Eldritch Guidance

Within the burning emerald flames of Gilla, the sound of someone's whistle echoed out amongst the sound of cracking fire and moans of the undead. The whistling was of a happy tune, a stark contrast to the grim activities going on.

The undead had swarmed the purifiers, overpowering them and bringing about their demise. Subsequently, the undead began to feed on the fallen, tearing into their flesh. Despite lacking functional stomachs, they were driven by an insatiable hunger to consume the flesh until only bones remained in their wake.

A man with short blond hair and dressed in simple black robes casually walked through the devastation while whistling. His demeanor was remarkably calm and composed amidst the chaos, his steps unhurried as if he were merely strolling through a park rather than a scene of utter destruction. The flickering emerald flames cast an eerie glow on his face, highlighting the contrast between his tranquil presence and the surrounding havoc.

Unfazed by the man's presence, the undead of the ravaged town carried on with their activities as he strode through the desolate streets, their vacant gazes fixed on unknown horizons, indifferent to the living that remained.

He walked past a group of undead, their grotesque forms now turning on each other in a gruesome display of cannibalistic frenzy. The creatures, once united in their relentless pursuit of the living, were now tearing into one another with savage abandon. Their decayed hands and claws ripping at rotting flesh.

The man in the black robes observed this spectacle with an unsettling detachment, his expression unchanging as he moved through the chaos.

In the center of the town, the reanimated corpses of the purifiers roamed aimlessly, engaging in the grotesque ritual of consuming each other's flesh. Among them, one undead purifier had deteriorated to a skeletal state, yet it persistently attempted to feed on flesh, with the consumed tissue slipping through its rib cage in a futile display of its insatiable hunger.

Uninterested by the presence of the undead surrounding him, the man's gaze was drawn to a figure propped against a nearby wall. It was Sofia Firemane, miraculously still alive. Beside her lay the remnants of Teddy, the once leader of the group of purifiers, now reduced to a lifeless shell.

From the remnants of a child, an undead creature was in the process of consuming what little remained of Teddy. Despite the gruesome scene unfolding before her, Sofia could only watch in horror as she concentrated on channeling healing magic to mend her own stab wound, her focus torn between her own survival and the events surrounding her.

Man?: “Sofia Firemane! The last disciple, depending on who you ask, of the famous Betty Vo. What an honor to meet someone as famous as yourself,” he said with a bow.

Sofia took in a deep breath, causing her wound to sting as she did so. She gave such a glare of fury at the necromancer in front of her.

Sofia: “Who are you?”

Vrax: “Oh, how rude of me. My name is Vrax Willow of the Rattle Bone cult.”

Sofia: “Who?” she asked again, sounding genuinely confused.

The necromancer before her was an exceptionally powerful necromancer, the most powerful one she had ever come across.

The magic Vrax cast was extraordinarily potent, its power evident in the transformation of the surrounding flames to an eerie, emerald green—a mere by-product of his immense magical powers. The ability to invert the natural properties of fire into such a sinister hue hinted at an almost unimaginable level of sorcery, the kind capable of warping the environment with residual effects.

Observing the nature of the undead, Sofia also noted that the creatures Vrax had summoned exhibited a higher baseline intelligence than typical undead. These were not the mindless drones usually associated with necromancy; they moved with disturbing coordination and awareness. Creating undead of this sophistication normally required extensive preparation and time, yet Vrax had conjured them spontaneously, as if it were a trivial feat.

Using such an advanced necromancy this quickly would typically necessitate the collaboration of a group of skilled practitioners or the intervention of an exceptionally powerful Archmage. Given the lack of any visible accomplices, Sofia could only conclude that Vrax had accomplished this act of dark magic on his own. This left Sofia both awed and deeply concerned, realizing the true extent of Vrax's arcane capabilities.

With such a powerful necromancer, she thought the person in front of her might have been somelike like Vince Neev. But, this was someone unheard of. She knew all the infamous necromancers in the western continent, and the name Vrax has never come up.

Vrax: “Hmm, I guess you wouldn’t have heard of me. I prefer to let my art speak for itself. Speaking of which, tell me what you think of my latest work. I call it Gilla: The Burning by Purifiers for Purity,” he said while gesturing to undead and surrounding devastation.

Sofia: “You’re fucking insane.”

Vrax: “You’re right. It's a terrible name. It’s too wordy. That’s why I don’t like naming my pieces. Tell me, what do you think I should call it.”

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Sofia: “Why are you doing this?”

Vrax: “Why? Isn't it obvious?”

A pause settled over the conversation as Sofie remained silent, her lack of response indicating she hadn't grasped the full meaning of Vrax's words. The air between them grew tense, the crackling of the distant emerald flames the only sound breaking the silence. Vrax's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of impatience flashing across his face as he studied her expression.

Vrax let out a sigh.

Vrax: “I thought you would understand. You spend so much time hunting us down, yet you don’t understand us. Obviously, it is for them,” he said while pointing at the undead purifiers.

Sofia: “You wanted to kill them?”

