Once near the passageway’s entrance Iltar whispers the incantations to muster magic upon Cornar and himself:
As Iltar utters the words, a dark purple and black magic surrounds the warrior’s blades. The magical particles seep into the two blades, giving them a slight glow. Once the weapons are enhanced, a dark green mist pours from the spaces between Iltar’s hands and the magical cloud swarms around Cornar.
Once enhanced by Iltar, the warrior examines his weapons and gives the necromancer a reminiscent smile.
With Cornar sufficiently enhanced by his magic, Iltar turns his attention to himself. Without incantation, a black cloud seethes from the necromancer’s pours, as if releasing itself from inside his body. As the blackness thickens, it violently separates from Iltar’s body and creates a protective barrier around him.
Still standing in front of Cornar, Iltar states in a firm and hostile tone, “Open the door and rush in. I will be close behind; then the fun will begin.”
Smiling grimly, Cornar nods his head and grips his weapons tightly.
Once back at the hidden door, Iltar motions his hand toward the wood surface.
In response, Cornar quietly cracks the hidden door open. He steals a glance in the room and notices the three acolytes with their backs towards the passageway. Seeing this, the warrior smile turns to a wide grin.
Without hesitation, Cornar quickly slips through the tight opening. In the distance he glimpses twenty others: a mixture of the other acolytes with hired brawlers and thugs wielding an assortment of weapons; from axes and swords of varying sizes. They are scattered around the room, with the majority near the council chamber’s doors; its entrance is barricaded with an elegant long rectangular table and several matching chairs, the only pieces of furniture in the room.
Noting the distance between the two groups, Cornar bounds across the short space between him and what seems to be the three ringleaders of the revolt.
The nearest of the three acolytes catches the motion out of the corner of his eye and he turns, but not quick enough to evade the experienced warrior’s advance. In that same instant, Cornar’s serrated dagger sings through the air and grates through the young man’s neck.
Circling around the dying apprentice, Cornar comes into reach of the middle acolyte. The warrior swings his other elbow and forcefully strikes his second victim in the face, just as the middle acolyte is turning toward Cornar. Stunned by the blow, the acolyte falls backward to the ground.
As the warrior’s swift assault was occurring, Iltar steps through the door, violently swinging it open the rest of the way. The wooden door, with its false rock surface, bounces against the inner wall of the council chamber. Upon its hidden side are particles of black magic, dissolving the wood from Iltar’s touch.
Arrogantly striding into the room, Iltar recites the words to a spell; Orange light gathers in his right hand and he flicks his wrist toward the third leading acolyte. The orange magic lashes out from Iltar’s palm in the form of a cord and wraps around the young acolyte’s neck.
“No!” the third acolyte gasps in agony as the magic weakens him, draining his life.
The orange magic rapidly pulses and the young man convulses, rolling his eyes to the back of his head then lifelessly collapsing backward on the stone floor.
While Iltar is siphoning the acolyte’s living energies, Cornar recoils from his rotating motion. With the blade in his right hand, the warrior quickly slices through the initial acolyte’s torso, severing him in half. Cornar yanks his serrated dagger from the dying acolyte’s neck and turns to face the rest of the rebel forces, each turning around at the far end of the room. The warrior darts forward as the acolyte’s body falls to the ground and his blood spills across the floor.
“What in the name of–” exclaims the acolyte on the floor but is interrupted just as his friend’s torso hits the stone floor next to him. The young man, who had been the instigator of the entire revolt and kidnapping looks up from the floor to see the dark necromancer glowing in raw demonic power.
“M-Ma-Master I-Iltar…” the young man stammers in horror as he gazes upon the necromancer, who is shrouded in a dark dissolving sphere of invulnerability.
Black waves ripple across the surface of the protective magic as Iltar continues to step forward.
The sight of the magic drives the young man into dread. With his arms outstretched, the acolyte trembles while pushing himself up from the floor; however, he falls forward and partially kneels in fear before Iltar.
