"Come on! Kené keep up!" Sarsönil Eoiali called down to his brother as he waited at the top of the dune. He didn't exactly care that his younger brother couldn't match his pace, only that he wanted to go farther, and he didn't want to get in trouble for his brother getting lost. This was the furthest they had ever gotten from the tribe, and Sarsönil was alive with the adventure. His parents sent him and his brother to go check on the herd, and even though Sarsönil didn't realize it was a task that wasn't expected to be completed by the eleven and five year old Esokan, he felt like an outlaw as he neglected his instructions in favor of this. The two boys had been wandering for quite a while now, and here was his reward.
A stone castle rose out of the sand like a hand reaching into the heavens. It was submerged in the sand- an untold story of the castle's architecture left to be explored. The visible stone was dark, unnaturally dark, especially in comparison to the deep red sands of Pillax that went on for miles. It only made the winding pillars and ominously open hatch more appealing to the naive little boys. "Kené! Look look look!" Sarsönil grabbed his brother's arm just before he crested the dune. The younger lit up at the sight.
"Let's go let's go let's go!" The boy giggled, his tired wobble turning into a run down the dune toward the submerged castle. Sarsönil wasn't too far behind. He didn't consider what his parents might think, both of their unsanctioned expoloration and their distance from the tribe. Afterall, they didn't have anything to worry about- Sarsönil had brought his father's dagger. It was lucky, or at least that was what the boy was convinced of.
It was only a matter of moments before the climbed to the castle's surface and peered down into the open hatchway that led into nothingness. A ladder that was much too big for the younger to climb down was all that stood between them and untold treasures. "I have an idea," Sarsönil started, seconds before scooping up his younger brother to latch on to his back. It was awkward and clunky for the small Esokan, but his papa carried him like this many times when he was young. He shifted, nearly falling over with his brother's weight on his back, before scrambling to get on the ladder. He reached his foot down, once then twice before moving one hand too, while the other supported the younger Esokan on his back. Sarsönil made his was awkwardly down one, two, three, and four more rungs, the light from the desert sun slowly becoming isolated to the hatch that was now above his head. He was climing into the abyss.
Into Death waiting with open arms.
His bare feet carefully found the next ladder rung, toes scraping against it. Odd. The other rungs were stone, a built in part of the castle, but this one was made of splintery wood. Sarsönil frowned as he gently put more weight on it. He moved his other foot down. Rocked on his toes a bit to tested the weight. "Sarsönil… it's really dark in here," Kené complained, tugging on his brother's shoulder. The movement was small, but it was enough to tip off the balance. Sarsönil felt his shoulder tilt back, and suddenly his fingers began to slip. His eyes widened, self preservation kicking in, and he used his other hand to sturdy himself. Leaving his brother to hold on for himself- something which the boy was not doing. The small weight was ripped off Sarsönil's back with a cry, and not even a breath later, there was a thud. Following by extreme wailing. Panic jolted through Sarsönil.
"Kené!" Sarsönil hopped off the ladder, earning himself a few splinters in his feet from the wooden rung. The ground was a bit farther than anticipated, and the action came at a price. "Ow…" He mumbled, brow furrowed in pain. He could understand why his brother was crying so much. He turned to face his brother, who was curled up and crying not a few feet away. Sarsönil, again, felt that panic jolt through him. There was blood. "Kené, it- it's going to be alright- uhhh- umm," Sarsönil's eyes began to well up with water. He didn't know what to do. They were far from home, too far from home for him to go get Mom. Where was Mom? She was always here for these kind of things. "I- I- I don't know what to do," The boy whispered, a sentence that was drowned out by his brother's cries of pain.
