The Necromancer's Journal

Chapter One

Looking Back

No good deed goes unpunished.

That was the only thought that Jacob could grasp onto clearly. Even without the concussion, the discomfort from the shackles and the filthy makeshift gag would be enough to break his focus. He had no hope of getting free until his captors decided to stop, so he didn’t really need to think too clearly just yet. Indulging this listlessness, he allowed his mind to wander back over the past few days and consider what had led him to being dragged through gods-knew-where by a ragtag group of violent con-artists.

Less than a week earlier, Jacob had heard that a local merchant was dealing with a haunting at his affluent shop. Thinking it was an opportunity to make some desperately needed coin, he made his way to the establishment in question. The Diamonds Shame.

The gossip had said that the shop was primarily over the top foppery and trinkets that only appealed to those with more money than sense. Jacob had to admit as he approached the place that the rumors seemed too kind. The Diamonds Shame was a mash of wildly conflicting colors and textures, from the decorative nude statues adorning its roof to the silk curtains overrun with lace in its windows.

He stopped across the street from the place and reconsidered for a moment. There was a good chance he wouldn’t even get to say ten words before they drove him out. Places with this much coin typically didn’t need random, dirty adventuring types to solve their problems. However the last couple of weeks had been scarce for any kind of income and the worst they could do was throw him out, right?

With a deep sigh, Jacob straightened his cloak and made his way to the shop entrance. Even before opening the front door, he could smell the overpowering perfume and his eyes began to water the moment he stepped inside.

The interior of the shop made the outside look tame by comparison. The shop was quite big, having several sections large enough to hold more than one of the houses the people living in the poorer parts of the city called home. Each section seemed dedicated to a different bizarre piece of clothing. Puffed-sleeved shirts covered in lace and painfully detailed stitching hung row by row at one end, with pants so tight that Jacob couldn’t imagine anyone being able to get into them on the other. Between them, framed by jeweled drapery, were a large number of uncomfortably adorned codpieces. Across the whole place, the sheer volume of bright, decorative fabric on the walls could have clothed half the town in finery. Good thing it was better served soaking up the clouds of fragrance in the almost empty building.

Almost empty, as a wildly dressed, heavy-set man waved an ornate handkerchief as he gestured around himself as if giving a grand theatrical performance. Standing in front of him was a guard wearing rank insignia and listening with clearly strained patience.

“No, you don’t understand! I can barely walk through my own business most days. People are knocking down my door, day and night, for the chance at my brilliant wares. And look! Look around you and see no one!” The colorfully dressed shopkeeper put the back of his hand to his head as if he might faint from all the free space around him.

“I understand your concern, Gentleman Grouse. I do. You have made your situation extremely clear. However, there is no crime here. The city guard handles crimes. Not ghosts stories.”

Grouse’s eyes bulged as though this statement was a gross insult. He puffed out his chest and practically wailed “My shop gives high taxes, which are your pay. It is your job to handle problems in the city and there are no greater problems than the terror of my empty shop!”

Jacob could see the guard’s jaw clench, and he couldn’t blame him. The city had seen a rise in organized crime that had resulted in violence and unrest. Between a rising turf war between the thieves guild and a new gang, the Broken Blades, and disease spreading through the slums, the guards had their hands full of actual emergencies. However, the wealthy didn’t consider the problems of the poor to be true problems worth solving.

Clearing his throat, Jacob stepped forward. “Perhaps I could be of some help here. My name is…” The guard turned and began walking towards the door, saying “Yes, this gentleman should be able to take care of this for you.” As he brushed past, the guard muttered “Gods have mercy on your foolishness”.

Jacob raised an eyebrow at the departing guard before turning back to the shopkeeper with a smile. “My name is Jacob. I am a sorcerer and scholar from the Academy Arcanium. Are you the shop owner dealing with a haunting?”

The look on Grouse’s face, even half-hidden behind the handkerchief, was clearly one of disgust. His eyes looked over Jacob as though he were considering a particularly disgusting piece of garbage.

“Yes, yes I am. Though I do not recall summoning a street cleaner.”

Taking the insult in stride, Jacob continued smiling kindly. “I am a bit dusty from the road. It’s been a very dry summer. If you’ll forgive my road-weary appearance, I believe I could help if you are suffering from a ghost or other spirit. I am very familiar with this type of problem and could clear it up quickly, quietly,” he couldn’t help but grin a little wider as he added, “before your patrons find out you have such an infestation.”

The color drained from the large man's face at the last comment, no doubt imagining the harm to his reputation if things got worse. Jacob gave him a moment to consider the implications before shrugging and turning away, “Of course, if you are comfortable handling this yourself, or bringing in the local church to perform loud, public banishings, I certainly understand.”

