Inimical
Necromancy
is, in this world, inherently evil. It is the magic of
animation-beyond-death for us, giving a shadow, an image, a false life
to things that were once alive. Perhaps if we were beings of pure
magic, it would be that binding force that keeps us together; but we are
not. And as such, all it does is replace the natural binding force,
replace… Life itself? Perhaps this force is God, or a part of some
deity, as the clerics and most paladins believe; or perhaps it is some
how related to the cursing, mysterious magic of the few true witches
that remain. Perhaps the psychics’ theory that this normal, binding
force is in a way our belief itself is true. Whatever it is; necromantic
magic is the opposite, necromancy is inimical to life itself.
- Trevor Donway, ‘Introduction’.
My
name is Trevor James Donway. I am a Necromancer, and I have been one
since 1861. And yes, that does make me almost one hundred and fifty
years old. I have watched the world changed, watched the lights of
electricity spread, watched man kill man in ungodly numbers in wars, in
sudden explosions. I have seen man walk on the moon, and seen powerful
nations of men tussle over the fate of all mankind.
For
the most part, though, I watch those I am interested in. My
descendants. At first, there were few, my children. They grew old and
died, and their children died, and many of their children’s children
have also died. At first I focused on my experiments, and kept an eye on
them from time to time, but until recently there were too many to keep
track of – and then, the internet, and a return to my experiments. I
know them all, these days, under a variety of aliases, always from
places they will never go – and always ‘gone’ if they might come.
These
days, I know their hopes and their dreams as well as their lives.
Sometimes I still watch them still, and I usually hide myself near a
few. A hobby that became an obsession that became a duty, I occasionally
think. Sometimes I interfere, to make their lives easier, or better, or
to save them from an untimely end.
Perhaps
I should talk of my experiments, to better explain… My situation, or
perhaps my longevity. My great grandfather was also a necromancer; and
he lived for over a hundred years. But his abilities, his knowledge, was
not enough to keep him alive forever, so he turned to me, his direct
male descendant, to carry on his research. I was twenty-six at the time,
and already married, with children. I became obsessed with the
possibilities at my fingertips, neglected my wife, my children. My wife
died when I was fourty-four, a year after my great-grandfather had. All
she asked on her deathbed was that I watch over my children – and so I
did, and so I have.
I
have also furthered my knowledge, and although immortality seems to be
beyond my reach I will last at least another hundred years, near the end
of which I will pick one of my descendants (or perhaps a few) and teach
them all I know.
Ah, and now you think “but that time is not now! Why is he telling us this?”
Perhaps you are even questioning why I am writing this at all? Why this
message has been left atop my notes, which are neat versions of scatted
journals? The answer is this: I may not survive what I am going to do,
in the hope of saving twelve of my descendants. If I have not returned
within six months of the signed date (for I cannot be sure that you, the
reader, are not someone who has found my laboratory before I return),
then I have perished. Perhaps you the reader are one of my descendants,
saved through my efforts, sent to find my legacy?
Regardless,
here is the why. I have minimal contact with other magic users. My
contacts are limited to a few mages who dabble with necromancy enough to
not consider it an ungodly abomination, and a few excitable cultists
who practice necromancy almost as a religion (quite a foolish idea). It
was they, however, who first told me of a ‘prophecy’ regarding the city
of Midwel. “The city will be cut off for a year!” they said, “and all
the servants of the dark are gathering to devour it!”
I
found one of the sources of the rumour after two months of searching.
Each step left me more worried that it might actually be true – and it
is. The city will be cut off for only a week, and all manner of
monstrosities and madmen have been invited. All by that filthy
company!.. But I digress. Perhaps, if I had more time, I would create
situations to draw all my descendants from the city. But it is happening
in six days. I may not even reach it in time if I am delayed. I am
going there to find them, and to save them. I may be powerful, but I am
neither powerful nor foolish enough to assume I will survive. So I have
used this time I have, awaiting my flight, to get my notes in order,
disable my more dangerous experiments, write up a few final things, and
leave this message behind.
Hopefully, I will save them all.
- Trevor Donway.
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