The Tomb

The ancient stone walls of the cave seemed to come to life as the dim light of the torch illuminated them. Their strange and beautiful mosaics danced in the flame, depicting epic tales of conquest, betrayal, and love from fantastical ages long since passed. Even the clever alchemist, whose dull green eyes betrayed an elder’s wisdom contradictory to his youthful physique, couldn’t string together most of the grand narratives depicted on the seemingly primitive and almost alien wall paintings; their stories could not be translated to Standard by even the wisest Valencian scholar, as for all intents and purposes our modern languages have no words to recall these depictions of primal and unknowable cosmic horror whose nature no mortal, even the wisest, could ever hope to truly understand. No languages, perhaps, save for the profane tongue of the Betrayers – those dark servants of the Daemon-sultan and his lesser fell spirits whose wicked command of the blackest magicks was, to Manny, synonymous and indistinguishable from Pure Evil – “M’gleth-epshuggog.”

The flame on his torch flickered and dimmed further, casting shadow upon the twisted mosaics. As if heralding the approach of some weird phantom, accompanying the new darkness was a sudden muting of the subtle natural harmonies of the world, inviting forth a chthonic chill and cacophonous silence. He drew closer to the Void with each step.

I’m not alone, he realized, the worst coming to fruition. Was he too late? Had the dark henchman already infiltrated the inner sanctum and unleashed a dark thread of Chaos upon the world? He quickened his pace, finally spotting a strange blue glow in the distance, undoubtedly the door to the depths of the tomb. He steeled himself and entered the antechamber, a steeped semi-circle of a room which could easily have been some manner of miniature stadium where occult rituals of the deepest magicks were once performed. It was clear now. He was not alone – he got the distinct sense that a million dark eyes were upon him, hiding just inside the outermost boundaries of the Void waiting to strike.

“There’s no use hiding in the shadows,” Manny said, his words reverberating off the chamber’s curved walls and bouncing back at him. “You shouldn’t be here. Come out and we can both leave before it’s too late.”

The azure braziers illuminating the room flickered slightly. A slight, cloaked man with an expensive-looking double-breasted coat stepped out from behind the fearsome statue of the horned Wyrm in the middle of the room, his face not quite visible underneath his hood. Manny flinched slightly at the sight of the dark figure, staring him down as stoically as he could manage.

“Relax,” the man said, throwing back his hood to reveal an ominous white mask streaked with deep red markings like freshly spilt blood. “I’m not your enemy. Just a man who likes his tombs.” The masked figure’s voice was youthful, but his words had a certain weight to them, as if he was speaking directly into your mind without even audiating. He had a large black book strapped to his belt, and what appeared to be simple traveler’s cane – though he held it suspiciously close to his person.

“Do you even know where you are right now?” Manny asked, almost incredulous at the Stranger’s overly familiar demeanor.

“Depends,” the Stranger histrionically stroked the lower half of his mask, as if in deep contemplation. “Do you mean ‘where am I’ in the cosmic sense or just our position in space? I think we’re across from Jinora, if that’s where you’re trying to go.”

Manny stifled what was almost a small chuckle. “You don’t just wander into the tomb of an ancient sorcerer by happenstance,” the alchemist said sternly. “The only types of people that show up in a place like this are idiots and criminals who think they can control things that could easily destroy them. So, which are you?” Manny quickly produced a hidden silver blade which glinted brightly in the dark room, holding it at guard.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Stranger shook his head almost pitifully as he methodically paced back and forth. “I am a servant of the oppressed peoples of this world, and the power contained within that chamber will simply be a tool for their liberation. You, my friend, are on the wrong side.”

Manny scoffed. “Servants of the people don’t use magick whose only purpose is to wreak chaos and death. And now I realize that you reek of both.” The alchemist reached for the pouch hanging from his belt.

“You wouldn’t know death if it were staring you in the face,” the Stranger sneered. In what seemed like one fluid motion, he pulled his hood back up and raised his crooked staff aloft, revealing its hidden enchantments which crackled with volatile purple and black sparks. The very atmosphere of the room began to warp in response as he chanted the eldritch incantations of the Void, calling forth the spirits of the tormented dead to inflict the deepest Khaos upon his surroundings through his bodily conduit. Manny reached for a blue dispelling vial in his satchel but he was a hair too late, allowing the Stranger to finish his invocation ritual which flooded the chamber with Void, instantly causing the alchemist to reel in pain as if a horde of malevolent spirits were attempting to tear apart his very soul. The Stranger basked in the shadows, tracing in the air the invisible sigil of a vengeful spirit so as to focus and intensify the arcane ritual’s spiritual assault on Manny. The very shadows churned and delighted in the growing maelstrom, a swirling mass of unspeakable chaos like an unholy gateway to the underworld.

