Tuesday Excerpt, "Revenge"

Unlike the rest of its lavish surroundings, the room was dull and

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

wall.

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

Mandrean.”

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.