Author’s notes: This is another one of my early stories, still experimenting with the art of necromancy. When I found it in my old files, I thought that it fits perfectly a certain incident in the history of my world: the discovery of the ruins of Tuth Malul that led to the founding of the Necromancers’ Guild.

Daynar Shadowstalker is a legendary hero to the necromancers and his name is frequently given to their offspring.

Warning: Violence, gore and some adult scenes, although nothing explicit, down the road. Avoid if you object.

Otherwise, read and enjoy! (and review, hint, hint).

SHADOWSTALKER

Chapter 1: Desert and Darkness

"I was old when time was young.

I walked the Earth with the Elder Ones.

I played with Life and Death

And all that lies between them.

When I died, my body was cut.

The pieces were baptized in blood

And embalmed with phlegm and bile.

I was buried in the egg of the White Worm

And after seven nights I rose.

And now I walk again upon the Earth,

And the Elder Spirits weep.

Heaven and Hell, hear my cry!

I'll summon the Sea to Flood Hell

And I'll summon the Sun to burn down Heaven!"

From the "Book of the Dead Gods".

The sun was already setting behind the Red Mountains at the west. The people at the marketplace barely raised their heads as the tall, pale man walked towards the weapon smith’s booth. He approached Fakra, the smith, and after some whispered negotiations he handed him a leather vest.

"Come back tomorrow, Daynar", said Fakra. "It will be ready for you first thing in the morning".

The man nodded and walked away towards the inn.

A few yards away, a hooded figure walked out of the shadows.

Daynar took a seat in a secluded table by the fireplace. The small town of Ver Kamar was close to the desert and the high temperatures of the daytime matched the chill of the night. And the chill of these people’s hearts, he thought bitterly. As soon as Daynar had entered the inn, all conversations had stopped. The townsfolk still wouldn't trust him. Not after ridding the sewers from the evil spirits dwelling there, not after restoring those who had been affected by the plague, and probably not ever. But he had grown accustomed to such behavior. His quest was not one for fame and he didn't care much about holy causes either. Daynar's quest was one for knowledge and power.

He just sat there by the fireplace, slowly sipping from a glass filled with ruby wine. In truth, he enjoyed blending to the shadows, being one with the wall, but always scanning the surroundings and checking any newcomers. Daynar watched the people come and go in silence. In the dim candlelight he looked like a statue over a forgotten tomb. His hair was long, past his shoulders, once blond but now silverfish due to age and sunlight. As the shadows danced on his face, his features appeared sharp yet handsome, with pale skin, a skin that had avoided exposure to sunlight for a lifetime. He gave the impression he was fragile; but looks can be deceiving.

Several young men were raising a lot of noise, boasting about deeds of valor and great adventures. He new their kind well. One of those days he was sure to find one of their corpses feeding the desert vultures.

"Mortals..." he sighed, and finished his wine. He finally stood up and made his way to his room. A good night’s rest was vital, because he intended to follow the trail marked on an old parchment as soon as his armor was repaired. He never noticed the hooded figure sitting at a table in the darkest corner of the room. Under the hood, emerald eyes shone.

As soon as the sorcerer vanished upstairs, the creature in the dark cloak smiled and ordered another round of golden ale.

The next day, Daynar left Ver Kamar just before dawn. His trail led him to a cave at the roots of the Red Mountains. The entrance was hidden behind dried bushes and desert shrubs, but the narrow passage behind it reeked of magic. Strange markings covered the walls, snake-like trails that danced under the light of the torch, whispering ancient incantations. He had been dreaming of a similar place for long. And Daynar knew what awaited him at the end of the corridor.

And there it was; a great room with a high ceiling, decorated with carvings of skeletons and corpses. The flame of the torch flickered and the sculptures of the dead seemed to come to life, embracing each other in unholy affections and dancing to the tunes of a devilish orchestra. As he approached the sarcophagus in the center of the room, his eyes scanned the dark corners for hidden threats.

He studied the scriptures on the sarcophagus. It was as he had suspected. This tomb was only the ante-chamber. The elaborate coffin before him concealed the stairway to another dungeon beneath, allegedly leading to a web of underground tunnels. If he could cross the maze, he would then reach his dream; find the ruins of the legendary city of Tuth Malul.

His blood burned with anticipation as he gathered all of his strength to push back the lid of the sarcophagus. It fell down with a loud noise that echoed in the dark hallways and Daynar leaned over to check the inside of the grave.

The stairs were there.

But so was the owner of the sarcophagus, clutching a rusted key with his fleshless fingers.

And, judging by his growl, he was not happy with the intrusion of his privacy.

Daynar was quick to move back and avoid the claws that reached for this throat. He called on the fire, but the creature seemed to be protected by some kind of shielding magic, for the flames barely touched it. And when all of his spells failed, Daynar drew his short sword. He was not comfortable with the use of weapons, having spent more years over scrolls and parchments than in adventures and combat. And it appeared that another corpse would be added to this tomb, for he could now feel the cold stones beneath his back and the creature’s breath kissing the skin of his neck.

He had almost blacked out, when an arrow fired from across the room hit the creature. It shrieked and released Daynar’s throat, turning to face its new foe. It was never given the chance. Another arrow flew through the air, and then another. It did not kill it; it is not easy to kill what is already dead. But the arrows pierced the creature’s skull and nailed it to a pillar behind, keeping it still. Daynar was too week to react, but risked a glimpse to his unexpected savior. All he saw was a being of light in a white armor, carrying a crossbow. And memories of drawings in old scrolls and Temple walls came to mind.

"Krameria?" he whispered, before loosing consciousness.