Your father, August Netherdawn, was not a bad man, you concluded. He was just simple. Not simple minded, just simple. In life, in ambition. He performed magic, sure. Not, ‘save a town’ from a flood type magic, but he could create illusions that even you were impressed with. What didn’t impress you is that he settled for doing it for entertainment. To bring “joy” to those around him. Normally, he would simply perform on the streets of Zadash, then Rexxentrum, often in the more tourist areas and market squares, and sometimes he would go to The Outersteads beyond the outer walls of Zadash or Mudtop in Rexxentrum, to “brighten the day of the downtrodden.”

“A guardian of gladness,” August would call himself.

While you were still young,  August would travel to other cities and regions, putting on traveling shows to people he felt could use a little boost, spending much of his time in the Marrow Valley, Zemni Fields, the Managerie Coast, even as far north as the Vergesson Santorum (but were turned away.) By the time you’re eight, he would take you and your older brother with him. While you enjoyed seeing new lands and observing odd behavior in different cultures, you would make sure you had a new book with you to escape into when your father put on his “happy shows.”

When you were twelve, August announced that he would be traveling to Grimgolir, the home of mountain dwarves, a culture and region known for their passion for fine metals and craftsmanship, with rumors that they’ve been able to forge items and weapons with powerful magic.

Finally, you thought. Somewhere interesting.

When you arrive, while you are awed by the cavernous civilization built within the Dunrock Mountains, and the dozens of elevated walkways that connect hundreds of open tunnels, you quickly realize your hopes of learning anything about their methods were dashed as they scoffed and guffawed the idea of allowing not just a human, but a human child, to glimpse their secrets.

So, you take your book, and head off randomly onto one of the elevated walkways to find a quiet place to read.

You walked. And walked.

Until you come to a series of tunnels or caves, one of which looks to have been sealed up with a rockslide. But a small opening near the top catches your eye.

Perfect, you think. No one will bother me in there.

With an awkward climb up the rock pile, you squeeze through the opening and immerse yourself in darkness.

Easy enough. Pulling out a white and green marble nestled in a wood carved handle of about six inches long, you grab some phosphorescent moss from your pouch and with a murmured word, the marble ignites in a bright glow from a simple spell you picked up in your studies.

It was more to see your book than what was ahead of you.

Then, you hear it. A thing that seems so out of place here in the rough hewn rock and dust and darkness that you would have noticed it in your sleep.

Words, echoing in the dark. Spell casting. You’re sure of it. You don’t recognize the language, but it was the tone, the pace, the emotion in the words that gave it away.

But the voice wasn’t doing it right. That much you knew immediately. Much too choppy. Too broken. It doesn’t sound right.

Soon, you notice a dim light ahead of you, The voice becoming clearer. A young voice. As young as you are.

You turn the corner to see the back of a small figure, shaggy brown hair hanging down past the shoulders, hunched over a light, and appears to be intently studying something in his hands.

You could have ridden a frost worm through the cave and still have surprised him.

“You’re doing it wrong,” you say without emotion.

The young dwarf jumps at the sound of your voice and shoves the piece of paper he’s holding into his tunic.

“Where’d you come from?!” the dwarf asks.

“Back that way,” you say, pointing back toward the entrance. “I suspect the same way most people come.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m standing, telling  you you’re doing it wrong.”

“Why are you here? I mean, why are you in the cave? Were you looking for me?”

“Oh. No. I don’t even know you. I was looking for a quiet place to study and clearly, I’ve chosen the wrong cave.”

“Really? What do you study?”

“Everything.”

“What are you studying right now?”

“Magic. Transmutation. I’m learning how to make a transmuter’s stone.”

“Well, I know all about stones. How to craft them.”

“But not about spells.”

“What?”

“You were reading a spell from a scroll, I could see you. I mean, you were trying to.”

The dwarf’s shoulders slouch a bit and pulls out the scroll.

“I found it, a few tendays ago. I’ve been coming here every day, trying to get it to work. Can’t.”

“I could try.”

“I don’t think you can read it.”

“I might.”

“I can’t really read it, and I think it’s an old form of dwarfish.”

“Probably not that,” you reply. “Spells aren’t written in languages. They’re written in ciphers that can only be read by the spell casters it was written for. Like wizards.”

“What’s your name?” asks the dwarf.

“Ullrich Netherdawn.”

“Oh, right. With the showman.”

The showman? Is that what people call my father, you wonder?

“You should tell me your name.”

“I’m Barrax of the Bonegrip clan.”

“Okay.”

You hold out your hand.

“Are you a wizard?”

