The First of His Army

It is night, and there is a cold chill in the air. A full moon hangs bloated in the sky. The trees creak and groan, unease lingering on their branches as a murder of crows sit above. Their heads turn and swivel, beady eyes searching into the unknown for someone, something, to sate their curiosity. It is met by the sound of footsteps.

A dark silhouette enters the desolate graveyard, as tall and thin as a shadow. They are clearly not a vision, however, as they move to brush debris like hanging vines out of their way. This place was in ruins. None cared for it, so surely none cared for the bodies tucked below the soil. It was almost upsetting, in a way, that these poor souls who sat in their undisturbed beds no longer had loved ones visit to place flowers, or even pluck the weeds from the dirt. Truly, what would happen next was a blessing, they thought.

It is haunting, how the solid spectre drifts through the cemetery, touching the odd crumbling head stone here and there. The crows caw, disturbing the silence as they hop along their perches. Some turn to flight in order to keep up. The figure is undisturbed by the murder, even as they circle ahead, judging the intruder.

A hand is raised, as if in greeting, and one brave bird takes the chance to land on their arm. Pulling back the hood does not reveal Death, like one would assume in such a dark place, but rather the soft complexions of a woman. Her skin, a light blue, glows in the moonlight.

"Hello, old friend." She murmurs, eyes as white as the stars observing the crow. To the untrained mind, one may have thought she was blind, but her gaze was not foggy nor dull; they shone brightly, as intelligent and mysterious as a Samsaran could be.

Turning her attention back to her walk, she placed her feathered companion on her shoulder. Counting graves was the easy part. Seeing them in such poor condition was not. Her heart ached for the men and women abandoned here, with none left to mourn. Had it been too many generations for them? Had their children moved on, and not bothered to tell their stories to the young? It was disrespectful.

Finally, the young woman paused, and slowly bent down to pick up a headpiece that had fallen down due to disrepair. It looked like it had been an angel once, perhaps made of marble. That was a distant memory now. With a sigh, she placed it back where it belonged, sparks of cobalt flickering along the seam to mend the break. It was not her job to do this, and yet she had to pick up the pieces that those previously had dropped, both literally and metaphorically.

Soon enough, she found herself in the centre of the graveyard. Stopping, the birds above copied her actions, landing in the bare branches and making quiet, clicking sounds. It was like they were talking, plotting between themselves some scheme that only the feathered could hear. The Samsaran only put a finger to her lips, hushing them softly; the crow on her shoulder cawed, and a deathly silence fell among the murder. She best worked in the quiet, with only the heavens above to light her way. What considerate little creatures.

From her side, she pulled a book. It looked old, bound in cracked leather that must have been created centuries ago. Metal rivets adorned the corners, a silver that glinted in the moonlight, and as small hands go to open it, the delicate pages crinkle like dead leaves in the breeze. It was almost like a whisper of warning in the chill air. Not that she paid any attention to that. No, she continued to carefully turn the pages one by one, until her eyes landed on the words she'd been searching for.

When she begins to talk again, her voice is soft, and hauntingly melodic. There is a clear rhythm to her words, and even without the book in front of her, she gives the air of someone well versed in this spell. If it hadn't been for the setting in which one would find her, it'd be beautiful. Perhaps, in a macabre way, it was.

"Your bodies rest beneath the soil,

Long-lost from this world's mortal coil.

Forgotten and cold, only I now mourn,

But I give you the chance to be re-born.

Feel my power, feed from my presence,

Serve under me, controlled by my essence.

Come rise you must, for it is said,

That none will stop the hordes of dead."

As she spoke, tendrils of light began to creep from her chest. Like fog on a cold night, they twist and turn in their exploration, stroking the graves as they went. It gave the cemetery an odd sense of wonder, the air becoming charged and the world holding its breath, like it knew something big was going to happen. Of course, it was not wrong. Tonight, those that had once been lost, had been found again.

"From dust and ash, to flesh and bone,

Regain your breath, awaken from prone.

Crawl to the surface, reach for the light,

I bridge the gap, to the living reunite.

Remove the veil, may the dead walk free,

Remove damned shackles, I bid of thee.

Join me once more, for it is said,

That none will stop these hordes of dead."

