Gods, Myth and Legend: The Forbidden Arts

By Robert Pomager

Necromancy, the magic of the dead. This reviled school of spellcasting is seen as evil, twisted and the ultimate corruptor of mortal souls. However, this will not deter young Marcus Fathus from pursuing the secrets of this most Forbidden Art in his quest to be the greatest sorcerer Terrai has ever seen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Pomager
• Release date: Nov 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301681518

Book preview

Gods, Myth and Legend: The Forbidden Arts

By Robert D. Pomager

Published by Robert D. Pomager at Smashwords

Copyright Robert D. Pomager 2012

Chapter 1

The sun shone brightly overhead as young Marcus Fathus walked through an old abandoned graveyard towards one of the crypts. The air was sweet with the smell of wildflowers accompanied by the sound of birds chirping from nearby trees. Stopping for a moment, he observed at his surroundings. Despite the graves this was actually a pleasant spot. You'd never guess this was the entrance to a school for necromancy, said Marcus to himself.

Marcus was an alathean scholar who had studied the magic of many different cultures. From the rune casting of the Norse of Midgar, to the shamanistic prowess of the Centaurs of the Wilderlands, and even some demonology from a Demios defector, Marcus sought to gain knowledge of every school of magic in Terrai. However, one continued to escape him: Necromancy, the magic of the dead. Forbidden in practically every kingdom and nation on Terrai, gaining access to necromantic knowledge was virtually impossible. Going around asking about certainly necromancy wasn't a good idea either, as mentioning such a reviled topic usually got him yelled at, attacked, and in one instance, tarred, feathered, then ran out of town by a mob of angry peasants. Needless to say, his research hit a wall.

Then, one day, after he had all but given up hope, he finally found what he was looking for. While resting at a small roadside inn, Marcus overheard two adventurers speaking of an old man who lived in a shack in the woods nearby. They said this old man was a necromancer and that he knew of a place where necromancy was still being taught. This was music to Marcus' ears. As quickly as he could, he gathered his belongings and set off for the old man's shack. Though he knew it could have been just a rumor, he was too desperate to care.

Arriving at the shack, Marcus found it in ruins. From the looks of things it had been burnt down years ago. Kicking the dirt, he cursed his rotten luck and threw his backpack into some bushes in frustration. As he went to retrieve his pack, a voice spoke behind him. What is the matter, young man?, it asked. Turning around, Marcus saw an old man in a tattered grey robe leaning on a gnarled oak staff standing a few feet away. Are you him?, asked Marcus. The old man raised an eyebrow. Him who?. Marcus took a deep breath then spoke. I am Marcus Fathus, I have come seeking the knowledge of the Necromancers.

The old man lurched towards Marcus, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Such talk could get a man killed. Why would you want to learn of such a forbidden art?, asked the old man as he stared at Marcus with steel grey eyes. I am a scholar. I seek to know the knowledge of all the magic in Terrai, answered Marcus. The old man stared at Marcus some more, sizing him up before releasing his collar. Then he did the strangest thing; he sniffed the air around Marcus. Well, you're no paladin, I can tell that much. Alright, m'boy, I'll tell you what you want to know. Two days journey to the south of here is an old graveyard. In the only mausoleum is the entrance to one of the last schools of Necromancy. Approach the sarcophagus in the mausoleum and say the phrase 'necrotus eternum'. If you truly wish to learn the ways of the dead, then the path will be revealed. But if you are there to defile the secrets of that place, if you are truly a spy sent to destroy those who dwell with in, then instead of learning about the dead, you will be joining them, said the old man. With the information he sought in hand, Marcus began his journey. The trip was trite and practically uneventful and after two days of walking, Marcus found the graveyard. When he saw it, he could feel this was the right place and entered it.

Continuing on his way, Marcus reached the mausoleum. Its entrance was blocked by an old iron gate which was badly rusted and hanging off of its hinges. With a light tap of his finger, the gate fell backwards landing with a loud clang. Stepping over the gate, Marcus entered the mausoleum. It was dark, musty, and smelled of dust, mold and dirt, typical of a house of the dead. In the center of the room was a stone sarcophagus. Approaching the sarcophagus, he recited the incantation the old man had given him. Necrotus eternum, Marcus said. When he did, the lid to the sarcophagus began to move. Taking a few steps back, Marcus watched as the lid fell off and a wraith emerged from the sarcophagus. Drawing his gladius and enchanting it with a fire spell, Marcus stood ready for battle. However, the wraith did not attack and merely stared at Marcus with its white glowing eyes. After a few tense moments, the creature spoke. Who dares to enter this sanctuary?, it asked. Marcus swallowed nervously. I, Marcus Fathus of Alathea, do. I seek to learn the knowledge of Necromancy, the eldest of all magics, he said. The wraith hovered in silence for a few moments then spoke again. Your intentions are true, proceed, it said before sinking back down into the sarcophagus and placing the lid back on. Letting out a sigh of relief, Marcus sheathed his sword.

The sarcophagus began to slide away revealing a staircase beneath it. The smell of dirt and roots emerged from the stairway. Well, here goes nothing, said Marcus as he began to descend the stairs. The spiraling stairway was lit with skull torches. The air was damp and musty and a faint smell of decay began to linger in Marcus' nose. The smell of the trade, he said to himself.

