Hello. If you are reading my fan-fiction, then I greatly appreciate it. If you have time, consider reviewing it and pointing out criticism, as it will help me make this as best as it can be. My writing will naturally improve as I write more, so that means later chapters will probably be better than the early ones. Also, the first few chapters are a bit short, but the later will be longer. I will merge chapter and 5 together, but yeah. The next chapters will be longer. I promise.
Skiamance lounged on his throne, his face an expressionless mask that gave nothing away. The face could have been carved out of stone for all the emotion it held, apart from the eyes, which glittered with a cold, calculating yet cruel light. The eyes of a man who relished his power, who enjoyed the torment of others. The eyes of someone that was confident of his authority that was never questioned. The eyes of a ruler.
They glanced around the throne room now, taking in the polished stone bricks, the ornament paintings that cost more than a house, everything that was now his. His great empire, built over the years, uniting the places of the south.
Yet beyond the mask, something was there. Behind the veil of feigned control, known only to Skiamance himself there was a hurricane of questions, unknowns, disbelief and a tiny spark of what may have been fear. This in itself was extraordinary; the Emperor had nobody to fear.
And yet he was bothered. A dream, a terrible dream, warning him. At first he took no notice of it. What the Forewarner had told him had been ridiculous. For a mere boy to be his downfall... He laughed in disbelief to himself afterwards, waving it away. But only now was he dwelling on it once more, wondering if he had been foolish, because dreams like that were never just dreams. They were visions, omens, signs of what was to come. Skiamance allowed his composure to slip a fraction. Suppose the dream was right, suppose the boy indeed somehow managed to disrupt Skiamance's plans, to undo all that he had worked for, to stop his domination of the North, and, Notch forbid, even kill him. No, he thought, the Empire does not take to silly omens. He was great and powerful, and nothing could rival that power. Nothing. But it might be a good idea to deal with the boy anyway, just to be sure. If only he knew just where the boy was...
A sharp knock on the door told him he was not alone.
"Come in," He called, somewhat irritated. He had given orders specifically to be left alone, apart from important news. If they had disturbed him for no reason, he would make them pay.
With a lazy flick of Skiamance's hand, the doors flew open, revealing a figure in a cloak, clutching a crumpled scroll in his clenched fist. Glancing at the new arrival, instantly Skiamance's irritation vanished. There could only be one reason his head mage was here. They found it.
"My lord." The mage bowed before striding into the throne room. "We have located it, after so long searching, after months..."
Skiamance raised a hand, silencing the mage.
"You have done me a service Raz'iel. You have Lord Skiamance's favour." He rose out of the throne, and held out his hand, asking for the scroll. Raz'iel hesitated only slightly.
"May I ask what you intend to use it for?"
Skiamance froze, not used to being questioned in this way. Then he said coldly,
"My business is not yours also. Stand back and observe." He ran his eyes quickly over the scroll, reading it, feeling the power of the spell. It was written in an ancient tongue, the oldest of languages of Minecraftia. A language readable only by those who studied the magic arts. Satisfied, he tossed the scroll to Raz'iel who caught it easily, and went to stand in the centre of the throne room.
"My Lord," warned Raz'iel, "It is not wise to bring him back from the dead. He is chaotic, too powerful, too unpredictable." Skiamance waved him away.
"You should not fear power my friend. Power is made to be used. Besides, he will be a valuable asset."
Raz'iel still looked uneasy.
"My Lord," He said, phrasing his words carefully so as not to invoke his master's anger. "You have been known in the past to have certain... weaknesses involving power... would it not seem more prudent to-"
"Weaknesses?" Hissed Skiamance. "Lies. I am not weak. Are you reconsidering you allegiance to me already? Perhaps wish to join your old friend Stephan? Or maybe you doubt my abilities?" Raz'iel paled, taking a step back.
"No... my Lord."
"Good. Then proceed."
Raz'iel tossed something into the air, something that looked very much an eye. It hung there, suspended in midair by some unknown force.
"The eye of ender," said Skiamance in slight wonder. "Yes, it will make a fine life source to our newest ally."
Skiamance gazed at the eye of ender in front of him, then he began to chant, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. Skiamance's voice echoed in the chamber, dry and rasping as he uttered in the tongue of darkness, energy collecting in the room. Shadows thickened and began to glimmer, drawn to the dark magic. Gradually, the shadows started to gather before Skiamance, a large sphere of dark matter slowly spreading across the stone tiles. It encased the eye, building something out of the shadows. Or someone. His voice grew louder and he raised his arms.
"Rise!" He called loudly, "Rise and serve me!"
The darkness fell away, revealing a hooded figure in a flowing cloak. The shadows fell on him so that only the lower part of his face was visible except for his eyes. They were closed.
Skiamance hung his head, breathing heavily. He felt exhausted. He had performed magic as advanced as this before, but this was the first time he had brought someone back from the dead, and the effort required was immense.
"Who do you serve?" He said hoarsely.
The hooded figure lifted his head, glancing at Skiamance with strange amusement, and a cold smile playing on his lips. His eyes flew open, a startling, blank white.
"Master Herobrine pledges his allegiance to you, my Lord."