Lessons and the Dead

Vayne Magus, his light blue robes clinging to his bony body, stood next to his towering master, the huge, dark shape of Grayzag in his long, flowing black robes. There was about a foot difference between their heights, as Vayne had about an average height but Grayzag was taller than most. Grayzag’s tall hat also added to his height, but Vayne did not wear one as he was, as Grayzag said, a ‘Trial Apprentice’; he still had to pass another test that Grayzag had not yet deemed him prepared for. However, Vayne now possessed a new staff bearing a black-crystal top. It was a Magic Staff; a staff with inner magics that helped protect against cursing spells and power contained within that enhanced a wizard’s fighting ability. However, while his old staff had been made by Zaff and was perfectly smooth, this was cheaply made by someone in Lumbridge, and for that reason it occasionally drove harsh splinters deep into Vayne’s already fragile fingers.

However, he did not complain. It was never a good idea to complain when Grayzag was around. He was a harsh but grudgingly effective and rather brilliant teacher. They had covered much in the fifty days he had so far spent as Grayzag’s ‘Trial Apprentice’, probably more so than any of the other apprentices learned in their entire stay at the Wizards’ Tower! Vayne spent every minute of every day that he didn’t spend asleep or eating in the room known as the Spellworking Room, and Vayne had grown to all but ignore the Lesser Demon’s roars and attempts to swat Vayne.

However, at this moment, Vayne’s heart was pounding. Not from fear caused by the demon’s roars, but because today was the day he would be tested. The last few months had been the best in his life, for he was extremely talented and enjoyed magic more than life itself. He was determined not to lose his apprenticeship, as he was certain that none of the other wizards were as good as Grayzag. Grayzag growled impatiently, knocking Vayne out of his thoughts, reminding him to finish his preparations.

Vayne quickly pulled out his first batch of runes from his pocket, which was now frayed and slightly ripped because Vayne constantly whipped his hand into and then back out of it. He found his familiar grip on his staff, where the wood was worn smooth and did not have many splinters. Then he nodded to Grayzag, his heart hammering so loudly it could almost be heard despite the cold calmness on his sharp face.

Grayzag nodded back. “Defeat him as I taught you. Should you fail, you will probably die.” Grayzag let that dark notion hang in the air for a moment that would have been silent had the demon not bashed itself against the side of the cage mindlessly. Grayzag walked over to the doorway and waved his wand through the air, tip glowing a greenish yellow.

The Lesser Demon’s cell bars disappeared completely, leaving only small circular holes in the ground where they had been affixed to tell that they were every even there. The demon stopped, confused for a moment as its small mind tried to comprehend what had happened, it’s disgusting tongue lolling out of its mouth stupidly. Then it saw Vayne, saw meat and blood standing there with only a stick to protect him. It charged, horned head leading and clawed hands not far behind.

Vayne hopped back in instinct, surprised by the ferocious charge, and hit his back against a solid stone wall. His mind screamed at him, telling him to do many different things at once. However, he, with great effort, pushed aside his jumbled thoughts and grasped one only; the thought telling him how to defeat it. He reached out his shaking hand and hurriedly launched a Bind at the Lesser Demon.

It stopped immediately, invisible hands holding its feet to the floor. Its momentum carried its upper body forward, and it slammed its face and chest painfully into the stone floor. Strange, blackish blood started oozing from its nose as it pulled itself back up proceeded to flail wildly at Vayne’s still out of reach but so very frail body.

Vayne clasped his hands around another set of runes and sent a Curse at the Demon, who was beginning to break free of the bind. Its shoulders sagged, finding that gravity seemed to be a little bit stronger. It did not stop its rampage, but continued to flail and struggle against the bind.

One foot broke free, but Vayne held out the runes for his greatest spell; the Fire Bolt. Fire surged from Vayne’s fingers and smashed against the demon, breaking the bind completely and sending him sprawling to the floor. It rolled around in agony for a few moments until the Fire Bolt’s flames died away, and then stood up, angrier than ever before.

