Waldo Corpselover

In one of the highest towers of Castle Corpselover a young man in black robes was down on his knees. At his side were several opened books as well as scrolls with hand drawn sketches. In his hand was a piece of chalk. On the stone floor he had drawn a summoning circle, with a myriad of arcane symbols and runes surrounding it.

"This time it will work," he muttered to himself. "I know it will." He had checked the formula time and again and was certain it was correct. He was going over the chalked symbols he'd written with exquisite care. He was determined that this time there would be no mistakes. Everything had to be perfect.

As he was bent over studying the runes and symbols the door to the room slowly and silently opened. A figure with tattered and filthy black robes slipped inside. From a distance it might have passed for human, up close it never would. The skin was an unnatural shade of grey. The eyes were a milky white and without pupils. Its fingertips ended in razor sharp, bony talons. The lips were bloated and an inky blue, when they pulled back in a ravenous grin they revealed sharp pointed teeth. The creature stretched out its arms and readied to tear apart its unsuspecting victim.

Still bent over and studying his handiwork the teenage boy waved a single hand. "Repulso."

It felt magical energies take hold and slam it into the far wall. "Aaarrrrrrrgh!" The creature screamed in frustration, not actual pain.

"Hello brother," the boy said without ever bothering to look up.

The creature struggled against the magical energies that were holding it pinned to the far wall. It knew it was hopeless but still fought to get free.

"I don't mind you wanting to kill me, but could you please wait until I'm done?"

It stopped struggling and bore its teeth in a hateful snarl. "I want to tear out your throat! I want to gnaw on your bones! I want to feast on your still beating heart while you watch!"

"Yes, I know, but could you at least wait until after I am done? Is that too much to ask Walter?"

"How did you know I was here?" Walter Corpselover demanded. "You couldn't have heard me; I was as silent as the grave. You didn't have any wards set up."

Sighing, he slowly got up and faced his brother. His face was boyish and looked young even for a sixteen year old. He had small, delicate hands and a thin undersized frame. His short cropped hair was the color of spun gold and his eyes were a bright, clear shade of yellow. "You're a zombie Walter. No matter how well preserved your body is, it still stinks of rot; there's no way I wouldn't smell you from twenty yards away. Besides…" he waved a single hand.

Hidden runes on the cell floor suddenly revealed themselves.

"Even if I had done nothing, you'd have been held in place as soon as you took one more step."

Walter's whitish eyes widened as he saw all the trap spells that had been set for him. "How… how did I not notice?" Ordinary humans could not sense hidden wards and circles, but mages and certain monsters could.

The undead could not sense or feel magic.

Waldo Corpselover looked at his brother with sympathy. In this family death was not the ultimate tragedy; weakness was. Walter had been three years older and, for a time, the designated heir. He had been powerful, arrogant, and ruthless; in other words, a typical Dark Mage. A glorious future had stretched out before him. Everyone assumed that eventually he would replace mother and take over her position as head of the family.

Then one day grandfather ate him.

Not all of him, just his heart.

Mother had done what she could, raising him as a zombie. She had done an incredible job. He retained most of his memories and could still think and feel emotion. Walter could even still use some minor spells, with the exception of liches that was considered impossible for the undead. He was an exceptional zombie, but still only a fraction of what he'd once been.

In life Walter had always treated his younger brother with contempt. In death he openly hated him. Not simply because he was still alive, but because everything Walter had wanted and treasured had been handed over to his younger brother. Walter could no longer smell a flower or feel a warm breeze on his face, but he could still feel hatred.

"Is that pity I see in your piss colored eyes? Hah! What a joke!"

"You know I never wanted to be heir."

"Liar," Walter cursed. "Don't pretend. The joke is that even like this I am still a better Dark Mage than you will ever be."

Still pinned to the wall Walter glanced at the summoning circle Waldo had been working on. Walter could no longer perform the deeper magics, but still retained his knowledge.

"You're trying to summon a homunculus this time? I summoned one when I was just nine. Don't you feel pathetic that you can't manage that when you're sixteen?"

