8. The Necromancy Of Thay
Another tenday later, the group explored the remains of an abandoned village. It was clear that the previous residents didn’t fully move out, because the buildings were still full of personal belongings. Some even had long rotted food on the stove and half eaten plates of meals on overturned tables.
But these villages were now occupied by groups of goblins, trolls, bugbears and various other monsters.
The tieflings back at the Druid grove lived in fear of the increasing population of monsters. They had already lost many scouting parties, and now posted lookouts around the gate to guard their base from monsters who could scale its tall walls.
It was a pitiful sight, proof of how weak that entire group was. They clung to each other for safety, begging the druids for help. If they lacked individual strength, they would still have strength in numbers.
Astor had expected all out battles against the monsters the tieflings warned them about, but instead, the monsters here seemed to be able to sense the tadpoles they carried, and were respectful to the party.
It was an odd feeling, walking amongst monsters like they belonged. But as a vampire, Astor was a monster too. And as he watched one goblin attempt to claw another’s eyes out over a piece of stolen meat, he couldn’t help but think that he and his vampire brethren weren’t so different after all.
He was deep in thought, turning over memories of the decades that blurred together, living in the dim, dank manor full of corpses and stale blood. The small group of vampire spawn that his master kept were all housed together in a single wing of the estate, and treated worse than tools.
Because his master tended to favor him, he was often on the receiving end of harassment from the other spawn, who ganged up against him when Velith’s back was turned. They fought over the few rats their master tossed their way, and because the other spawn had strength in numbers, he often went without any sustenance.
It’s a wonder he was alive at all, well adjusted enough to be standing here amongst those with lives and power he could never have imagined. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, they would help him kill his master for good, and then he would be truly free.
Astor was snapped out of his daydream by Kal’s excited voice. They were looting another abandoned house, combing through the rooms for valuables. Kalsarin had pushed a bookcase to the side, revealing a secret entrance to an abandoned lab. The inside was dusty, full of dilapidated furniture, rusted tools and shelves and shelves of old books.
Kal went around lighting up the small oil lanterns on the walls with his fire magic. The light of the lanterns lit the space up in a dim, warm glow.
Shadowheart dug through crates for useful supplies. Night ran around the lab, flipping through books, stuffing a couple into her bag. Astor trailed behind Night, disabling traps near her before she could trigger them, his patience thinning.
Behind a set of black metal fencing, at the very far end of the chambers, a glowing book sat on a stone pedestal. There was a locked gate, and Night held her hand over the lock, murmuring a spell. A loud, ear-splitting knock emanated from the gate as it unlocked, causing all of them to jump in surprise.
“Night, stop using that damn spell,” Astor said. “You keep forgetting I can lock pick.”
“Alright alright,” Night mumbled. She reached for the handle on the gate.
Suddenly, she was yanked backward by the collar of her robe. “Gah—“ She choked, and turned around angrily, seeing Astor holding her robe. “What now?” she asked, frowning.
“Do you not see the trip wire going through the door?” Astor yelled, still holding her robe. “Are you blind?”
He finally released her, then he searched his bag for his set of thieve’s tools.
Night grumbled how she was the only one in the party without darkvision. She waved her hands, and four floating orbs of light appeared hovering above her head. The lights shined through the fencing, casting dark vertical bars across the walls.
Astor held out his thieve’s tools and kneeled down, getting to work disarming the trap. Night leaned in to watch.
“Those lights are distracting,” he said coolly.
“Well, my bad, but I need them to see,” Night replied lightly.
“They also attract attention. Isn’t there a spell that grants darkvision you can use instead?”
Night sighed. “There is. I know it. But it feels dumb to use magic for it when my light cantrip already lets me see.”
“It’s more important to stay hidden. Use your darkvision spell from now on. This is for the benefit of the group.”
“…Fine,” Night reluctantly agreed. “But I’m going to need to stock dried carrot.”
“We can find a merchant. Or maybe find some in one of the houses in this village.” Astor yanked the trip wire out of the fencing, tossing it over his shoulder. “It’s disabled. You can open the gate now.”
