He spent the day doing his favorite things. Visiting his grandkids, spending time at his wife’s tombstone, eating a meal with his family. And he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d teared up a little when they’d left him, the aged baker retiring to his bedroom and sitting on the step of his bed.
Caleb had thought long and hard about his final moments and decided to dress appropriately. He’d heard stories about people trying to fight the wraiths off, people who’d snapped and taken others with them. Personally, he thought it was best to go with some dignity.
An accomplished baker, he simply tossed on his old uniform, wearing the apron his wife Agnis had given him nearly 63 years ago. Turning his wrist so he could see the rune that all living creatures of Dray’Mel shared, he activated it.
One day and two minutes, it read. One measly day left. It all went so fast, it seemed like just yesterday he had so much time before the end. Sitting in his home, he let the memories play out and waited.
Thankfully, they didn’t make him wait long. He could feel them coming, his breath turning to mist as the temperature dropped. Finally, they slowly materialized through the walls. Ethereal and haunting, the wraiths circled him, their faces twisted with anguish.
“More than anything else, I hope I don’t end up like you, you poor fools. Stuck in limbo, with no way out.” Caleb sighed, before waving them forward. “Come on then, take your pound of flesh, you carrion.”
The wraiths poured forth grabbing him, pulling him by his clothes, by his ears, by any piece of flesh they could grab. And with a disquieting sense of wrongness, Caleb was wrenched through his home into the night’s sky.
It was almost beautiful, looking down on the city from above. The old baker was glad he was being taken during the day, seeing the city where he’d lived his whole life from the viewpoint of a bird. Seeing the inner citizens still busy within the city, going about their business with nary a thought to what was flying above them. His eyes however were drawn to the outer lips of Dray’Mel, to the so-called Undead District.
At first, he could barely make anything out, the air thick with foul energies. But as the Wraiths hauled him closer, the full tableau of violence unfolded before him. Ghouls ripping each other to shreds, zombies wading amongst them as they lay waste to anything that moved. Wraiths and spirits and shadows all fighting each other as they clogged the streets with death and mayhem.
It wasn’t long before they flew past even that, the wraiths pulling him past the walls of Dray’Mel. Caleb’s breath caught in his throat as for the first time in his long life, he left the city he was born in. Soaring past the small amount of farmland Dray’Mel had, he spied his destination approaching.
The Butchery, as most of the living, called it, or the Resting Place if you were to listen to the Tomb-Makers, wasn’t a particularly impressive sight. Massive in size, the actual shape of it was rather uniform. Stone ceilings made up most of his sight, but there were dozens of vents, each disgorging heaps of acrid looking smoke.
As the wraiths dragged him downwards, Caleb steeled himself for anything. There were more rumors about the Butchery than facts. Little was known about the workings of the place, beyond the one fundamental truth. Anyone who lived in Dray’Mel went to the Butchery when they died.
Rushing through the ceiling, the wraiths dropped their captive in a sprawling heap. Groaning with his age, Caleb struggled to his feet as his eyes soaked in the layout of the room he found himself in. He was expecting something much different, hooks and flames, and all other such torture devices.
Instead, he was in a fairly small room, with a few chairs spread out in a half-circle. In their midst was a small podium, its back towards a large curtain. At first, Caleb just stood there in confusion, before warily taking a seat.
He didn’t have to wait long before a small form stepped out from behind the curtain, its short legs carrying it to the podium. Rather diminutively sized, the creature resembled a human, albeit a short one, that had been wrapped head to toe in bandages. Oddly enough, however, there was a pair of glasses sitting where its eyes should be, and it was wearing a rather dashing suit and tie.
“Well, this is rather rare. It’s been a while since we’ve just had the one patron arriving with us,” the creature drawled in a dry tone. “I’m sure you must have some questions, and I’m here to assist you with the transition.”
It was, overall, just a bit too much for Caleb. Whisked away from his life and family, to be sent to the Butchery and then received by what appeared to be a gentlemanly mummy gnome. Bursting into laughter, Caleb laughed until his chest hurt, the mummified gnome simply looking on quietly.
“I suppose the main question I have is simple. What in all the Hells is going to happen to me?” Caleb asked as the laughter left him, his body still trembling.