"Looks like you are in a predicament, youngling," A voice, cold and smooth as water drawn from the earth, came out of the shadows. Sarsönil tensed up, eyes wider than the full moon. He couldn't figure out where the voice came from- it sounded as if it was everywhere, but at the same time, entirely inside his head. "The little one seems to be injured. Quite badly, I mean, look at all that blood?" A dark chuckle. A sound that made Sarsönil's skin crawl. "I can help you… for a price." Sarsönil was about to shake his head, about to insist that he would go get Mom and things would be all better, but with a loud clang, terrifying, all the light from the hatch above was extinguished as it closed on its own accord. terroroverwhelmed Sarsönil. Terror, as he lost sight of his brother and all he could see was the inky blackness of nothingness. Terror, as a chill set in the room and he heard the shuffle of one footstep. Then two. "Come now boy, you are safe here with me," The voice echoed in his mind and the chamber. Unnnatural, cold, silky- this was very, very wrong.
Sarsönil couldn't hold in his tears just as the sand couldn't hold any water. "Pl-pl-please d-don't hurt- hurt- hic- K-Ken-" The rest of his words were left to incoherent blubberings as his legs buckled and he fell to the cold stone floor. What was he to do? Where was mom? Why was he here? Who was talking to him? Why-
Sarsönil was pulled out of the panic and terror that was trapping him within his mind as a candle was lit at the far end of the room. Then another. And another. The whole room sparked to life, wax candles against the stone walls and scattered on the floor. It was a triangular shaped room, with the ladder behind him on one wall, and the other two walls adorned with doorways leading to more darkness. At the point of the room, opposite to the ladder, was something like an altar. It was made of stone, decorated with many carvings and a large bowl -big enough to bath a small child- at the base. Behind the altar was a man in black robes. His chest was exposed to reveal tattoos, in the same style as the carvings on the altar. It looks to be depictions of stories, images of man and beast fighting, dying, and yet, living again. The man's skin was something Sarsönil had never seen before. It was a darker color, similar to Sarsönil himself, but at the top of his torso, it faded to a white that was paler than the clouds. His neck was thin, almost hollow looking, and his face- Sarsönil's eyes widened and the fear was instantly renewed. The skin was falling off, hanging along his face like a tattered cloth, to reveal patches of bone. This… this was a necromancer. Something even Esokan feared from time to time. Something that his mother told him to stay away from. As far away as possible.
Necromancers were magic users, but somewhere along the way they crossed a line that should not be crossed. They were rotten down to their souls, only a sliver of who they once were. Very few of them existed on Yurul, and the few that did were outlaws to many civilizations. Hence, many made their home in the deserted land of Pillax, if not in some underground market Varesia. They were beings to be feared, never to be reasoned with. Never to be intereacted with, according to his mother. "Boy, tell me," The necromancer said softly but not sweetly, "what are two Esokan boys doing so far from their tribe?" Not a question that Sarsönil was going to answer, the necromancer found after a few moments. It didn't seem to bother him all that much. The man shifted his robes as he pulled Kené into view- blood was dripping down the side of the crying boy's face. "Aw hush now, child," The necromancer added, and at Kené's continued crying, his face turned rageful and he spat out in an unworldly voice, "Somortem."
