In the trade hub of Slatvia, the Northend town of prosperity, noteworthy events happened all throughout the year. Whether it was the early blossoms of spring that ushered new raids and opportunities, to the two weeks of summer that allowed everyone to lighten their clothing, producing a whole new generation of northenders as a host. Many a festivities would be held in this town.
It was said, however, that none in the past had ever held up quite like the one that was taking place at this very moment.
"Aaaahahahaha!"
Merry people could be seen enjoying the festivities. Some were drinking a red liquid never seen by a majority of the population north. Others savored the delectable array of dishes adorning the communal long tables, each representing the four distinct families that hosted the event. The hosts of said tables stood nearby; they could be seen handing out plates or cutting portions of the roasted meats spread out on the tables.
Boars, goats, lambs, wolves, and bears were served; their golden-brown skins glistening with the succulent juices that dripped from the meats. Drinks were passed around, and small quantities of Ale were among them as well. That was not the drink of choice for the night though. Everyone who partook of the Feast that night became absolutely enamored with the newest drink to arrive.
The return of the Chief's niece had heralded omens to all who saw her. She had come in bringing an oathbreaker with her, and she herself sported blemishes of burned scarring all across her body and face. That by itself was not a problem in the north; it was merely an indicator of the pride she should bear for surviving such tribulations.
When it came to omens, however, her eyes had been the biggest of all in ill accountings. The onyx gems that crested her sockets acted as gates to the hells in the Slatvian's eyes. Their piercing crystalline deep blue center would image their minds into unwanted lands. These thoughts no longer accompanied them; her uncle's actions solidifying them as kin.
Prior to initiating the night's festivities, Chief Barnas gathered everyone for a conference. He presented both of the outsiders as Guests of honor. His niece was not a surprise, as this was customary according to traditions. The Oathbreaker had been the problem; instead of introducing him by his status as an exile, he hailed him as a wanderer, a pilgrim, and a genius. The perplexed faces of the masses were angered by this, saying he was overstepping by emphasizing such a man of vile reputation. His next words silenced them, leaving only the crackles of the bonfire.
"I hail this man as such because he is the reason why we can hold such extravagance with our feast tonight. Ye who scorn a man without knowledge of his deeds and action know..." He left a pause of silence for all, stringing them along while waiting for the perfect break of tension.
"That we have Ale, Mead, and now," He gave a small pause. "We boast WINE!!!" His exclamation was met with silence. Everyone knew that after a feast, stores of their spirits would remain low until production was met. Three to four jugs of wine would be the personal property of the chief, likely to be gone within the month from personal use.
"It seems I misspoke. We! Slatvia! Now boast wine!" Slight murmurs came out at his second stating of such a proclamation. "How much?" A brave soul asked, his voice lost in the multitude of masses that gathered.
The Chief's face grew with a smile at this question. "You tell me," He said dragging four barrels forward, prying their wooden lids open by hand and with ease. "How much we can afford to spend after tonight." Pointing behind him, barrels could be seen lined up. Twenty in all, the quantity was mouth-watering to all present at the scene.
"So now I ask ye, my people; what do we, the Slatvians have?!" His voice was booming once more at this question, facing his left ear toward the crowd in anticipation.
"WIIINNNNEEEEEE!!!" The scores of people cheered as they shouted in anticipation, deafening him with their jubilant screams.
"Ahahahaha." His mighty laugh carried to all, and Barnas the Chieftain of Slatvia was happy that his people could merry on through the night. All thanks to the actions of his niece introducing the wandering pilgrim who was possessed of tongues, mysticism, and character.
Far from the outskirts of the town, a secluded grove of cemerian pines crowded the snowy landscape. Despite night overreaching unto all of the land's corners today, the dual celestial orbs' moonlight brightened the usual darkness of the Northern cloud-filled nights. A man of a darker skin complexion could be seen in the middle of this forest. He was tired and panting with bags under his eyes, a touch of ashiness bestowed onto him from, likely a lack of care.
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Around him, the bodies of multiple Ape Men surrounded him, all slain in unknown ways that could be surmised as simply having dropped dead where they had stood. The man looked around, making sure that none more were near, opening his mouth. Dark energies emerged from him, changing the unseen forces of the air around him. They were visible not just to him or those gifted with the 'sight,' but physical in all its senses. It was another aspect of mana, one of its many facets; it was not one that brought the structure of life but instead brought about the principles of entropy, death, and curses.