Vrax: “No, stupid. Their bones! The bones of men that believed their righteous, yet do evil. The hypocrisy of good and evil encapsulated. It’s beautiful, and with those bones I can make such a great piece for my next showing. It is why I spread that rumor of my presence here. I knew it would draw in the purifiers. I had heard the group that broke off from the witch hunters were radical and extreme, and they did not disappoint. Never in my wildest dream did I think they would burn and kill a whole village to find me. It even gave me the opportunity to meet someone as famous as you.”

Sofia: “Bastard! This is all your faul— ugh!” she groaned as pain from the wound flared up from yelling.

Vrax: “Hardly, I didn’t make them act on anything. I just put a rumor out there and they did the rest. If they had come here and didn’t do anything, then I wouldn’t have done anything either. Anyway, back to the name. What do you think I should call this piece?”

Sofia: “Just get this over with.”

Vrax: “Hmm?”

Sofia: “I know you’re going to kill me.”

Vrax: “Ah, yes. I’m sure many a Rattle Bone cultist would salivate at the opportunity to collect the bones of Sofia Firemane, the last disciple of the famous Betty Vo. It's something predictable we would do. But, I'M NOT PREDICTABLE!” he screamed.

As he yelled, the surrounding emerald fire seemed to respond and burn slightly with more intensity. After Vrax's sudden outburst, he quickly returned to a relaxed demeanor with an unsettling smile.

Vrax: “As an artist, you can accuse me of many things, but I refuse to be called predictable. Art should be random, spontaneous, transformative, and…unpredictable. So, I’m not going to kill you. No, instead, you’ll be my chaotic element that I add to a different art piece.”

Sofia: “You think I’m going to help you?”

Vrax: “Yes. For you see, I'm not predictable, but you are. It is so easy to move you to my will like a puppet on a string.”

Sofia: “Fuck you.”

Vrax: “Hehehe, did I touch a nerve? What a predictable response. So, listen closely. In Golgatta there is a major gathering of cultists from a bunch of different cults. They're planning something big. At least two of the big three are involved somehow. Unfortunately, I’m busy. Otherwise, all of the big three would be there. And since I can’t play at this gathering, you should go there and fuck everything up. It will be so funny if you do.”

Sofia remained silent, her lips pressed tightly together as she grappled with the weight of Vrax's words. Her face bore a complex expression, a mixture of skepticism, fear, and a flicker of curiosity. She studied the man before her, trying to discern the truth behind his grandiose claims and the madness that seemed to lurk just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor.

Vrax: “Ohhh, is the little witch hunter unsure if she should believe me," he said mockingly. “You should just give up on that defiant attitude you got going on there. I know you’ll go there and do something. You’re a goody-toe shoe, like your teacher. And, to add even more chaos and motivation to take this information seriously,” he said as he got close to Sofia. “Your fellow disciple turned traitor, Darra, is also in Golgatta,” he whispered in Sofia’s ear.

Sofia had a look of shock on her face upon hearing that.

Sofia: “How do you know that?”

Vrax's smile deepened before using spatial magic to reach into a pocket space and pulled out a caged lantern with a mental chain. An ominous green flame burned within it.

Sofia’s face turned pale. She knew exactly what this was: a soul lantern. This sinister object, used to trap and store a person's very soul, radiated an eerie, otherworldly green glow. The lantern Vrax held was not empty; it housed a soul, its flickering light pulsing with a faint, haunting luminescence that hinted at the tortured existence within.

Vrax: “Teddy told me! I bound his soul when he died. It’s amazing the things people will tell you to free themselves from a soul lantern.”

Sofia trembled, overwhelmed by a torrent of conflicting emotions. Her hatred for Teddy burned fiercely for the devastation he had wrought upon Gilla and its innocent inhabitants.

Yet, as she stared at the soul lantern in Vrax’s hand, a deep sense of sorrow and pity welled up within her. Despite Teddy’s unforgivable actions, she could not bring herself to believe that he deserved such a ghastly fate. The thought of his soul being bound and trapped in a state of perpetual torment, was a punishment beyond any crime. It was a cruelty that defied the bounds of Sofia’s justice and humanity.

Vrax put the soul lantern back into his pocket space and then pulled out what looked like a roll of bandages.

Vrax: “Here, this is some mycelium mesh. I’m sure you know what to do with that,” he said while gently tossing the bandages at Sofia. “Make sure to survive and get your revenge on Darra while messing up a bunch of cults' plans. Oh, how I wish I could watch the chaos you’ll bring. But, I have a very important meeting with a dear friend to make. So, farewell. It was an honor meeting you.”

Vrax clapped his hands. Instantly, all the undead in the area halted their actions and turned to face him, their grotesque forms still. Vrax began to whistle a haunting, melodic tune. As the eerie notes filled the air, he started to walk away, his steps measured and unhurried.

The undead fell into line behind him, their movements synchronized as they followed their master with an almost military-like precision.

Sofia watched, a mixture of relief and unease flooding her senses. The emerald flames that had cast an eerie, otherworldly glow over the scene began to flicker and wane. Slowly, they shifted back to their natural orange hue, the transformation almost as unsettling as the initial change.

Even after Vrax's departure and his disappearance from Sofia's sight, his haunting whistle could still be heard. Minutes ticked by before that haunting whistle began to fade into the distant night, leaving Sofia the sole living person in the smoldering remnants of Gilla.

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