The Necromancer's Will

Those bound to the dead are only ever seen at night.

They wonder the forgotten night's plains

And burn in daylight's flames.

***

A silence enveloped the small village north of Cly'ana's borders. When the skies died with the setting of the last sun, the world darkened while the dead gathered in the forest beyond the Hills of Vryin. It was unusual for so many dead to appear at once. More often than not they prefered to keep to themselves, but none had a choice in the matter.

Silently, the lingering dead starved for life's essence. The dead needed only make their way forward to satisfy their hunger, but they remained still. Fearful of the being that bound them to him and of the unnatural pain he could inflict on their already shattered souls. A fracture of them glanced back at their sire, a tall man with darkened hair and pale skin. He looked human enough, but his eyes betrayed him as they reflected iridescent shades of red and purple in the twilight.

For a while, their sire watched the village lights until the last of them faded. "Take the children," he instructed, "only the children." Around him, the dead screeched as they hurried towards the village. Those that rushed past him left a frozen chill that settled into the hollows and basins of the hills. Trails of white hung where they moved and mere moments passed before a fog covered the village.

When the dead returned later that night, they brought with them the flickering souls of children, each stolen and bound to those who held them. The man whispered in his own tongue and beckoned them inwards. Captivated, the small flickers of light moved closer until they shattered and in their place formed grey shades that carried few of their former features.

Distorted fractures of their faces formed amid the frozen fog that clung to them where their flesh had once been, the child-like shades screeched in agony when their souls shattered and their forms froze. After a moment their master's eyes flashed a deep shade of red and the dead faded.

***

Terror held the people within the village walls. After their children had been stripped of their souls and drained of their essence, the adults and elders found what little remained of their bodies. Their skin held taught to the bone, and the stench of decay clung to their flesh. Their eyes white and lifeless. They had heard rumours of the dead villages but never truly believed until they held the dead and dying in their arms.

A few silent days passed where the people held little hope for survival as hate, fear and despair overwhelmed them, still, they held until the fifth night when the last fog settled. The child-like shades came that night; suffocating all those within the village walls, draining them of their essence and further tainting their shattered souls.

***

The man stood before the dying with the dead behind him. He knew well enough that the threads of life were thin, fragile, and easily broken. He slowly raised his hands before the dying and spoke to The Veil in a tongue many had forgotten, black markings formed on his skin, as each symbol moving beneath his flesh scarred him. When the markings faded, the last of the dying's threads were torn and mended to bind them to the man. The dead could not pass beyond life and The Veil punished them for it.