That evening, in a clearing nearby the abandoned village, the carcass of half a boar sat roasting over a moderately sized campfire.
Kalsarin sat cross legged in his humanoid form, tearing through the other half of the boar, which was positioned in his lap and completely raw.
Shadowheart watched and wrinkled her nose. “Is that enough food for you? I thought you’d need more.”
“I already ate another boar while I was hunting. It was weird, though. The boar was already dead, but so recent that the body was still warm. And it was completely bloodless.”
“Bloodless?” Shadowheart asked. “You shouldn’t eat strange things off the ground like that, Kal. You’ll get sick.”
“I was curious. It was an interesting meal, at least.”
Meanwhile, Astor and Night’s voices carried from in front of Night’s tent as they argued animatedly.
Astor clutched a large tome, its cover stitched together from the dried skin of the flayed face of some humanoid. Its features were emphasized by violet crystals that sat in place of its eyes, and a large, smooth amethyst gem that sat in its open mouth. The title of the tome was scrawled in ink on the spine.
“The Necromancy of Thay,” Astor began, “is mine, because I disabled the traps that let us grab it safely. It would have burned to pieces had you tried your luck.”
“I noticed it first. Besides, you wouldn’t even be able to understand it!” Night scowled. “Give it to me. I can at least make use of it.”
She tugged at the edges of the book in Astor’s hands, but it didn’t budge at all. He gave her a deep smirk, and her annoyance spiked.
“Don’t make me use magic, Astor,” Night warned. “You’re not going to come out unscathed.”
“Is that a threat? Have you resorted to threatening your leader? Why, I have half a mind to kick you out of this party.” Astor laughed darkly. “We’ll see how well you deal with the parasite on your own.”
Night glowered at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. “Me?! You wouldn’t last two days without me constantly saving your sorry butt!”
“In recent memory, all I can recall is me pulling you out of danger again and again,” Astor countered. He leaned down to her eye level. “The trap I disarmed today would have roasted you alive.”
Night clenched her teeth, flexing one hand, sparks of lighting appearing between her fingers.
“Don’t you dare, little wizard,” Astor growled, though he took a step back.
“Will you two stop flirting and come eat? The meat is done,” Shadowheart called out across the camp, making Night jump.
“Coming,” Night called back. She dropped her hand and the sparks dissipated. She shot Astor a glare, stomping away.
Astor chuckled to himself. He turned and walked into the forest, carrying the book under one arm.
Astor sat high on the thick branch of a tree in the dark forest, his legs crossed, the tome propped between them. Under the dim moonlight, his darkvision was enough to read the text.
But there was a problem. Every time he opened the book, it spoke to him. Not out loud. It wasn’t words, but emotions and thoughts, projected directly into his mind at incredible speeds. He struggled to keep up, or to even distinguish them from his own thoughts.
The book instilled in him the idea that everyone around him was colluding against him. An idea he himself may have had in passing, though he wasn’t sure if that was truth or not anymore. Either way, the strange book reaffirmed his fears. He needed to kill the others, before they could get to him. But how can he go about this?
He discussed with the book. Kalsarin would be too hard to kill immediately. Shadowheart had her radiant spells that would burn undead like himself.
What about Night? She was strong, surely, but she lets down her guard around him. He could get her when she’s asleep…some nights she doesn’t even close her bedroom door when she slept…yes—maybe killing Night first was the right move…
“So this is where you took my book,” came Night’s annoyed voice from below. “When are you going to come to bed? It’s late, and I don’t need you waking me up when you eventually return through my wards.”
Astor jumped up, now standing on the branch. He held the open book with one hand, glaring down at the forest floor. Night was already in her long sleeved nightgown, her legs bare, slippers on her feet. Her bright azure eyes looked up at him, glowing with the magic of the darkvision spell.
A sense of foreboding passed through him, and he felt a sense of bloodlust targeting him. His defensive instincts kicked him, his mind swimming with thoughts that didn’t belong to him. He had to attack now; if she made the first move, he would die.
