Razmis took a long time to figure out. I wasn't sure what to do with him when I started writing the lore. Eventually I settled on the idea of Hautus having an apprentice (also along the lines of the Sith Master/Apprentice relationship, like I mentioned last week).
Once I settled on Razmis as that apprentice it was relatively easy to tie together some plot points that I've wanted to splice for some time. The end product is the story you're about to read, one of my favorites.
Hope you enjoy,
Bobby Dillon
Co-Founder, Dystopic Entertainment
Once I settled on Razmis as that apprentice it was relatively easy to tie together some plot points that I've wanted to splice for some time. The end product is the story you're about to read, one of my favorites.
Hope you enjoy,
Bobby Dillon
Co-Founder, Dystopic Entertainment
“The shade is here for you.”
Razmis looked up from his work, surprised.
“Tell him to wait,” he hissed. He had not expected the shade. Now that he was here, it could only mean one thing: it was time to finish the sword. His former master had been ever-elusive as to what that entailed. Razmis steadied his breath, adopted a stone-like face and entered the great hall, seating himself in the throne.
Razmis gestured to his servant and the doors to the hall opened slowly, revealing the hunched frame of his former mentor and master.
“Hautus.”
“Hello, boy.”
“I go by ‘your grace,’ these days, Hautus.”
“Not to me, boy.”
“Did you come here to humiliate me in front of my subjects? If so, you may leave. We are finished here.”
“You know why I have come, boy.”
Razmis gestured and two guards approached the shade, halberds raised.
“I go by ‘your grace,’ these days, shade. I will not tell you again.”
“We can play these games after our task is finished – in the meantime I need your help to finish the sword.”
Razmis gave a start – he wondered how much the shade was willing to reveal here in front of others, but he gave nothing away with the statement itself.
“I… hesitate to help you with this. As you can see, things have gone well for me.”
“They will continue to go well when we have finished our task and beyond, your grace,” Hautus replied, bowing low. ”What is important is finishing the task itself. I cannot do it without your help.” With this, Hautus gazed, with his bottomless eyes, directly at Razmis.
Razmis felt as though his mind was pushing him forward, urging and compelling him to say yes. Razmis rubbed his eyes, struggling to keep a clear head. He felt light-headed, his vision fuzzy.
“When do we begin?” Razmis heard his own voice ask.
“Tomorrow at dusk. Alone.” Hautus turned on his heel and left the great hall. Razmis stumbled from his throne and rubbed his eyes again, confused.
The following day, at dusk, Razmis arrived at the Keep's graveyard alone. Rubbing his hands at the chill, he glanced around, noting the names on the tombstones - the final resting places of his predecessors, the kings of the Frost Keep. One grave lay empty, the earth perpetually frozen in its upturned, disheveled state. The one they'd called "mad," was not bound by death.
Perhaps madness brings its own rewards, Razmis thought, pensively.
Suddenly eyes upon him, traveling his form - he knew it, he could feel them. He looked around and found their source.
"Shade, you're late," Razmis grumbled.
"You once called me 'master,' your grace. No longer?"
"So, suddenly you do respect appropriate titles? No matter, shade, let us finish this and begone from my kingdom."
"Agreed," Hautus whispered, whipping a sword from a sheathe at his side. Razmis had scarecely seen a more beautiful blade - a shining, steel longsword fit for a god. Razmis had been there at its forging yet had forgotten the enchanting qualities of the sword, had forgotten how it drew the eye, almost begging to be brandished.
"What happens when this is over? I want no part of your schemes, shade. My station is high - higher than a poor boy from the desert could have ever dreamed. I don't know that I would risk what I've gained," Razmis looked into the shade's bottomless eyes, refusing to break his gaze.
"Your choices are your own. But know that you made a pact with me, binding you to the completion of this sword."
"I know my part, Hautus, else I'd not be here."
"Good. After we are finished here tonight you will have completed your training - any relationship binding us will be severed upon completion of this ritual. Consider it a... thank you, of sorts, for your help."
"Fine. Fine, let's begin."
"Take the sword - hold it aloft just so," Hautus began, demonstrating the precise angle and height from the ground. "That will be all I need until the end. To complete the ritual will require feeding the blade - do you understand? This is why it must be you."
"Yes."
"You will know when the time comes."
"Yes."
