Chapter 6: Rebirth
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Chapter 6: Rebirth
Several hours later, Tyron awoke to find himself lying on the floor, his entire body stiff and sore from resting on the hard wooden floor. Above him his parent's treasures glittered from their places mounted on the walls but he had no thought for them. The influx of stats he'd gained had changed him forever. He marvelled at the change, at the way his mind felt sharp and clear, his body tougher and even his thoughts seemed more firm and sure.
For someone just going from level one to two, he'd gained a lot of stats, way more than was the norm. His Class provided a lot of stats for being in its initial state, five was above average for sure, but six from the sub-class was unheard of. Even four would be considered good. He thought about it a bit more as he levered himself up from the floor.
Considering he still didn't really know how to level Anathema, or at least, the ideas he had were all bad, it kind of made sense the rewards would be high. He wasn't going to go around desecrating holy sites or seeking out recently deceased beloved community members to purposely raise as undead. The idea was to keep a low profile, not piss off everyone in town and leave a trail to follow. As he stood and took his bearings, Tyron steadied his thoughts and tried to calm down. He'd read about this sort of feeling, the euphoria that came from the first level up.
The stats of a human rose naturally as they aged, but always slowly such that it was hard to notice a difference when they changed. After someone received their first Class and gained three or four stat points at once, the feeling was incredible. After gaining an incredible eleven stats, as well as two new skills, it was little wonder that he'd been unable to remain conscious.
Normally a person would want to lay low after making such a dramatic change to their body and capabilities, allow themselves to slowly adjust to the new normal, but Tyron rejected that line of thinking. He didn't have the time to take things slow, tonight was another chance to test his new Skills and he wasn't going to waste it.
He took care to destroy the ritual paper covered with his Status information before leaving the room, burning the paper to ash using one of his father's flame enchanted weapons on the wall. Being meticulous, he gathered the ash and spread it on the hearth. Since he hadn't been living here much, there was no coals there at the moment, but he would soon fix that. Once the remains of the paper had been spread amongst the remains of a wood fire, no-one would be able to trace the ritual he'd performed.
Given that it was early afternoon, Tyron rushed to make his preparations for the evening. He gathered together the money his parents had left behind for him, usually far beyond what he would need but he found himself grateful for their careless attitude towards money for a change. Funds in hand, he hurried to the market to acquire what he needed. The town was still suffering from the previous nights of revelry when he walked the cobbled roads. People moved in slow motion, nursing their sore heads from too much drink and more than once he was forced to alter his path to avoid suspicious stains on the ground.
He was a little concerned that the market wouldn't be open but was pleasantly surprised to find the stalls and shops doing a quiet trade. He made his purchases without issue, refusing to stop and haggle, much to the disappointment of the traders. They increased their proficiency much faster with vigorous haggling and it was considered rude not to give them the opportunity to flex their skills, but he didn’t want to waste any time.
The moment he arrived home, he dropped his goods on the table, separating out the logs he'd filched from behind his uncle's inn and getting the fire going immediately. He watched the wood smoulder and crackle with satisfaction before he turned to his next project. The butcher frequently traded in bones, usually purchased for pets to gnaw on and such, but he was a touch surprised when young Tyron had entered the shop and asked for a full lamb carcass. Didn't the boy live on his own? Maybe he was putting on a celebratory feast after getting his Class sorted, or welcoming his parent's home? They’d be right pleased to see such a filial son.
Heart filled with warm feelings, the butcher had handed over the produce as Tyron had run a critical eye over the bone structure.
With the carcass on his kitchen table, Tyron could feel himself itching to get to work. First, he meticulously inspected every inch of the ex-lamb, running his hands and eyes across each sinew, poking and prodding at the bone and joints as he tried to understand what his Corpse Appraisal Skill was telling him.
Since the body was incomplete, missing the head, feet and offal, it was not possible to raise a proper zombie, even if it were human. To even animate the thing would take a monumental effort that the budding Necromancer was confident he wasn't capable of. That wasn't what he'd made the purchase for anyway. Satisfied that he'd learned what he could, Tyron unlocked the trophy room once more and emerged with a gleaming dagger in his hand. Of all the short blades in that room, he was confident that this was the sharpest. He knew this since he'd tested most of them over the years, when his parents were away.
Corpse Appraisal had done all it can, now it was time for Corpse Preparation to take the stage.
