“Don’t you think this is a little morbid?” asked Anneliese. “Bringing Llewellen back… feels perverse, in so manner.” She rubbed her hands together uneasily.
“I thought you might be eager to et him,” Argrave answered, leaning up against the wall disaffectedly. He was still quite bothered by the conversation with Garm. No one liked hearing another was so utterly depressed. He’d said what he felt was the right thing, but he couldn’t say everything would be all right.
“…I don’t know. Maybe I am?” Anneliese questioned, then nodded in confirmation. “No, I am. I am looking forward to it. At the sa ti… perhaps it’s a bit much to ask him to work on our behalf imdiately. Despite everything, he’ll still be a living, breathing person with his own wants and desires.”
“It’s a lot like what Sophia tried to do, in a way.” Argrave closed his eyes. “Maybe it’s crueler. Giving others a few months of life and expecting them to work. But Llewellen died in extre pain, not knowing how he’d be rembered. Look at it as a redy to the way he died rather than a corruption of his mory. And if he’s half as intelligent as Raven praised him as being, he’ll be a trendous boon to us.”
Anneliese nodded. “I’ll try. But if he’s resistant…”
“Then he’s resistant, and we’ll deal with what cos,” he assured her. “If you could, keep an eye on Garm, would you? I think he’s fine, but you’d know better than I ever would.” He kicked off the wall. “I’m going with Artur. He wants to take a look at the Shadowlands before he decides what to craft.”
“Does that an you’re going to create an opening in that location you scouted out?” Anneliese questioned.
Argrave nodded. “A partial one. But he needs to feel and experience the existence of the Shadowlands to craft sothing to combat it, I should think.”
#####
“What ideas did you have?” Argrave asked Artur as they walked through the obsidian caverns. Or rather—he walked, as Artur floated along on his cloak. Raven followed, ensuring that everything was safe. Argrave talked partly because he was uneasy. In these caverns of obsidian, reflections of oneself were all too common and unnerving. It felt like they were already in the Shadowlands, in a way. “Would you craft goggles, maybe? A spectacle?”
“I was under the impression that the artifact I would create should be able to affect a large group, Your Majesty,” Artur said uneasily.
“You’re the craftsman,” Argrave reminded him. “What’s on your mind?”
“…the running idea I had was a lantern,” Artur disclosed in a quiet voice. “It was the first thing that ca to mind when dispelling a land of shadows. A glass box in a tal fra held upright, dangling from a firm rod by a single chain link. I would place the fruit inside the glass chamber, then set it alight.”
His description brought to mind vivid imagery, and Argrave nodded in approval. “Maybe its light could fight more than rely shadows.”
Artur gave a nod of his own in return. “Still, seeing the Shadowlands is the most important part of this journey.”
“It’s a little impossible to describe. I’ll just leave it to you.”
Artur moved ahead of Argrave, watching him. “You forget I worked alongside Traugott. All of us Magisters did, despite how he tried to isolate himself. Not many of us were exceptionally surprised to see him beco a wanted criminal in the kingdom, but I’m surprised to learn he takes such priority as a threat. He often spoke of the Shadowlands joyously, but to everyone else, they sounded like a horror show.”
“That’s understating it a little,” Argrave finished simply.
With nothing more to say, they continued onward in silence until they ca upon the altar that Erlebnis’ mory spoke of. It was a hollow, spherical room of obsidian with a walkway bridging to the center of the sphere. There, an incredibly dark altar awaited them—just like the Shadowlanders themselves, the altar was so black that it was impossible to distinguish its features in any great detail beyond its basic shape. It seed to eat any light that fell upon it. Resting above it, like lurking claws or surgical instrunts, were three daggers of the sa material and color.
While Artur and Argrave paused at the entrance, Raven advanced boldly. He touched one of the daggers, and then the altar. His eyes glowed green as he scrutinized them with [Minor Truesight], and once his observations were done, he looked back. “These items aren’t of this world. They’re made of the bones of one of the Shadowlanders.”
“Mmm.” Artur approached curiously. “I saw the one that Argrave put on display, but I never had the opportunity to work with it.” His stubby fingers tapped against the dagger’s blade cautiously. “Gods. Quite sturdy, yet still light. It almost feels like tal. Sothing really had bones made out of this?”
Raven nodded.
He looked back at Argrave. “Do you still have the corpse of the Shadowlander that attacked Dirracha? I recall you displayed it boldly when you were demanding the submission of the southern nobles and the Order of the Gray Owl.”
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He only shrugged. “Like the rest of the furniture, I gave it to Hegazar and Vera when they beca the rulers of Dirracha. I can’t say what they’ve done with it.”
Artur scoffed. “Those useless wastes of space… I’d rather die than speak to them, or even see them. But I’d much rather them die, first.”
