The Undead can be separated into two distinct groups:
First are the animated corpses. Freshly Risen from their graves, or carefully cleaned up skeleton to the bio-engineered monstrosities that are flesh golems and chimeras, animated corpses are simply put, golems.
A mage (who will henceforth be called a necromancer) infuses their own energy and will into the corpse’s Mana Core and hijacks the nervous system (when present) to animate the dead body like a puppet. This suppose the mage has an extensive knowledge on anatomy and biology and knows a lot about the kind of creature it is animating.
After all, magic is for Nerds?
For skeletons, it is even easier than that, since the science under it is identical to classic golem control, a sheath of magic wrapping around the individual bones to make them move according to their master’s will.
In any case, no amount of physical destruction will truly bring the fleshy (or bony) automatons down. Only when the magical energy dissipates will the undead really be neutralized. It can be achieved by piercing the Mana Core of the undead, dissipating the mana with a stronger one, or simply killing the necromancer.
Animated corpses are usually monotasking creations, though a skilled necromancer would be able to use their knowledge to program behaviors onto them. The more intact the brain and nervous system is, the easier it is to impart orders and “intelligence” to it.
For any information about how to use and program animated corpses, please refer to “Corpses ++ for dummies” by the same author.
Animated corpses are not technically undead and are only classified as such for their hypothetical closeness with the second and last group that are the True Undead.
Contrary to the animated corpses, functionally golems in almost every way, the True undead are sentient beings.
More often than not, a true undead is born spontaneously upon the death of a creature possessing a developed ManaCore, transitioning seamlessly from alive to deceased without any loss of consciousness. Witnesses (both alive and undead themselves) would barely notice the transition until later, when they realize they no longer need to breathe, eat*, drink* or sleep. Depending on the injury that triggered its death, the undead will retain some or all the personality it had.
We are currently unsure what is the deciding factor between someone dying and another going through “undeadization”.
All that follows are conjectures based on observations:
- ManaCondrea becomes ManaCores upon death just like any other creature.
- Contrary to ordinarily deceased creatures, Undead ManaCores are active just like a live Condrea would be, and it is hypothesized it is the reason why and how an Undead keep on “living”, as the destruction of the core brings “True Death” to the Undead.
- If the ManaCore circulates mana and retains its ability to absorb it from other sources (surrounding air, cores, living tissue) the undead can persist in this state indefinitely.
Alaster woke up in a world of pain. It was everywhere, making it hard to think when the herbs wore out.
He tossed and turned, groaning as he slowly came to.
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that he was back in his bedroom, laying down on his bed. The sheets were under him, his body resting atop of it, his chest and arms wrapped in bandages. His right arm was secured in a sling, resting on his stomach.
Everything around him was blurry, seeing just enough to realize that he woke up in the middle of the day, the wintery light coming in from the half closed windows. On his bedside table, a pitcher filled with green tinted water smoked lightly, near a ceramic bowl doing the same.
It hurts... But I’m home. He thought, piecing together his memories, the patrol in the forest, the attack of the Wolves... and Jek.
“Finally up, sleepyhead?” Rang the voice of his mother, standing at the entrance of his room. “You’ve been out for a few days.” She added, sitting down next to his bed.
He turned his head to face her, wincing as his ribs and shoulders protested.
“HNfgh, what is going on?” He croaked, his mouth all spongy. “I thought we had healers in the village.”
Andrea gently patted him on his hand. “We do, and we tried to heal you, but it didn’t work. You absorbed the magic like dry sand drinks water. It barely had any effect, so we had to resort to herbs. Thankfully,” she added, stroking her son’s arm, “you are not hurt to the extent that herbs and rest wouldn’t help. You got some cuts, a shoulder dislocation, and a few fissured ribs. It’s going to feel like shit for a bit, but nothing major. The only concerning injury is within.” She added hesitantly, a finger pressing at the base of his sternum, making him wince.
“Augh! S..stop please!" He jerked, triggering more pain in his chest and his limbs.
“Don’t you feel it? The constant ache deep in your core?” She pressed a little, easing up the pressure. “I didn’t notice it at first, but you bruised it when you went OUME, and since you kept using magic, it never really got better for days. “
“S..so that’s why it’s been hurting everytime I casted a spell?” Alaster realized.