Stepping down from the podium, the mummy looked at Caleb and smiled, not that Caleb would notice. “Well, that depends on you, good sir. There are two options before you, you can choose to go quietly into the night and donate your body to the Tomb-Makers. Or you can choose to -join- the Tomb-Makers. After all, We’re always looking for fresh faces.”
Frowning, Caleb quirked an eye at that. “You mean, I get to choose? I thought my time was done, my rune said I had a day left.”
Nodding, the mummy agreed. “Indeed, your time has come to an end. Our approximation puts you at death from a heart attack in 24 hours. So, we plucked you up and brought you here. And so you get to choose. True Death, or something in between. We can’t promise you what form of undeath you’d have, but you’d have a place in the Tomb-Makers.”
“I’d choose quickly though, only 23 hours and 36 minutes before the choice is made for you!”
“Can I ask what most people choose, or is that against the rules,” Caleb ventured. “Hells, what even happens if I decide to join the Tomb-Makers.”
Nodding enthusiastically, the bandage-wrapped gnome shuffled some papers on his podium “As per the Living Act, article 2, I’m required to answer any and all questions you have to ask, so don’t be shy. As for what most people choose, I’m sad to say that most choose a True Death. Fear of the unknown is one of the greatest barriers to taking the next step towards a better Undeath.”
“First, if you choose True Death, we simply administer an alchemical solution that numbs your body to pain, then cast a spell that renders you comatose. After a round of harvesting, which you won’t even feel, we inject a rather quick-acting lethal injection. You pass away peacefully, none the wiser.” The gnome says, pulling out a pamphlet and handing it to Caleb.
Leafing through the pamphlet, Caleb frowns slightly. “Oh, that’s… a bit morose. Would it not be easier to let me pass naturally? You did say I would die from a heart attack soon, no?”
“It’s true, you would pass away from natural causes soon. But many of the resources you, or rather your body, need to be harvested while living. For example, the vampires protecting the city require living blood, not harvestable from a corpse.” The mummy returns to his podium and nods amiably to Caleb. “Which brings us to joining the ranks of the Undead. If you choose that option, which we highly recommend, you will instead be brought to see Rath’Mel, the one true Lord of Dray’Mel. As you enter his Sanctum, you’ll naturally be transformed by the Necromantic Energy into a stalwart defender of our great city.”
Softly scratching at his aged scalp, the old baker pondered for a moment. “That’s it? I just need to walk into a room and I become an Undead, just like that? Do I get to decide what sort of Undead I become? Cuz there’s no way I want to end up like a wraith… or a ghoul for that matter.”
The gnome winces slightly, adjusting the glasses on his bandaged nose. “Sadly, it’s not quite so simple. The undead you become is affected by the amount of Energy you absorb, and the rate you absorb the energy is affected by the distance between you and Rath’Mel. For example, I managed to make it halfway through his Sanctum before I collapsed. A respectable feat for a Non-Chosen, and thus I was blessed with a superior form of Undeath, I became a Mummy.”
“So, what happens if I make it all the way to this Rath fellow. Or wait… what happens if I can’t take a single step?” Caleb asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “How often do folks end up stopping right away?”
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Coughing into his hand, the mummy replies. “Well, the average person makes it a few steps into the Sanctum. They often become Skeletons, very important members of the guard, but not the most powerful. But if you only take a single step… you do become a wraith, most likely. It’s… admittedly not the most desirable outcome, but many wraiths contribute in a meaningful way!”
“So it’s a complete crapshoot?” Caleb explodes, standing as swiftly as his feeble bones would allow. “No wonder no one takes that option, who’d risk being stuck as a wraith for all eternity!”
Perking up, the gnome pulls a new pamphlet loose. “That’s a great point! That’s why we’ve introduced a new system in place. If it sets your mind at ease, you can sign a form to have your eventual Undeath terminated after a trial period of 50 years! If you succeed in reaching far enough into the Sanctum to have received a pleasing form, you can choose to void the contract.”
Caleb looked at the gnome with growing confusion. “That seems… almost too good to be true. I must say, I’m curious why these options are so favorable to the living. Why not just take what you need and turn me into a wraith. I wouldn’t have any way to retaliate, after all.”