Its primal rage disappeared the next instant as another Fire Bolt flew in and smashed into its face, burning away the expression of hate and replacing it with only ashes. The demon fell back, arms smashing pounding against its own face as it tried to put out the flames. The flames eventually died away, leaving a blackened and bloody mess. However, the demon was not given time to celebrate its victory.

Vayne fired another burning Fire Bolt, this one also aimed for the head. The demon was unable to see it, as both eyes were burned out. This one disintegrated the head in less than a second. In the next the demon collapsed into a heap and began to quickly decompose into ashes. Grayzag stepped forward, a slightly pleased, slightly angered expression on his face, as if he had been rooting for both sides and had thus both won and lost.

He waved his wand twice, the first causing the bars to magically reappear, the second bringing the demon back to life. The demon crawled over to a corner and started weeping pathetically, but it would get no mercy from either the dark, merciless master or the rather cold and uncaring apprentice.

Grayzag turned to Vayne, his face resolved. “Very well, Vayne. You completed the task. Now it is time for your test.” Vayne stepped back in surprise, for he thought that the demon was the test! Grayzag chuckled derisively. “No, that was not the test. That was merely a test to see if you were ready to take the test. Now, listen up for I do not wish to repeat myself to trash. Here is your task-”

Vayne slowly made his way through the crowded streets of Lumbridge two days later, a borrowed Wizards’ Hat pulled low on his head to keep his face, and his rather unlikable looks, out of the public eye. To further decrease the risk of having people gape at him, he kept his gaze on the stone-paved road, but more often than not his vision was obstructed by a pair of expensive merchant’s boots. Unfortunately, Grayzag had picked the time when the Druids of Taverley made their annual stop in Lumbridge, causing merchants everywhere to flock to them in hopes of buying cheap herbs and potions. There was also a large number of farmers who wanted to make sure they had some herbs in case a disease swept through, so the long column of the expensive cloaks of the merchants was every now and then broken by sackcloth and cotton.

Vayne roughly pushed them an in front of him with his staff, sending him tumbling to the side. His path now clear, Vayne rushed forward. The merchant stood up, dusted himself off, and proceeded to stare menacingly at a farmer, who had been standing absentmindedly nearby. Vayne slid through gaps in the long lines that formed around the Druids’ caravans, dodging oncoming merchants who were more than willing to knock over a few people to get the best deals first!

Vayne’s head was down, so he did not notice a line of tough looking dwarves who stood in his path. He ran straight into one of them, hitting the five-foot tall, muscled, stocky dwarf and bouncing right off. The dwarf did not even notice, for Vayne was extremely light compared to the dwarf. Vayne glared at the dwarf’s back, thinking that he might, just might, get away with putting a Fire Bolt there. However, a couple of Lumbridge guards were standing nearby, protecting the front entrance to the Lumbridge Courtyard from the huge masses of merchants.

The dwarf’s voice rumbled as he proclaimed, “Who am I? I am Trioff! Leader of the hit band The Coal Rocks! We won the Keldagrim Battle of the Bands just a few months ago.”

The dwarf swished a very un-dwarfish patterned green sleeve through the air, and the other four members of the group roared out in dwarfish voices. They were also in green doublets, the kind that would probably make any other dwarf who saw them laugh aloud. But humans would do no such thing, because while each bore an instrument on their backs, huge mithril battleaxes swung from their expensive-looking belts.

The man standing in front of them, a yellow bearded bard dressed in bizarre blue and red clothes and bearing a large guitar, did let out a merry, rolling laugh. He held his sides as he did so, but calmed immediately when he spotted the dwarves’ hands moving steadily towards their weapons. He paused, settling his stunningly light blue eyes on the leader. “Dwarves? In a band? Who sings, or rather, grumbles?” He almost fell over as he once again began laughing, his breath coming in deep gasps.