Drawing closer to the bottom of the stairs, Marcus heard the sound of a large number of people speaking and began to descend the stairs more quickly. When he reached the bottom, Marcus was greeted by two great wooden doors from behind which the voices were coming. Mustering his courage he pushed them open and found himself in a large hall in the middle of what looked like a banquet. Everywhere there were people from all over Terrai: Satyrs, Centaurs, Humans, Sylvan, Demios and even some Dwarves. While he was looking around, a woman in a black hooded robe approached Marcus. Name?, she asked. Marcus looked at her with raised eyebrow. You were expecting me?, he asked in confusion. Tell me your name and I'll tell you if we were, replied the woman. Umm, my name? Marcus Fathus, said Marcus. The woman unfurled a scroll and ran her finger down a list of names. Aha, here you are, Marcus Fathus, told about our school two days ago by......oh, Master Merrik, how good for you, said the woman cheerily. Master Merrik? You mean the old man in the woods?, asked Marcus. Oh, yes, the master likes his privacy. Can't be raising the undead near town, now can he? And to be referred by him, oh you must have some great potential. He doesn’t just tell anyone about this academy, replied the woman. Well, mister Fathus, feel free to help yourself to all the food and drink you want and be sure to mingle with the other recruits. With that, the woman walked off and continued her duties.

Not wanting to stand out, Marcus walked over to the banquet table. Laid out before him was a feast of foods from all over Terrai. The smell of the various dishes invigorated his appetite. Grabbing a plate, he began to pile it with the table's fare. When he had finished constructing his small mountain of victuals, Marcus sat down at one of the dinning tables and dug in. You know you're eating food made from the dead, said a female's voice next to him. Marcus stopped cold and dropped his fork. Looking next to him he saw a female demios, the demon people from the 8th hell plain, smirking at him mischievously. Surely you jest, replied Marcus with a full mouth. What do you think?, asked the demios woman. Marcus looked down at his food then back at her. Leave the human alone, Diala, he isn't as clever as you, said a centaur who had been listening in. The Centaur came over to Marcus and extended his hand. Pay her no mind, friend, she only seeks to toy with your mind for her own enjoyment. I am Harun Praen'jek. Marcus swallowed his food and shook Harun's hand. Marcus Fathus of Alathea, he said. It is a pleasure to meet you, Marcus Fathus of Alathea. This is Diala Zernak, said Harun gesturing to the demios woman. Harun, you ruined my fun. I almost had him vomiting out everything he just ate, she said still smirking at Marcus.

Harun sat down at the table across from Marcus. I'm surprised to see a centaur here in a school of necromancy. During my time with the Free Alliance of Privateers I had the privilege of studying with some of your people's shamans. They see necromancy as an offense to your god, Gow'nuk, said Marcus. Harun chuckled. Not all centaurs are happy with blindly following the teachings of Gow'nuk. Some of us, like me, seek more than just swinging a blade and dying in battle. I understand necromancy as not an affront to him, but as a source of ancient and forgotten knowledge, he said. That, and he was disowned by his clan, added Diala. Harun glared at her then took a drink of wine from his goblet. And what about you, Diala, what interest does a demios have here?, asked Marcus. Simple, I'm here for power. There are very few demios who know this magic and having knowledge of something that no one else does gives me an advantage replied Diala. Ah, the eternal demios game of getting one over on everyone else said Marcus. So, you know of my people's culture do you? Perhaps my initial impression that you were a fool was incorrect, she said with a grin. Well, I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted, said Marcus. Both, replied Diala with a chuckle.

The conversation was soon interrupted by the ringing of a gong at the head of the hall and everyone's attention was brought to a podium on a balcony. From out of the shadows of the balcony emerged a gaunt, yellow glowing eyed figure in a tattered black robe. With boney hands, it clutched the sides of the podium as it stood in front of it. Seekers of the forbidden arts, I welcome you, said the figure with a raspy voice. I am Xeltharis, headmaster of this school of necromancy. I have taught here for over 500 years and have seen many a great necromancer graduate from this place. And as I look out over this sea of faces from many different species and nations, I'll tell you what I have told every class of initiates I have ever addressed: Most of you will fail. Even now, I can see those who have the potential for excellence, and those who will either be killed in training or will drop out and be exiled. And in this class, I see very little potential, but many future corpses. So, enjoy yourselves today, for tomorrow, lessons shall begin and the separating of the wheat from the chaff shall commence.

With that, Xeltharis left the podium and slunk away into the shadows of the balcony. Faculty in black robes began handing out small scrolls to the initiates. When Marcus received his he unfurled it. Room 204?, he said. That's the number of your dorm room, said the person handing out the scrolls, Wing 2, Room 4; its actually one of our nicer ones. Diala and Harun opened their scrolls next. Ah, room 206, said Harun. Room 212 said Diala. Looks like we'll all be in the same wing, said Marcus. Looks like, said Harun with a grin. I suppose we should all go get settled in, said Diala picking up her backpack. Agreed, said Marcus who strapped on his pack and picked up his plate of food and goblet of wine. Harun took one last swig from his cup and followed the others to Wing 2.

Opening the door to his room, Marcus expected to see a dank, musty tomb filled with spider webs and rats. However, he was quite surprised by what he saw when he entered his dorm room: a very cozy and well kept room greeted him. Inside was an extravagant king size bed with the softest pillows, sheets and blankets he had ever felt. A dining table with ornate carvings on it surrounded by four chairs sat in the middle of the room. In the corner was an exquisitely crafted desk with quills, inkwells and parchment. Inside his dresser Marcus found several black robes and shoes along with shirts and pants all neatly folded. The chamber was decorated with beautiful paintings of landscapes and tapestries with intricate floral patterns. The room was illuminated by candles and small glowing crystals which gave off a warm light. The room’s level of elegance rivaled even Alathean standards. Setting his food and drink down on the dining table,