A/N: Okay, I'm going to be honest: I don't know anything about astral magic or the astral plane, or the exact ties either one has to necromancy. Most of this stuff I skimmed on the Internet, and just kind of mashed everything together. In other words, when it comes to the description of the astral magic and astral plane, I'm basically talking out my ass. In fact, I don't really believe in all this stuff. But since the game has to do with summoning the Harvest King, I thought it make for an interesting story. It's fiction guys, so keep that in mind, 'k?
"So I was wondering what you know about astral magic?"
He certainly wasn't ready for that. When Angela arrived on his doorstep this morning he thought she would have a question about an ingredient for the witch's antidote, or, like many girls on the island, wanted her fortune read. Astral magic was such a far out concept to the modern world, and many had never heard of it.
"When it comes to necromancy," he began, "astral magic is used mainly...to change the phase of the moon."
"I know, the moon has to be waxing or waning in order to summon someone as an apparition or a bodily form. But I don't know a thing about astral magic. I always just waited for the right moon phase when I would practice." She remembered sitting in her cave with Grendel, gazing up at the hole in the ceiling, waiting under a blanket of stars.
"...Why don't you just do that now?"
"Because I'm impatient!" She didn't mean to raise her voice, but Angela abhorred people constantly questioning her motives. "Besides, if the moon phase shifts even slightly than the whole ritual could be messed up. If the waning crescent moved even a centimeter out of place with the necromancy skills, the dead could rise with an unholy blood lust, to name just one accidental mishap."
"How...do you know if the Harvest King...is dead?" He lifted his chin, challenging her.
Tough crowd. She shook her head. "I don't. Maybe the practice of necromancy could be altered to raise someone from the astral plane to this world. Isn't that what the Harvest teachings say? That he resides on the astral plane as the departed make their way to the appropriate afterlife?"
"I suppose..." He had his doubts, but he was intrigued. One had to search very hard and very far to find a necromancer. "How about we meet...tonight?"
She felt faint. "Uhh...sure. When?"
"Midnight. The graveyard next to the church...bring your salts and fermented grape juice..."
"Okay, great. I'll see you then."
Fermented grape juice...a symbol of death, in some ways. On the way home Angela scanned over a big, leather bound book with the same fervor as a college student cramming for an exam. I knew that. I have plenty back home in the refrigerator. Her farm was just a little further away, another ten minutes tops. I think I'll wear my old grey cloak tonight, just like the old days...
The old days. When she was a little girl, nearly seventy years ago. She still had the same body and mind, plus the naivety, she had when she was eighteen, but since then those big brown eyes had seen much. Living in a cave most of her life, Angela knew how to survive physically, not so much emotionally, but she learned as she aged. She learned how deep a grave needed to be, and first-hand experience of the detrimental effects of doing so. She thought often of Inazin, of the time they spent when he was her grandfather's apprentice, of his sudden vengeance one night, of his death.
She sighed as she reached the foot of the hill on which her house stood when something green on the ground caught her eye. She slipped the book back in her rucksack and made a mad dash for her garden. What she saw made her jump and scream, and Grendel and Vivi hurried out of the cracked front door to see what was amiss. When they took in the situation, Vivi plopped herself on the ground, indifferent while Grendel lifted her yellow eyes to Angela with pride.
"I did it!" She shouted to the mountains, the green swaying in the breeze. "I did it! I grew some turnips!"
