Oftentimes it is those truths which we accept earliest in life that take
the longest to challenge. No matter how open-minded we consider ourselves,
there remain always those blind spots that have been with us since birth, and
which no amount of logic and reason can expose. It takes a personal brush with
something truly unimaginable to shake our deepest-rooted faiths, and bring us to
the startling realization that nothing, no matter how fundamental, is ever
exactly as it seems.
My ascension within the Nihilists guild was a difficult process, but I
had a mix of humility and ambition that made my rise to power go far more
smoothly than I had anticipated. After our somewhat rocky beginning, Master
Veritus and I established an excellent relationship, and before too long he was
prepared to share with me some of the mightiest secrets of the Nihilistic arts.
He was adamant in his refusal to expose me to each successive piece of lore
until he felt that I was ready, but it was never long before I would see that
peculiar gleam in his ancient eyes and know that I had satisfied him. Then he
would close whatever moldering tome he had laid before me and direct me to his
ritual chambers, where the real learning began.
However, there was one area in which Master Veritus was never satisfied:
my insistence that Nihilism was the one true art, and that all other forces were
inherently inferior. No matter how often he attempted to instruct me in the
creation of an undead construct or teach me how to form my own flesh into a
rotting shield against all harm, I refused to apply myself to anything but the
study of the Demon Lords and their servants. Only the power to summon
progressively mightier servants of Nil and imbue them with the ever-more-potent
blessings of the Lords held any attraction for me at all.
My stubborn refusal to open my mind drove Master Veritus to distraction.
"You musht not limit yourshelf in this fashion," he scolded me, time and time
again. "Perhapsh the Nihilist's mightiesht art ish our control over the
forshes of death."
And time and time again, I responded with a shake of my head. "Master,
you must forgive me," I would say apologetically. "But I have no interest in
living a half-life, animated only by my own dark energies." I shuddered at the
thought. "I know that nothing is forbidden, Master, but…it is not natural."
Master Veritus would only shake his head sadly. "Then you have learned
nothing," he would say, and my studies would progress no further that day.
And he was right. The spectre of my own mortality hung over me like a
vision out of nightmare; not a day went by that I did not pause to reflect on
my eventual fate, and to realize that I was one step closer to lying alone in a
wet grave, unsung and unremembered. Nothing I saw of the power of Necromancy
over my elders within the guild could convince me that they would be spared,
either; somehow, I knew, their dark arts would desert them eventually, leaving
nothing more than a rotting husk behind. They would pass their last days in
suffering of a sort not even Lady Nifilhema could devise - a defiant
helplessness that no amount of power could surmount.
Soon I stood proud among the Transcendent Masters of the Nihilistic
arts, no small achievement. Everywhere I went, an archdemon traveled with me.
However, even as my guildmates inclined their heads to me as they passed, still
I was not satisfied. I had earned the respect of my peers, something for which
I had quested all of my life, but there was another whose respect I had not
earned. Master Veritus still looked at me with a kind of sadness and
discontent. Still I studied each day under him, still he labored to teach me
all he knew, but never again was he quite satisfied with my progress. I was at
a loss; I did not know how to please him without violating the very core of my
beliefs.
Then one day, disaster struck Magnagora. A combined force of Celestians
and Serenwilders, emboldened by their tacit alliance, decided to strike at the
very heart of the Empire - the Engine of Transformation itself. A writhing net
of roots and vines writhed before them as their attack fell, hard and fast, at
the outskirts of the city. The Ur'Guard marshals sounded the alarm, and as the
warriors of the city emerged from their homes with weapons and staves in hand
the battle was joined in full.
I was preaching to a few younger Nihilists at the Megalith of Doom when
I heard the battle cries, and wasted no time before leaping up and entering the
fray. The attackers had spread out from the Northern Gates and had now pierced
as far as the Bonehoard, where the bodies of our honored ancestors had been
laid to rest. Eager to defend this sacred ground, I jumped immediately into
battle with a pair of blood-soaked Moondancers, who raged near the body of a
fallen Celestine. Letting fly blast after blast of cosmic fire, I barked
commands to my loyal archdemon, who seized my nearest opponent in a terrible
embrace and whispered fearful secrets in his ear. Goaded by the awful screams
of his companion, the other Moondancer bared his teeth and lunged. As he bore
me to the ground, I saw another group of foes approach, their attention
captured by the noise, and I knew I was defeated.
Suddenly I heard a loud crunch from above me as a blade of tarnished
steel tore through the flesh of my assailant. Looking up, I was overjoyed to
see the grim visage of Kalas Ixion, the Supreme Commander of the ur'Guard, come
to defend the hallowed earth. From behind him came several bursts of raw
elemental energy; craning my neck, I recognized Kaervas d'Murani, puissant
Champion of the Geomancers, the Staff of the Earthen Ire gripped tightly in his
whitened fist. Each opponent fell before them in turn, but no sooner had a
bloodied corpse struck the tainted earth than another took his place, eager for
blood. Finally, when all others had fallen, all that remained were Ixion and
Kaervas, locked in a brutal melee with a battle-maddened Paladin clad in
shining mail. His wounds should long since have been sufficient to lay him
low, but rage at the death of his comrades burned in his eyes, and he would not
relent.
