Creation of the Lazar, Paterick

By: Chris Hampton

He smiled genially as he sat down across the board from his friend. Both men were older gentlemen, both dressed in black robes, and both, obvious to everyone who knew what to look for, mages. He shifts in his seat to get into a more comfortable position as did his friend across the table. His friend’s name was Charles, and his, Paterick.

As he finally gets into a comfortable position Charles grins across the table at him “Are you ready to lose Paterick?” He grins back and shakes his head “You know me Charles…I never lose!” Both of them laugh then gently place there hands on the top of the table.

The table top suddenly seems to rise up and form what looks like a mountainous terrain. The mountains rise higher and higher until they are taller than the mages. Paterick grins at Charles through the semi-translucent mountains “Let the duel begin!” Suddenly there is a bright flash on table, which is obviously a gaming board of some kind. On either side of the mountains a small figure appears a representation of the two mages. The real them begin to pour spells into the board. The miniature Paterick conjures in an army of what looks like imps, while Charles’s form disappears and reappears much larger and in full armor, with a huge sword on his back.

“Ah! You chose the Avatar spell! Very good choice.” Paterick smiles slightly down at the board.

“Indeed! And you seem to have chosen conjuration….too bad…your imps can’t possibly contend with my Avatar!” Charles shakes his head slightly, almost sadly, but he’s smiling down at the board.

Paterick shakes his head, his smile widening. They begin to cast more and more spells into the board. Charles’s Avatar gains wings and a bow in its hands while Paterick’s force of imps is reinforced with other semi-powerful demons.

“More conjuration?!” Charles shakes his head, surprised at the seeming ineptness of his friend.

Paterick smiles knowingly and nods slightly “Yes, more conjuration…”

The mage’s duel continues for a while, Paterick to all appearances losing horribly. Charles smiles at his friend in triumph, already seeing himself the victor. Paterick never loses that knowing smile.

“Come on, Paterick! I know you’re better than this!” Charles seems a little exasperated at his friend’s evident lack of interest in the duel.

“Be patient, Charles. I won’t let you win.” Paterick gives him a small reassuring, and knowing smile as the game continues.

Charles’s Avatar crosses the mountains, after finally defeating all of Paterick’s conjured demons. But as the Avatar approaches, Paterick’s smile broadens. Suddenly there is a small flash and the Avatar is surrounded by sharp spires of rock. A cloud drifts down to cover the top of the small cell, effectively blocking all of the Avatar’s escape routes.

“What the…?? Where did that come from??” Charles looks remarkably surprised at the sudden appearance of the trap.

“It’s been there the entire time, my friend…you did not see it?” Paterick smiles that knowing smile of his, knowing for a fact that Charles had been too caught up in killing his minor demons to see him weave the trap.

“It has?” Charles looks astonished for a moment then begins concentrating hard, to either will his Avatar into being strong enough to break free or to come up with an adequate counter to the trap.

A bolt of lightning strikes from some of the clouds to hit one of the stone spires. The spire shatters and for a moment Paterick looks a little startled. He almost instantly regains his composure and begins altering the trap spell so that it was regenerative. It was hard to do that with a spell trap that was already in existence but he had done it many times before.

He begins working the spell structure into the already existing weave, taking all of his concentration. His head was beginning to hurt terribly and he smiled slightly to himself, knowing what it was. Suddenly all of his spells and spell-workings become twice, then three times, as strong and the intraweave spell he had been barely able to do, slips into existence.

The spell trap begins to regenerate quicker that Charles’s lightning bolts could break it down. Paterick begins to weave more spells to finish this game. Almost all of the spells pop into existence at once, nearly at the moment of conception. Charles gasps seeing so many spells coming into existence so quickly. Four bolts of black lightning strike down from the cloud covering the top of Charles’s Avatar’s prison, creating negative space in their wake. The bolts hit the Avatar, there’s the sound of some huge piece of cloth being ripped in two, and the Avatar is no more, along with the spell trap.

“Well won, Paterick….well won indeed.” Charles sits back looking down at the dueling board for a moment before lifting his eyes and smiling at Paterick

Paterick looks down at the game board then suddenly shudders. There is a bright flash of light to his eyes alone, then nothing but complete darkness. He goes limp then slumps to one side, falling out of the chair. Charles jumps up and runs around the table as the mountainous terrain begins to fade away. He kneels down beside Paterick’s body, checking for a pulse. When he finds none he panics and delves into the darkest magic known, even though only slightly by him.

A sick green glow surrounds his hands as he begins to mutter and he traces strange symbols onto his dead friend’s chest in green flames. The symbols seem to conjure up images of death and decay when looked at with out magical influence behind them. The flaming symbols sink into Paterick’s body and for an instant there is what seems like a small fog bank hovering over the body, coming out of the body. Charles lets out a gasp as the fog touches him. Suddenly the green glow around his hands grows stronger and brighter then spreads through his body. He begins to convulse, as his skin grows taught against his bones. His hair grays in an instant. He falls over, dead of old age. In a matter of seconds the spell had sapped all of his life force. The fog begins to recede slightly but stops, then tries to expand out of Paterick’s dead body. But, again, it stops. It can neither go back, nor completely leave. The fog takes on Paterick’s form and looks down at his own dead body. Suddenly the eyes blink and he sits up. The fog recedes back into Paterick as he looks around. His dead eyes come to rest on Charles’s body.

