The trio, Vlad, Krunk, and Zavet. They had spent hours searching for Mah’nethotep. Their footsteps echoed down the ancient stone corridors of the Necromancer's Guild Hall, the sound soft and muffled in the gloomy light. They had looked in his private chambers, the libraries, and even the training yards, but Mah’nethotep was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t until they ventured into the Hall of Remembrance, where the sarcophagus of Ta-Ffair lay, that they finally found him.
Mah’nethotep sat cross-legged in front of Ta’Ffair’s ornate tomb, his gaze distant, lost in thought as though he were speaking to her spirit. His golden eyes flickered with the weight of ancient memories as he traced his fingers over the carvings on her sarcophagus, which were filled with glyphs and runes that glowed faintly in the dim light.
Vlad stepped forward cautiously, his voice low and respectful. “Master, we found something, something important. We want to show you.”
Mah’nethotep’s eyes focused, drawn back to the present. He rose silently, nodding. “Show me.”
The trio set off without another word, though Zavet stayed behind to attend his lessons with Tear. Vlad and Krunk led Mah’nethotep deep into the cave system beneath the city. It took longer this time without Zavet’s guidance. The labyrinth of tunnels seemed more confusing, but Mah’nethotep was in no hurry. He stopped to inspect every cave drawing they passed, running his hands over the ancient markings. He examined each undead they encountered, observing their movements and their magical essence.
“This is the work of a Lord of Necromancy,” he muttered as they came across a group of armored undead soldiers, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. “These troops are not of the usual stock; someone powerful created them. Someone with knowledge older than this kingdom.”
Vlad and Krunk exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the air became, thick with necromantic energy. It felt like they were walking into the belly of some ancient beast.
Finally, they emerged into a large, open courtyard deep within the cavern. The smell of death was overwhelming, but something else lingered, something far more personal. Mah’nethotep’s steps faltered as his sharp eyes caught sight of a figure sitting at a table in the courtyard's center. Ta’Ffair.
She sat there, sipping tea calmly as though this was a mere social visit. Across from her sat two dark-skinned elves, their eyes gleaming red in the torchlight. Mah’nethotep recognized them instantly as drow, denizens of the Underdark, usually hostile and secretive. But all that faded away in his mind as his eyes locked on Ta’Ffair.
She looked up, her gaze meeting his, as if sensing him from across the years and the sea of magic that separated them.
“Hey, Neth,” she said softly, as though no time had passed.
That was all it took. Mah’nethotep’s legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees. His breath caught in his throat as tears rose in his golden eyes. The strength that had sustained him for millennia melted away instantly, and his vision tunneled until he could only see her: Ta’Ffair, his love, his soulmate.
He couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, choked by the flood of emotions that tore through him. Ta’Ffair rose and embraced him tightly, her touch warm and familiar, though her body bore the scars of centuries of torment. Old wounds marred her skin.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He pulled back slightly, holding her at arm’s length. “Your body… it’s scarred. What happened to you?”
She sighed, her eyes darkened by memories of pain. “I was trapped here. Bound by spells, I couldn’t break. These elves,” she gestured to the two elves, who watched silently, “they were part of it. I’ll tell you everything, but we must leave this place now.”
With great effort, Mah’nethotep broke the spells that had imprisoned her. His magic surged through the air, unraveling the dark threads that had kept Ta’Ffair bound for so long. In an instant, they were gone, teleported back to the Black Pyramid, where Mah’nethotep could keep her safe.
Meanwhile, Vlad and Krunk returned up through the cave system, but something had changed. The air was colder, the darkness thicker, and the undead more numerous. They were no longer just wandering the caverns; they were organized and moving purposefully. Vlad and Krunk fought through wave after wave of undead, but something was wrong. The undead were not attacking with their usual mindlessness. They were... waiting.
Suddenly, the attacks stopped. The undead parted like a sea, forming a circle around Vlad and Krunk, preventing them from going any farther. A small figure emerged from the ranks of the undead, short, lizard-like, with glowing green eyes that burned with intelligence and malice.
“Hello, Vlad, Krunk.” the figure said in a smooth, sinister voice.
Vlad’s eyes widened. “Iscariot…”
The small lizardman stepped forward, his smile wide and unsettling. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Before Vlad or Krunk could react, magic surged through the air, wrapping around them like chains. Iscariot’s magic twisted their bodies, corrupting them into greater undead. Their skin paled, their eyes gleamed with an eerie red light, and their strength grew, but they were no longer in control. They were bound to Iscariot’s will.
As the transformation was completed, Iscariot handed them each a small necklace. “These will make you look alive. Useful, yes? You wouldn’t want anyone to suspect.”
Vlad and Krunk nodded, their faces blank, the last vestiges of their free will slipping away. Then Iscariot handed them five small statues, each about six inches tall. The statues were grotesque, carved from bone and shaped like twisted golems.
“These are bone golems,” Iscariot explained. “When you enter the heroes’ stronghold, say the phrase I’ll give you. They will animate and kill everything inside, living or undead.”
Vlad and Krunk felt their bodies move independently, compelled to obey. Iscariot’s voice filled their minds, commanding them. "Kill the heroes. Steal their items. But don’t get caught.”
With a final, twisted smile, Iscariot waved them off. “Good luck, my friends. I’ll be watching.”
As Vlad and Krunk trudged back to the surface, weighed down by the gravity of their new reality, they exchanged brief glances, communicating a shared sense of dread. The command pulsed through them, Iscariot's dark magic intertwining with their wills, making disobedience impossible. There was no room for rebellion, no space even to contemplate resistance. The mission was set, and they were now pawns.
The days that followed were quieter for Zavet. He remained at the Black Pyramid, immersed in his lessons with Tear, the complex study of magic, and learning to master his newfound powers. Every day was a struggle as he slowly deciphered the intricate language of necromancy, weaving spells of great potency. Yet, perhaps the most surprising development was the bond he began to form with Ta’Ffair.
She treated him with a warmth and familiarity that reminded Zavet of a loving grandmother. Her presence was comforting and firm. Whenever they talked, her voice was soft, motherly, and filled with affection.
“You remind me so much of him,” Ta’Ffair often said, a faraway look in her eyes. “Neth was always so curious at your age. Always asking questions, always trying to prove himself.” She smiles, placing a gentle hand on Zavet’s shoulder. “You have that same fire.”
Zavet smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest. Though his journey had been uncertain, her presence made him feel grounded, as if he had found another family.