“Ryland. What the FUCK did you do?” Steve was beyond furious.

“What? I was bored not like it matters” Ryland replied

“You were…On the corpses of the gods Ryland. We have the fucking guard out front! What if they decided to search the place? How are we to take care of THAT!” He pointed at the restrained zombie. The thing glancing up like a scolded dog, spitting out a chewed up finger.

“Look Steve I'm sorry but what else am I going to do, twiddle my thumbs? Play poker with Lil Ry? I might be dead, but I still need to relax.”

“Lil Ry? LIL RY! YOU NAMED IT” He shouted in frustration.

“RYLAND YOU BETT…”

THUD THUD THUD

Somebody banged on the wall…

Steve paused. He was going to cause a scene if he continued to argue. Besides, it wouldn’t look good if others thought he was a bit crazy. Rubbing his temples, he walked out and slammed the door shut behind. Even with the barrier separating them, he could still hear that annoying voice calling his name. Ignoring the whiny ghost, He slid down the wood into a squat. Why did it have to be this man-child? The first ghost in history and it had to be Ryland. This had to be a twisted joke from Deas. A horrid prank to push him to his limits.

“Oh Steve, Great job betraying everything I’ve taught and becoming a dirty necromancer. How about you deal with this to atone for your sins”

If only, if ONLY he could absolve this whole thing with a simple prayer. But alas, he made his choice and there was no coming back. Standing up, he took a few deep breaths to calm the raging thoughts and stepped back inside.

“Look who decided to return. Glad you can go out when you want and I’m stuck here!” Ryland continued.

Steve waited

“Now the silent treatment. I thought we were pals, buddies, friends, and now you treat me like scum” He tossed himself onto the bed in a melodramatic fashion. His feet flailing in the air and his arm hanging off the side.

Steven continued to wait

“Angry Steve, doing his own thing and condemning me to boredom and babysitting. You know you could have watched the zombie too! You’ve been gone for how long and didn’t give me an estimate?

And waited

“WOW Still NOTHING! You really are an asshole, you know that! Just one big asshole” Ryland sat up pointing.

And he continued to wait. After three more outbursts, Ryland stopped. Steve continued to stare in silence until it was beyond uncomfortable.

“SAY SOMETHING!” Ryland called out.

“You done?” Steve replied, crossing his arms.

“...yes” Ryland muttered.

Moving on, Steve discussed his plan.

“Ok Ry, I've sent a message to some contacts. There is a gathering scheduled in one month, I want to introduce you to some others. I didn’t say exactly what you are, only that it is a new discovery. Hopefully, somebody might have some knowledge on what we can do. All we need to do is lay low until…

Ryland collapsed.

“Ryland, can you stop with this! I get you can’t stay focused but this is important” He was getting annoyed—the ghost didn’t respond.

“Ryland, get up. We need to talk about this….Ry?” But still nothing

Steve hesitated, something was wrong. He noticed that Ryland had gone somewhat translucent, the wooden floor showing through his form. Turning his head, he looked at the zombie. The living corpse barely animate. It just sat there staring at the wall. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a bit of steak and held it out. But the zombie ignored the flesh, the skin starting to pull back.

“Eat…you have to eat!” Steve shoved the steak into the creature’s mouth.

But still it didn’t respond. A cold sweat swept across his skin as a foreboding horror set in. What was causing this? What could he do to stop it? Not wanting to lose his research subject, Steve quickly cut his finger and shoved it into the zombie’s throat. He could feel the slimy, putrescent flesh against the skin and hoped it wouldn’t get infected. Whispering a spell, he offered up some of his life force alongside the blood sacrifice.

“What the…” he stumbled across the floor.

His knees were weak and his body lethargic as the zombie took far more than anticipated. Stars filled his vision and a deathly chill froze the muscles. He lashed and arm out to grab the bedpost. The limb twitched as he tried to steady himself. Shuffling to his bag, he pulled out a waterskin and biscuit. Steve ravenously ate the rations as he struggled to rebuild his stamina. With the brain fog slowly clearing, he noticed the ghost starting to stir.

“What…Happened?” Ryland tried to stand but collapsed once more.

“We…Need…To…Leave” Steve grunted out. Bits of crumbs splattering the floorboards.

Steve tried to formulate a plan, his brain rapidly shifting through various scenarios. He’d gotten Faust out of worse…right?

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Come on, think” He muttered

Step one: find a way to block the light. It was morning and the sun was blaring down. Step two: find a disguise, the streets were packed. He’d need to find some way to hide the zombie and get it out. Step three: find another nearby camp or trading post. They still hadn’t stocked up on supplies and he only had two days worth of ration still. Putting the plan into steps helped him plan. Just clear one problem at a time and it would all work out.

“Steve, I…I don't know. I feel…”

“THAT’S IT” He figured the perfect solution.

All he needed to do was rent a caravan cart, shove the zombie in a sack, and ride out with some traders. It was so simple, expensive, but simple. Rummaging through his pockets, he quickly counted what gold remained. It was going to sting, but it should be enough. Looking back, he saw Ryland fading a bit more, he had to move fast. Grabbing his cloak, pouch, and trusty knife; he went to leave.

“Ry, lay down and rest. Try to get your body to eat something. I’ll be back quickly”

All he got was a thumbs up. Stepping through the door, he locked it behind him and shuffled down the stairs. Stopping by the front, he asked one of the barmaids where the trader’s guild was. With directions in hand, he stepped out into the busy street.