“Suffice to say, there was a time the Tomb-Makers did just that. 473 years ago, to be precise. The living were kept on as a food source, and not much else. But there were riots. Uprisings. More undead destroyed fighting the living then from protecting our fair city. Finally, a Living Chosen had the grand idea to put a treaty in place. A set of rules to get the best of both worlds, that mortals get to live out a full life, safe from the dangers outside Dray’Mel, and the undead receives sufficient nourishment and bolster their number willingly.” The gnome stepped down from the podium and took a seat beside Caleb. “Of course, there’s few undead around from that time. I’ve only been around 179 years myself.”
The aged baker looked the gnome over, lost in thought. “Can I ask a more personal question then? Why’d you take the risk?”
“Honestly? I only had twenty-two years as a mortal. I had a bad heart, I had to take three healing tinctures a day just to survive as long as I did. Frankly, I took the deal to join up as soon as it was offered. Most of my life was spent as a patient, stuck in a Tombs-Maker run hospice. Why not try and live a little. Well, not live, but you know what I mean.” The gnome grinned, flexing his bandaged arm. “My time as an undead has been great. Hells, I got lucky and earned a non-combat role. I’ve been working as the Greeter for eighty-plus years now.”
The baker nodded, mind drifting as he considered the possibilities. “Does it hurt?” The man uttered, admitting to his sense of fear.
“Only for a bit. I can’t taste anything anymore, and my sense of smell has long gone. But I can still read, still, converse. 179 years is a long time to pick up new hobbies.”
Caleb nods once more, sitting up straight. “I’ll do it. I’ll join the Tomb-Makers. It’s been a long time since these old bones have had my life in them. Why not see how it goes. I’ll sign that 50-year pact though.”
Leaping to his feet, the gnome claps excitedly. “Excellent! It’s been a while since I made a sale. Let me get it sorted, and I’ll be right back.”
Dipping behind the curtain once more, the mummy left Caleb to his thoughts. The baker sighed as he looked around the room, a trickle of fear still present in the back of his mind.
But for the first time in years, there was a bit of excitement as well.
It was easy to tell yourself that you were ready to take a risk. It was much less easy to actually make the choice in the moment.
Thankfully, the diminutive undead didn’t leave him alone with his thoughts too long, so he didn’t have much chance to rethink his decision. No, the Greeter quickly returned holding a large crystal ball, nearly the size of the small creature's head.
“Place your hand here, and close your eyes. I’ll be transporting us into the heart of Dray’Mel. Just… try to avoid getting too dizzy, the last mortal I took vomited everywhere.” The mummy said glibly, offering the orb up to the confused baker.
For a second Caleb had an irrational urge to smash the orb, but instead he placed his palm atop it, and closed his eyes. After a long pause, the elderly man felt a sense of wrongness surrounding him, similar to when the Wraiths had grabbed him, but dialed up to eleven.
Vertigo assaulted him as it felt like he was turned upside down, and pulled in a dozen different directions at once. His stomach roiled at the treatment but it mercifully passed quickly, so he opened his eyes tentatively.
Shockingly to his senses, it appeared as if he’d changed location entirely. Caleb had lived a long life, but he could count the number of times he’d seen magic on one hand. Still, other than the Greeter and his magic Orb, the room was relatively plain… outside of two massive doors that practically spanned a whole wall.
Caleb knew his mouth was open as he stared slack-jawed at the ornate doors in front of him, but the aged baker had long left his sense of shame behind. At his age, he felt he’d earned the right to make a fool of himself.
It wasn’t the doors themselves that had him flummoxed, though they were works of arts that he’d likely not even be able to afford the doorknobs of. No, it was the sense of ill-ease permeating his body, the Necromantic mana pressing against him. Thankfully, it was currently held at bay by protective wards inscribed along the door frame, but even the whisper of that much power had his bones rattling.
Turning once more to his guide, Caleb asked the only sensible question. “Is it too late to change my mind?”
Checking his papers, the mummy was quick to answer. “You’ve got plenty of time. If you decide True Death is what you want, we can handle that for you. But I’d like to remind you, that while terrifying, that Mana is actually a good thing. It’s an opportunity, just… a scary one. I remember being in your shoes, and I do not envy your fear. Just know that it won’t go the way you’re afraid it will.” The Greeter nodded confidently, and Caleb could almost tell the Mummy was trying to give him a reassuring smile.