Trioff cursed in a language foreign to any that Vayne knew and drew his battleaxe. The bard stopped immediately, but the effort required was evident in his now deep red face under his bizarre hat. He waved his hands, long, nimble fingers spread wide in supplication. He managed to get himself under control, and then said in a calmer voice that hinted at an undercurrent of laughter. “Tell you what, good dwarf, how about I talk to the Duke and schedule you a concert here at Lumbridge in one year’s time in compensation for my rudeness? My word goes a long way in this town, as I am the brother of the duke’s wife.”

The dwarf snorted. “Very well, I accept. We shall be back in one year, and I expect all of the nobles and commoners of Lumbridge to attend.” The bard bowed and walked off, barely holding in his laughter as he turned a corner. From the sounds coming from around the bend, he did not manage to hold it in long. The lead dwarf pointedly ignored this, as he turned to his companions and smiled widely, revealing the most perfect white teeth that ever graced the face of a dwarf. He said something to them in a low voice and they all shot off in different directions.

That was when the dwarf noticed Vayne for the first time, who was still sitting on the ground, fuming. Trioff looked at Vayne with an ashamed expression on his red-bearded face. He grasped Vayne’s hand and pulled him too his feet, muttering “Sorry” a few times.

Vayne stayed silent, his anger still yet strong. The dwarf frowned for a moment, but then snapped his fingers. “Ah! Here you go! This’ll make up for me knockin’ ya down. A ticket to Draul Leptoc’s Party in Varrock! Don’t miss it! We of the Coal Rocks will be performin’!” The dwarf smiled as he thrust a golden tick into Vayne’s hand. Then he bowed once and ran off, small, strong legs propelling him through the crowd.

Vayne shook his head and glanced down at the party invitation. Written on it in big bold letters was ONE TICKET FOR ENTRY TO DRAUL LEPTOC’S PARTY IN THE VARROCK GROUNDS FEATURING THE MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT OF THE COAL ROCKS. Vayne scowled and crumpled it up, tossing it to the ground. He moved on, shoving people out of the way with his staff. A small, young pick-pocket came along behind him, picking up the ticket with an expression of wonder etched upon his face.

Vayne walked through the nearly deserted Lumbridge Graveyard, the rustle and bustle of the streets replaced by an eerie quiet. He was the only in the rather large, gloomy graveyard except for a small party gathered around a newly dug grave. A tall man dressed in green robes read from a large green book at the foot of the grave, but he was the only one whom Vayne was able to make out as the others were all dressed in long black cloaks.

He shoved his hand down into his left pocket, the one that wasn’t frayed with use, and pulled out a small piece of paper. Sketched on it was a diagram of a circle with an X, the symbol that was supposed to rest upon the door of the mausoleum he was to enter. He glanced around the suddenly foggy area, trying to find where the endless rows of tombstones ended and the mausoleums began. Sighing, he tucked the paper back into his pocket and began walking down the path carefully placed between two rows of tombstones.

He spent nearly fifteen minutes staring forward into the gathering fog, walking among the resting places of the dead. Silently, he promised himself that he would not die here, would not be consigned to small place among these many thousands of graves, most of whose gravestones had been weathered beyond recognition. He would not be forgotten, he would make a mark on history that would demand a greater respect than a small plot of earth and an old, chipped stone.

At last he came to the mausoleums, and almost at once he came to the one he sought. Although most of them bore huge four pointed stars above various family crests, this one held only a large circle with a painstakingly perfect X through the middle. What that could mean, Vayne did not know. He stared at it for a moment, noticing that it was extremely beautiful; made of perfect black stone that had no scratches with gold running along the door frames and the four, solid looking corners.