The alchemist let loose an anguished scream. Therion, he thought. Barely resisting the call of the Beyond with sheer willpower, Manny finally smashed the blue vial on to the ground, its potent vapors immediately filling the room and dispelling the all-consuming shadows. His concentration on the invocation broken, the Stranger threw up his crackling staff just before the alchemist’s silver sword would have pierced his neck. The staff hissed with vitriol as its violent energy absorbed the blade’s blow with a wall of ethereal magenta flame, halting Manny’s deceptively quick advance. Having mostly recuperated from the interruption of his invocations, the Stranger shook off the residual ectoplasm and ducked behind the statue of the wyrm again. Simultaneously, the Stranger prepared a retaliatory spell and Manny quickly downed a potion stimulant.

The Stranger leapt from cover and immediately let loose an explosive burst of pure Khaos, though Manny deftly rolled out of the blast’s path, causing it to violently collide with a row of the amphitheater's seats. Momentarily blinded by the blast, the Stranger prepared another burst of Khaos but was interrupted with another of Manny’s deadly sabre thrusts, executed with such agility that he seemed to phase in and out of reality for the smallest fraction of a second. The young acolyte blocked the piercing strike by holding his staff horizontally and catching the blade, causing the two to desperately push against each other’s weight and hope the other’s stance would break first. They held their weapons evenly for a few moments before the alchemist’s stimulant granted him another burst of unnatural grit, forcing the Stranger to begin to slip. Before his stance could break, the staff crackled violently under the force and abruptly snapped in twine, blasting them both backwards with the resulting expulsion of bundled chaotic energy. Still stimulated, the alchemist sprang back to his feet before his opponent, readying his blade for another assault. The Stranger, initially dazed by the loss of his weapon, quickly drew his concealed ceremonial dagger and held it in reverse grip, beckoning his opponent forward whilst subtly panting from the violent explosion.

Manny threw down a container of powerful vapors, becoming totally invisible to the naked eye. In response, the Stranger quickly drew the sigil of Apophis with his hands – less adeptly and with more difficulty than with the staff – and threw the room into total darkness, corrupting the brazier flames into Void conduits. The two moved around cautiously in the pitch black chamber, the alchemist straining his eyes to see his opponent and the Stranger listening for the slightest movement. His rapid pulse and respiration from the stimulant gave him away, however, as the Stranger was able to side step Manny’s sneak attack and grab the alchemist’s wrist in his momentary shock. Manny immediately screamed out in anguish from his dark and twisting touch, his soul seeming to recoil in agony as it desperately attempted to repel the Stranger’s invasive chaotic energy. Tormented by crackles of red lightning from the black mage’s grip, Manny felt as if his very vitality was being drained, first burning through the extra energy from the stimulant and then depleting his body’s own essence. It felt as if the alchemist’s connection to the quintessence around him was waning – stolen and corrupted by his dark adversary to restore his own strength.

However, the Stranger too grew spiritually strained by the profane assault, with his own magicks approaching but not quite surpassing Manny’s vibrant spirit and sheer willpower. “You hold a dozen lifetimes within you,” the Stranger strained to say. “What are you?”

Manny finally broke loose from the arcane grip, dropping to his knees in exasperation. The Stranger yelped in surprise as the alchemist broke free, nearly equally exhausted by the ordeal. Summoning all his mettle, the dark mage kicked his foe in the stomach before turning and quickly striding off towards the door of the inner sanctum. As instructed by the Sages, he aligned the stars in the correct order so as to resemble an eagle in flight, allowing him to enter.

Within the tomb, he quickly discovered the prized artifact – the famed Hand of Infinite Silence. Just as he reached for it, however, Manny threw an explosive concoction from afar, destroying the Hand and sending the Stranger flying, his coat charred from the explosion. Almost immediately afterwards, the door to the inner sanctum abruptly sealed, trapping the both of them within. The stone crypt in the center of the burial chamber burst open, the dreaded undead sorcerer Aligostro emerging from his ancient tomb seeking vengeance. Manny produced a potion of healing, drinking some himself and throwing the rest at the lich, causing the monster to roar in pain. It quickly recovered and prepared to cast a spell of domination at the alchemist, but the Stranger managed to pick himself back up and interrupt the attack, summoning a single flash of lightning which shattered the spell and dazed the undead beast.