Swallowing his tongue, Caleb tried to encourage himself. “All I need to do is open the doors and enter, right? Each step I make is a good thing… it’s just walking. I’ve done that for years.”
Stepping up to the doors, the baker placed both hands against it, resisting the urge to flinch at the freezing metal's touch. How hard can it be, he mused to himself encouragingly.
“One last thing before you enter, if you’d please.” The mummy announced, his tone somber and respectful. “As you enter, you’ll feel the weight of your years press down on you. You’ll feel the urge to lay down and sleep. You need to fight it. Every step you take is one step closer to true power. It can help to focus on your past life or to simply focus on your own feet. It’s up to you.”
Stepping backward, Caleb realized something with a start. “You know, I never asked your name.”
Stepping up beside him, the gnome patted him on the shoulder. “Not many think to ask. It’s G’Nash. Now, remember, walk forwards towards Rath’Mel. And good luck in there.”
Hands trembling, Caleb once more placed his hands against the door. The biting cold was still there, but it was almost comforting. Focusing on the pain, Caleb took one last look at his hands. Old and gaunt, he could trace the veins that prominently stood out.
Taking one last shuddering breath, he pressed against the door and felt it smoothly glide open. As the doorway cracked open, he felt a sudden drain, of his very spirit, that struck him to his core. Wincing as a sense of feebleness overcame him, Caleb took a step into the Garden.
Twisted trees and monstrous plants went unnoticed as the baker gasped in pain. The very air seemed to be draining his strength, the small amount of Mana in his Core being swallowed by the Sanctum’s dense Mana.
Still, he managed to stumble forward. Thoughts of his wife Agnis flashed by, as he took uneven strides. His feet plodded against crushed stones as he focused all his attention on simply walking forward.
The Mana in the Sanctum struck him, time and time again but Caleb barely had time to take notice of it as he thought back to his childhood. Of following his father through the shop and learning his tricks to baking. Of his years of labor perfecting his craft.
And through it, all, wondering… who cares. Years of his life were spent learning to bake. Time spent watching yeast rise. Years spent following his father as he was beaten for mistakes. Time spent raging at his own son for small mishaps in recipes.
His steps, once faltering, became firm. An entire life was spent doing what he thought was needed. A life of work, day in and day out. He remembered his wife’s smile as they talked about leaving Dray’Mel one day. He remembered her tears when he would take to the bottle. The loving family, too scared to be anything but that, for fear of earning his ire. The rage in his veins, as he struck his own wife down.
Smiling as his soul was flayed, Caleb walked with a spring in his step for the first time in years, the ache in his joints falling away. Eyes forward, he practically sauntered through the Sanctum as he stopped to smell the roses, misshapen as they were. His flesh fell to the ground, cast aside as his bones broke and crumpled. But still, his spirit carried on, his ethereal form expanding as he transformed. For the first time in his life, he felt in control. A joyous feeling arose in his chest, as he finally felt Unshackled...
And it was with a savage grin that he stood before Rath’Mel, the Dreaded Archmage. The lich looked upon him, his empty sockets glowing a deep crimson, and his Mana swirling across Caleb’s face like a gentle breeze.
“Greetings child. I’m glad to see you embrace the energy so strongly. Few make it to my feet, but even less truly revel in the Necromantic Energy.” The Lich’s raspy voice whispered out. “Take heed though. It is no small thing to leave a life behind. It is best to do so without hesitation, without remorse. Without… reminders.”
The wraith formerly known as Caleb nodded, accepting the truth behind the words. He still had things anchoring him to the living world. His mist-like hands crackled with energy, as he thought about what needed to be done. His family, his friends, the living anchors weighing him down.
The aged baker was cast aside, and a new creature was born. Born anew from the flesh of the wicked, the Eternal Demise took to the sky under his own power. And as he watched the citizens of Dray’Mel go about their insignificant lives, he ached to set them free.
But first, a visit to his old home. Flying freely through the night's skies, it felt like he could already hear the terror filled screams...