Two
The Heartless Swamp
It had been a few weeks since Umbra had eaten from the heart tree and became Lady Crow's apprentice.
Most of his training was sparring quarter staffs with his teacher's familiar, Cassius, who wasn't much of a challenge for him. He was given tomes and grimoires to study and taught a few incantations, but he was growing impatient.
He was certain he was ready to put his ultimate plan into place, he had studied the books, performed the incantations, yet Lady Crow had him practicing swordplay with a changeling with no skill at martial combat.
His burning desire to revive his mother dominated his thoughts every day. Lady Crow would often scold him for daydreaming and threaten to disown him. He had grown adept at concealing his thoughts.
Ever since the grisly encounter at the heart tree Umbra was plagued with nightmares. Many of the night terrors centered on his mother's death. He never had a continual rest and would wake up covered in sweat.
Lady Crow's cabin was a barely inhabitable shanty. The windows were either opaque with dust or shattered and boarded over. The roof leaked, the fireplace was insufficient to heat the place, and iron pots dotted the floor to catch rainwater. The timber foundation was rotting and in dire need of repair, the pantry stunk of old milk and the couch he slept on was thick with mildew.
Even his attempts to clean up had proved futile; a dusted wall-hanging would dirty itself in moments, the stench in the pantry never washed clean. It was as if the house was determined to be a filthy hovel.
Umbra suspected it was cursed and gave up trying to clean it after a short time.
So, there he lay on the dusty couch, his master's room was locked down the hall. An overstuffed bookshelf was being used as a perch for Cassius in his raven form, which he often assumed to save space in tight quarters.
The only thing that seemed to keep clean was a painted magical array on the floor, almost taking up the entire room. Lady Crow had ordered Umbra not to touch it. He later found out that the array cloaked the house in an enshrouding mist; any travelers that may pass by would see nothing but a fog bank.
Umbra's tired eyes drifted to the iron chandelier gently swaying from the breeze of a nearby broken window.
He had calculated that he could sneak off to visit his home town before sunrise of the next day. Brie was the closest hamlet in the Southern Townships to the borders of Heartless Swamp.
Tonight, is the night, he decided as he shuffled towards the bookshelf.
He gingerly scanned the shelf, avoiding the snoozing shapeshifter until he found the Corpus Hermeticum, Lady Crow's book of necromancy rituals.
He had already bookmarked the appropriate passage.
'To restore the Soul' the page read.
After carefully reviewing the entry Umbra gathered the tools he needed: a dagger, a goblet, petrified finger bones, and a variety of reagents he had stockpiled in a sack under the couch. He had even stolen the shovel from Lady Crow's shed.
The sun was just setting as he crept from the cabin. That day was the eve of the winter solstice and the sun set earlier than normal.
Lady Crow had ordered Umbra to rest early for a sabbat she had planned for the following night, even though he hadn't been invited.
If Umbra's ritual was a success, he would no longer need to suffer the company of that vile hag, Lady Crow and her sycophantic abomination of a pet.
Should I fail... No, he told himself, tonight would be his moment of glory when he took back his old life.
As he wandered the long, tangled road towards Brie, Umbra's thoughts became nostalgic. He remembered the flicker of blonde locks and the innocent face of his lost love- Marin.
He had avoided thinking about her, she had no place on the dark path he had chosen, and she could never understand his loss even if she was alive.
She can never see me like this, it would break her heart.
Even if she was alive, he doubted she would even recognize him in this unkempt, feral state, enshrouded in a black robe, unwashed, and unloved.
He reminded himself of his true goal, hours later as he scaled the last foothill and once again saw his home.
Even under the light of the moon he could see that Brie had changed considerably since he had been there last. A wooden palisade surrounded the town, dotted with guard towers and signal fires.
The houses had been rebuilt taller and stronger; the town had truly shut itself off from the world. The only way in was through a broad timber gatehouse.
As he drew closer, he saw three grotesque bodies dangling from nooses above the archway, their skin immolated.
Condemned witches!
It was extremely unlikely these unfortunate souls were maleficae, but in a town rebounding from the atrocities of The Night of Flames, blame would be cast in every direction.
The real perpetrator was still at large, his identity still unknown. Even the guards on the wall could do nothing to stop the return of such a powerful conjuror.
Umbra walked into the lights of the signal fires at the front gate to be met by a hostile gatekeeper.
"Drop the sack and shovel!" the guard ordered; his musket pointed right at Umbra.
Umbra wasn't here to kill anyone tonight, so he complied and lowered his articles, concealing a dagger in his sleeve.
He looked around. Just a single guard.
The guard approached him and lifted back his hood with the barrel of his firearm to reveal Umbra's face. He noticed a small trickle of blood from Umbra's wrist and drew back in confusion. "What is...?"