"Then let's begin." Hautus removed a dagger from his belt, slicing his hand. The blood dripped freely from his palm. The shade moved in a circle, his hand aloft, tracing the diameter. The blood, hot and fresh, melted the snow, seeping into the frost, the red clear and vibrant against the white coating the ground. Hautus, looking to his former pupil, indicated the circle and Razmis held the blade aloft, as shown, above it.
Razmis felt the sword grow warm in his hands when it entered the diameter of the circle. Despite the discomfort he resolved to hold the sword still no matter what. Suddenly, across the circle of blood, Hautus ripped his robe at the chest, tearing it open with his bare hands, revealing a livid blue crystal, inset at the solar plexus.
"This, Razmis, is our one chance to kill the Dark Lord," Hautus said, breathlessly, forming his hands in a circle like a tunnel in front of the inset crystal.
Razmis, unable to place where, had seen such a color only once before.
"I draw you out, spirit," Hautus said clearly, forcefully. Suddenly, the crystal went dark, and in between the shade's hands floated the spirit, livid in color and far more forceful, willful, and angry than any soul Razmis had ever seen the shade handle.
Suddenly, Razmis noted the shade's face change and contort. A snarl crossed the likeness he had seen angry so few times before.
"This is is my one chance to have her as mine - I cannot imbue this sword," Hautus growled.
"Master, we must finish the ritual," Razmis shouted, firmly and loudly.
"This is my one chance to kill the Dark Lord," Hautus stated, as though trying to settle himself.
"This is my one chance to have her as mine," Hautus hissed.
"This is my one chance to kill the Dark Lord,” he hissed again.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO KILL THE DARK LORD.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO KILL THE DARK LORD.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
"THIS...IS...MY...ONE CHANCE TO.... KILL THE DARK LORD."
Razmis looked on in horror at this display of madness, his former master's mind warring with itself - its conflicting desires made manifest in this moment of indecision.
The livid blue soul drifted down, flattening over the blade, surrounding it.
"I imbue this sword with the power of this demonic spirit, the most powerful demon I've ever encountered," Hautus stated, breathlessly. He reached up and placed his uninjured palm on the blade. Razmis did the same, nodding to his mentor. Simultaneously, they ran their palms along the length of the blade, feeding the sword its inaugural blood.
As though blowing out a candle, the two necromancers fell to their knees, their hands still bleeding. The sword fell to the snow, its blade now the color of livid blue. Razmis looked from the blade to his former master questioningly, astonished at the power they had just harnessed.
"Leave this place." Razmis gasped, attempting to catch his breath.
"Yes... your grace." Hautus sheathed the sword and shuffled from the cemetery.
Razmis looked up from his work, surprised.
“Tell him to wait,” he hissed. He had not expected the shade. Now that he was here, it could only mean one thing: it was time to finish the sword. His former master had been ever-elusive as to what that entailed. Razmis steadied his breath, adopted a stone-like face and entered the great hall, seating himself in the throne.
Razmis gestured to his servant and the doors to the hall opened slowly, revealing the hunched frame of his former mentor and master.
“Hautus.”
“Hello, boy.”
“I go by ‘your grace,’ these days, Hautus.”
“Not to me, boy.”
“Did you come here to humiliate me in front of my subjects? If so, you may leave. We are finished here.”
“You know why I have come, boy.”
Razmis gestured and two guards approached the shade, halberds raised.
“I go by ‘your grace,’ these days, shade. I will not tell you again.”
“We can play these games after our task is finished – in the meantime I need your help to finish the sword.”
Razmis gave a start – he wondered how much the shade was willing to reveal here in front of others, but he gave nothing away with the statement itself.
“I… hesitate to help you with this. As you can see, things have gone well for me.”
“They will continue to go well when we have finished our task and beyond, your grace,” Hautus replied, bowing low. ”What is important is finishing the task itself. I cannot do it without your help.” With this, Hautus gazed, with his bottomless eyes, directly at Razmis.
Razmis felt as though his mind was pushing him forward, urging and compelling him to say yes. Razmis rubbed his eyes, struggling to keep a clear head. He felt light-headed, his vision fuzzy.
“When do we begin?” Razmis heard his own voice ask.
“Tomorrow at dusk. Alone.” Hautus turned on his heel and left the great hall. Razmis stumbled from his throne and rubbed his eyes again, confused.
