"Do you know who I am? I am the one who made you. From this day forward you will see through my eyes, hear through my ears, and speak through my mouth. You are cold? Time will accommodate for that. Welcome child, to the everlasting life of damnation."
Malcolm quickly rose to his feet, a sudden resurgence of energy found its way to his limbs. Strange as it felt, he welcomed the new vitality. His hand clutched something with a death grip. Slowly he let each finger uncurl, revealing the small red stone within. The blood stone glowed faintly with an eerie malevolence. His memory returned.
The Lich lusted for dominance, and needed to be put down. Malcolm quickly scanned the room, but no sight of the undead necromancer. There were, however, several bodies strewn across the stone floor. One of these was his father, Harold. The others were apprentices just like him, all seeking the soul of a necromancer to fuel their blood stones. MalcolmâEUTMs eyes returned to the oddly shaped gem in his hand. Was the loss of life a worthy price for such a small stone?
âEUoeYes,âEU A voice echoed in his head, âEUoeNone of them would have been able to fulfill my needs.âEU
His father had spoken of the trials. Apprentices seeking a soul to fuel their dead blood stones. Upon a successful binding, the apprentice was accepted into the ranks of the Moderators who fought to maintain the balance between good and evil.
Malcolm would listen for hours as his father told stories of the glory given to them. The battle fought to maintain equilibrium.
âEUoeStories are false until experienced personally.âEU There was the voice again, he knew it was not his own. Yet it spoke with his mind, gingerly feeding images into his brain.
The battle with Morhqtep, the first Lich to show its face since the 1600s. Lichs were much more powerful than typical necros. Their understanding of life and death gave them knowledge which could not be gained any other way. It had struck down him and his companions, searing their flesh with bolts of lightning. How Malcolm managed to survive he did not know.
âEUoeBecause I let you.âEU Shut up voice, Malcolm thought.
While distracted, Harold, MalcolmâEUTMs father, smashed the LichâEUTMs face with his cudgel. This only seemed to anger the undead fiend, who quickly jabbed its skeletal hand through HaroldâEUTMs chest. As MalcolmâEUTMs father lay dying, Morhqtep wrote on the floor with his blood. With the last of his strength, Malcolm rose and removed the LichâEUTMs head. A bright light flashed, and he collapsed onto the floor. No longer able to retain consciousness.
Malcolm had thought himself dead, apparently he would survive to see another day. The light of the blood stone glowed more brightly. He had also managed to capture the soul necessary for his apprenticeship. He wished his father was still alive to share this triumph with.