While traversing the quaint little village, Steve knew something was off. The hairs on his arm were sticking up and he felt as though something was pressuring his soul. Not wanting to be seen, he took to the alleyways and other crannies. Keeping his head down and cloak tight was the only way he felt safe. It was a battle of speed and conformity. He couldn’t run or that would bring attention, yet he couldn’t just walk or the situation might worsen. He could only hope somebody was nearly packed and ready to leave.

Turning out of the last alley, he entered the main thoroughfare. Already merchants were setting up their stalls, guards were taking positions, and the various guilds were cleaning their fronts. Crowds were forming in front of the various vendors as morning shoppers looked to get the prime produce. Weaving through the crowd, he searched for the trader’s guild. As he passed the main square, the pressure intensified. He could feel the air become thick, a powerful force stilling the life around it. It was a familiar feeling, something that nagged at his brain. Pausing, Steve looked around to find the source.

“Shit”

Standing at the village center was the antithesis to his class. A looming, imposing figure which oversaw the crowds. Many avoided his immediate vicinity, his overwhelming aura striking fear into the average peasant. It was one who walked with death itself, a [[Cleric of Deas]].

He was an embodiment of the one he worshiped. Deathly pale skin without a single blemish. He wore nothing but a simple loincloth. Instead, his armor was the markings of his god. Dark tattoos cover the majority of the exposed skin. The lines accentuate his muscles and statue-esq body. Flashes of light flickered between the tattoos, the holy energy barely contained by the divine markings. His censor hung at the waist, a thick cloud of smoke billowing out from the instrument. The heavy fog wrapping around his feet and clinging to the ground. Bits of scripture were nailed to the worn leather. The parchment defies gravity itself, wrapping itself around his body like a coiling snake. His very presence would calm even the most aggressive of undead. A purifying force keeping the abominations out.

It took all his willpower to move, that man could kill with a single word. Word must have gotten out about Faust. Where [[Necromancer]]’s were found, these clerics would quickly follow. There was little they could do but flee, their very creations rapidly putrefying. Even their most advanced masterpieces, their greatest works of art, were quickly demolished by a single swing. Many a [[Necromancer]] had met their end by the hand of a cleric. There was no trial, only a summary execution on the spot. Their souls were stolen right from the body and served as a gift to Deas. None knew the punishment for defying the god, but all theories were equally horrifying.

Steve did everything to stay out of view. He kept to the shadows of others while he tried to pass. But the cleric’s presence was too intoxicating, the two made eye contact and Steve was violated. The crowd blurred and the bustling sounds muted. He was a rabbit staring down a towering predator. The milky-white eyes staring beyond Steve and into the depths of his soul. His sins probed, his faults fully displayed, and his fear of death brought to the forefront. He tried to pull his head away, but the weight of mortality was unbearable. He needed to keep moving before his class could be appraised. Shifting his finger, he felt cold steel pierce the skin.

The pain broke the skill, life returned to his limbs and he began walking from the cleric. Steve forced himself to breathe, his heart racing from the touch of death. He needed to get out now, there was no way he could help Ryland. That ghost was dead on sight. Maybe he could send out a signal or messenger to slip something under the door. He knew there was no chance for the zombie to escape, but at least he tried. He just needed to find a caravan and escape.

Glancing down, he noticed the smoke clinging to his boots. Swirls of foggy incense that wrapped around his legs, draining the warmth. Keep moving Steve, KEEP MOVING! His brain screamed. Yet he was too weak, the muscles began to atrophy and Steve fell to a knee. He was found, it was over. All his ambitions to be annihilated, his essence fed to Deas as a tantalizing feast. He could only watch as the executioner walked his way.

Each step was slow and calculated, the tall Cleric stone cold and focused. His perfectly chiseled face and divine-blessed body caught many stares. The censor swaying with each footfall, the scriptures unwrapping and floating by his side. Instinctively the crowd parted, a clearing forming around Steve. His brain slowly addled by the ever increasing incense. His thoughts slowed and his body weakened from the overwhelming onslaught. He was an isolated [[Necromancer]] facing down their most hated foe. Within moments the shadow of death engulfed him, the towering figure placing a cold hand on his chin. He couldn’t resist as his face was lifted upwards. The two silently starred as the whirling chill engulfed them. Cut off from the outside world, Steve could only hope it was quick.

“You are scared.” A simple statement.

“Fear not death, for it is through death we may cherish life”

“Now…what are YOU!” He commanded an answer.

Steve couldn’t think, it was if he was being interrogated by the god’s themselves. Yet a strange bit of hope formed. Could this cleric not appraise his class? Normally, they could identify a [[Necromancer]] on the spot. But this man was asking…

“I’m just a measly [[Apprentice Apothecary]]” Steve choked out.

“HAH do you take me for a fool? I can smell the decay on you, the lingering taste of death. Tell me why does such a lowly apprentice rob graves?” Steve had to think fast.

“I was sent to acquire some pale spot mushrooms. I still have some in my pocket”

It was true, Pale spot mushrooms were a key ingredient in many brews…as well as deathly rights.

“Hmm…”

He paused. Clearly he didn’t buy the excuse but he didn’t press any further.

“I will only warn you once…apprentice.” He said with a bit of hate

“If I ever catch you desecrating another corpse, I will personally deliver you to Deas himself.”

“Yes Sir, I’ll inform my teacher at once…”

“But for this you must atone.” The cleric pressed a finger against his shoulder and muttered a simple chant.

His arm died. The wreath of Deas engulfing the limb and deadening the muscles. The appendage hanging limply at his side as all sensations disappeared

“One day, One day and the curse shall be lifted” The cleric slowly walked away.

Steve had never felt more alone then in that moment.