by Aleron Kong
CHAPTER 79 – Retained Memory
The memory began with Richter seeing a long stone bridge through the Death Knight’s eyes. The natural span of stone was suspended over a chasm so deep he could not see the bottom. Nien turned his head forward, giving Richter a view of the grand structure in front of him. It was a terraced pyramid that vaguely reminded the chaos seed of Mayan ruins, but the similarity stopped there. Those South American wonders had been built to honor their gods and reflect their advanced knowledge of astronomy. This structure looked, for lack of a better word, evil.
It was constructed entirely of a grey metal so dark that it was almost pure black. Half-formed arches extended out from it in spots, looking like the segmented legs of an approaching spider. Green eldritch light shone forth from various openings, hinting at dark sorceries taking place within. Liquid oozed out in places, and even this was corrupted. It fell from pipes, pooling like toxic waste, the same sickly green as everything else.
Sharp spires dotted the pyramid here and there. They looked more like stiletto daggers than towers. Some had spikes sticking out of them like the thorns of a cactus, and each of these had a body impaled upon it. A few of the bodies were even still moving, crying out weakly in pain. Richter could hear Nien chuckle to himself as he observed the suffering. The chaos seed was happier than ever that he was remote viewing this memory as opposed to living it directly. He could not imagine the amount of ugly hate required to elicit such a horrible laugh.
A low moan echoed behind the ghast. He turned his head to look at the other end of the bridge. Richter took a step back in his mindscape in spite of himself. Thousands upon thousands of undead were standing on a field at the end of the bridge. There were dead sprites, humans, elves, gnomes and dwarves. Richter even saw a few beastkin scattered here and there, as well as other races he couldn’t identify.
Amidst the sea of four- to six-foot Death creatures, behemoths dotted the landscape. Some were giant humanoids, others were undead beasts of huge proportions, and others were so alien that Richter couldn’t even tell if they had a face. The one commonality between them all was the glow of eldritch light. Neon-green power smoldered in the eyes of every undead creature as they stood there, their collective low moans vibrating the air.
The Death Knight didn’t react in any way to seeing such a terrible horde. He was not concerned or surprised in the slightest. He had no more reaction than Richter would at seeing his own guards patrolling the village. Richter interpreted that to mean such an army might normally be positioned in front of the bridge. How would they ever fight through that?
The memory continued, unaffected by Richter’s concerns. Nien’s gaze returned forward and this time he looked up, giving Richter a view of the one feature actually dominating the landscape. As impressive as the pyramid was, a gigantic statue dwarfed it. It must have been a hundred stories high and featured a four-armed man, two limbs on either side. Three arms held weapons and the fourth was reaching forward as if it would crush anyone daring to look upon it. The face was both stern and cruel. Four towers, almost the same size as the statue, surrounded the colossus in a square pattern. Massive neon-green bonfires blazed atop each tower and the flickering light made the statue’s expression even more malevolent.
Despite the fact that Richter was observing a memory, he was still disquieted by the callousness of the gaze. If it bothered Nien though, there was no sign. The ghast continued his walk, sometimes looking around. From the slight echo his plate boots made on the stone walkway, Richter had the impression that everything he was seeing was in a cavern, but when the Death Knight chanced to look up, all that could be seen was gloom.
The natural bridge was only about half a mile long and a hundred yards wide. Creatures even taller than Nien’s nine feet stood guard at the base of the pyramid. They wore cowled cloaks like reapers, their faces hidden from view. Faint green glows issued from the hoods. Five were stationed to the right of the stairs and another five were to the left. Their bony hands didn’t hold scythes though. Instead, they all held six-foot-long claymores, the tips resting on the ground in front of them. If not for the faint movement of their robes, Richter might have thought they were statues.