As all, they too were needed within the cycle of life and death, but their usage of them would always end up corrupting the wielder, and this man held no clause to exempt him from this. He too knew he suffered its effects, yet still, he continued; despite knowing the problems he was to face tapping into this power.
Entering through all pores of the Apes' bodies. Intertwining and mixing with the fibers, follicles, skin, flesh, bodies, and souls. A final chant came of him, 'Rise my aggressors, and feed from my power, serve me as you had served yourselves before.' The words were spoken in the language of En'Oamantes, perfectly fluent; it was the upper language of Egypsia.
Circles of magic appeared under him, and the bodies of the humanoid beasts that surrounded him, forty in total, each massive in both size and weight. Slowly, they rose from eternal sleep, one by one; their eyes opening without hints of consciousness, reflecting through eyes of burning black flames. They were there and trapped as tainted blackened souls. They were vengeful, suffering, and perverted.
This was the curse the man had inflicted upon these Ape men and women. They had surrounded him in hopes of a meal, suffering the greatest of all depravities allowed by the cycle of nature. He had inflicted the ultimate insult to their life, 'Undeath.'
As the last of these Apes awoke from their slumber, the Egypsiei man studied them, satisfied with his work he went deep into pondering. If one looked upon his face, madness could be seen. This madness was different from the passions of the sorcerers in the empire of Egypsia, and contrary to the fervor of the Aquilan Faiths. Closer to the unhinged behaviors of the Berserkers in Northend.
Having suffered years upon years, from the depravity of his malevolent and oppressive masters, the abuses of their rights had led slaves of Egypsia to be treated no different from the cattle that they themselves raised. Men and women were violated, assaulted, humiliated, and shamed into submission through generations of suppression. All the while creating a perfectly subservient people that allowed all manner of dishonor to their being.
They all knew what their lot in life was, to serve the pharaohs and their bloodline of sorcerers and sorceresses. Lucky they would be to remain as outside slaves in the bordering towns and villages. Horrid was their life to serve a personal master, some had been broken to the point of desiring such a situation. This man did not. He had held the "happiness" of serving such a master once, and he suffered immensely at his hands for it. The scarring of his dark skin was proof of nothing but the most gentle of his master's caresses. His insanity was cold, calculating, and cynical. It sought a vengeance unknown to his past oppressors who would one day suffer it.
And having scoured his master's libraries, who was one of the hidden mystics of the Pharaohs, he learned numbers, letters, structures, and more; all in hopes of acquiring the power his master wielded. To escape the grips of insanity that his master represented, and to become a sorcerer of the kingdom. He knew it was a far cry, as all of the sorcerers in the southern empire were individuals inborn with talent and able to control the fabrics of magic with nothing but their wills.
But he did succeed in the end; he had learned the language of En'Oamantes, learning to control the magic power that he could now feel inside him. He showed it to his master, excited about the status that his new powers would bring him. His master, however; belittled his talents, calling him a charlatan, unhappy with the outcome of his slave's newfound abilities. He beat him relentlessly to within an inch of his life.
The only reason he persevered was because he refused to believe that this world could be so unfair. He had held a family once and led a humble but happy life. So he sought to retake it once more, by forcing his will upon the letter and languages that the Pharaohs and their blood had developed through their three-thousand-year rule. Even after the Ascension of their mightiest Gods, the desert empires remained unshakeable from their foundations.
Sounds of joyous music and merry tides interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to look at the source. Slatvia was in his sights; he had passed through it and found it a quaint little town compared to the metropolises of Egypsia. His dark energies enticed him to behold it and influenced him to believe it to be a wonderful resource to exploit in his quest for vengeance.
Dark mana coalesced through him, filling him with a commanding authority as he spoke once more in the Devilish language. "Go my slaves, attack, and assault this puny haven of mankind. Let them know that they are not safe from me. Bring me their bodies so I may raise them to your ranks, and destroy anything and anyone that stands in your way." The dark manas were intensifying as the command imprinted itself into their burning souls.
"By mine name and in mine name given unto me by mine father Ukhut. I am Sekthet Wielder of the Dead, and I state to the heavens and hells my Path as a Necromancer, the first of mine kind." At this proclamation, the heavens shuddered in sorrow as the hells relented their powers unto him. Unheard laughter brimming with what could only be called psychopathy broke through all matter and beings without notice. The raised undead marched forward to the cadence of this laughter, their steps and internal strength disrupting the life energies of the land around them.