“Oh, and I thought you were ready to see the greater secrets of our Order,” Iltar sneers in mockery of the demand the young man had made just the previous night.
Stopping just in front of the acolyte’s hand, Iltar looks at him with one final glance. “Well, regardless of your readiness you will see and experience them,” a twisted smile smears across Iltar’s face and his eyes flash with sadistic pleasure.
Behind the rippling magic Iltar stretches forth his left hand. Without incantation, black particles of magic seethe from his palm and gather just in front of it.
“I will privy you to something that not even those on the council have witnessed. I call it a globe of darkness,” Iltar chuckles. “You should feel privileged!”
As Iltar taunts the young acolyte, several arrows from the hired thugs fly from the door. They, along with a magical orb of arcane power and an acidic bolt collide against Iltar’s shielding sphere. The magical assaults cause the globe to ripple in greater degrees, and the arrows themselves turn to dust.
Paying no attention to the assault, Iltar focuses solely on the once defiant young man in front of him. The necromancer raises his left hand and thrusts the dark magic toward the acolyte.
A small sphere of black magic flies from the protective barrier, like a fish leaping from the ocean’s surface; it hurls through the air toward the shivering acolyte.
As the globe of darkness touches the acolyte’s skin it spreads across his body; causing the young man to scream in excruciating agony as it dissolves every part it touches.
Amid the screams of his former pupil, Iltar states in a cold tone, “Now you have what you sought so eagerly. Unfortunately for you, you are experiencing it firsthand.”
Iltar flicks his right wrist in a beckoning motion and the orange magic leaves his first victim through his chest; it races back into a ball just beyond the necromancer’s open hand. Closing his grasp around the orange sphere, Iltar takes a deep invigorating breath, and the magic absorbs through his pores.
Amid Iltar’s toying with the last of the leaders of the revolt, Cornar continues his dash across the room; in response to the warrior’s charge, three of the hired mercenaries leap from the doors to intercept Cornar.
As Cornar bounds across the room, several bolts of acidic magic race toward him but the masterful warrior tumbles forward, rolling upon the stone floor. The magic sails over him and he swiftly rises back up upon his feet to resume his dash.
Not more than a leap and bound forward, two more bolts of reddish magic fly toward the warrior; in response, Cornar swings his weapons in arcing motions in front of him, one after the other. With perfect timing, the bolts of magic impact upon the purple light surrounding the edges of the warrior’s weapons and are precisely deflected across the room.
One of the errant bolts races toward one of the advancing mercenaries, burning a hole through his chest and knocking him to the floor.
Another bolt of magic races toward him, but Cornar effortlessly dodges it and clashes with the two surviving hirelings.
The warrior swiftly parries their blows, and the black magic enhancing his weapons cankers the blades of his opponents.
As their weapons weaken, Cornar darts to his left and with his short sword in his right hand, thrusts it through the chain-linked armor protecting the mercenary; stabbing the hireling in the chest.
Recovering from the warrior’s parry, the other mercenary strikes at Cornar once again. However, the skilled warrior swiftly evades
the blow and swings his serrated dagger. It grates through the mercenary’s armor clad arm, messily severing it below the elbow. Without hesitation, Cornar gracefully kicks the hireling back, and he falls to the floor, screaming in excruciating pain.
Once the mercenary lands upon the stony floor, two masses of green magic flies at the warrior. They race from the acolytes guarding the bound council members in front and to Cornar’s right.
Noticing the magic, the warrior dodges one, but a part of the second mass wraps around his left arm; green tentacles burst from the mass, attaching to the warrior’s arm and the stone floor. Within an instant, the magic quickly pulls Cornar down and entraps him.
“Everyone after him!” a mercenary calls out from near the doors, “Don’t you know who that is?! We’ll all have to gang up on him!”
Cornar quickly glances to the barricaded doors as nine of the other mercenaries in the room dart toward him. With his free hand, Cornar quickly but with a solid form hacks at the magical tentacles securing him to the ground. His magically enhanced sword cuts through the green tentacles and swiftly severs the bond. After several swings, Cornar frees himself from the mass and rolls over on his right shoulder, away from the mass and the advancing mercenaries.