Nien paid them no heed as he strode past, climbing the first steps of the pyramid. He climbed thirty or forty feet until he reached the next level of the structure. Then it was a short walk forward until the next set of stairs. More of the claymore-wielding undead were present, but this time they were flanked by undead holding bows of black wood. Green light glowed in the eye sockets of every creature Richter could see. The ghast continued on.
Each set of stairs appeared to cover the same distance so far as Richter could tell. At the top of each staircase there were open floors and another set of undead defenders. The pyramid was built like a stack of plates, each one smaller than the one below. It made the building wide, but not much taller than a twenty-story building. Every level had a successively smaller number of guardians, but it was obvious that they were also becoming more powerful. By the sixth level, there were ghasts, revenants, and hulking zombies that must have weighed at least five hundred pounds. The creatures grew larger and more formidable-looking after that.
Nien ascended the stairs at a brisk pace, not stopping until he came to a small landing off the last stairwell, mid-way between the tenth floor and the roof. There were only two guardians present. Unlike the undead below, these looked like beautiful, though pale, humans. Their skin was so white it could only be described as alabaster. Both wore mage robes, and held wands wreathed in the black energy of Dark magic. They were the first creatures Richter had seen in this place whose eyes did not glow neon green. Instead, they flashed with distaste when they saw Nien. The one on the right pointed his wand directly at the ghast’s chest.
“If it isn’t the master’s faithful dog, coming to heel when called,” he spat. Based on the long fangs Richter saw when it spoke, he was now fairly sure what kind of creature he was seeing.
Nien’s response was laced with scorn, “Lucasz. Better to be a guard dog than a bitch like you, do you not think?”
“Watch your tone, creature!” the other vampire shouted.
“Or what, Mikaal?” the ghast laughed mockingly. “You will drink my blood?”
“I would not sully my mouth on whatever gross sludge flows through you,” Mikaal responded with a disgusted sneer.
“Just your brother’s cock, then?” Somehow the gross, guttural intonations of the ghast made the insult even worse when compared to the refined speech of the two vampires.
“Let us end this!” Lucasz spat. Dark energy began to build at the end of the wand.
If Nien was daunted, it did not reflect in his voice. He was just as condescending and dismissive as before, “Neither of you have the strength or the courage to oppose our master. You are barely better than those mindless green-eyed slaves,” he laughed, waving to the sea of minions behind him. “No matter what petty feelings you have, it does not change the fact that our master gave dominion of your ancestral Place of Power to me!”
His voice became even more condescending, “If I am wrong, use your magic and strike me down. You are both vampire master magi. You might even stand a chance. Show me that you are not just hollow sacs, filled with nothing but impotence and false words.” Richter could see the ghast spread his arms wide, as if in invitation. Nien held that pose for long seconds until Lucasz’s arm fell and Mikaal looked away in anger and shame. Nien’s laugh was even more derisive this time, as he strode past the two vampires and ascended the stairs leading to the roof.
Richter finally saw what was at the top of the pyramid. There was no roof above and the floor was made from the same giant dark-grey metal blocks as the rest of the pyramid. Directly in front of the ghast was a giant stone coffin. It floated above the ground, eldritch light peeking out from beneath the grey stone lid. Beyond the sarcophagus, a large wall of rough black rock rose. Stylized faces were carved into the wall, every one of them wi
th expressions of utter agony. The eyes and mouths were holes that pierced the width of the walls, allowing the neon-green light of the tower bonfires to shine through. It made the entire wall look like it was a living, screaming monument to pain. A giant face was set in the middle and the open mouth was a doorway through the wall.
Again, even though he knew it was only a memory, Richter was seriously disturbed by the scene, and Alma even nuzzled her head against him for comfort. Nien had no reaction. He just knelt before the coffin and waited. Long minutes passed before the light coming from the sarcophagus intensified. The lid scraped back with a loud, gravelly sound. Even though Nien was not looking directly at the coffin, the light grew almost blinding as more of the inner radiance was revealed. It flared brighter still before finally subsiding. Then, Richter heard a voice he had only heard once before in real life. A voice that had sounded many more times in his nightmares.