“It’s part of it, yes. But it’s also my fault.” His mother looked away through the window. “I was working on a device to keep the monsters away, and… basically, it works by reducing the amount of mana in the air both to function and to make the place less attractive to monsters. As a result, I slowed everyone’s magic recuperation, making the healer’s work harder in the process. I’m sorry.”
Alaster blinked slowly, remembering what happened between his time in the shooting range and the incident with Jek. “I... Broke my core?” he asked carefully.
“No, no you didn’t” she said quickly, grabbing his clawed hand. “But you’ll take a while to completely heal up, and even longer to replenish your magic to a satisfactory level as long as we keep the device on. So, from now on, absolutely no magic, understood? You can read up and write in your Grimoire, but you must not try to cast any spell until the pain completely vanishes, you get that?”
He nodded slowly, deflating a bit, clearly disappointed. He let himself sink back on his bed, relaxing more.
“No that you are conscious, we are going to try again with a healer, hoping your bruised core don’t gobble up the magic again. Hopefully it’ll help with your shoulder and ribs.”
He nodded again, processing the information. Sorting his thoughts, he realized he forgot something.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“And … How’s everyone else? How’s dad? “
“Your father is fine, as your elf friend. They got bumps and scrapes all over thanks to Jek, but the healer took care of them and their concussions easily enough. Carrie is fine too, if a little shook. Sadly, the adventurer responsible for her and Jek’s group didn’t make it. We had a funeral yesterday.”
“And Ho-“
“How’s Jek?” Andrea cut Alaster. “Well, the little shit is alive if you must ask. After how he panicked and what he tried to do to you, he’s locked in a cage for now. Not only that, but he’s held responsible for delaying help to the victims.”
“How hurt is he?” Al asked with a small voice, almost fearing the answer.
“You did a number on him, cuts and bruises everywhere. Could be worse, he’s lucky you were too hurt to kill him outright with magic. Your father told me you lost your head and you wailed at him for a bit, but nobody is holding that against you. There were enough witnesses staring down the walls and running to the site for them to try and start rumors. Felix stopped you before you could gouge something important.”
Alaster squirmed as she explained, feeling guilty as he did not remember anything past Jek throwing him against a tree. A pang of shame filled him as he realized he must have lost control to go this far.
“Don’t worry too much for that shitty brat though, the healer’s magic worked on him. But he made no attempt to reduce his scars. He’s got souvenirs of your fight all over his body. There’s hoping he’ll learn his lesson this time and that close brush with death under your claws will serve as a wake-up call.” She was clearly frustrated by that, tapping the bedside table with a finger. “If he were older, he’d be banned from the village with nothing but his clothes on his back once he got well enough. But since he’s about your age, like ... 12, 13 years old? He’s going to be closely taken care of for a few years to make sure he’s not getting the wrong idea.”
“But enough of that! Time for your medicine.” She decided, taking the bowl on the bedside table and cramming it into Alaster’s hands. “Losing your head aside, you did good, son. That’ll ease the pain and probably make you sleepy for a bit.” She said, stroking his scaly cheek. “I need to go; Howard finally came back with a solution for our monster problem. Rest up, but remember, no magic, none at all until the pain fades. Ah, and for your peace of mind, don’t look out the window. Everything’s fine.”
Alaster, the bowl finished on his lap, struggling to keep his eyes open. As she left the room, her last words were rousing questions in his mind.
What did she mean by that??
Suddenly regaining consciousness from his medicine induced sleep, Alaster’s eyes opened with effort, his rest interrupted by an awful impression, a sensation that something bad is about to happen.
This sensation of impending doom urged him forward. He struggled to sit on his bed, his chest and shoulder screaming in pain as his other hand pushed himself up. Vertigo took him when he strained himself to open the wood panels on his window further, to have a look outside.
Adjusting to the bright and wintery noon light, he stared outside, his heart picking up pace.
It was awful, to feel deep in his core that he needed to run away immediately, and find himself incapable.
And yet, there was nothing outside, only silence. If anything, there was too much of it. No sound, no wind, and yet the air was filled with dread.
Was it an illusion? Or just a sensation?
Quickly closing the blinds, Alaster brought his bedsheets over his head and did his best to keep himself as small as possible, feeling his body tremble with dread for no apparent reason.