His hand pulled his infernal dagger from its strap on his leg. The runes activated in his grip, and hellish fire wrapped around the curved blade. He jumped down, using the momentum of gravity to his advantage. One hand still held the open book, its pages flapping in the fall, his other hand holding the blade aimed directly for Night’s chest.
The flames lit up their surroundings, and Night watched in shock as Astor , growling and looking completely feral, charged her from above. Before he could make contact, she recited a quick incantation and thrusted her hand in front of her. A golden shimmering shield materialized around her.
Astor’s blade made contact with the shield, and he clenched his jaw, pushing more force into his assault. The shield stalled, and then shattered, golden sparks flying in every direction before they dissipated.
Undeterred, Astor continued his attack, and with Night’s hand stretched out, his sharp blade, still wrapped in flames, sliced cleanly through her palm, the blade exiting out the back of her hand.
Night howled in pain, her skin searing from the heat, her blood gushing down her forearm. She fell backwards. But before she made contact with the ground, she raised one leg to her chest and kicked Astor hard in the stomach.
He flew back, losing his grip on both his dagger and the Necromancy of Thay.
They both landed on the ground, sprawled and groaning. The book hummed with magic nearby, pulsing slightly with violet light.
“Wha—Night? What happened?” Astor held his head as he attempted to get up.
“Astor,” Night gritted out through the pain. She was lying on her side, holding her hand close to her chest, skin charred and blood spilling around the blade still stuck through it. The flames had vanished.
Astor’s mind caught up with what had just occurred. “Oh, fuck.”
Back in the demiplane tent, Astor and Night sat in front of the low table, each sitting on a cushion on the floor.
“On three,” Astor declared. “One, two, three!” He yanked his dagger out of Night’s palm, her blood dripping down the blade onto a towel on the table.
Night screamed, tears in her eyes, tightly clutching her wrist.
Astor held her hand, trying to ignoring the scent of her blood pooling between his hands. He began humming a low, long melody. Emerald light pulsed from his hands.
After a while, the glow faded. “There. The bleeding has mostly stopped…” He leaned in to examine her wound. The burns were still visible and raw. “My healing magic isn’t that strong,” Astor said quietly.
Night tried to flex her hand, wincing from the pain. “I think you cut through a tendon.” She met Astor’s gaze, who was staring at her intently, trying to read her. “Maybe I’ll ask Shadowheart to take a look.”
“No!” He slammed his palms on the table. Then he immediately forced himself to relax, taking on a softer tone. “I mean, you can just drink a potion.”
He dug through his bag, extracting his Potion of Greater Healing. Holding the bottle up to the crystal lights, he gave it a shake, watching the red liquid shimmer in the glow. He pulled the cork out and handed the bottle to Night.
She drank it greedily, placing the empty bottle on the table. The burns on her skin slowly faded. After a while, she flexed her hand again, and this time she didn’t wince. “That feels much better. Thanks.”
Astor stared at the empty bottle. That was his last potion. What a waste.
They sat in silence for a while, both staring at Night’s hand, trying to process what just happened.
“It was the damned book,” Astor explained desperately, breaking the silence. “It kept telling me to kill everyone. I swear, I didn’t mean to—“
“Ah, the Necromancy of Thay has a curse in it?” The tome sat closed on the table in front of them, its magic dormant.
“We should throw it away. Before this happens to someone else,” Astor reasoned.
Night got up gingerly, talking to her study. Astor heard her rummage through various drawers. She walked back holding a scroll.
She plopped back down in front of the low table beside Astor, completely relaxed and casual. Astor, meanwhile, was a bundle of nerves. Dark thoughts raced through his mind.
Will Night turn on him? Turn the whole camp against him? How will he fight his way out? Where would he go next? Or would Kal take his side? Maybe if he could convince Kal…
Night reached over and pulled the Necromancy of Thay in front of her. Before Astor could stop her, she opened the book, and the violet pulse of the book flared again. The screech of its curse echoed through her mind.