Umbra lunged at the gatekeeper with his freshly cut wound and with a quick flourish of his hand the guard was enveloped in a thick red mist that drew into his mouth.
The guard's eyes rolled back and he blacked out on the spot landing face-down on the ground.
Umbra collected his things and wrapped his wrist in a small rag. He stepped over the incapacitated gatekeeper and strolled into the town.
He took a brief moment to gather his bearings under the light of a street lantern.
He checked around for any night watchmen before taking the cobble road to the town chapel.
To wake the undead was a relatively simple ritual for a dark sorcerer, but to restore the soul and vitality would be a feat that would test the limits of Umbra's new powers.
He wanted to bring his mother back from The Other Side, to restore her life. He would not be content with a simple mindless aberration.
Brie's church lay untouched by the carnage that shook the town and ended the lives of so many innocents. It stood on hallowed ground, a divine barrier that warded away creatures of darkness.
The enclosed graveyard sat outside the church grounds surrounded by iron gates. Townsfolk believed that iron kept the dead at bay and would lock the gates at night for security.
Umbra knew better, iron did little to impede the undead, only consecrated silver corroded the risen. But the superstitious villagers took comfort in their misplaced beliefs.
The gate was locked with a single chain and rusted lock, weathered by the elements. A single swing from Umbra's shovel was enough to break the lock and chains.
The groan of the gates made Umbra wince as he eased them open. A solitary raven perched on a nearby willow tree watched the hooded intruder curiously. Umbra could feel an uncomfortable tingle in his skin. He was well on his way to becoming a creature of darkness himself.
The boneyard was crammed with hastily dug plots. Many of the graves were unmarked; the fires had left many victims unrecognizable. Umbra was counted among this number by the town.
Umbra crept over sunken graves and crowded tombstones until he finally reached his mother's grave.
Here lies Tessa, devoted wife and mother
Umbra rolled up his sleeves and held a solemn moment of silence then planted the shovel into the damp ground. The solitary raven watched with anticipation as Umbra labored over the plot.
After an exhausting eternity to exhume the grave, Umbra finally breached his mother's coffin and drew back the lid. The stench of death filled his nostrils as he inspected the withered remains.
Luckily the body was intact.
The raven had perched itself atop Tessa's tombstone, ushering a bad omen. Umbra disregarded this as the curiosity of a carrion bird and climbed from the pit to empty his bag.
The ritual called for blood, a substantial amount was required, among other herbs and small effigies. Umbra reached into his sack and carefully withdrew a glass pitcher of his blood. He had drawn it days before and preserved it in ether to prevent coagulation.
He opened the Corpus Hermeticum and reviewed the passage he needed. He had practiced the ritual many times in his head, now it was time for the real thing.
He was careful to carve the intricate array in a circle around the grave in the soft mud. Next, he poured the blood into the hollow and watched the array fill up.
Once it was a complete circle, the air began to stir. A purple smoke bank filled the open grave and the seal illuminated in a fierce purple.
The ground rumbled beneath his feet and the stench of sulfur filled the air, a billowing bank of smoke congealed into a seven-foot-tall hairless bipedal beast with ashen skin and razor claws. The red eyes of the conjuration glared down at Umbra.
The demon, Belphegor stood before Umbra; he outstretched his wings and tested his mobility. He strained to fully open his bony wings. Every vein in his body surged with evil, but Umbra's magical seal had anchored the mighty demon in place.
"You dare to ensnare me, maleficus?!" Belphegor boomed, struggling to move.
"I need a soul returned from the Other Side and a life restored," Umbra demanded cutting to the chase.
Belphegor scoffed, "An agreement like that requires more than a promise of my freedom from these bonds." He peered down at the exposed remains of Umbra's mother and realized Umbra's intent.
"No trickery, demon, or I'll send you right back to the hole you crawled out from!" Umbra threatened.
"If you send me back, I'll take dearest Tessa with me," Belphegor snarled.
Umbra wasn't expecting this turn of events; he was certain he was prepared. He had lost control of the negotiation and could do little but placate the demon's demands now.
"Your soul for her soul," Belphegor proposed eager to punish Umbra for his audacity. "Or I destroy this thing below me and any hope you have."
Umbra's options were slimming. If Belphegor destroyed his mother's body, he'd also condemn her to Hell, just to prove a point.
"Ten years and then you can collect my soul, but she lives on," Umbra locked eyes with his demonic opponent.
"Six months," Belphegor insisted.
"Five years," Umbra returned.
"Three years then you are mine!"
What choice do I have? Umbra stretched out his hand into the circle to meet Belphegor's claw.
The demon's grip was absolute as Umbra's hand burst into purple flames.