The following day, at dusk, Razmis arrived at the Keep's graveyard alone. Rubbing his hands at the chill, he glanced around, noting the names on the tombstones - the final resting places of his predecessors, the kings of the Frost Keep. One grave lay empty, the earth perpetually frozen in its upturned, disheveled state. The one they'd called "mad," was not bound by death.
Perhaps madness brings its own rewards, Razmis thought, pensively.
Suddenly eyes upon him, traveling his form - he knew it, he could feel them. He looked around and found their source.
"Shade, you're late," Razmis grumbled.
"You once called me 'master,' your grace. No longer?"
"So, suddenly you do respect appropriate titles? No matter, shade, let us finish this and begone from my kingdom."
"Agreed," Hautus whispered, whipping a sword from a sheathe at his side. Razmis had scarecely seen a more beautiful blade - a shining, steel longsword fit for a god. Razmis had been there at its forging yet had forgotten the enchanting qualities of the sword, had forgotten how it drew the eye, almost begging to be brandished.
"What happens when this is over? I want no part of your schemes, shade. My station is high - higher than a poor boy from the desert could have ever dreamed. I don't know that I would risk what I've gained," Razmis looked into the shade's bottomless eyes, refusing to break his gaze.
"Your choices are your own. But know that you made a pact with me, binding you to the completion of this sword."
"I know my part, Hautus, else I'd not be here."
"Good. After we are finished here tonight you will have completed your training - any relationship binding us will be severed upon completion of this ritual. Consider it a... thank you, of sorts, for your help."
"Fine. Fine, let's begin."
"Take the sword - hold it aloft just so," Hautus began, demonstrating the precise angle and height from the ground. "That will be all I need until the end. To complete the ritual will require feeding the blade - do you understand? This is why it must be you."
"Yes."
"You will know when the time comes."
"Yes."
"Then let's begin." Hautus removed a dagger from his belt, slicing his hand. The blood dripped freely from his palm. The shade moved in a circle, his hand aloft, tracing the diameter. The blood, hot and fresh, melted the snow, seeping into the frost, the red clear and vibrant against the white coating the ground. Hautus, looking to his former pupil, indicated the circle and Razmis held the blade aloft, as shown, above it.
Razmis felt the sword grow warm in his hands when it entered the diameter of the circle. Despite the discomfort he resolved to hold the sword still no matter what. Suddenly, across the circle of blood, Hautus ripped his robe at the chest, tearing it open with his bare hands, revealing a livid blue crystal, inset at the solar plexus.
"This, Razmis, is our one chance to kill the Dark Lord," Hautus said, breathlessly, forming his hands in a circle like a tunnel in front of the inset crystal.
Razmis, unable to place where, had seen such a color only once before.
"I draw you out, spirit," Hautus said clearly, forcefully. Suddenly, the crystal went dark, and in between the shade's hands floated the spirit, livid in color and far more forceful, willful, and angry than any soul Razmis had ever seen the shade handle.
Suddenly, Razmis noted the shade's face change and contort. A snarl crossed the likeness he had seen angry so few times before.
"This is is my one chance to have her as mine - I cannot imbue this sword," Hautus growled.
"Master, we must finish the ritual," Razmis shouted, firmly and loudly.
"This is my one chance to kill the Dark Lord," Hautus stated, as though trying to settle himself.
"This is my one chance to have her as mine," Hautus hissed.
"This is my one chance to kill the Dark Lord,” he hissed again.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO KILL THE DARK LORD.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO KILL THE DARK LORD.
"THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
"THIS...IS...MY...ONE CHANCE TO.... KILL THE DARK LORD."
Razmis looked on in horror at this display of madness, his former master's mind warring with itself - its conflicting desires made manifest in this moment of indecision.
The livid blue soul drifted down, flattening over the blade, surrounding it.
"I imbue this sword with the power of this demonic spirit, the most powerful demon I've ever encountered," Hautus stated, breathlessly. He reached up and placed his uninjured palm on the blade. Razmis did the same, nodding to his mentor. Simultaneously, they ran their palms along the length of the blade, feeding the sword its inaugural blood.
As though blowing out a candle, the two necromancers fell to their knees, their hands still bleeding. The sword fell to the snow, its blade now the color of livid blue. Razmis looked from the blade to his former master questioningly, astonished at the power they had just harnessed.
"Leave this place." Razmis gasped, attempting to catch his breath.
"Yes... your grace." Hautus sheathed the sword and shuffled from the cemetery.