"Big talk from a zombie who can't even move right now."

"If you really are the next head of the family I weep for Corpselover."

"Can zombies weep?" Waldo's right hand sliced the air in front of him. "Nunc."

The spell ended and Walter was once more free.

"If you'll excuse me, I still have work to do." Waldo went back to his summoning circle.

"You're turning your back on me?" Walter growled.

"Why not? We both know you can't touch me."

Waldo did not have to turn around to know that would make his brother furious.

"I really am going to kill you."

"Yes, I know, but wait until after I am done here. Close the door on the way out."

Still not bothering to look Waldo heard the footsteps and the door slamming shut.

XXX

In this castle there were undead servants and living slaves; the only people who were 'free' were the members of the family. He'd read plenty of books about the people who lived in other countries. Folk who in their whole lives never saw the dead walking, and would be terrified just by a single unarmed skeleton shuffling towards them. For Waldo dark magics and the undead were the stuff of ordinary life.

He had been born into this world and, to his eyes, it was all normal. Waldo loved Alteroth, with its volcanoes and slow flowing rivers of magma. He loved the way they glowed at night, and how they rumbled and sent ash up into the perpetually grey sky. Waldo had witnessed several eruptions and thought them beautiful beyond words. He loved the city of Alter, with its clean and logical design. The squat, identical houses packed in their neat rows, the avenues that all ran in perfect lines, the city was a monument to order and control. He didn't get to actually visit it often, but he could stare at its lovely symmetry for hours from his window. It was a beautiful.

In this world power was everything.

From the time he was a child he'd been taught not to fear death; only weakness. Being weak was the only unforgivable sin. Waldo wanted to be strong. Not really for himself, but for his family and for his mother. He did not want to fail or bring them shame. For the sake of his family, he wanted to be a great Dark Mage.

His mother had, had a total of seven children, of which he was the youngest and only one still currently alive. Four were dead and two (including Walter) were mostly dead. They had all died violent deaths, none of them living to reach nineteen. All had been born with the gift of summoning mana and an ability to use magic.

Their individual talents had differed. Roland (who Waldo did not remember) had specialized in fire magic. Gwen had taken after mom and been a natural at necromancy. Walter had always had a gift at summoning and controlling monsters. All of them had been talented with great potential. All of them had been a credit to their House.

Waldo thought about his own abilities and let out a frustrated grunt.

Healing and protection magic, that was what he was best at. He had absolutely no talent at necromancy, he couldn't even reanimate a mouse. Whenever he attempted any sort of destructive spell it always went horribly wrong… and not even in the good sort of horribly wrong. When he tried to summon monsters…

He let out another frustrated sigh.

The ability to use magic was, in itself, a rare trait in humans. When it manifested, it differed from person to person, both in depth and in direction. Some would never have the strength to do much more than levitate a book or light a candle. Others could summon giants or tear open the earth. The amount of mana a person could draw was an inborn ability. You could learn spells and train to draw the energy more easily; but the limit was in your blood.

There were written spells and incantations, rules of magic, runes, and wards; things that a magic user could learn and study. Spellbooks, wands, rods, magical rings, scrolls, and other items made casting certain spells easier. Yet magic was much more of an art than a science. In theory every magic user should have been capable of casting any spell, so long as it did not require too much mana. In practice it was nothing like that. The sorts of spells a wizard could work were a reflection of his soul.

Waldo stood.  The summoning circle was perfect. He would bring forth a homunculus and bind it to his will. Being sixteen, it was long past time to have his own familiar. He began performing the required hand gestures and spoke the incantation. "Ithkaros venti setarros abro homoculi tenos arrilo venti sem apparos!"

The circle and the symbols he had so carefully chalked suddenly blazed with light. He felt the mana flow out of him and into the circle.

It's going to work this time! I know it! Waldo thought.

The interior of the circle vanished, as space and time were momentarily shattered.

"Bring me my servant!" Waldo shouted into the void.

Bending to his will the spell brought forth a living creature.

"Chirp. Chirp. Chirp."

There within the summoning circle was a confused blue bird.

"Oh! not again!"