“You have come, my servant. This is good.” The lich’s voice was a rasping whisper.
Nien looked upon his master, allowing Richter to do the same. He looked very much the same as the last time the chaos seed had seen him. The master of eldritch magic was not physically imposing. He was a gaunt figure with papery, desiccated skin the color of grey shale. Only two things had changed. The few wisps of white hair that Richter remembered had fallen out, leaving only a disgusting grey pate of wrinkled skin on his head. The other difference was what he was wearing. When he had seen him in Jorgen’s memory, the lich had been wearing an unassuming red robe and basic pants. Now he was festooned with opulent jewelry and attired in fine raiment.
Eight bejeweled rings hugged his fingers on both hands and Richter would bet anything they were heavily enchanted. Richter attempted to use his identification Talent but, of course, had no ability to impact the memory of another being. As the lich floated out of the coffin, a black robe with golden runes etched upon it fell into place around the caster. He also wore a crown made of what looked like finger bones with jewels embedded in it at intervals. The most impressive accoutrement was his staff.
It had the fluid look of quicksilver but, rather than a silvery color, it was orange-yellow. The base of the staff was a simple line of metal, but the top was the size of a stop sign. It had three spikes protruding out from it, two to either side and one sticking straight up. The middle was hollow and a gigantic emerald had been set in the space. It throbbed with eldritch light.
“My master,” Nien intoned, still kneeling. All of his earlier cockiness was gone. The only undertones that remained in his voice were respect and deference.
“Rise,” the lich commanded. It was the same whispering voice that Richter remembered. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his skin shivered. The first time he’d heard it, he had felt like a spider was slowly walking across his brain. It wasn’t any better hearing it this time. What made it worse was that even though the lich’s voice sounded wholly unnatural, it didn’t stop an air of culture and sophistication from oozing through.
The Death Knight stood, “I have come as called, my master. How may your humble servant serve you?”
“There is a power awakening. It is… familiar to me. An echo from my living life.”
“From before your ascendance?” He tried to keep the surprise from his voice, but Richter picked up on it easily. The chaos seed could not know the Death Knight’s emotions or thoughts as he was only remote viewing the memory, but Nien clearly had no love for his master. The chaos seed doubted the Death Knight could even experience that emotion. “My lord, I have been your faithful servant for centuries. In all that time, you have never shared details of your living life. Does this new power pose a danger to you?”
The lich did not answer, but the green lights in his eyes began to smolder a bit brighter. Nien quickly bowed his head, “I meant no disrespect, dark lord. Please forgive me.”
Quiet reigned for several tense seconds before the lich began speaking again, “Nothing and no one can rival my power, worm!” Nien bowed his head in subservience. Silence reigned again. The lich was satisfied by the display of respect, because he continued in a more speculative tone, “It is foolish to ignore any rising power, however. Jorgen, the guardian of the Dark portal has been destroyed. I am sending you to the world above to investigate. You are to discover the nature of this threat and destroy it.”
“By your command, my master. I will gather my army and reclaim the portal.”
“No,” the lich commanded. “I have sent a behemoth slime to lie in wait for whatever army is foolish enough to use the portal and invade my domain.”
Richter could not see it, but Nien grinned. “Wonderful, master! I only wish I could watch the slaughter! How will I return to the surface without the portal, however? The trip through the tunnels will take many days.”
“I will send you. I cannot guarantee where you will go, but I have been able to sense a concentration of Death magic. My magic will transport you there. Raise an army and lay waste to any living that you find. You will need two objects to accomplish your task.”
The lich reached inside of its robes and handed over a small jar, “This salve will allow you to see in the mists.”
“Mists, my lord?” Nien asked.
The lich stayed silent for a moment. When he spoke, he almost sounded like he was speaking to himself, “I am remembering things that I thought were lost forever. There is a Place of Power above us that may have been claimed. If so, the Master will be able to cast a spell that confuses the senses, even of the undead. Apply this salve beneath your eyes and the eyes of your creatures and you will be immune to the mists that cause this.”