For the next hour, Tyron took a crash course in butchery as he tried to remove as much meat from the bones as he possibly could. It was tiring work and his aching body, not nearly recovered from his exertions last night, protested fiercely as he worked. It was a rough job. If the butcher had been able to see the miserable pile of hacked up and shredded flesh he heaped next to the skeleton, he'd have wept at the poor knife-work just as much as the waste. Hands and sleeves stained red from his work, Tyron was satisfied with the result. He took a moment to catch his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, staining his face without realising it, and thought about his next step.
During the ritual, he'd learned a new skill, Bone Stitching. With the bare knowledge nestled in his head since awakening, he knew what it was for, but he knew he'd want to practice before trying it on human remains. A Zombie required some flesh to remain in order to be raised, the fresher the body, the better the zombie would be. The reason being, as Tyron understood it, the magic provided acted as the catalyst to allow the creature to utilise the rotting flesh to move, supplying the difference when that flesh wasn't up to the task. The older and more desiccated the body was, the more inefficient the zombie would become, drawing on the necromancer deeply in order to move at all.
The skeleton was different. It had no flesh, in fact, the less organic tissue attached to the bones, the better, as it would interfere with the magick. Instead, the Bone Stitching Skill would provide the means through which the undead would move itself. From what he was able to interpret of the skill after waking, it was somewhat akin to magical sewing. By weaving threads of magick, the Necromancer was able to bind the joints together and provide the 'sinew' that would allow the creature to move. The better quality the thread, the more skilful the 'sewing', the better the skeleton would be able to move.
If Tyron was going to raise a human skeleton, he didn't want to do a poor job of it. That would be disrespectful. While he was at it, if he was going to take the risk and infiltrate the graveyard again, then he wanted his next minion to have a more promising and useful life than his first. Poor Mrs Jessup, she deserved better.
"To be fair, have you tried the stew?"
Worthy stood still for a moment.
"It's a pretty damn good stew," he admitted.
A laugh came from the kitchen behind him, followed a moment later by Meg herself, wooden spoon in one hand and apron on, she looked every bit the plump innkeeper's wife.
"You heard me coming," she accused her husband with a smile as she prodded him with the spoon, "you knew you'd be eating stale bread and bones if you had ought to say against my food."
The high levelled Harmmerman pretended clumsiness as he fended off the spoon assault of his wife.
"I'd never dream of talking down on your food. Oi! Would you - ... Leave off woman!"
Finally growing tired of the relentless poking, the doughty innkeeper's hands blurred and Meg found herself suddenly spoonless. Non-fussed, she shrugged her shoulders before turning her beaming smile on her nephew.
"Nice to see you again, Tyron. Hope you're ready for a feast! I've made extra tonight."
Looking at the goofy pair, the young man knew that this cheerful act was half natural and half put on to help him feel better. He felt his throat constrict as his emotions threatened to rise to the surface. His aunt and uncle were good people and it was hard to deceive them. For a moment he felt he should be open with them, reveal his situation and trust in their advice, but something stopped him.
He forced out a smile.
"Thanks, Aunt Meg. I'd love something to eat."
The Cook smiled warmly and seized back her spoon from her husband before bustling back into the kitchen to serve him a bowl. Worthy just chuckled and shrugged defensively.
"To think I used to smite beasts and monsters for a living. Now I get bullied in my own Inn."
"And you've never been happier," Tyron told him.
"Aye, that's true," Worthy grinned before reaching out a large hand to rustle his nephew's hair. "Don't worry about what you told me earlier lad," he said, "once your parents get home, we'll work out the best path for you. Whatever you want to be, your mother'll know a way to make it happen. That woman knows more about the hammer Classes than I do myself!"
Tyron looked down and swallowed the lump in throat before he nodded. Mercifully, his relatives gave him some space once they'd put food in front of him and he ate it with haste before he cleaned up after himself and quietly left. Deep down, he didn't want to tell his family the truth, because once he did, the decision of what to do next would no longer belong to him alone. As much as possible, he wanted the choices that would decide his future to be his own. He recoiled from the idea of surrendering that control.
Perhaps the Gods were right about him after all.
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Chapter 6: Rebirth
Several hours later, Tyron awoke to find himself lying on the floor, his entire body stiff and sore from resting on the hard wooden floor. Above him his parent's treasures glittered from their places mounted on the walls but he had no thought for them. The influx of stats he'd gained had changed him forever. He marvelled at the change, at the way his mind felt sharp and clear, his body tougher and even his thoughts seemed more firm and sure.
For someone just going from level one to two, he'd gained a lot of stats, way more than was the norm. His Class provided a lot of stats for being in its initial state, five was above average for sure, but six from the sub-class was unheard of. Even four would be considered good. He thought about it a bit more as he levered himself up from the floor.