“By the Light! NO! Charles!!!” He wonders silently what had happened, then suddenly, to his eyes, a soft glow surrounded his friend’s body. A ghostly shape rises up and stands there looking sadly down at its own dead body. The ghost is Charles. Paterick reaches out towards the specter but it drifts back and then, as if blown by a wind, disappears.

Paterick lowers his head, as if to cry, but no tears come. He looks down at his hands for a moment and gasps as he sees the warmth and color fading away to be replaced by a dead, gray color. Then, for only an instant, his hands regain their warm color but it passes almost instantly. He stands and runs to a mirror to see what he looks like. He stands before it in stunned silence. His face is cold and gray with death, his eyes dark and lifeless. But what stuns him the most is the small amount of fog that seems to surround him constantly, shifting continuously. And as it would pass through him, entered him, he would come alive, his skin would become warm and his eyes would light up, but it would only last for moments. He turns away from the mirror knowing now what had happened. He touches the side of his head and knows what had killed him. He looks down at Charles’s dead body and knew why he was once again standing. He sighs quietly and shakes his head.

“Charles…why? You did not know enough about necromancy! And you knew that! Why did you try to bring me back? You should have known better…and now you are dead because of it…you could not control the magic’s hunger…nor handle its price…” Then as if someone right behind him at his ear is speaking there is a hollow echo but he did not seem to notice it. “…price…”He bows his head and whispers a silent prayer for his friend to find the rest that he shall never receive.

After the moment of silence he lifted his head and quietly drifted out of the room, grabbing his black cloak on the way out. As he stepped into the sunlight his soul, which he had come to realize was the fog, seemed to give a shudder. It reaches out, taking on the shape of his ghost, and reaches out, almost hungrily towards the distance and he could almost smell the living flesh that was that way.

He started off in that direction at a shuffling, undead, gait. Soon the lone traveler comes into sight and he slows to a walk. The traveler is resting with his back against a tree and his eyes closed. He was a young, energetic looking man, still in his prime, and Paterick felt the hunger for that energy, for the youth. He steps forward and slowly approaches the young traveler. At the sound of his approach the young man lifts his head and gives a cordial wave of his hand

“Greetings, Stranger! It seems that we are on the same road. Would you care to join me in my respite?” The young man smiles, trustfully, for there was nothing to distrust in this land…or at least nothing that walked the day.

Paterick, with his hood up, nods silently and moves closer towards the young man. The man stands and holds his hand out in a good-natured greeting. Paterick lifts his own hand and, as he took hold of the man’s hand, the man convulsed, the skin of his hand blackening and the man screaming in pain. Paterick looks shocked but he did not release his grip on the man. Paterick sees the man’s writhing soul leave his body and start to drift away. On instinct, Paterick’s other hand shot out and took hold of the fleeing spirit. The ghost began to writhe in has hands just as the man was and Paterick began to feel himself growing stronger. He released both the soul and the man but they did not flee nor fall. The spirit floated there looking lost and dismayed, staying at what had once been its body. The man stands there looking blanking ahead of him, not truly seeing anything. The cadaver suddenly turned and started off down the road in the direction it had traveled in life. The soul follows it never touching it but also never able to go any further away.

Paterick watches in fascination and horror. He had created that undead thing just by touching the man’s hand. He looks down at his own hands and sees them looking almost alive, but sickeningly so. He looks up again and sees the horrible monster he had created shambling off, almost lost to sight. He started after it, wanting to undo what he had done, but stops not knowing how. After a few moments of consideration he starts off again, figuring that he could at least trap the thing.

When he caught back up with the undead monster he found that, to his horror, the thing also had his power to create undead. It had evidently come upon another hapless traveler and done to that one as he had done to it. He stared, open mouthed, as now two undead things begin to shamble away. Without hesitating again he surged after them. He quickly caught up to them and, taking each by the shoulder, endeavored to turn them around. He almost pulls his hand back as small tendrils of smoke begin to rise from underneath his finger. The zombies stop, not going any further but neither turning. He stares at the two then, on impulse reaches out to the two hovering souls.

He grasps them and, muttering under his breath, hurls them away from the bodies as hard as he could. The souls flew away for a few feet then stopped. They floated there for a moment then, as had happened with Charles’s spirit, disappeared as if blown away. Instantly the cadavers collapse to the ground, finally dead. Paterick looks down at the two corpses sadly.

“I am sorry…I hope that in the after life you can forgive what I have done…I am a damned thing…a creature of darkness…I took your souls away from that wonderful place to feed myself…I hope that now you can find rest…” There is the echo again but this time it is filled with sadness and longing. “…rest…” He bows his head in prayer, then lifting his head, begins to dig graves, swearing silently to himself to never feed until it is absolutely necessary…