Finally, Kaervas roared in triumph as the very earth opened beneath the
Paladin's feet; he screamed as the gaping cavern swallowed him whole. However,
our triumph was short-lived, as the soil in the area was loose and, unspoiled by
the roots of stagnating plants, began to collapse inward and fill the chasm. I
had not yet risen from the ground, and so as the ground churned beneath me I
slid inexorably towards the hole. Frantically Kaervas began to murmur the
words that would undo his spell, but it was too late; with a panicked cry, I
tumbled into the abyss.
For several minutes I knew only darkness. A haze of pain covered all of
my senses, preventing me from moving. Then I remembered the things I had
endured at the hands of the Lady of Pain, and laughed silently as I snapped
from my daze. The very limits of my sanity had been tested before, and held -
this was nothing to a Nihilist. I activated my night-eyes, and the cavern
sprang into view.
Beside me on the ground rested the broken body of the Paladin. I could
see the warmth fading from his still form, and knew that he had not survived
the fall. Perhaps, I mused, the Fates would grant him new life, if his destiny
was great - and perhaps his destiny was fulfilled, and he would not rise again.
I was no longer sure I would live to see which came true.
I looked around and took stock of my surroundings, and was greatly
surprised by what I saw. I stood at the bottom of a long, winding stone
staircase, at the beginning of a lengthy corridor. Though I could see no torch
or other source of illumination, the interior of the corridor was lit as though
by candlelight. I also realized that I could scarcely hear my own breathing -
the room was utterly, chillingly silent, and the noise of my feet and breath
were muffled as though by the will of something that slumbered unseen, and
wished not to be disturbed. Lining the walls were a series of ornate stone
sarcophagi, each carved with sigils in languages I had not seen outside of
Master Veritus' tomes of lore.
I approached one and stood before it, squinting hard at the runes
inscribed upon the side. As I struggled to read the weathered pictograms, the
sarcophagus began to shine with a pale blue light, and I gasped in shock as the
sarcophagus opened seemingly of its own accord. From within came a long,
whispering sigh, as though decades of stilled breathing were finally being
released, and then a wizened head appeared from within. He had clearly been a
viscanti, that much was plain - now he was something more. His eyes are what I
remember most - they were jet black, and shone with a quiet but fearsome power.
He opened his mouth and spoke in a voice which creaked from disuse. "What is it
that you gape at so rudely, young one?"
My mouth closed. I stammered, then spoke in a voice that trembled with
excitement. "F-Forgive me, sir," I stuttered. "But…who are you?"
He laughed then, a dry, racking chuckle that sounded eerily like that of
Master Veritus. "My name," he replied, "Has not been important for some
decades. I left it behind when I entered my sleep."
"But…" I continued, at a loss for words. "This is a tomb. Should you
not be…"
"Dead?" he finished with a chortle. "Surely you are not so foolish as
to persist in that archaic, ignorant belief. I recognize the marks on your
face; you are a Nihilist, or were not long ago."
I nodded hastily. "Indeed I am," I replied, regaining some confidence
at the mention of my brethren. "Are you a Nihilist?"
He nodded slowly. "Of course," he said. "We all are."
I looked around, awestruck. There were dozens of sarcophagi, perhaps
more. "And you are simply sleeping here? For…for decades?"
He nodded again. "There was nothing more for us to learn in the world
of the living, young one," he intoned solemnly. "There are some secrets that
can only be discovered after taking the final journey."
"Forgive me, sir," I said hesitantly. "But I am afraid to die."
He laughed out loud then, a surprisingly young and vibrant sound - it
seemed as though he was slowly regaining his strength. "The solution to that
is simple," he smiled. "Embrace the teachings of your brethren, and embrace
that which is something more than life, far beyond death. Only then will you
be truly enlightened."
I nodded, far beyond words. Then I heard a rumbling from the corridor
behind me, and I knew I was saved; Kaervas had returned to reopen the chasm
that had swallowed me. The lich coughed and sighed again. "I must sleep
again, before your comrades arrive, young one," he said softly. "They will
awaken me for good, and I have much yet to learn."
"But, Master," I said hurriedly, "will you not teach us what you know?"
"Why should I?" he responded with a tiny laugh. "It is well within your
grasp. It simply waits to be discovered." Then he lay back in his sarcophagus
and closed the lid. The blue light faded, to be replaced by blinding white
light from above. I heard the shouts of my citymates, and after a moment of
shocked silence I responded with a shout of my own. I was alive.
That day I reported as usual to the chamber of Master Veritus, who
looked up at me with that same regret in his eyes. "Master," I began calmly,
"show me again how the dead might be raised."
The disappointment fled from his gaze, and a slow smile crept over his
ancient features. "Yesh, I will teach you," he replied. "That, and much, much
more."
And so he has.
I have since claimed the power that is the birthright of every Nihilist.
A power greater than death and stronger than life flows through me, opening my
eyes to forces I had never imagined. I know now that I have more to learn than
I thought possible - for every secret that hides in the world of the living, a
thousand weave themselves into the world beyond death. One day I will take my
place amongst those who slumber in darkness and silence; one day I will see
what they have seen, go where they have gone. It is within my grasp, waiting
to be discovered.
It will not wait forever.