Argrave didn’t know what his grudge was, and he didn’t care to pry. He smiled blankly as he waited for the master of the Hall of Enchantnt to co to a conclusion.
“Seeing this altar, I have had an idea,” Artur spread his arms out and ran it across it. “I’ve never seen black be this beautiful. It’s like a night sky, or… or more than that. An abyss. It almost eats light. It eats everything. I can’t say for sure, yet… but I think I have to use this as a material. If not for this project, others.” He looked at Argrave. “Could you get your hands on one of their bodies?”
“That depends,” Argrave crossed his arms.
“On what?”
“Are you prepared to fight?” Argrave asked with a smile. “Because we can open the Shadowlands wide enough for so of them to co out right now, and then you’ll never run out.” He looked at Raven. “We could take a lesson from Traugott, too, and give the bodies to Garm for his little reanimation frenzy.”
“I am unsure if necromantic magic would work on their flesh so far removed from ours,” Raven answered back. “It would be worth trying, though.”
Artur spun one of the rings on his finger, genuinely considering the offer in cautious contemplation. Ultimately, he shook his head. “All I need for now is a sample of the place they live in.”
Argrave was a little relieved, too. Though he was sowhat curious about what his blood magic could do to Shadowlanders, now, he wasn’t exactly eager to bleed on demand. He dismissed the notion, then sat on the ground and closed his eyes, diving deep into Erlebnis’ wiki now that they’d found the altar.
He heard Artur questioning what he was doing, but was so intensely focused he was able to pay it no mind. He found the article pertaining to the altars to the Shadowlands. The daggers above were the instrunts that allowed one to breach into their realm. Their ans of activation were a little… antiquated.
“Hey, Raven.” Argrave stood up. “Could you spare a set of eyeballs, and a set of ears?”
“You have so,” Raven pointed out.
“You can make infinite,” Argrave countered.
“So can you,” Raven held his ground.
Argrave stared, and Raven eventually gave what might’ve passed for a laugh were it not so terrifying. “I should’ve known their altars would involve such a thing.” He held his hand out, and a pair of gray eyes and matching white ears appeared, then promptly popped loose with an unpleasant noise. “Where shall they go?”
As Artur stared in abject horror, Argrave casually pointed to a basin that was part of the altar. “Just fill one of those. That should make the dagger above awake.”
Raven obeyed, plopping eyes and ears into the bowl. Their gelatinous noise echoed in the quiet chamber. The fact they were bloodless made them a little more acceptable—he almost thought of them as Halloween props. But then the inert knife rapidly descended, stabbing eighty tis in half a second until eyes and ears both were reduced to a pink goo. It drained into the black bowl, leaving nothing behind.
Then, Argrave felt a shift in the room—a stirring of the heart. And just above the altar, a diamond of absolute darkness took form, revealing the horrors of sothing beyond. The Shadowlands.
#####
“I’m kind of glad I don’t have to live in this,” Garm remarked as he stared down upon Raven’s creation. “At least this beggar had so character. But this… it’s a sha. No artistry.”
Anneliese, Garm, and Durran had co to the spot that Llewellen died, where Raven had left what he promised. The body that Raven had created was utterly devoid of any distinguishing features. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman—largely because the spot where one might’ve figured out was entirely flat. It even lacked nipples.
“Mmm… this won’t do,” Garm shook his head, then looked over. “Help out, Durran.”
“With what?” Durran said, still looking a bit peaked.
“Help change the body,” he clasped his hands together. “Let’s make it into sothing livable.”
Durran gaped. “I’m not going to reshape the flesh for you,” he refused.
“Co on,” Garm looked between Anneliese and Durran. “You’re going to be asking this man for help, right? Then it stands to reason you’d want to show special care to the form that he occupies. If he’s not happy, why would he help you?”
Durran looked to Anneliese for insight, and she crossed her arms. “I can tell that you just want to do this because it’s fun… but you’re not wrong,” she admitted, looking to Durran. “Llewellen may appreciate the gesture. I don’t know necromancy, though. I never bothered, because I thought Gerechtigkeit would make it unviable.”
Durran sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Fine. Fine, alright.”
Garm smiled, and Durran beca the instrunt of his artistry. It was a rather revolting thing, reshaping the flesh, but Garm was talented at it, and Durran had inherited Garm’s talent after consuming his soul. They gave Llewellen’s new form elven ears, a leaner physique, and a face resembling Llewellen’s own. Eventually, though…
“I’m not giving him genitals, Garm,” Durran stood his ground. “We’re done. It’s done. Move on.”
Garm sighed. “You’re such a child. Every living thing has them. But, fine.” He rose to his feet. “Let’s stuff the ancient elf back in the corpse. Are you ready to et your ntor, Anneliese?”
“No, but yes.” She nodded.
“Great conviction. Then, without further ado…” Garm held his arms out. “Let’s wake Llewellen up.”
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