They say that practicing the art of magic tended to attack ones sanity, shaking their morals and causing them to loose their sense of self and delve into unspeakable acts. That was not the case for Crevis. He had spent decades studying the dark art of necromancy and had suffered no affects to his conscience or state of mind. You see, he was already a cruel and merciless man before he had discovered the power the lurked in the netherworld just waiting to be tapped.
It had started simply enough, the discovery of a book of the old pagan gods had changed his perspective on life and death, of the natural order of things. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months as he locked himself in his home and read over the ancient tablets that told of the summoning rituals and incantations that promised powers untold.
His studies had required some...unusual research subjects for his tasks. The village nearby had given him enough subjects to practice his powers on and then some. But of course simple minds decided he was too much of a danger, never realizing that he was too much for them to deal with already. Even now they still tried to kill him, even after the last regiment of men they sent came back floating down the river.
THe protective wards outside his home had already alerted him to the presense of a single fighter. Fools, they thought one man could kill him? He left his chair, standing at his full six feet and moved to his table where his supper lay. Let them come, he thought. He would show this person exactly who they were dealing with.
|