“My master is wise,” Nien fawned.
“Step forward,” the lich whispered, ignoring the false accolade. Nien did so and the mage began to chant. The jewel in his staff began to flash with light. A small finger bone rose from the crypt. It glowed with eldritch magic after a few moments, and Nien’s master drew a dagger from the inside of his robe. Without hesitation, the mage cut Nien on the neck and placed the bone at the incision site. The ghast did not flinch or pull away. The skeletal finger wriggled like a parasite, worming it way through the Death Knight’s eternally decaying flesh. It finally settled under his left collarbone.
“You may now call upon my power, one time and one time only, to help you finish your quest. When your task is done, this bone will also bring you back to my sarcophagus. Heed my warning. You are not trained in the use of eldritch magic and invoking it will cause great damage to your body. With your high health, you will survive and recover, but do not use this item unless you are at full strength. Otherwise, it will destroy you utterly. Also, this magic is extremely taxing and I will only have the strength to send you and you alone, but you should be able to raise undead if the concentration of Death energy is indeed as strong as I suspect.”
“By your will,” Nien responded, bowing his head for a moment.
“Do not fail me. Nevuur is almost in retrograde. It will allow me to commune with Rakshasha, though I must begin marshalling my power now in order to establish the conduit. You will travel to the surface and destroy this threat. Do so before I finish the ritual or I will ask our patron for enough power to scour the surface and you with it.” There was no inflection in the lich’s voice as it discussed the death of every living creature in Richter’s domain.
“I will not fail, dark lord,” Nien promised bowing again. “I will slay every living creature I find and harvest their hearts in tribute to you.”
“One final question, servant, before you leave to manifest my will. Whom do you serve?” The lich raised its staff and green energy began to surround the ghast.
Nien answered without hesitation, throwing an arm straight out in a closed fist salute, “Singh! Singh the Defiler!”
The lich spoke words of Power, the intonations making Richter’s skin crawl. Green light built around the Death Knight until, with a clap like thunder, he disappeared. The image froze and the light coming fr
om the memory pyramid began to darken.
Richter looked at his familiar, taking comfort in her presence. The memory had been extremely illuminating. He now knew the name of his enemy: Singh the Defiler. The memory had also answered one other thing that had been bothering him. Namely, how the undead had made it from the sepulcher to the kindir settlement without the mists leading them astray.
What he had seen raised more questions than it answered though. How had Singh known about the salve? Richter assumed the awakening Power was his own, but what did it mean that the lich was familiar with it? Had the lich once lived on the surface, maybe even in an earlier iteration of the Mist Village? Richter already knew that many before him had possessed the mantle of Master of his Place of Power. Could it be even worse? Could the lich-
His musings were interrupted by the sound of panic in Alma’s voice, “Master!” Alma cried out.
Richter came out of his reverie to see that the image on the rotating pyramid had begun to lighten again. It was no longer frozen, and he could see the lich’s head searching the air around him. The chaos seed tried to “pause” it again, but he had lost control. Then Singh spoke.
“I cannot see you, but I will find you. This is the second time you have spied upon me, and for that affront, I will stretch your soul over a dire flame and torture you for an eon!” the lich’s voice was viscous with hate. It began to cast a spell and as it did, the aura of eldritch energy that surrounded the rapidly spinning memory began to thicken and widen. Tendrils of power appeared at the periphery, blindly searching the air around the spinning pyramid. Even though they were not directed, they grew thicker and longer by the second. With a flash of fear, Richter realized they were trying to find him! As the eldritch light grew in his mindscape, the image of the lich was replaced with a dark and bottomless voice. A horrible sucking noise filled Richter’s ears and he began to feel a pull. Even as the eldritch tentacles searched for him, the memory itself became a vortex into the abyss!