Sarsönil felt like the life was sucked out of him as his brother's small body went limp. It was as if his mind went white, something deep inside his blood awakening, a feeling stretching from the back of his neck to his fingers and toes. He couldn't form words, he couldn't even react-
"Don't worry, your friend is still alive," The necromancer said nonchalantly as he set the younger Esokan down on the table. The hot white feeling from the back of his neck slowed. The man glanced up at Sarsönil before flicking his wrist to gesture behind the older boy. "Fetch me the blood and emerald bottles, obedium." Sarsönil didn't have control over his body as he turned to face a roughly cut log shelf -the wooden 'ladder rung' that he had stepped on- and picked up a thin vial filled with a deep red color and a jar full of a metallic green material. His legs brought him, one painful and stiff step at a time, around the altar to the man's rotting feet. A maggot had made its home in one of them. Sarsönil's body betrayed him as he presented both liquids to the man. The necromancer smiled as he looked down at the boy. "You… you are a peculiar one. Not many try to resist my magic." He swiped until the two containers, leaving Sarsönil to stand and watch. He could see his brother laying on the table, blood crusting over his face. His eyes darted to the ladder- too far and too hard to climb quick enough to escape without trouble. That wasn't even factoring in the time and strength required to open the hatch at the top. His eyes travelled to the necromancer. While Sarsönil was looking for an escape plan, he had been talking. "…and a splattering of oxyoto juice, and he could dissolve in front of your very eyes- but we wouldn't want that, now would we? So I will do you a favor. I will save his life, he will just be a bit different." The necromancer crouched down, an unsettling crunch coming with the movement, so he was eye level with Sarsönil. "However, as I'm sure you may know, necromancers need a willing sacrifice to be able to reimbue the body of another with the life of old. So, all I need from you is-"
With a swift movement, Sarsönil gave in to what his blood wanted. He reached behind him to draw his father's dagger, shimmering in the candlelight, from his back- underneath the folds of his tunic. His instincts took hold of his movements and he slashed the dagger into the necromancer's throat. It was as if he'd done it a million times before- as if the weight of his ancestors guided not just his arm, but his torso, his wrist, his fingertips. He moved with the strength a mere boy should not have. Sarsönil. Sarsönil. We see you. Sarsönil. We know you. Sarsönil. We are you. Sarsönil. We are your brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers. Sarsönil. We are your blood. Sarsönil. We are your fate. Sarsönil. We are- Sarsönil let out a scream so fierce that he never knew he was capable of.
The necromancer garbled, his remaining face filled with dying rage. Sarsönil was trying to choke out words as his blood, black as night, splattered over him. It got in his eyes, his mouth, his nose- it smelled like an ox that had been left to rot in the sun for days. The necromancer's body jerked and twisted, convulsing as blood spilt on the floor beneath the altar. Sarsönil wobbled backwards, unable to find his voice, as he watched the body twist and crunch in supernatural ways. The skin seemed to melt off as the bones bent in on themselves, the black blood oozed and clotted instantly, and the organs seemed to pop and squish and seep out of the figure.
In his horror, Sarsönil was frozen. As the necromancer's body went limp, all bits of sound seemed to disappear and the weight of the emptiness in the room pressed in on him. Sarsönil. We are here. Sarsönil. We are you. Sarsönil. You are us. Sarsönil. You are our blood. Sarsönil. Listen. Sarsönil. Feel. Sarsönil. Let us guide you. Sarsönil. Sarsönil. The boy let out a horrid scream, not of fear but of anguish, as he fell to his knees. The weight of a thousand years pressed on his shoulders. His mind went in and out of focus. He felt different. He felt powerful.
Sarsönil's eyes moved towards his brother, who was still limp on the altar. He needed to kill him. He needed to kill him. It was the only thing that mattered right now. Sarsönil stepped forward, his mind and body lost to his ancestors. Sarsönil. Yes. Sarsönil- "Sars…" Kené mumbled, a pained groan coming out of him. "I'm scared." The older boy stopped, suddenly regaining feeling in his hands that he didn't know he lost. He gasped, air filling his lungs like water filling his stomach. Life- it felt like living again. Kené. And then he was moving.
Sars scrambled up the side of the altar, using strength he didn't realize he ever had. Certainly not the strength an eleven-year-old should have. It felt as if he'd done this thousands of times. The boy grabbed his younger brother and slung him over his back, then dropped to the ground. He made his way to the ladder, using the shelves in the cabinet to pull himself up the rungs. With one hand holding his brother to his back and the other desperately clinging to each rung, his breath was steady but labored, his hands shakey but strong. Each step upwards was accompanied by the threat he wouldn't be able to catch the rung in time. Sars made it to the top of the ladder, the hatch being his only obstacle left. "It's gonna be okay Kené," Sars huffed, grunting as he pressed his head to the cold metal. He forced it open with the help of his shoulder, barely enough strength left to crawl up into the sand, let alone walk back to the tribe. He wobbled forward into the sand, bare feet sinking down, and then he lost his grip. His brother slipped off his back into the sand, and Sars quickly followed as his vision went dark and he passed out.