Manny sighed in relief as the Stranger reluctantly sprinted over to the alchemist and helped him up. “You’re a necromancer, tell that thing to get lost,” Manny reasoned.

“It… doesn’t quite work like that,” the Stranger rasped, half amused and half annoyed.

“What are you talking about? Where do you think zombies come from? Pure ones, anyway. Not the plague victims. It’s a common misnomer.”

“Yes, I know it’s a misnomer,” the Stranger strained, somehow almost visibly perturbed beneath his mask. “The problem is I’ve only been trained to be a bokor. I can only work with spirits… for now, at least.”

Manny sighed, then found the resolve to turn to the Stranger intently. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he began, “but no one ever ‘taught’ anyone magick. It comes from the understanding of the self in relation to the world around them, even your… questionable disciplines.”

The Stranger considered this as the lich began to recuperate from the dazing lightning. “Sounds wise enough,” he nodded. “Buy me some time?”

“How am I supposed to buy you time?” Manny asked incredulously. “Do I look like I carry around gold coins?” The black mage stared at the alchemist silently for a few moments, sighed, then ran off to the other side of the chamber in preparation. Aligostro roared as he stirred back to alertness, still occasionally crackling with little sparks of ethereal lightning. Eschewing magic, the lich drew his terrifying obsidian blade as he screeched and hovered spookily towards Manny. The alchemist looked through his pouch for a few moments before settling on a strange black vial, which burst into a mist of black vapors that deposited sharp black crystals on to the bones of the beast upon contact, slowing its already slow advancement.

With the Ars Goetia in hand, the Stranger summoned all his remaining mana to anchor his soul in the underworld and attempt to subdue Aligostro’s lingering spirit. The psionic attack enraged the monster, causing it to swing its black sword violently as Manny ducked and rolled around to his best ability. As it had remained dormant for so long, Aligostro’s soul was remarkably resilient, resisting the Stranger’s necromancy with every ounce of strength it had left. Thinking quickly, Manny cast his last remaining dispelling potion toward the lich, weakening its tether to the physical world. Finally, as it thrashed and roared powerlessly, the Stranger captured Aligostro’s soul and dispersed it into the Void where it would slowly dissipate and become nothing.

Manny lent a hand to the Stranger as he composed himself from the physical exertion of the dark technique. They regarded each other awkwardly for a moment. “Well, this isn’t exactly how I thought this day was gonna go,” the Stranger said. “But all things considered, you were right. I would thank you for your wisdom but I gather you have a grudge for my kind of people, so I’d best be on my way.”

“Wait,” Manny stopped him. “Even though I maintain that what you do is wrong and destructive beyond description, I think you may have actually saved my neck back there. So, I suppose I owe you my thanks.”

“Likewise,” the Stranger smiled. “So, who are you anyway? I wasn’t exactly expecting company in the tomb of the wyrm lich.”

Manny thought for a moment. “I’m just a traveler,” he explained. “Name’s Ethyl.”

The Stranger regarded “Ethyl” inquisitively for a moment. “Right,” he said, perplexed. “And I’m just an archaeologist from the college looking for new samples. They call me Therion.”

“Very subtle,” Ethyl observed, familiar with the patron spirit of fiery destruction and revolution.

“Whatever you say, ‘Ethyl.’ So,” he offered. “Shall we part ways? As friends?”

Manny shook the necromancer’s hand. “I wouldn’t go that far since I’d better not catch you raising the dead in the Dreiton graveyard, but sure. So long, stranger.” Therion bowed his head slightly and then set off towards an adjunct exit chamber.

“Hold on,” Manny added, Therion turning around quizzically. “Don’t think I don’t know what that mask represents. How about I get a good look at the real you in exchange for my good graces?”

The Stranger considered this for a moment then turned to face Manny again. “No. Staves are a real ball ache to replace, so you can regret breaking mine and wonder who I am while I snap some twigs off another ancient haunted tree. Besides, the mask is the most important part.” He chuckled lightly and then slinked into the shadows, just as he had arrived.

The alchemist had much to consider. This so-called Therion was an affront to everything he understood about black magic, and he seemed almost earnest in his desire to be a liberator instead of a destroyer. He shrugged it off as merely a trick to appear less threatening, though in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but wonder if chaos could be a force for good were it wielded by the right hands.

Therion returned to the Grotto later that evening, stowing away his mask to avoid suspicion. As he arrived at the front entrance of the del Toro residence, he found a strange letter nailed to the old door – marked by the instantly recognizable Templar seal.