dismal with sparse decor. A straw bed sat in the corner by a table
with a wash basin. The rest of the walls were completely covered
in bookshelves. Upon them were ancient texts and scrolls on
parchment so frail one was afraid to disturb their solemnity. A
grand table of questionable sturdiness stood prominently in the
center of the room. Open books and papers littered its surface save
for a lone, four-wicked candle at the table’s center providing the
only light in the dungeon-like quarters.
In a rickety wooden chair at the table, toiled a diminutive man
adorned in a white robe with scarlet trim. He wore no jewelry. In
fact, there were only two features of distinction about the man. His
hair was a stunning shade of white. The other characteristic of note
was his eyes. They were a radiant shade of red only seen deep in
the heart of a raging inferno. No pupil was evident in them. The
light in them burned steadily like coals in a furnace.
The man was using a quill and ink to copy information from a
tattered paper onto a scroll. His calligraphy was perfect with good
reason. He only moved his eyes and hand while writing. His
concentration was complete.
The books surrounding him were a mix of older texts on
legends and newer ones on geography or various cultures. Without
warning he would snatch one and flip frantically through the
pages. When he found the desired page, he ran his fingers along
the words until he reached the quote of interest. Then he would
carefully transfer the information to his compilation paper.
His work came to a crashing halt when the door to the room
flew open and made a loud thump against the wall. The albino was
startled and knocked over the inkwell. The black liquid soaked the
scroll destroying his work.
He was furious. His eyes became searing white-hot in color.
Nearly invisible rays of magic fired from them and struck with a
concussion against the intruder. An imperial page was shot out into
the hallway where he came to a sudden stop upon reaching the
A moment later the page stumbled back into the room. He held
the frame of the door while trying to keep his feet. “Great, all powerful,
Necromancer, I have been sent to bring you to Lord
Necromancer’s eyes returned to their normal frightening
appearance. “Never enter my chambers without permission again,
Vermin! Do you have any idea of what you have just ruined, you
putrid sack of flesh? I would burn you down right now if we
weren’t running short of ignorant pages to invoke my wrath. Count
yourself lucky and get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
“Please accept my apology for disturbing you but our lord
awaits your presence.”
“Then he will wait,” Necromancer yelled as he struck the books
and cleared the desk in one angry swipe. “Tell your emperor that I
will be there when I have time.”
Necromancer crumpled the paper he had so painstakingly
prepared and threw it at the wall. He stood silently for a moment
and then reluctantly began to search for the bit of paper he had
referenced. During his search, his eyes caught sight of a narrow
shadow in the doorway.
“Are you still here, page? Your life must mean less to you than
it does to me.”
“I beg thee, great Necromancer, I have orders from Lord
Mandrean himself to escort you to his chambers. He seems
dissatisfied with the speed you display when answering his orders.
Those are his words, not mine.”
Necromancer rolled his eyes and then hung his head. He
replaced the objects on the table with a snap of his fingers and
approached the trembling page. “Well then,” he said in a calm,
monotone voice, “let us not keep his worship waiting.” He
gestured politely to the door. The confused servant led him out of
the room and down the hall.