“Oh, yes, I see it now,” Night said, nodding. “It’s quite loud. How interesting.”
“Did you just—I TOLD you it was cursed! Quick, take your hand off!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Night placed her hand on the scroll she brought over. Reciting an incantation, the scroll started glowing in turquoise light. The light wrapped around her hand, and then she placed her hand over the book.
A strong wind kicked up in her tent, the wail of the book screeching loudly through the room. Shadows of sunken faces rose from the book as the wailing grew louder. Astor prepared himself, his arms held in front of him defensively.
And then as the noise reached a crescendo, it abruptly disappeared. The lights faded. The tome now sat dormant on the table. The scroll crumbled to dust.
“Remove Curse,” Night explained, tapping the dust. She murmured a cantrip and the dust vanished. “The book is safe to read now.”
Astor looked at the book, wide-eyed. “…you have a solution for everything, don’t you?”
“I try,” Night replied with a smirk. She picked up Astor’s dagger, still coated with her blood. She wiped the blade on a towel and then handed it back to Astor.
He hesitated before accepting it, eyeing her nervously. “I’m so, so sorry, Night.” He used a desperate tone when he said it.
“It’s fine,” Night said. “Don’t worry about it. You healed my hand already.”
Was she only saying that to drop his guard before she took her revenge? He needed to really play up being sorry.
“What could I do to make it up to you? I’ll do anything.” He held his breath, waiting for her response.
“Hmm, anything?” Night tapped her lips, giving him a mischievous smile that made him regret his phrasing.
“Within reason?” Astor added.
“Ok, how about this. Make me a promise that you’ll never lie to me.”
There were several moments of tense silence. And then Astor said “… I can’t realistically promise you that. Sometimes white lies are necessary. And what about lying by omission?”
Night was amused that he was considering this so seriously. “Then, how about you promise to not lie to me, for things that matter?”
That’s vague enough that there’s room for interpretation, Astor thought. “Only if you will promise to do the same.”
Another moment of silence. Then Night nodded. “Ok. I promise I won’t lie to you intentionally, when it matters.”
Really? Astor thought suspiciously. He clenched his fist. “…I, too, promise to not lie to you intentionally, when it matters.”
“Shake?” Night asked, holding out her hand. “Unless you want us to write a contract, or use oath magic. If you want a magical contract, we could find a devil to write an infernal contract for us.”
“Er—a handshake is fine.” He grabbed her hand and shook it.
“Great! Now Astor,” Night began, clapping her hands together.
Astor looked at her warily. “Uh oh,” he muttered.
“You have to be honest ok? I have questions for you.”
He sighed. “Go ahead.”
“Your mind magic. How in Mystra’s Weave are you casting without an incantation? You just say the command word and the magic triggers. No incantation beforehand, no other components. That’s not normal.”
Astor exhaled in relief. It was pretty obvious that some of his casting was strange, and he was expecting her to ask at some point. “It’s a spell-like ability. I activate it with my mind, and then I can cast vocal magic without any other components. I can’t do it too many times in a row, though, as it loses potency quickly.”
“Wow, that’s incredible. How did you learn to do this?”
“…I didn’t. It’s an ability I was born with. I call it Perfect Resonance. It only works with a few voice-based spells though.”
Night pouted. “Then I won’t be able to learn it from you. No wonder you’re good at mind magic. You were born with an affinity for it.”
“You could say that,” Astor said slowly. “Well, if that’s all your questions, we should head to bed. It’s late.”
“What’s wrong Astor, don’t you usually enjoy our nightly talks?” Night teased.
“Not tonight. I’m tired.” Astor gave his best impression of a yawn.
Night laughed softly. “Alright. I’ll save it for another day.”
Several days had passed. Night hadn’t turned on him, nor did she expose what he did to the rest of their party. In fact, she never brought it up again. Maybe his apology, the healing, and the promise he made, was enough to soothe things over. He felt like he could relax again.
One evening, he sat alone on the couch, eyeing the Necromancy of Thay on the low table, set next to the stack of Night’s books that he was reading.