Before he could take even three steps, the shop master stuttered out “Wait, wait. Now, you think you are really equipped to handle this?”

Jacob nodded as he faced the man again. “I would need to get more detail about what exactly is happening, but I am confident I can handle it. We would just need to go over some things. When it started, the specifics of the haunting, and of course my payment.” His smile never wavered as the fancy gentleman sighed into his ring decked hands.

After some dramatic exclamations about “highway robbery”, the owner agreed to Jacob’s fee and provided all the details he had. All in all, it seemed pretty straightforward. After receiving some new items of interest which, Jacob was assured, were not stolen from a religious tribe in the next province over, the shop started experiencing strange and uncomfortable occurrences.

It started small with things moving, doors opening and closing on their own, a faint smell of sulfur. However, before long rats began showing up in disturbing numbers. Then their mutilated bodies would be found all around the shop. Thinking it was a rival trying to scare him, Grouse had hired some private guards to watch the shop at night. The final straw came when a new shipment of fancy garments exploded in fire, the smoke and flames shrieking like “the very spirits of the damned given voice.”

After that experience, Grouse had summoned the guards immediately. They investigated the fire, which had not caused much actual damage to anything but the container and its contents, but did not find any sign that it had been intentionally set. With no leads to go on, the guards suggested the shop owner reach out to the church. But, the church’s services were very expensive, and their ‘solutions’ painfully public.

While the fire definitely seemed odd, the rest was fairly mild. And there had been no other major signs. In fact, after the fire almost all the activity had stopped. This made Jacob think it would be easy to handle.

This was the mistake that would change his life.

A brief search of the shop showed no spirits. A few careful spells showed only faint magical traces. A rich area of a major city usually had a few spell casters working on retainer, so this wasn’t odd enough to raise suspicion. Turning up nothing of value, Jacob asked to see the shipment that arrived right before the strange events started.

Grouse was reluctant to show these particular wares, but after a careful reminder of his options, submitted.

He led Jacob into the back to an office. He hesitated momentarily beside the ornate desk. Fiddling with his handkerchief, he asked “All the details of this…situation…are privileged, of course? No need to share anything you learn here with anyone. Once this ordeal is behind us, everything is forgotten.” His eyes stared at a spot on his desk, his feigned calm making Jacob wonder what he was about to see.

“Of course. I’m only interested in your haunting. Any sensitive business you are involved in is for you. Once the problem is gone, so am I.”

Grouse stared for another moment before nodding and reaching under a decoratively curved corner of his desk. There was a quiet click and a panel of the wall behind the desk shifted. Jacob raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was starting to think this dramatic shopkeep might be more interesting than he first appeared.

With a sly smile, Grouse pushed the panel aside and stepped through the revealed doorway. Jacob followed a few paces behind. The passageway was quite roomy and well-lit, though not decorated at all like the rest of the building. The colors here were darker, muted. There was no lace or over-the-top finery. The overpowering perfume faded away to more earthy scents.

Stepping past his client, Jacob took in the short hallway and the heavy wooden door at its end. Grouse shut the office panel, took out an odd-shaped key, and moved past Jacob to unlock the door.

Moving into the new room, Jacob could see why Grouse was intent on keeping this quiet. The room was a decent size, though not as large as the main shop. Lining the walls were shelves holding all manner of oddities. Skulls and decorated bones, books in cryptic scripts and dead alphabets, jars of colorful powders, and other, harder to identify items.

In one corner there was no shelving, but instead, a small circle was set into the ground. It appeared to be made of gold and surrounded by runes. The power in the circle was faint but present. Inside the circle was a simple table holding about a dozen, small wooden boxes.

After taking a moment to absorb the new scene, Jacob turned an annoyed expression to Grouse who merely shrugged mildly. Suddenly dropping the dramatic pretense, Grouse smiled meekly saying “This particular aspect of the business would draw undesirable attention from the city, the church, and from idle troublemakers. I prefer to keep these dealing more private.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Jacob wished he had charged more. “You didn’t think to bring up the magic circle or cult contraband before I spent days combing the rest of the shop? I am going to reek of eau de fop for weeks.”

Grouse tucked his handkerchief away as he shut the door behind him. “I needed to be sure I wouldn’t be inviting legal trouble. You could have been anyone. You understand I’m sure.” He walked over to the magic circle and gestured at about a dozen small boxes. A ring on his hand shone for a moment and the energy around the circle dissipated.

Jacob walked up and glanced between the boxes and Grouse. “So, are they going to bite me? I’m guessing they were in that circle for a reason.”

Grouse chuckled, scooped up a box, and offered it to Jacob. “Once the strangeness began I felt it wiser to be safe than sorry. I have no real cause to believe these are the reason for everything except timing.”

