The sun glared down upon the vast desert, turning every lump of stone, every eroded remnant of statue and temple poking out of the sand into solid fire. A wave of heat rose steadily from every granule and came to rest at eye level, twisting the reality of distance, creating sparkling illusions of water. Across the barren sand trekked a lone man adorned in armor of ebony and ivory, his step unhindered by the hostile climate.
Kadel was feeling better, away from the offensive smells of the market, the thick mixture of fruit and spices, brimming with life, the sweat of many bodies pushing past one another, cobbled together in the vibrancy of clothing and cloth from the many stands. He'd noticed how they looked at him, pointed and commented on his bizarre attire; the scowling demon skulls adorning his broad shoulders; black leather covering his body under chest, forearm and shin plates made up of polished bone. His pale face had twisted into something evil, making no effort to hide his contempt. A ghastly warrior back from the grave.
They removed themselves from his path; Kadel took extra care to keep from touching them, like they were both avoiding the same plague. Yet there was respect in their movements, they were afraid of what they could not understand. For all they knew, touching him could make their teeth fall out, or cause them to burst out into festering boils. Or eternal sleep. Every now and then he'd caught the whisper of a dagger on a man's belt or a hatchet tucked out of sight, speaking of past sins, allowing death to dance at the edges of his vision. It was enough to carry him through the experience.
He'd made his way down the spiral alleyway, coming to a stop in front of a small stand covered in shadow. The man tending to it leaned forward enough to hear the whispers of his customer, but not enough to let his features glimmer in the candle light. After a short moment, the proprietor gathered three shiny beetles, green, purple and red, a dried up gnarled root in the shape of a fang and what looked like the small bone of a finger. He laid them all out on the mauve material for inspection and once he received the nod of satisfaction, scooped them all into a bowl and began dashing them to dust. Once the mixture was right, the bowl of luminescent powder was presented and the buyer took it in handfuls, brought it up to his face and breathed deeply. He did this four times till the bowl was empty, paid the merchant and proceeded out of town into the harsh desert, no longer held by the constraints of the sun.
By now, the hours had paled in his progress as he approached the side of a dune, stepping past the rotting body kneeling in the sand, spear end protruding out of its gaping mouth. The smell of dried blood and fading flesh, it almost made him smile. There were thousands of warnings like that strewn all over the desert, thieves, townsfolk, anyone unable to fend off the wandering beasts. A mouth formed from slabs of rock beckoned him, carved into the side of the dune, an ancient stairway that went black after the first few stairs. He double checked the markings on the stone column to its side. This was the one.
The tomb had that distinct smell of anything dead over a thousand years. Each step into the dark brought comfort as the glaring light of the surface world became smaller and smaller yet, till the light spilled mouth of the tomb was no bigger than a coin. He exhaled with enthusiasm, letting the low whispers of death light his path. They spoke of bones smashed to splinters, spilt blood staining the walls and floor, of muscle bashed to pulp. He could see it all as if the encounters were playing out before his eyes. It showed a valiant fight, the warrior's skull smashing in two against the wall, then the feeding.
The steps ended and he found himself following a dark corridor, the scent of decay growing stronger in stride. He spoke a single word into the void and a glowing aura leapt out of him, encasing his body, lighting up the room around him. Now he could see the dark stains on the worn stone walls, the jagged markings on them, and the missing chunks of stone up ahead, large cobbled shapes of death on the floor. Though the whispers were months old, fresh footprints remained in the dust among the disturbed cobwebs. Some tiny with three pronged triangles for toes, others twice the size of the largest man, odd drag marks of slithering beasts among many man sized feet, many skeletal.
He took short glances at the rows of tombs set to either side of him as he walked. He spoke raspy short words and kept walking, taking no notice when the large stone tomb lids toppled over. Creeping sounds could be heard, scratching, rubbing, and then soft footsteps in his wake, the distinct rattle of bones. Row by row, the sound of the lids began to fall into rhythm, till his footsteps were echoed by at least twenty others.
He could see a pile of bones on the floor ahead. Many splintered atop a mound of powder. He waved his hand absently as he passed and they rose as if on strings. Fractures mended, powder molded back into solid bone until the axe wielding cadaver stood at eye level, empty sockets and grimy grin awaiting his command. Those adept in the art of necromancy understood both value and irony in studying healing.
He moved down the corridor, more popping lids, stopping in front of the mangled body of a fallen warrior. His bald head was split in two, the gore had dribbled and dried all over his face and into his thick, mottled beard. Many of his bones were crunched from chewing, stains of blood and marrow remained in a dark blot, encasing him. Small bits of dried flesh were cobbled here and there, a bit by the ribs, a hunk on the left thigh, enough to work with. Flesh was good for getting a weapon or two stuck in. He held his hand over the warrior, sending a small gust of wind through the corridor, the dry air whistled through thirty dried windpipes. The pale white light from his palm crawled down to the corpse and upon contact, began filling it. Everything glowed as the bones knitted back together, the skull sealed and flesh grew out in pulses till the filthy thing looked more man than corpse, save a few spots still showing milky white bone, the most prominent being a patch over the left cheek and eye. It lifted the sword and cracked shield in hand, gave a hiss and fell into rank as Kadel strode onward.