“I–yes. I am a wizard. A powerful wizard. I am a Netherdawn.”

With reluctance, Barrax hands over the spell.

“Can you read spells?”

“Probably,” you say and sit down on the same mound of rocks and debris next to Barrax. You spend a few minutes, studying the scroll. It’s old. Worn. Torn at the edges and dirty.

“Where did you find this?” you ask.

“Here, in this cave.,” replies Barrax. “I was looking for whitestone ore, which I heard about from one of the miners. It’s never been found here, but you never know…”

“Uh huh.”

“Anyway, I was clearing away  some rocks on this mound and uncovered some white stone, but it wasn’t the right white stone, you know? It actually isn’t even stone. Here, let me show you.”

Barrax stands up then crouches next to you, sweeping away dust and rubble to reveal a small patch of white.

“It isn’t stone?”

“Nah, just a scrap of old bone. Lots of creatures used to crawl around here before they were cleared out for mining.” He pauses for a second or two before asking, “So…can you read it?”

“Yes,” you say. “It’s a necromancy spell.”

“Necromancy, like undead stuff?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Well, what’s it say?”

“It says the spell. It is very complex.”

“But what does the spell do?”

“Oh. I don’t know. The title and description have been torn off. It’s just the spell. But I can cast it and we can find out.”

“Really? Maybe that isn’t such a great idea, now that I think about it.”

“Gaining knowledge is always a good idea. And my father says I should try to gain knowledge from experience rather than from books, which is why he brought me here. And since they won’t let me  see the forge, this will have to do.”

“I’m not very good with books,” says Barrax. “Not a lot of them around here. Hard to learn magic, without them.”

You sort of listen to the dwarf as he explains his hopes to learn magic one day and that his father isn’t keen on the whole idea of it and why doesn’t he focus on battle school and craftsmanship and something about what his father does for a living…you turn around and lay the scroll on the ground near the patch of white Barrax cleared away. This is going to take some serious focus.

“Well, if you’re sure,” says Barrax after watching you for a minute. “I do want to see what it does, after all this time.”

You recite the words slowly and deliberately. The fact that you deciphered the spell gives you confidence that in fact, you are a wizard powerful enough, intelligent enough to cast this spell. You fully expect this to work.

As soon as you recite the last word, the ground below you begins to turn. The white patch of bone pulls itself from the earth and rock to reveal not just bone, but dark purple and black crafted armor.  Barrax jumps up when he feels the ground below him move and slide and gasps as not one, but two humanoid figures rise from the rock.

You stare in joyful amazement and satisfaction at the success of the spell and pay little attention to the leathery, desiccated flesh drawn tight against the bones, or the skeletal face and sharp, needlelike teeth they bare in their smiles.

They stare at you, one with long silvery hair, the other carrying a jagged-edge blade.

You stare back.

“A child,” says the silver one, finally. “Lord Orcus sends a child to awaken us.”

“Awakened we are,” adds the jagged blade.

“Indeed, our cries have been heard.” The silver one, never taking his eyes off of you, kneels before you, the jagged edge follows.

“What is thy bidding, lord of the Champions of the Core?”

Lord?

“You mean I’m your master?” you ask.

“Master…” says the jagged sword. “I am called Therus.”

“And I, Kelick. We are yours to command.”

“Hop on one foot,” you say.

Both of them, without hesitation hop. On one foot.

“Twirl like a princess.”

Again, they comply.

“I can’t believe what you just did,” says Barrax, breaking from his shocked state. “You…rose the dead.”

“Created undead, I think is more accurate,” you correct. “They aren’t actually living. But they aren’t dead. They’re undead.”

“And we thirst for the sustenance of souls,” calls Kelick, the silver-haired warrior. “We can raise you an army of undead at your command, we can raise you to be the most powerful necromancer in the world.”

“Whoa.”

“No!” cries Barrax. “No way, Ullrich. We need to get help, destroy these creatures.”

“They are completely harmless, Barrax, and completely under my control.” To the warriors you say, “Sit down, criss cross applesauce.”

The two undead warriors, clad in armor, sit down with their legs folded.

“See? They even understand criss cross applesauce.”

Barrax backs up a few steps. “I don’t want anything to do with this. I’m leaving and telling my father about this.”

“Tell him, what? That you found a scroll and didn’t tell anyone and encouraged me to do it and when I did you ran away?”

Barrax stops. You can see the wrestle going on in his head.

“Yes. Even if it means I must tell my father I ran away. You just created undead!”

“I know. I told you I was powerful.”

Barrax turns to leave when you grab hold of his shoulder.

