Part III: Greed is Good
Chapter 5: The Necronomicon
Timeline: AO 260
Once again I was at home looking for something to while away the time while my many projects played out on their own.
“I might as well raise the dead again,” I sighed. “I am after all the god of death. I’m sure they miss me.”
So it was that I trudged down to the deepest reaches of Nektar’s Cauldron, there beyond the infernal chambers where molten rock seared the air and the shadows lived a life of their own, was a place older than the mountain itself. This was the Necronomicon, the sanctum where I reveled in my dominion over death. With walls were made of ancient bone, etched with runes of dark power that pulsed faintly in the dim, flickering light, I took a moment to taste the air – it was thick with the scent of decay and the coppery tang of old blood, and it mingling with the acrid smoke that coiled lazily from a central brazier.
“Now that’s refreshing!” I took a big breath in, already feeling better.
The brazier’s flames cast grotesque shadows across the room, illuminating a grisly altar that dominated the center of the space. The altar was made of the fused remains of countless dead, their twisted bones and skulls forming a macabre throne from which I could command the spirits of the damned. Around the altar, the floor was covered in a mosaic of bones, each one inscribed with the name of the soul it once housed – it was meticulous work, but when you are a god you have all the time in the world to pay attention to the little things.
“Another night, another soul to torment,” I mused, my voice echoing off the bone walls with a cold, detached amusement.
Tonight’s ritual was not one of necessity but of pleasure—an indulgence in my mastery over death. I’d decided to summon from the bones of Ajax the Freemaker, the legendary Drokka who had once freed his people from the tyranny of the Derkka, overthrowing King Bashumel and reshaping the destiny of his kin. I had no real need to interrogate Ajax for I knew the dead warrior held no knowledge of the dagger Dagaal. But that wasn’t the point tonight. Instead it was kind of like working out for me – Ajax’s soul was my weight and the death communal was my exercise. You know how you feel after a good workout? That’s what it was like for me – I got such a rush from the thrill of these poor souls’ suffering.
With a languid motion, I extended a hand over the altar, my fingers curling in an arcane gesture as I began the death communal. The bones of Ajax lay arranged on the altar, their ancient white surface dull in the firelight. As I chanted in the language of the dead, the runes I’d inscribed on Ajax’s bones began to glow with a sickly green light, and the air grew colder, thick with the weight of the spirits being drawn back from the abyss.
“Rise, Ajax the Freemaker,” I intoned, my voice taking on a resonant power that made the very bones in the room shiver. “Rise and remember the pain of life, the torment of your struggles. Come forth and speak with me.”
The bones on the altar rattled, a grotesque sound that echoed through the chamber like the first clattering of chains in a dungeon. Slowly, the spirit of Ajax began to take form above the altar, a pale, translucent figure that writhed in agony as it was forced back into the world of the living – a beautiful thing! Ajax’s face, once proud and defiant in life, was now twisted in a grimace of pain and confusion. His spectral eyes met mine, and a flicker of recognition, mingled with dread, passed through them.
“You again,” Ajax’s voice was a hoarse whisper, laden with the weight of suffering that even death could not erase. “Why do you torment me, Fallen One? I have nothing more to give you.”
I smiled, a cruel, mocking grin that revealed teeth too sharp and too many. “Ah, Ajax, my old friend,” I purred, my tone dripping with false familiarity. “It’s not about what you can give me. It’s about what I can take from you. I find it… entertaining.”
Stepping closer to the altar, my glowing green eyes never left Ajax’s spirit. “Tell me, do you still feel the weight of the crown you never wore? The burden of the lives you saved, only to see them fall into darkness again? Does it hurt, knowing that your sacrifice was in vain?”
Ajax’s spirit trembled, the memories of his past—of his battles, his victories, and his ultimate failure—washing over him in a tide of despair. The pain of reliving those moments, of being dragged back into a world that had moved on without him, was a torment unlike any other.
I watched with sadistic glee as Ajax struggled against the agony of his memories, the echoes of his past entwined with the relentless present. The Drokka warrior’s spirit flickered, his form wavering as the torment intensified, but I would not let him fade so easily.
“Stay with me, Ajax,” I crooned, my voice a hypnotic blend of honeyed tones and harsh commands. “I want to know—how does it feel to be forgotten? To be nothing more than a legend, a tale told by those who never knew you? How does it feel to know that your people are still enslaved, not by chains, but by the very freedom you won for them?”
Ajax’s spirit contorted in anguish, his spectral hands clutching at his head as if trying to tear away the memories that plagued him. “Enough!” he cried out, his voice echoing through the chamber with a desperation that was both pitiful and infuriating. “I did what I had to do… I freed them…”
I laughed again, a sound that was more a hiss than a chuckle, dripping with malice. “Freed them? You merely changed their shackles, Ajax. The Drokka are still slaves—slaves to greed, to power, to their own folly. And now, they are mine to play with.”
Leaning in closer, my decayed face now inches from Ajax’s spectral form. “But don’t worry, Ajax. I’ll let you rest soon enough. After all, what is eternity without a little suffering to keep it interesting?”
Ajax’s spirit shuddered, the last vestiges of his defiance crumbling under the weight of my words. He’d fought so hard in life, and even in death, there was no peace—only endless torment at the hands of the very darkness he had sought to vanquish.
With a final twist of his hand, I released the spirit of Ajax, sending it back into the abyss from which it had been dragged. The bones on the altar fell silent once more, their glow fading as the runes extinguished. The chamber was still, save for the faint crackle of the brazier and the lingering echoes of Ajax’s screams – it was sweet music to my ears.
At last I stood alone in the silence, a cruel smile lingering on my visage. The death communal was over, and though it had yielded no new information, it had served its purpose. I felt invigorated, my dark power thrumming through me like a black pulse, and the satisfaction of this cruel exercise clung to me like a shadow.
“Until next time, Ajax,” AI whispered, a promise of future torment.
I took some time to place Ajax’s bones back into their security box. The flickering flames cast a shadow long and distorted behind me as I carried the Drokka’s remains toward the chamber’s door.
“Return these to The Morgue.” I instructed the terrified servant who’d been forced to wait outside the door for me. The goblin took the bone box and quickly ran off.
As for me, I felt alive with life and as I walked back towards The Gallery of Unholy Death, I imagined the spirit of Ajax the Freemaker trembling somewhere in the abyss beyond – knowing that his suffering was far from over…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 