The passage ended with a door of stone slab. The room beyond it was alive; he could hear shrill hisses, shrieks and chanting resonating through the stone, demonic sounds for which the surface dweller had no comparison. He stretched out a pale hand and swept it across the markings on the door. All noise ceased. One by one, the glyphs illuminated a light blue and faded. There was the grinding sound of stone against stone as the slab door lurched to the ceiling, leaving an empty gateway.
The room was large and the necromancers light only stretched so far, stopping at a dark stained altar. Many shadows shifted in the sounds of rummaging just beyond. Small slanted rubies began popping up in multitudes, hundreds of glowing red eyes.
"Kalito…" A deep guttural sound, the many eyes shifted in the darkness, many at different heights. He could see the one that made the noise amongst the tribe of tiny brethren, could see the knives and pitch forks gleam in the darkness as the light caught them. Damn little creatures, he thought. Barely smart enough to use tools and speak language, quick to stab and bite at your shins. Other larger silhouettes slithered around in the dark, red bodies snaking in and out of the light, tails carrying the muscular chests and arms around the room, serpent eyes and fangs flashing as they hissed. Sparks fluttered and died with a screech as the serpents dragged their swords together. The chattering of dead teeth coming from the darkness told him he wasn't the only one raising the dead.
"Who dares," A voice boomed through the dark and everything became still.
"Who dares disturb me?" Forth came a horror of Diablo's creation. First, the long smooth bone snout of a jackal, then the glowing red eyes set in deep empty sockets of a skull draped in ancient headwear, the tall stretched body of a man came into view, eaten away by decay, draped in cloth, the creature almost touched the ceiling. One arm ended in a clawed hand, the other was a scythe of bone starting at the elbow. A Horadric mage laid to rest, once again risen, now nothing more than a vile husk for some malevolent spirit.
"I came to talk." The necromancer spoke firmly, keeping his eyes on the leader. The creature dragged a long claw across the altar, the scrape echoed, and sent dust swirling into the stale air.
"Quickly."
The necromancer stood his ground at the entrance as his thralls crept in the room, hugging the walls to either side of him.
"This tomb belonged to my ancestor many years ago," At this, the room was once more alive with skittish noises, the shifting of glittering eyes and dust, "I wish to see him."
He took a step forward and the beasts began to growl, the opposing undead chattered violently. The beasts stepped into the light, the small bipedal goblins, just shorter than his waist, squawking over each other, bulbous noses bobbing, their slimy skin shining. Serpents began to drift over to the sides of the room, disappearing once more into the dark, the sound of them creeping closer. The Guardian allowed its long tongue to slither between rows of jagged fangs, stepping forward to meet him.
"One more step and I shall set them upon you."
"Each one that drops will join me in my cause."
With that, the necromancer took off to the left at a quick steady stride, his many skeletons boxed tight around him, encasing him in a vicious shell of metal and bone. The room exploded into chaotic violence. A beast shrieked somewhere and in seconds was echoed by many others as they charged towards the defensive mass. The warrior carrion he'd created roared with all the fervor of the cause he had died for, leaping into the sea of demons, cutting, bashing, and tearing apart. Kadel could see their wicked faces as they clashed with the skeletal outer ring, eager to reach him. The tiny black demons jabbed in disarray and the skeletons rained down on them as more of the opposing bone warriors began to clash with Kadel's undead. A serpent swung in close, cleaving two skeletons in half with a mighty blow, sending their bones to the floor in piles, but once the arrow stuck deep into its head, it fell to the ground. After a few short spasms, the serpent rose again, dead stare turned to its brethren as it began to swing at them, carving through them. He was true to his word, felled demons all over the room were rising up to do battle with those they'd fought alongside moments ago. The creatures continued to throw themselves at the skeletal circle, yet it held, the necromancer continued to walk his path, untouched by all around him.
As they cleared the altar, the Guardian came at him; a hefty slash of the long scythe arm cleared all his thralls on that side. He shielded his eyes from the fragments of bone bouncing off his face and waved away the dust. Before the thing could strike again, he took action. Bones of his fallen thralls rose off the ground with haste, striking the great Guardian in the face, knocking him off balance on their way to settle behind him, digging into the ground and sticking to each other till two giant pillars of bone stood high behind the fiend. With the flick of his wrist, more bones sped forward, splintering and sinking into the Guardians arms with such velocity, he was pinned to the bone behind him. The necromancer walked on. The furious Guardian roared and yanked himself free, but another wall of skeletons had set in on him, yanking his appendages and hacking at his face.
The skeletal circle reached the solitary tomb at the end wall and with another swift movement of the hand, it burst open. His ancestor was barely together, everything but the skull, torso and spine had returned to dust. There, the object at his neck, an amulet spiraled around a pointy violet stone. The object of Kadel's desire. Wasting no time, he leaned in close. Ignoring the chaos, he clasped the amulet in one hand, the white light travelling into the skull of the ancient. The aura sparkled in the dead eyes and he opened his mouth, gave out a long wheeze and said,
"East… far east."
It would seem his suspicions were correct. He was not the only remaining member of his bloodline. He yanked the amulet from the neck, snapping it and leaving the bones to smash in a pile. The battle still alive around him, he travelled back to the entrance, protected by his circle of skeletons and demons. Once beyond the stone slab, he sealed it shut again, leaving many of his thrall behind to fight, walked down the long hallway, up the stairs, back to the light, never to return.