At the repetition, the Necromancer could feel the hair along her skin raise, from delight or power she could not quite tell. Her illumination was only growing stronger, thicker and bolder than before in its perusing. No longer did they stick to just the stones, instead plunging deep into the dirt. They had to tunnel quickly, to reach the bodies beneath.

Above, the crows take flight. It is surprisingly quiet, considering their earlier cackles, and instead of flying away in fear, they seem to be drawn to the display in front of them. Swooping down, some go to sit on headstones, others continuing to circle in the sky. Wisps that were struggling to spread wrapped around their feathered bodies, and as if bolstered by their own energy, lit up once more. They were making a network, she realised with a start. They were helping to spread her hold on this land.

"Serve my voice, heed my call,

Shake off death's hold, become my thrall.

I hold out my hand, your deaths delayed,

More time is given, your loyalty as trade.

Plucked from darkness, nightmares of hell,

Under a new master, under a new spell.

Obey me you must, for it is said,

That none will stop my hordes of dead."

Her last words tremble with the sheer force of intention behind them. It holds on the air, like the last note of a symphony, and for a moment, nothing happens. The woman wets her lips, a fleeting glimpse of nerves crossing her soft features; surely, it had worked? She could feel them, beneath the soil. Why were they not stirring?

A rattled moan breaks the still. As her light begins to fade, retracting back to its mistress, she turns to see disturbed dirt. Sticking up from the mound is a hand; bone and sinew makes it look wet, and if she were to look closer, no doubt she'd see whatever bugs and parasites were wriggling on its rotting frame. It was not like it'd bother her, mind, considering her apparent profession.

The figure did not celebrate yet, as bringing back one corpse was child's play in comparison to why she'd originally come here. This graveyard held an entire town's worth of people, she'd found out in her researching. Never before had she'd raised so many in one location, even in previous lives where she'd walked the battlefield like an angel of death himself. No, she would not consider this a success yet, not until more awoke to join her.

Closing the heavy book with a thud, her eyes roam the closest ring to her. The crows above squawk and cry, as though helping alert her to every cadaver that moved. Such loyalty was odd, in clearly feral creatures, and yet they must have sensed a kindred spirit. Perhaps they knew her from a previous life, in a different form. The Necromancer would not reveal such private secrets of course, as it would take away from the mystery lurking behind that misty gaze.

A creak fills the air, and as the smell of decay thickens, the woman knew that this time, it was not the trees complaining in the breeze. A feeling of excitement bubbled up in her chest, and as her heart thumped against her ribcage, she looked upon her abominations and smiled. Even as they shambled closer, she felt no fear. Just like the birds, they belonged to her.

"You have all heard my voice, and come to me like lost children... Together, we can right the wrongs that so quickly stole your lives." While she knew it wasn't exactly like they understood her (she'd only raised their carcasses, after all, not created a sentient being like a lich), it still felt correct to address them like they were people. "Follow me, please."

Turning away from her creations, she began her walk back to the entrance. All trail obediently after her; even now, more corpses were popping up and joining their brethren, her ranks growing bigger and stronger still. Never had she believed that her enchantment would have been this strong, and yet here she was, leading what felt like an entire town of the undead. This much power... Well, it was rather heady. She struggled to not be overwhelmed by it all.

The young woman could hear the chittering of the crows again, closer than before. If she tilted her head, she'd see that some flew above her, circling like a protective talisman of sorts, whereas others had taken to perching on the heads of the reanimated. She'd yet to lose the bird on her shoulder, so perhaps they'd decided to join her on her adventures. It'd be sweet to have company, and she'd certainly not complain. After all, they had helped greatly during the ritual.

Approaching the gate, she spoke once again, addressing everything and nothing at the same time.

"Your purpose, our purpose, is to serve our Master, the one who holds the chain. Tonight, though you listen to me, it is through his hand we attack. Too long have we cowered under the hold of those too stupid enough to see the bigger picture. But soon... Soon, we will fight back. Tonight marks our freedom."

Looking back at her army, her eyes burn bright with the fire of desire. Upon lifting her hood, it was still easy to see how they glowed, casting an eerie shadow on her face. Her cheeks held a flush to them that was akin to excitement, and her words reflected that.

"Death to the Adders, and death to the Cracked. All shall be Chained; all shall bow to the Tyrant."