With another unimpressed scowl aimed at Grouse, Jacob turned his attention to the small container. The box itself was simple and unadorned. It was solid, but not fancy. He extended his magical senses and investigated the box for any sign of spell-work. Other than a subtle hum of fading power from inside the box, nothing.

Opening the box he saw immediately why Grouse would hide these, and why he would think they could be connected. Inside were two fingers. An index and middle finger, covered in old tribal tattoos. These were the fingers of a Shaman of the Anboli tribe.

This changed a lot. Trading in bones or dubiously acquired magical artifacts was commonplace among the aristocracy. But the Anboli shamans were widely respected leaders and healers. And these were only taken recently.

Jacob closed the box and set it back on the table. Taking a slow breath and working to contain his temper, without looking at Grouse he said “You didn’t mention you were in the business of selling human body parts.”

The now calm, if still arrogant expression on the shopkeeper’s face barely showed a smirk. “It’s not the sort of thing a respected gentleman boasts about. And it’s not a common commodity. This was a special request that I couldn’t refuse.”

“A special request from whom?” Jacob asked.

“That,” scoffed Grouse “is no one's business but my patron.” With another smile, he continued “And we have confidentiality if I recall.”

Jacob crossed his arms tight and looked at the boxes on the table. He was willing to overlook a lot of things in the interest of business. There was no way to do the more profitable work without brushing up against some questionable activity.

But harvesting human body parts was different. This wasn’t even simple graverobbing. This involved hunting down and murdering innocent people. And spiritual leaders at that. This crossed a line Jacob had only encountered from necromancers and demonologists.

Turning back to his ever less pleasant client, Jacob caught Grouse’s assessing gaze.

“I trust this doesn’t create a problem for you master sorcerer. After all, we do have an agreement.”

Jacob sent a look of disgust at Grouse “That agreement didn’t include overlooking hunting live humans for profit. This could easily be the cause of your haunting. Anboli shamans have a powerful connection to their tribal ancestors. They remember and celebrate them for generations. And those connections have power. You killed and took the main fingers from the blessing hands of the living bound to the departed, and you didn’t think they could be the source of your problem?”

Grouse put a hand to his chest, as though taken aback “My dear sir, I did not kill anyone. Nor did I commission a murder. I simply purchased a requested item, and it was sent. They could just as likely have been collected humanely.”

Jacobs' scowl deepened. He no longer cared if he got paid for this gig. He just wanted to finish dealing with this immoral man.

Steadying his temper with a breath, Jacob waved at the boxes containing the severed fingers and said “Regardless of how you choose to believe these fresh digits were obtained, I would bet hard coin that everything centers on them. Nothing else, even in your creepy dungeon here, gives off the slightest reason for a haunting.”

Grouse spread his arms with a grin and laughed “Excellent! Then I will simply move up the trade and get them out of my shop! Thank you for your assistance.” He waved his hand over the circle, and it sprang back to life. Turning back to the door to the hallway he continued “If you will follow me, I will get you your payment and we can conclude our contract”.

Jacob glanced back at the boxes on the table and thought quickly for a hard moment, muttering under his breath and dropping a small handful of pebbles from a pocket inside his robe quietly onto the ground before following Grouse out.

The only thing that stopped Jacob from refusing payment for his services was that painful grumbling of hunger that was slowly building. After weeks of traveling, he was out of coins and food and needed to eat.

So, to make up for taking dirty money to survive, Jacob sat brooding at his supper in a nearby tavern. He had to eat, but he didn’t have to enjoy it. Unfortunately, the food was delicious. And the filling, savory flavors interrupted his brooding.

He threw his spoon down into his soup in frustration, making a mess of the table. His aggressive motion and angry grunt caught the attention of a passing bar server who stopped to ask if there was a problem with his meal.

After assuring the server that everything was fine, he sat back and sipped at his ale as he began thinking through his options. He could not in all good conscience let those fingers disappear into whatever black-market or creep collection they were destined for. He had to do something to make sure they were buried or better yet returned to the Anboli.

He reached into his cloak and withdrew a pebble similar to the ones he dropped in Grouse’s dungeon. He held it between his fingers and muttered a few short magical words and the stone began to pulse a light blue color. So at least the magic circle had not been broken yet. And with the late hour, that meant the boxes and their contents should likely be there for the rest of the night.

Dropping the pebble back into his pocket, Jacob shut his eyes and paused. Was he really going to break into the most extravagant shop in the wealthiest part of town to recover stolen fingers whose owners were undoubtedly dead, just to quiet the guilty voice in the back of his head saying he took blood money?

Draining his cup and dropping a few coins on the table, he knew the answer without having to finish the question. He damn sure was.