Vayne put a hand on the door and pushed hard, but it was a wasted effort as the door swung in as if it were on oiled hinges. He entered, closing the door carefully behind him. Light filtered in through a stain-glass dome-window on the top, upon which was a purple version of the same symbol that graced the door. The multi-colored light made the room inside, which was made purely of marble, look almost too stunning to be real. It sparkled off of the meticulously scrubbed marble floor and then rebounded off of walls made of that same substance. In the center, on a raised dais, sat a coffin made of black marble. The coffin itself held the strange symbol in solid gold.

Vayne scowled, why would the dead have better housing that the living? He had walked by many a falling shack and failing store on his way here, but this place looked so expensive that it could have easily been able to cover the cost of all of the repairs in all of Lumbridge. He walked forward, thinking of his master’s instructions, making sure he was supposed to do what he had been told. What was the punishment for opening a coffin?

But, he remembered, it had been Grayzag who had ordered him to do this. He walked forward confidently and nonchalantly pushed the surprisingly light top of the coffin off, sending it crashing to the floor. Surprisingly, it did not break. He glanced inside the coffin, but if he was looking to see the dead man, he was disappointed. A long, concealing black shroud lay upon the man.

Any of Vayne’s questions as to what the man looked like were answered the next moment, however, as his ghost appeared five feet above the coffin. It was a transparent greenish color, so it was very hard to distinguish its features, but it was extremely tall and wore the elaborate robes and forward-tilted hat of the Yanille Wizards’ Guild, the Wizards’ Tower’s colleague from the west. He had a heavily lined face and a long beard, but his eye color was impossible to determine as it looked only a lighter shade of green.

The ghost stared down at Vayne expectantly, waiting to see why it had been summoned from its rest. Vayne tapped the tiny skull-like object resting on a plain woolen band about his neck, making sure that it was there so that he could converse with this strange being from the dead. He called up to the ghost, who had floated even higher and had now almost hit his head on the stained-glass dome. “Ghost, my master requires an Amulet of Ghostspeak, do you know where I might obtain one?”

The ghost laughed; a painful mockery of laughter that to the living sounded like a terrible wail. He pointed one greenish, transparent finger at the skull-like object on Vayne’s chest, the faint hints of a smile on his face as he enjoyed his own joke.

Vayne scowled and shook his head fiercely. “No, my master requires another.”

The ghost’s eyes, which were hardly distinguishable from the rest of the face already, narrowed into unidentifiably slits. The he spoke, his voice sounding akin to the scratching of leaves and the wailing of the wind as it fought against stubborn trees. “Why should I give you another? What would you do for me?”

Vayne frowned; his master did not say anything about him having to do something for the ghost. Then again, it was typical of his master to hide things from him. Whatever the case, he had been ordered to get another Amulet of Ghostspeak, and his master was not one to fail. “What is it that you require of me?”

The ghost smiled again. “Ah, good boy then! I want one thing and one thing only; I want my head back.”

Vayne smirked and pointed at the ghosts head, echoing the ghost’s earlier joke. The ghost glared in response and said impatiently, “My skull, boy, my skull! Long ago, your master took my skull from me and promised to return it in exchange for an Amulet of Ghostspeak. I want it back. Bring it to me, and I shall give you another.”

Vayne nodded in response, leaning against his staff as he contemplated the task. The ghost took that as a yes and continued; “Good boy! My skull can be found in a ruined shack in the Lumbridge Swamp. Stay on your toes out there; the rats are dangerous this time of year!”

Vayne did not reply as he stalked out the door and toward the swamps, not bothering to put the lid back on the coffin and return the ghost to his rest. The ghost, however, was not unhappy at this as he knew that one of the Graveyard Servants serving the Church of Saradomin would be along to close it in a few moments.

The ghost started to laugh; more than a few apprentices had gone after the skull and each had been unsuccessful. This had a game between the ghost and Grayzag, for he would send the apprentices down knowing that the ghost would send them after the skull. Now Grayzag merely sent them down if they managed to pass his first test, for the protection around the skull, the object that made it so that he was forced to obey Grayzag’s call, was too much for a mere apprentice to defeat.

