Lessons and the Dead

Vereor Magus stood beside his Master, Vereor was dressed in blue Wizard’s Robes complete with the weird pointed hat, and his master was dressed in his typical black robes and black pointed hat. Vereor now wielded a Magic Staff, a staff with a black crystal top that protects against certain spells and enhanced the users natural magical ability.

For the last two months, Master Grayzag had been training Vereor hard, saying that he needed to learn how to fight better so that they could take care of a few of Grayzag’s errands. He had just finished training this new spell, but now he was putting it to combat use.

“Defeat him as I had taught you,” Grayzag said, before stepping back to the door and grabbing out his wand. He waved it once, and the iron bars that held the Lesser Demon completely disappeared. Vereor now stood facing an angry Lesser Demon with only his spells.

The demon charged forward, snarling and hoping for a quick victory. It was stopped in its tracks as Vereor cast Bind, which wouldn’t last long with such a strong monster. Vereor then launched off the Curse spell, and the demon’s shoulders slumped just a little. He then blasted the demon back with his strongest spell, Fire Bolt. The demon fell backwards, landing in a heap. Vereor kept blasting, until the demon finally lay dead in a bloody heap.

Grayzag nodded, waving his wand twice. The iron bars reappeared, and the Lesser Demon came back to life, roaring and snarling like always. Grayzag nodded once again at Vereor, he was ready to begin Grayzag’s ‘errands’.

Vereor walked slowly through Lumbridge, his new blue wizard’s boots crunching the dirt. He had his hat pulled low, which shadowed his face due to the noon day sun. No one commented at him or shrunk away from his ghastly looks because of the concealing shadow.

People thronged the streets, it was close to market day, and people were moving between here and Varrock with their crops and animals. Vereor found himself having to push and shove his way through the crowds for a long time, covering little ground. After a long while, he finally managed to come out at his destination, the Lumbridge Graveyard. There were very few people here today, but a large group clustered around a grave, where a man dressed in green robes was chanting a prayer.

Vereor looked down at his paper, which had a strange symbol that looked like an Imp on fire (a notion that Vereor enjoyed). He looked up, and found that one of the buildings that were scattered around the graveyard had that symbol. He stepped up to it and examined it. It was relatively new, perhaps twenty years old, and painstakingly created. The building was made with more care than most of the houses in the area. Vereor shook his head, why would the living have a worse home than the dead?

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The air inside was not foul as he had expected, it was as if he was still outside. The room was perfectly clean, and in the center rested a long, thin coffin.

Vereor strode up to the coffin, and paused, not eager to complete the next part of his instructions. He spent a moment gathering his strength and his considerable store of willpower. Then he shoved the top of the coffin off, sending it crashing down against the floor.

At first nothing happened, but then wind seemed to converge above the coffin, and the semi-transparent form of a ghost congealed on the spot. It looked like an old wizard, dressed in long robes of an unidentifiable color with a hat that tilted forward, in the style of the Yanille Magi.

Vereor tapped the skull-amulet on his chest, making sure that it was there and gathering strength from the reminder that he was here with a purpose. He called up to the ghost, who had floated to the ceiling. “Ghost, my master requires an Amulet of Ghostspeak, do you know where I may obtain one?”

The ghost laughed, a terrible, dead mockery of laughter that shook Vereor to the core. He pointed to Vereor’s chest with a transparent finger.

Vereor shook his head, “No, my master requires another one.”

The ghost’s eyes then thinned to slits, “Why should I give you another one? What will you do for me?

Vereor smirked, his master hadn’t said there would be a price, but orders were orders, and his master was not one to fail. “What is it you want from me?”

The ghost’s face changed to resemble a smile, “Ah, a good boy then. I want one thing, and one thing only. I want my head back.”

Vereor’s eyebrows knitted together, his head was gone?

The ghost’s face changed to impatience. “My skull, boy, my skull. Long ago, your master took my skull, and promised to return it in exchange for a Ghostpeak Amulet. I want it back. Give it back to me, and I will give you another.”

Vereor nodded, “Where is this skull at?”