As the warrior recovers from his tumble, he rises up on his rear foot and forward knee; at the same time, three more reddish magical orbs race through the air at him.
Cornar swings his weapons to deflect two of the orbs but is struck in the chest by the third, knocking him off balance and onto his back; his protective green barrier flickering slightly from the magical friction.
Falling to the floor, Cornar notices the mercenaries have come within reach and are encircling him. From the ground, the warrior swings his weapons at the legs of the nearest hireling, cutting across the mercenary’s thigh and causing him to drop to the floor.
The warrior and mercenaries engage in a bout while Cornar is on his back; he parries their weapons as they strike down upon him. He kicks their knees, temporarily pushing them away.
Amid the melee, several bolts of acidic magic arc through the air and over the mercenaries toward Cornar. Seeing this and knowing he can’t avoid the magic, Cornar recoils his serrated dagger and swats the plummeting bolts. Each acidic bolt ricochets off the weapon’s edge and into the face of a hireling to his right. The acidic magic quickly burns through the mercenary’s features, and the hireling drops to the stone floor.
Without hesitation, Cornar swings his weapons, using his dagger to parry another blow and his sword to swat the other magic; however, Cornar misses and two of the acidic bolts impact upon his chest, dissipating against his protective magic.
Stunned, Cornar gasps for air and struggles to deflect and parry the blows; the mercenaries’ weapon’s strike the warrior in the chest, but the greenish magic covering his body prevents them from piercing his flesh.
As Cornar defends himself from the eight mercenaries in the center of the room, Iltar briefly survey’s the battle before him: Two acolytes and two hesitant mercenaries are standing by the barricaded doors. Four acolytes are guarding the council members to Iltar’s right and have been the ones primarily flinging magic at Cornar.
Each of the senior necromancers are bound by shining white cords and similarly shimmering scarves wrapped around their mouths, known among the men of Kalda as elven cords and scarves. These magically composed materials were said to have been created by the western elves. Historically they have been used by non-magic wielders to subdue magical creatures or to suppress mages. These fabrics are often smuggled from the mainland and sold on secret markets, one such market was often in commerce in Soroth.
Quickly diverting his gaze and focusing on his long-time companion in adventure, Iltar stretches out his left hand and utters the words to a spell; greenish magic flows around his hand and glows into a cluster very similar to that which had entrapped Cornar.
As the magic grows within his grasp, Iltar notices the barrier around Cornar is flickering and dimming; the hired mercenaries have been able to strike repeatedly the warrior, causing the protective magic to weaken. However, Cornar continues to defend himself; kicking his opponents away and parrying their weapons. Iltar watches amid his incantation as the magic protecting his friend completely vanishes and the mercenary nearest to the necromancer raises his axe high in the air.
Once the magic coalesces, Iltar splays his fingers wide and the magic flies through the black sphere and speeds toward the mercenaries surrounding the warrior.
“Die Cornar!” the mercenary shouts and swings his weapon toward the warrior’s shoulder. However as the hireling’s axe falls toward Cornar it is grasped by thick green tentacles from Iltar.
The magic rips the mercenary and his weapon away from Cornar and three others around him. Each of the four mercenaries let out cries as they swing their weapons at the tentacles grasping them. They struggle to no avail, and the greenish magical tentacles slowly drag them across the floor.
Noticing the opening, Cornar tosses himself across the floor in a rolling motion and rises back onto his feet. He swiftly engages the remaining four mercenaries in a rapid assault of swings and parries. Cornar kicks one hireling away, giving him enough of a chance to stab another of his opponents in the stomach.
With only two of the hired thugs in front of him, Cornar mercilessly cuts through their defenses, and brings both to the ground.
All the while, the other six acolytes utter incantations focused on Cornar. The mercenary the warrior had kicked away gets back on his feet and readies himself in an aggressive stance before Cornar.