“Okay, look. Tomorrow, okay? I will end the spell tomorrow. I just want to play with them for a while and then I’ll end the spell. I don’t really want to command an army, I’m satisfied knowing that I could do it. Okay?”

Barrax thinks about it.

“You can do that? You can end the spell?”

“Of course.”

“Fine,” says Barrax, finally.

“Meet me outside the cave at what, this time tomorrow?”

“Isn’t that when your father’s show will be playing?”

“Yes. And all the more reason.”

“I kind of wanted to see it.”

You roll your eyes.

“Fine, but nothing you see from him will top what you’ve seen from me. After the show, meet at the cave opening.”

You turn from Barrax’s heavy footsteps fading into the cave, and focus on the warriors still sitting in front of you, unmoving.

Nuts, you think, I should have written it in my spell book.

You command them to tell you who they are, what the Core is, and anything else that might be interesting.

The warriors don’t hesitate, telling you they are commanders in the Harbinger of the Core, an organization whose sole purpose is to unleash the children of the Elder Evils, impossibly ancient malevolent entities who typically exist within the Far Realm. It’s then that you notice that it isn’t just bone and skin, but odd, blue, jagged crystals protruding from joints and shafts of the skeleton.

They continue their story, telling you that the dwarves dug deep enough and low enough to uncover the male Uzari hulk and that they were here with their battalions to…

“Put me on your shoulders…”

The next day, you meet up with Barrax in front of the cave and said that he really enjoyed your father’s performance and doesn’t understand why you hate it so.

“I don’t hate it. It’s simply a waste of time,” you respond.

“Bringing joy to others is never a waste of time.”

“So bring me some joy by not talking about this anymore.”

You climb through the rocks and rubble and back into the cave, pausing to light your marble again. Barrax, who seemed to not need light, had already gone ahead.

“Where’d you put them?” he asks as you arrive to the spot you left the warriors. You tell him they were right here. That you told them to sit criss cross applesauce until you returned. You look around, calling for them, but nothing.

At least, until the laughter.

Both warriors step out from the shadows, they’re mouths open with undead drool dripping from sweaty, needle-like teeth.

“Enough. Sit down,” you say.

The laughter stops, but the smiles don’t fade. And the warriors don’t sit.

Instead, they move forward.

“Your command over us is gone, young wizard. But our existence unchanged. And so it is now you, that will serve us!”

“Shall we have him dance before us? Hop on a foot?” calls the jagged one.

“No,” says Kelick, the silver-haired skull. “He will be the first of our army of undead.”

Both of them raise their swords towards you. You try to think of something to do, some spell to defend, protect, escape! But all you can see are the blades and teeth and spiked armor closing in…

Until a flash of hair and metal jumps in front of you and swings against the undead warriors. You watch as Barrax swings a mighty battle axe, sinking it deep into the silver Kelick’s shoulder. Therus swings at him, but his small frame is a difficult target to hit. Barrax pulls back his battle axe just as Kelick swings his great sword up towards him, slashing his arm, gashing it open. Barrax doesn’t seem to notice as he swings again, this time splitting Therus’ armor, a thick purplish black ooze bleeding from the opening.

You snap out of your stupor, and run through all the spells you’ve attempted recently. Mending, what can I mend–no, no good here. How ‘bout a puff of wind? No, not wind, fire!

You push your hands up in front of you and shout the invocation!

A burst of fire shoots from your hands in the general direction of the undead, but wildly off range, dissipating against a far back wall of the cave.

But it is enough to give the undead pause.

“Fortune smiles on you little one,” says Kelick, backing away with Therus, “that the dwarf kept his senses and came to your aid. And that we have not yet regained our full power. But there will come a day–for the two of you–that the Harbinger will come for you.”

And both of them fade into the shadows beyond, deeper into the cave.

“We’re going after them,” you say, feeling more courageous with the fire from your hands. But you feel a strong grip on your collar.

“Of course we’re not. We are beyond lucky to be alive. And the deeper into the caves we go, the greater the dangers. If you go, you’ll be on your own.”

That’s a reasonable point, you think.

You both hustle towards the cave entrance.

“I recognize that you probably saved my life,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” answers Barrax.

“But I probably saved yours by shooting fire from my hands.”

“Yeah, that was amazing, Ullrich. The way you hit the back of the cave like that…I wish I knew how to do things like that, but…I just don’t think I’m cut out for study…”

After a moment, you answer. “There are other ways to gain magic than to study…”

Barrax ponders this for a few minutes until you make it back to the collapsed entrance, then wonders aloud, “You don’t think that’s going to come back to haunt us, do you?”

“…Nah…”