He hadn’t wanted to further provoke Night, so he had watched her read the book without complaint.
Tonight, he finally picked it up and flipped through it. The book’s spine cracked as he opened it, and he hesitated.
The book’s voice was silent now, but it was still difficult to read. Some of the pages were torn or faded, and many pages were in languages he didn’t know. Even the parts in Common were hard to understand because of the heavy arcane jargon.
He extracted his notebook from his bag. Flipping to a blank page, he jotted down his thoughts. He had always been a diligent reader—knowledge was power after all. Reading and writing gave him a temporary escape. When he was lost in words, in stories, in his imagination, he wasn’t trapped as a slave to Velith. In his mind, he was an adventurer, a leader, a king, a god, ruling over others the way he deserved to.
The other spawn would tease him about his habits, and they would find his books and notes and ruin them, throwing them into buckets of water or scrawling on them in blood. No matter where Astor hid his belongings, the other spawn would always find them.
Now, Astor could safely keep books and notes. He was so absorbed in writing that he didn’t notice Night entering the living room. Freshly showered, her bare foot padded over to the couch, leaning down to see what he was doing.
“I was wondering when you’d pick up the Necromancy of Thay again,” she said.
Astor looked up suddenly. “Did you want to read it?”
“Who are you, and what have you done with Astor?” Night teased, laughing gently. She dropped down on the couch, her wet hair splattering water on him.
He held the book higher. “Watch it, you’re getting it wet.”
“Oh, my bad.” She held up the hairdryer and got to work on her wet hair.
Astor put the book back on his lap, continuing his reading.
Eventually, he heard Night’s hairdryer turn off. He looked up and watched her shake her head, the indigo strands loose and messy, covering her eyes.
In a daze, his mind still turning over the ritual he was just reading, Astor stuck out one finger and swept Night’s bangs to the side. Her azure eyes peeked out from under her bangs.
She grinned at him, and he gave a soft laugh in response.
“Is the book hard to understand?” She tapped the page he had opened. “I have a passing interest in Necromancy. I can explain confusing parts.”
“Read this one.” He placed the book on the couch, in the space between them. “I’m trying to figure out what ‘energy transfer between sacrifices’ means.”
She leaned closer to the book. Her hair was sticking up at the back.
“Hand me your hair ribbon and turn around,” he said.
Night was focused on the book. She absentmindedly passed him a silk ribbon, and then turned her back to him while holding the book in her lap.
Astor held the ribbon close to his face to study it. The lavender fabric was a similar color to the mage robes she usually wore, but there were tiny golden embroidery stitched along its length in the shape of arcane symbols.
He placed the ribbon between his teeth, then with his fingers, he combed and gathered her hair back into a ponytail, smoothing out the strands. As his hands brushed her ear, she made a soft, satisfied hum.
With one hand holding her hair, he held the ribbon with his other hand, deciding how he would tie it. But the fabric suddenly jumped out of his hand and wrapped itself around her ponytail, tying itself into a neat bow. “Does everything you own contain magic?” Astor remarked.
Night turned around. “Convenient, isn’t it?” She touched her hair and gave him a smirk. “Thanks.” She jumped up and shuffled to her study. After several minutes, she came back holding a faded green book.
She showed him the cover. Principles of the Undying Art. “This book has an overview of necromantic magic. There’s several chapters on rituals and common terms.” She flipped to the back. “There’s an appendix here.” Her fingers traced down the page. “Energy transfer is here. Feel free to borrow this.”
Astor took the book and flipped through it. There were many diagrams, and the language was simple and descriptive. “You have a book for everything.”
“This is a rather famous book. It was one of my first books on necromancy. Even now, it’s a useful reference.”
They fell silent as Astor’s attention went back to his reading. Night watched him place the three books on the low table: his notebook, the Necromancy of Thay, and now the Principles of the Undying Art. He moved between all three books, writing down important bits in Elvish in his notebook.
She quietly walked to her bedroom, leaving him alone.