“You’re a fool,” Cornar remarks and shakes his head. He twirls both of the weapons in his hands as the mercenary lunges forward and lets out a cry meant to intimidate the warrior.
As the hireling comes within reach of Cornar, the warrior executes a beautiful flurry of movement: Cornar’s serrated dagger digs diagonally across the mercenary’s chest, tearing through his leathery armor which is nothing more than thin parchment for Cornar’s magically enhanced weapons. The more experienced warrior quickly cuts through the mercenary’s thigh with his short sword, then slices and grates his weapons across the hireling’s arms. All this happening in a brilliant flash within a second.
Cornar twirls around the mercenary and the hireling falls to the stone floor in pieces.
Meanwhile, as Cornar was finishing off the mercenaries who had engaged him, Iltar continues to pull the four hirelings in his magical grasp toward him and his black protective sphere. Turning from his victims, the necromancer steps away from the three corpses and notices the two acolytes near the doors mustering white dispelling magic.
Iltar furrows his brow and quickly utters the words to a spell; reddish light gathers in the necromancer’s right hand and five orbs of arcane power take shape.
At this same moment, the acolytes thrust their dispelling magic toward the entangled mercenaries; however, Iltar hurls his arcane orbs toward the white particles. Two of the arcane orbs strike the dispelling magic over Cornar’s head and nullifies the magical effect; while the other three whiz toward the acolytes and erupt against their shoulders, maiming both of them.
Seeing the two acolytes near them mangled by Iltar’s magic, the two remaining mercenaries by the doors hastily throw aside the chairs barricading the council chamber’s entrance.
“You can’t leave!” Iltar shouts with a diabolical cackle then utters the words to another spell.
As Iltar speaks the incantation, a gray haze with black particles gathers in his right hand. The necromancer finishes his spell just as the mercenaries push the table out of the way of the doorway.
With a diabolical laughter, Iltar hurls the gray haze across the room. It races past the mercenaries and erupts against the door, causing a dust-like cloud to form. The enthralling vapor penetrates all the bodily openings of the mercenaries and the two maimed acolytes.
All four confederates let out dreadful screams as the magic fills their bodies and t
wists their minds with visions of horrifying and debilitating illusions.
At this same moment, Cornar twirls around his last mercenary opponent and darts toward the remaining four acolytes guarding the council members. Each of them are still uttering their incantations as Cornar reaches them.
With swiftness, the warrior briskly executes the nearest acolyte, severing his head with his short sword. A split second later he stabs the next nearest in the heart.
Frightened by the warrior’s deathly advance, the remaining two acolytes quickly scurry across the room to put distance between themselves and Cornar.
“This little rebellion is finished,” Iltar shouts and steps toward the four mercenaries still in his magical grasp. With his left hand he motions his forefinger toward himself and the mercenary who had nearly severed Cornar’s shoulder comes racing toward him, quickly drug by the magical tentacle.
The mercenary lets out a wailing scream and he flies into the necromancer’s black transparent sphere. As he impacts against the black magic, he completely dissolves to dust; not even his clothing or armor are left.
Iltar slowly strides toward the remaining three hirelings, and as he does each of them let out shrieks of terror while attempting to escape the magical grasp. He continues his gait forward, and the three mercenaries resume their struggling, but are eventually pulled toward the sphere and devoured by it in part.
The remaining two acolytes slowly back up, moving toward the rear of the room on the opposite side where Cornar and Iltar had entered. They utter incantations to muster forth acidic and flaming magics, then once they are formed the acolytes hurl the coalesced magics at Cornar.
However, the warrior swiftly deflects the magics and slowly advances, as a lion does with his prey; the errant magic flies from his blades, impacting against the walls and the ceilings.
“Finish them already Cor!” Iltar shouts from the center of the room, his demeanor is full of quiet hatred which oozes from his eyes in a cold deathly stare.
With his focus solely on the two acolytes Cornar sternly calls out in a stoic tone, “You can give up.”
The Dark Necromancer Page 5