Vayne entered the swamp with little trepidation, for what does a mage need fear from a few dirty rats? The swamp was not particularly fearsome, at least not as frightening as its reputation. It was a typical marsh, with small paths of solid ground weaving between small ponds. Huge, sagging, moss covered trees with trailing vines were scattered all about, concentrating around the pools of water from which no man dared drink. Vayne walked through swiftly, but avoided the trees whenever he could; he still distrusted them after the Draynor Forest.

He moved with purpose, his staff barely having time to leave an imprint before it was lifted up and away to sink into the ground again. Because of the swiftness of his feet, he did not see the bright yellow pairs of eyes that followed him closely, never letting him out of their sight.

Luckily enough for him, he came across the small, leaning shack in less than half an hour following his first trail as it spider webbed through the swamp. The eyes fell back, for they feared what lay within the broken-down wooden shack.

Vayne scanned it, not nearly as concerned as the eyes. It was in pitiful condition; a corner was nearly demolished and termites had eaten up a large portion of the roof and one wall. However, Vayne was unable to see within, despite that the afternoon sun should have had no problem illuminating the insides due to the massive holes. Vayne opened the door with confidence and stepped inside.

The sunlight did indeed come through the roof, illuminating the cramped, almost empty little room. Directly in front of him were the only three objects in the room; a book stand and two candle stands. However, Vayne smiled as he looked more closely at the book stand, spotting a bright white skull perched precariously on the edge. He walked forward and grabbed it, his long fingers wrapping around the top of the skull.

The next moment, his fingers released it as he instinctively fell to the ground. He hardly knew what he was doing as he launched his staff towards his left and leaped towards it.

The two candle stands had exploded suddenly with light, the old, hardly usable candles glowing brightly with fierce flames. And with the light came two fearsome, brilliantly white skeletons bearing rusty old iron axes. The two had grinned toothless smiles and swung fiercely, but their prey had suddenly slipped beneath their reach.

The skeleton to Vayne’s left was hit directly in its faceless face with the staff and it lurched backwards, hitting the wall hard shattering into small, lifeless bones. The other skeleton would have roared at it been able to do so as it charged forward, brandishing its battleaxe.

Vayne grabbed up his staff and reached into his pocket, bringing forth his runes. The skeleton hesitated for a moment, and then was blasted into oblivion as a roaring Fire Bolt disintegrated it completely.

All of this had happened in a few seconds, with little thought on Vayne’s part. The reality of what had happened to him crashed down on him, though, and he sagged against his staff, breathing hard. He allowed himself a moment of weakness in that shack, all alone in the center of Lumbridge’s vast swamp.

Vayne returned with the skull to the mausoleum of the ghost. He unceremoniously pushed the top off of the coffin once again, and the ghost congealed out of the air before him, genuine surprise etched on his otherworldly face. He held out a hand, his desire for the skull overriding his wish to remain a scary and mysterious figure. He looked almost pathetic as he nearly begged for the object in Vayne’s grip.

Vayne shook his head, “Where is the Amulet of Ghostspeak?”

The ghost pointed to the dais of the coffin itself, at one of the perfect black-marble bricks. Vayne walked forward and easily pulled it out of place, grabbing the Amulet of Ghostspeak that rested within the secret cubby of the dais. He nodded his thanks and threw the skull into the coffin, leaving without further ado. The ghost did not care as it sighed in pleasure, for it had finally gotten its skull back!

Vayne left the mausoleum with a light, merry step. He finally had completed the task set before him by Grayzag, finally become an official apprentice! There was nothing Grayzag could do now to send him back to the Novices, there was nothing that he could do to get rid of him! He was very happy indeed, and his joy increased still further as he discovered that the streets were now deserted because of the rain, which his had did so well at keeping out of his face.

Vayne walked back to the Wizards’ Tower, forgetting his usual weariness in his joy of finally becoming an apprentice.