The ghost smiled again, “The skull is in a shack in the Lumbridge Swamp. Good luck, the rats are quite dangerous this time of year.”

Vereor did not reply as he stalked out the door, not bother to put the casket’s lid back on and return the old ghost back to his slumber.

The ghost laughed after Vereor left; more than a few apprentices went after the skull and only one had ever come back with it in hand.

Vereor entered the swamp with little trepidation, what does a mage need to fear from mere rats? The swamp was not particularly fearsome, at least not as scary as its reputed to be. Large trees with trailing vines covered the area, clustered around small ponds filled with water no man would dare to drink. Somehow, Vereor missed the eyes that flashed from within the ponds and from behind the trees as he walked steadily further and further into the swamp.

The eyes let him pass, however, and avoided him all together as he arrived at a small, run-down shack.

So far so good, Vereor thought to himself, gripping his staff harder as he reached out and opened the door. He peered inside, the room was small, with only what looked like a bookstand next to two candlestands that bore unlight candles. Vereor entered, and that was when he noticed the bloody skull that rested on the bookstand.

Vereor grinned, and he reached forward, grasping the skull with his bone-white fingers. The quiet room then exploded into action. The door slammed shut. The candles lit themselves with two small explosions. Two skeletons rose up from the sides of the room, armed with hatchets and small, buckler shields. They both swung their axes at Vereor, and Vereor only saved himself by crouching quickly, which he did as a reaction to the door slamming.

It took a moment to realize that the enemy was not at the door now in front of him, but at his sides, in the form of leering skeletons. A rusty axe swung in, and Vereor swung his staff at it, sending the dull metal, and the skeleton’s hand, flying away. Vereor turned on the spot and fired a Fire Bolt into the head of the other skeleton before turning back around, sweeping his staff to block any further attacks. He needn’t have bothered, however, because when he broke off the hand the whole body cracked and broke into pieces. The other skeleton met the same fate, except much more quickly due to the powerful impact of a fire bolt.

Vereor, chest heaving as the adrenaline wore off, allowed himself a moment of weakness as he sagged down to the floor.

Vereor returned the skull back to the ghost, who took it without comment before showing Vereor a secret compartment hidden in the floor tiles that contained an Amulet of Ghostspeak. Vereor returned back to his master within two days, but his master looked surprised to see him back.

“Ah, I see you have the amulet,” Grayzag said as he reached out his hand to take the amulet.

Vereor handed it to him, and answered, his eyes glinting dangerously, “Yes, I acquired it with no trouble.”

Grayzag allowed a smile to light his features for an instant, “Very well. Now I am ‘officially’ elevating you to the rank of Apprentice. We leave tomorrow for the River Salve. Go to Sedridor for your new staff… and find some black robes.”

Vereor nodded, and, hiding his excitement deep within him, stode down the stairs to the basement level, where Sedridor’s quarters were located. He rested against the door for a minute before knocking and entering.

He was disappointed with what he saw. He expected the Archmage of the Wizards’ Tower to have impressive trophies lining the walls, great magical items resting on tables. Instead, all he saw was a small room with a few small tables adorned with flowers and runes set on pedestals. A door led further in, to Sedridor’s private chambers, but Sedridor was sitting at a desk in the far corner. Sedridor stood up when Vereor closed the door behind him, and strode across the room with great sweeping steps.

“Ah, Vereor Magus, how are you today?” Sedridor asked.

Vereor gripped his staff more tightly, slightly repulsed in the forward, happy manner Sedridor greeted him in, as if they were friends. “Master Grayzag has sent me here to get a new staff a set of black robes, I have been elevated to the rank of Apprentice.”

Sedridor smiled and nodded, instantly producing the black robes from nowhere. “And.. What kind of spell do you prefer? Fire, water, earth, or wind?”

Vereor waited for a moment before answering. “Fire. It is the strongest.”

Sedridor nodded again, but he looked slightly disappointed. He produced a Staff of Fire from nowhere, and handed it to Vereor. Vereor took it and left, wasting no in Sedridor’s presence. Sedridor shook his head as he left, “I fear he will become a great Zamorakian Mage.”