Hiding under the sheets, he could only feel that awful emotion recede and come back in waves, more or less intense.
He closed his eyes tight, hoping for this to pass soon.
Howard and his group were huddled around the artifact, its green glow as bright as a small sun now that it had been charged with enough mana to function.
Despite knowing what they felt was merely an illusion conjured by the orb, it took all they had not to bolt and run away as fast as their legs carried them.
The Orb was carried by an undead, a close aide of the lich they asked help to. The man, wearing the trappings of a butler, was casually holding the mana construct in his hand. Not being alive seemed to confer immunity from its effects.
Since then, the pale old man was strolling in the woods, brandishing the orb like a torch from time to time as he circled the village counter clockwise, relying on Howard and his bunch to protect him if any monsters triggered their “Fight” response instead of their flight.
Howard hoped none of them would, finding it almost impossible to follow the man without pissing himself. He absentmindedly noticed they were passing near Andrea’s tower and Felix’s forge.
It’s still better than falling to my death, he thought to himself, addressing a silent prayer.
As they slowly circled the village, the beasts and monsters nearby let out terrified cries, fleeing the waves of dread emanating from the group. The trees shook from the stampeding creatures, ignoring each other in favor of their escape.
Once the noise receded, the undead resumed his walk.
This “procession” was to be done a couple times a day for a week, then once a week for a couple months, each time a bit further away from the village.
Just as it came, the dread Alaster felt left with no explanation, as if it never happened.
His heartbeat was setting down to a more comfortable pace as he rubbed his eyes with the nook of his elbow.
What the hell was that??!
Nervous, it took him a while to go back to sleep despite the medicine his mother gave him.
The presence of monsters sharply decreased over time. His mother told him it was thanks to Howard’s group. Yes, that guy who tried to snatch Alaster from the feast a few months ago she felt important to add, as Alaster didn’t seem to recognize the name.
A couple weeks later, and with the help of the Adventurer’s guild, the forest was declared safe again.
Just in time for Alaster to be allowed to come out of his room, his wounds mostly stabilized thanks to the healers and Mistress Brianne philters. If there still was pain in his chest and shoulder, it was reduced to something much more manageable.
And yet, the pain in his core, akin to touching a bruised patch of skin, remained. He was still not allowed to use any magic at all, restrained to only study the theory behind spellcasting. Most recently, he took an interest in defensive magic, and despite Andrea’s reluctance in having him learning such things already (it was bad enough that he discovered a way to throw fireballs by himself, which both made her concerned and proud), she eventually agreed and gave him what he needed to start brushing up the subject.
Alaster’s excited disposition to the prospect soured a little as he realized that protecting himself via a spell would be much more complex than attacking with a ball of fire.
In addition to the mental gymnastics and the words you had to learn in order to successfully launch the spell, there were a lot of parameters to take into account to parry or block a blow efficiently.
Magic definitively was for Nerds?.
He made a note to ask how Felix would do it. Warriors had to protect themselves too after all, and contrary to mages, their use of magic was simpler, more instinctive.
He put down his books after he heard his mother call him from below, there was a guest. Looking through his window, he noticed a carriage he did not hear approaching, absorbed by his studies. Rising on his feet, he went down the stairs.
A stranger was waiting in the living room.
The man was tall and gaunt, his raven hair falling on his shoulders in a mane mixing with a short, unkempt beard. He was wearing a heavy winter cape thrown over his side on top of a thick leather armor sporting an impressive amount of buckles and pouches.
He turn to Alaster, his icy blue eyes gave him a once over before turning back to speak with Andrea, before giving the small lizardman a double take
“Ah, Alaster, meet my uncle Yann” She said, motioning toward the stranger. “He’s My Brothers -- the Count Lipswick’s right hand, so to speak. He’s here because... Well, because you father and I” she gave a pointed look to Felix, who was seated at the table, strangling on his drink as he heard himself being mentioned. “That in order to help you grow as a person and as a mage, to send you to my brother’s manor in Waxia where you’ll have the education you deserve.” She finished, hands together staring expectantly at Alaster, who slowly blinked as he processed what she said.
“W..wha ?”.
“Buckle up kid, you are going to Waxia!” she resumed, waving her hands.
