpting (Bow) (Level 3)

Anathema Skills:

Abyss Tongue (Level 1)

General Spells:

Globe of Light (Level 5)(Max)

Sleep (Level 5)(Max)

Magick Bolt (Level 5)(Max)

Necromancer Spells:

Raise Dead (Level 12)

Bone Animus (Level 12)

Commune with Spirits (Level 5)

Shivering Curse (Level 6)

Death Blades (Level 7)

Bone Armour (Level 4)

Minion Sight (Level 6)

Spirit Binding (Level 3)

Death’s Grasp (Level 4)

Anathema Spells:

Pierce the Veil (Level 5)

Appeal to the Court (Level 2)

Dark Communion (Level 1)

Suppress Mind (Level 5)

Repository (Level 2)

Fear (Level 3)

Glamour (Level 2)

Invasive Persuasion (Level 2)

Necromancer Feats:

Skeleton Focus II

Magick Battery II

Bone Mastery

Anathema Feats:

Repository

Wall of Thought I

Drain Life

Mysteries:

Spell Shaping (Advanced): INT +20 WIS +20

Words of Power (Advanced): WIS +20 CHA +20

Undead Weaver has reached level 30. Choose an Additional Feat:

Zombie Focus I - Improve the quality of Raised Zombies.

Skeleton Focus III - Improve the quality of Raised Skeletons.

Spirit Focus I - Improve the quality of Raised Spirits.

Flesh Mastery - Increased skill with flesh based undead and abilities.

Spirit Mastery - Increased skill with spirit based undead and abilities.

Minion Controller - Improve the capacity to direct undead.

Undead Specialist - Increase the maximum level of Raise Dead by ten.

Intelligent Dead - Improve the minds of undead minions.

Boon Giver - Spells and abilities that empower the dead are strengthened.

Undead Weaver Level 30. Choose an additional Skill or Spell:

Skills:

Ghoul Flesh - Instil Death Magick into the flesh of the deceased

Advanced Death Magick - Replaces Death Magick and raises the Level limit to 20.

Spells:

Empowered Bone Armour - Replaces Bone Armour and increases the maximum level to 20. A modified spell to enable greater protection.

Crepify - An infusion of power to Undead Flesh, rapidly healing damage and strengthening it for a duration.

Undead Leader - Bind undead to one of their own to empower it and increase its intelligence.

Command Spirit - Replaces Commune with Spirits and Raises the maximum level to 20.

Anathema has reached level 19. Choose one of the following:

Air of Menace - Surround oneself in a dread aura.

Pain - Inflict the target with severe pain.

Fear Implant - Leave an impression of fear within a suppressed mind.

Blood Healing - Convert the blood of others to a healing serum.

Eyes of Blood - See sources of blood nearby.

Rot’s Favour - Encourage Infection

Soul Transfusion - Consume a Soul to heal the body.

Mind Siphon - Examine thoughts and memories of a Suppressed Target.

Storm Cloud - Summon a magickally charged fog around yourself.

Crone’s Shade - A shield that protects from magickal scrying.

Shadow Meld - Become partially immaterial and meld into the Shadows.

Tyron’s status page was beginning to become something fearsome. The unusually high number of stats granted from Anathema were adding up now that he had reached level 19 in the sub-class, and ten levels in Undead Weaver weren’t hurting either.

The cherry on top was the free bonuses he received from his Mysteries providing an insane +80 overall.

As he looked at his progress, Tyron couldn’t help but marvel at what he’d achieved. Not so long ago, he hadn’t had a class at all. This was an insane level of development, no matter how he looked at it. Under any other circumstances, he’d be ecstatic. As it was, he worried that it wasn’t enough for him to survive.

He brushed off the morbid thought before it could fully manifest. There were choices to make.

A new Class Feat was exceptionally welcome and Tyron had already earmarked one for selection. There were several that tempted him, and he fully intended to take Undead Specialist with his final choice, which left him with two selections. Minion Controller, Intelligent Dead and Boon Giver were all worthy options, with pros and cons. But now that he had access to Revenants, there was no reason not to double down on his greatest strength.

Spirit MasterySkeleton Focus III.

For his Class ability, he was at least pleased to see that one of the new options was something he didn’t care about. Finally! However, the other intrigued him to no end. Undead Leader would enable him to create… a captain, he supposed, a skeletal squad leader, stronger and smarter than the minions it led.

As his numbers increased, such an ability could prove crucial to ensuring his undead horde was able to function.

No, it would prove crucial, he could already tell.

Yet… he suspected he was already touching on the edges of this with the revelation he had uncovered today. Was it possible he would be able to recreate this spell on his own?

Advanced Death Magick beckoned to him.

Reluctantly, he placed his mark next to it. He would have time to come back to the Leadership question, hopefully.

As to the new options for his Anathema sub-class, one of them spoke very clearly to him. Crone’s Shade was exactly what he needed to help him hide from prying eyes. It was possible that one of the Slayers hunting him right now was a Mage capable of Scrying, or perhaps the Marshalls could do it.

He knew for a fact that certain artefacts would perform the same function, but he had no hope of getting his hands on one any time soon. Even then, having the spell would be a benefit, since multiple layers of protection were always better than one.

He placed his mark next to Crone’s Shade and ended the ritual.

The rush of power made him gasp and slump to the table, unable to breath for a moment. Once he recovered, he stood, gathered the paper and packed his things.

“Time to go,” he said to the skull.

“About fucking time.”

“I am not going to enjoy this,” Yor sighed.

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