CHAPTER 2: The Summoning
The news of Diablo walking the land once more reached the ancient city of Rathma. But Aurion did not care. Others left to seek knowledge and riches and power, and no one ever learned what became of them. And Aurion kept calling the dead, inquiring about the ancient scroll. And every night his rituals failed, because the secrets it held were terrifying even for the damned.
Until one night a familiar spirit came to his summoning. It was the spirit of Ragna, and old friend and companion of his early years of arcane studies. He knew him and his sister well, and now Aurion had to bring her the news of Ragna's death in Hell by the blade of a fallen angel. Aurion asked his friend's spirit about the scroll, and the spirit screamed and twisted and tried to break off the summoning spell. But his death was recent; his corpse still warm in Hell; and his ties with this plane and his sister still strong. So Aurion kept pressing the spirit for an answer, pleading at first, cursing in the end and tossing threats on Ragna's sister.
Then, it all came to a halt. The spirit of the human who once was his friend looked him in his eyes and whispered a few words. In a heartbeat, a silver flame consumed the spirit and the whole room burst on fire. Aurion ran out just a minute before the explosion that threw him on the wall and left him unconscious. When he came to, most of his belongings were ashes. But the could still hear the spirit whisper:
"Lossst cccityyyy.... Ooohhhh, the sssstench of anccient deaathh...."
The next day, Aurion left the city to go after the Dark Wanderer.
A few hours passed and he could feel his strength returning. There was still time before dawn and thought of using this time to learn about the territory ahead. The lifeless body of the Spear Cat was still lying by the golem. He took out his ritual dagger and carefully removed the corpse's hands, eyes and tongue. When he was through, he tossed the bloody remains to his last skeletons to feed on. Along with the Cat's torn heart, he placed the harvested body parts on hot charcoal and started chanting. With each word the air around him grew heavier, as he reached out with his mana to call the Cat's spirit.
The spirit presented itself above the burning flesh. It hissed and roared and howled, but Aurion kept it bound by strong mana chains. And he made his claim, requiring about the land ahead. And the spirit, realizing there was no other way out, told him of the ruins of the city a couple of miles down the road. It old him of the undead walking the ruined streets of the one glorious city, once the jewel of the desert. It whispered the legends known among the desert tribes, tales of past glory and lost treasures and arcane powers hidden under the sands, where an ancient evil still walked.
The necromancer released the spirit. It had served him well and now he was more certain than ever that what secrets the Lost City held had to be his own. He left his minions to guard the camp and went to sleep.
In his dreams, he found himself flying over majestic gardens and glorious towers. The city streets were alive with people in colorful robes and melodic voices, singing and dancing and rejoicing over their King's first born son. The smoke of burning incense mixed with the scent of flowers rose high in the sky and filled the air around Aurion. Yet, the necromancer could detect another smell, one few mortals were familiar with: the sweet and sour perfume of decaying flesh.
The stench of Ancient Death.
Under the necromancer's phasmatic eyes, the city's Royal House burst from the inside out, spitting out Death.
Aurion woke up in cold sweat. Rarely would a dream scare him, but this was one of the few exceptions. What he saw was most probably a fragment of the past, perhaps the day that an ancient force leveled the Lost City. But his vision suggested that the Entity he had come searching for was of a different nature. Not Evil, not Undead, not Damned, just so alien that was beyond the mortal definitions of either Good or Evil.
Outside, the night was starting to fall once more. His astral travel in the past had lasted more than twenty hours and it was about time he should venture on. He gathered his few earthly belongings, summoned his minions and walked towards his final destination.
What was left of the once glorious capital was ruins half buried in the sands. As he walked among the debris he could hear the desert wind whispering tales of love, of hopes and dreams, carrying to his mortal ears the voices of the dead. And some of them were still walking among the ruins, not liking the intrusion. They attacked him with hungry growls, reaching for his pale flesh with sharp claws and teeth. His minions took care of them, while Aurion looked for any signs of the ancient knowledge he had come here for. He could feel a presence stir under his feet, located somewhere in the underground. After a few hours of searching and fighting plague bearers and undead creatures he spotted an opening on the ground. Without a second thought, he gestured to his minions to follow him, and stepped into the darkness.
The opening led to a maze of underground tunnels, probably the sewers or the catacombs of the city. He explored most of it, and in every turn he would come across more zombies and skeletons. He had grown impatient now, he could almost taste the Arcane Forces that once walked these halls and these opponents were just keeping him away from his goal. Calling upon his God Trag'Oul, he invoked a powerful bone spear, eliminating everything that stood between himself and the object of his desire. What was left standing behind him was soon destroyed by his minions.
Covered with ashes and blood, cursing humans and demons alike, he finally reached a secluded room. He inspected the dark corners and the dump walls with feverish eyes. It seemed to have been a crypt of some kind. He kneeled and looked carefully to the floor. What other could have missed, Aurion saw: Someone had once drawn a pentacle on the floor with human blood. He reached out with his necromantic skills and sensed the blood. It still held some of the memories of the body it once belonged to. Aurion took a tiny blood particle and tasted it. There it was: the devouring flash of fear; the dark depth of despair; the angry bite of greed and the bright glitter of mana. This was a sorcerer's blood.
In the center of the pentacle Aurion discovered something else: the remains of human bones. Not any human's, but the remains of the spellcaster who once used his own blood to form a protective circle around him. The necromancer commanded his minions to stand guard as he prepared himself for the summoning.
Ashes were mixed with dried blood and flames consumed the sacred herbs. In the smoke that rose from the fire that burned human remains the spirit appeared.
"Who dares to summon Herenwolf, High Priest of Shimara, Servant of the Elder Gods and Last of the Theban Magi?" demanded the spirit.
"A humble servant of Trag'Oul has called on you by the power of blood and bone and the mana you've left behind", replied Aurion.
"Oh, a necromancer!" The spirit sounded amused. "And what do you seek of me, my dear boy? Tales of power and ancient spells? Hidden treasures and long lost enchanted wands?"
"All I wish to know is the secrets this holds", replied Aurion and presented the scroll in his possession.
As he unfolded the parchment, the snake-like letters flashed. And Herenwolf's spirit screamed in agony and tried to break off. Aurion had expected this reaction and enhanced his summoning with the spirit's own mana, creating a loophole among the spirit world and the mortal plane, from which none of them could exit unless Aurion released the summoning.
"You have no idea what you have stumbled on", hissed the spirit.
****************************************************************
Well? A review?
