Night had fallen over the small town, the full moon hovering over in the sky, lighting the streets, revealing them empty, except for one. One figure walked, covered in a long black robe, the hood pulled up. If not for the moon, he would have blended in with the darkness and shadow perfectly, and none looking out their windows, if any, would see him. However, his passage went unnoticed, for it was much to late for anyone to be awake still at this hour, the fields still in need of tending in the morning, ready for harvest.
Even the tavern had gone dark, the doors locked and the candles out. There was a dull glow coming from the windows, but that was from the hearth fire that slowly died down to cinders.
And so, the dark robbed figure moved on, unhindered and unnoticed.
A dog barked somewhere behind him, but he chose to ignore it, instead, pushing on towards his destination, the graveyard that rested on the edge of the town. It was no small plot either. Nearly twenty headstones had been stuck into the ground, placed around three large tombs, each housing past member of noticeable families who had called the town home. He stopped at the gate, looking in and counting the stones before smiling. If anyone were there to see him, the smile would send a shiver down their spine, for it was a smile with a dark intention hidden behind it.
He lowered his hood, his hair falling down his back, now free to do so. The moon glinted off his blue eyes and he scanned the graveyard and raised both hands, weaving his Magics through them as he muttered an incantation that accompanied the movements of his hands. It took only a minute, and when he finished, he flexed his fingers and released the spell over the area. For a moment, nothing happened, until the ground that the graveyard stood upon began to move, as if churned dirt under a farmers plough. Figures began to push their way from the mud, decaying corpses that had been brought back, soulless beings that awaited a command from their mater. Within minutes, all twenty graves had emptied, and there was the sound of heavy hammering coming from the tombs. Eventually, the stone cracked, and the deceased members of the noticeable families began to join their fellows. Men, women and children all stood where once they rested, and fear would clutch the hearts of all, if only it were witnessed.
The man turned slowly and waved his hand forward, indicating the town before him. As if as one, the undead began to march forward at a crawl. Their speed was not much, but they would let their numbers do the damage. But, even so, these thirty or so would not overwhelm a town like this one without letting survivors pass.
Realising this, the man frowned and raised his right hand into the air above him, his arm fully stretched out. His left hand came to front of his face, his index and middle fingers raised and placed together at his lips, as once again, he muttered and incantation and weaved his Magics. With a final word, he thrust out outstretched hand down, pointing his open palm towards the ground and clenching his fist. With a terrifying flash, he summoned more of his minions, blackened skeletons, covered in a dark haze that made them appear both there and somewhere else at once. And with his command, the Mist Men joined the zombies in the attack.
A shrill cry was heard from the house closest to him, and once again he smiled. The slaughter had begun, and with it, the army he had created grew. Until at last the dead outnumbered the living, and then none remained alive at all. The Necromancer took steps into the town and looked about, admiring the destruction he had caused. This was indeed some of his greatest work.
"Lord Garis shall be pleased," he said to himself. "Another piece of the land has been integrated in his ever growing Empire, and more join his ranks with the intention to serve. All the remains is the final touches."
Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, placing both hands on the ground and closing his eyes. He muttered a short phrase and released the Magics directly into the ground. Instantly, the stones turned black and the mud began to turn into a sludge as he cast his Blight upon the land. None would ever live here again. It was a land of death now, owned by the High Liche, and it belonged to the Dead. The Necromancer stood, one of the few living subjects of the High Liche, bound by oath to serve their Dread Master. He gathered his minions to him, and turned to regard them. And with a final smile, he lead them from the town, towards the Southern Forests, towards the Ever Growing Empire of Datsu, where the dead walked free, under the eternal service of their Dread Lord, to await their command to march upon the heart of the living civilisation, and see it brought to heel. So commanded the High Liche, Garis Yu'Ton.