He screamed in pain as he felt the immolation, finally snatching back his hand he stumbled backwards.
Belphegor's seal was broken and he stretched out his wings and enshrouded himself in a sulfurous cloud, launching off into the skies leaving Umbra gripping his burnt hand.
Umbra could see life stirring in the grave. He could barely move, the fiery magic had faded and a demonic mark was branded into his flesh. He could smell the roasted flesh, but was more concerned with the life stirring below.
A soft moan followed by a pale hand reached out to him.
He peered down with childlike expectancy but as the smoke cleared his heart sank.
A writhing mass of blood and sinew clawed its way out of the grave. It was a fleshy tangled aberration; only a single arm looked even remotely human.
Umbra was frozen in fear as the monster drew closer. Suddenly the creature let out the loudest, vilest scream Umbra had ever heard.
The lights in the chapel were lit as the monks were awoken and scrambled to ring the town bell. The bell rang out and the lights were lit in the houses. The night watchmen had been alerted and the gatekeeper was leading the charge.
Umbra couldn't believe how badly things had turned out. He had utterly failed.
A mob was soon massing at the graveyard. Roaring torches, muskets and farm tools were raised in the air above the angry mob; they had clearly rehearsed a fast assembly and were ready to snuff out the evil before them.
The writhing monstrous mass was hacked and stomped mercilessly by a ferocity Umbra didn't know the villagers were capable of.
Under the light of the roaring torches, he recognized the familiar faces of his old neighbors: the rug merchant from the bazaar, the cobbler from down the street, this fiery reunion only enraged the mob further as they recognized Umbra.
"Heretic! Sinner! Monster! Demon!" the condemnations rang out as the mob turned their attention to Umbra.
Suddenly Umbra felt the sharp blow of a musket butt to his head and was out cold.
It wasn't long before Umbra was roused by the icy rain of a thunderous storm gathering overhead, the drops sizzled on his branded hand.
He was being carried roughly atop a massive mob of angry villagers towards well-used gallows. His ears were filled with roars of fury and condemnations from the crowd as he tried to struggle, but his hands were bound and his cloak had been confiscated.
His dark hair was soaked from the rain and his hand sizzled in agony. He shivered uncontrollably from the storm and from what he knew was coming next.
He was forced into position atop the wooden gallows and a noose was tied around his neck. He was shaking uncontrollably and looked over hopelessly to the headsman with a hand at the lever.
It's Cassius! Umbra instantly realized; he had become adept at seeing through the changeling's disguises.
The real headsman was face-down somewhere in a ditch to cover Cassius' tracks.
Cassius approached Umbra and held out a tiny glass phylactery carefully sharpened to a point. To the angry mob of onlookers, the headsman was simply giving Umbra a final pat down before he released the trap door.
It dawned on Umbra suddenly that the raven watching his fateful ritual was Cassius the whole time- he just sat and watched the whole thing!
Without warning Cassius stabbed the pointed glass vial into Umbra's heart.
Umbra felt the phylactery bury itself into his flesh as his life left his body.
The mob didn't notice Umbra's eyes glaze over before the trap door was triggered and he was hanged. Umbra's body dangled lifelessly from the noose and the jeering crowd was satisfied.
Hours later when he was cut down and wrapped in an old burlap sack, the wound over his heart had gone unnoticed by the undertaker. He was wheeled a mile out of town and dumped into a stinking mass grave at the bottom of a ditch with one final curse from the undertaker.
Pit of the condemned, outside Brie
There Umbra lay, forgotten for three days, covered by the next executed criminal tossed away.
Suddenly he awoke to a choking sensation and Cassius standing over him in his typical greenish human guise. Cassius reached down Umbra's throat and pulled out the magical phylactery.
"Did you sleep well, idiot?" Lady Crow called down from the edge of the body pit. She held a handkerchief to her nose as she issued orders to her faithful minion.
Umbra's burial bag had been ripped away and he crawled across the floor of stinking bodies towards his teacher. There never was as wretched a person as him down there as he crawled over maggot-filled corpses, covered in filth and stinking of rot.
"Look lively, we have places to be," Cassius cackled callously.
The overwhelming grief overcame Umbra, his mother's desecrated remains, being outwitted by the demon, the condemnation of the townspeople and knowing his soul was marked.
This fetid ravine was his life; he wailed into the night sky, the brand on his hand still ached. He cried out hysterically into the night.
Lady Crow looked down at her wretched apprentice doubled over in the filth. "You had so much potential and you just threw it all away." If Lady Crow had a heart, it surely would have broken over such a sight. Instead, she frowned.
"Restrain him!" she ordered. She leaned on her cane and contemplated her next move as Cassius overpowered the hysterical young Sorcerer.