The Necromancer

by Arkhan

~~~The wanderer approached once again a long-forgotten relic of his former life. Memories of a bygone era flashed through his mind, memories that he hoped had been eroded, dismantled, destroyed, by the one foe that he could never defeat, the passage of time. His jet-black robes and cowl billowed in the wind, and his grip on the ancient obsidian staff tightened, as if he was preparing for a fierce battle. But the only conflict was in the necromancers cold, obsolete, heart. These people no longer existed, could not hurt him the way they once did.. could no longer smile, live, or laugh.. he had seen to that..

His well-worn boots trod the same path as they had a lifetime ago. He surveyed the scene before him.. empty. Where once stood a village, his village, there was now naught but a vacant, eerily silent, emptiness. He stepped onto the soft ash, that still riddled the ground after all this time. He could remember everthing so vividly, despite the age that had passed since he last stood there. An age in which he was gentle. Compassionate. Mortal.

He could remember perfectly all of the sights and sounds of his former life. The sweet aroma of Yoland's bakery, the constant 'clank' of Orlak's smithy, the continual bustle of the small, yet thriving, frontier town. He could even remember the warmth and color of the beautiful forests that surrounded Kreigschten, and the melodies of the birds that once lived there. But most of all, he remembered her. The glimmer of compassion in her deep, blue eyes. The ebb and flow of her long, black hair. The majestic chorus that was her laugh, the natural wonder that was her smile. But she, of course, could smile no more. None of them could. His companians could not laugh, cry, smile, wave, live, love... all because of him...

A small trickle began to run down the necromancer's cheek. 'No', he rationalized to himself. 'This is weakness'. 'This is not discipline'. 'This is not power'. I have left all of this behind!' Silently, a small drop stained the ash at his feet, fleetingly, but it mattered not. For the first time in his shallow, pitiful mockery of an existence, the necromancer wept...~~~