Considering he still didn't really know how to level Anathema, or at least, the ideas he had were all bad, it kind of made sense the rewards would be high. He wasn't going to go around desecrating holy sites or seeking out recently deceased beloved community members to purposely raise as undead. The idea was to keep a low profile, not piss off everyone in town and leave a trail to follow. As he stood and took his bearings, Tyron steadied his thoughts and tried to calm down. He'd read about this sort of feeling, the euphoria that came from the first level up.
The stats of a human rose naturally as they aged, but always slowly such that it was hard to notice a difference when they changed. After someone received their first Class and gained three or four stat points at once, the feeling was incredible. After gaining an incredible eleven stats, as well as two new skills, it was little wonder that he'd been unable to remain conscious.
Normally a person would want to lay low after making such a dramatic change to their body and capabilities, allow themselves to slowly adjust to the new normal, but Tyron rejected that line of thinking. He didn't have the time to take things slow, tonight was another chance to test his new Skills and he wasn't going to waste it.
He took care to destroy the ritual paper covered with his Status information before leaving the room, burning the paper to ash using one of his father's flame enchanted weapons on the wall. Being meticulous, he gathered the ash and spread it on the hearth. Since he hadn't been living here much, there was no coals there at the moment, but he would soon fix that. Once the remains of the paper had been spread amongst the remains of a wood fire, no-one would be able to trace the ritual he'd performed.
Given that it was early afternoon, Tyron rushed to make his preparations for the evening. He gathered together the money his parents had left behind for him, usually far beyond what he would need but he found himself grateful for their careless attitude towards money for a change. Funds in hand, he hurried to the market to acquire what he needed. The town was still suffering from the previous nights of revelry when he walked the cobbled roads. People moved in slow motion, nursing their sore heads from too much drink and more than once he was forced to alter his path to avoid suspicious stains on the ground.
He was a little concerned that the market wouldn't be open but was pleasantly surprised to find the stalls and shops doing a quiet trade. He made his purchases without issue, refusing to stop and haggle, much to the disappointment of the traders. They increased their proficiency much faster with vigorous haggling and it was considered rude not to give them the opportunity to flex their skills, but he didn’t want to waste any time.
The moment he arrived home, he dropped his goods on the table, separating out the logs he'd filched from behind his uncle's inn and getting the fire going immediately. He watched the wood smoulder and crackle with satisfaction before he turned to his next project. The butcher frequently traded in bones, usually purchased for pets to gnaw on and such, but he was a touch surprised when young Tyron had entered the shop and asked for a full lamb carcass. Didn't the boy live on his own? Maybe he was putting on a celebratory feast after getting his Class sorted, or welcoming his parent's home? They’d be right pleased to see such a filial son.
Heart filled with warm feelings, the butcher had handed over the produce as Tyron had run a critical eye over the bone structure.
With the carcass on his kitchen table, Tyron could feel himself itching to get to work. First, he meticulously inspected every inch of the ex-lamb, running his hands and eyes across each sinew, poking and prodding at the bone and joints as he tried to understand what his Corpse Appraisal Skill was telling him.
Since the body was incomplete, missing the head, feet and offal, it was not possible to raise a proper zombie, even if it were human. To even animate the thing would take a monumental effort that the budding Necromancer was confident he wasn't capable of. That wasn't what he'd made the purchase for anyway. Satisfied that he'd learned what he could, Tyron unlocked the trophy room once more and emerged with a gleaming dagger in his hand. Of all the short blades in that room, he was confident that this was the sharpest. He knew this since he'd tested most of them over the years, when his parents were away.
Corpse Appraisal had done all it can, now it was time for Corpse Preparation to take the stage.
For the next hour, Tyron took a crash course in butchery as he tried to remove as much meat from the bones as he possibly could. It was tiring work and his aching body, not nearly recovered from his exertions last night, protested fiercely as he worked. It was a rough job. If the butcher had been able to see the miserable pile of hacked up and shredded flesh he heaped next to the skeleton, he'd have wept at the poor knife-work just as much as the waste. Hands and sleeves stained red from his work, Tyron was satisfied with the result. He took a moment to catch his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, staining his face without realising it, and thought about his next step.
During the ritual, he'd learned a new skill, Bone Stitching. With the bare knowledge nestled in his head since awakening, he knew what it was for, but he knew he'd want to practice before trying it on human remains. A Zombie required some flesh to remain in order to be raised, the fresher the body, the better the zombie would be. The reason being, as Tyron understood it, the magic provided acted as the catalyst to allow the creature to utilise the rotting flesh to move, supplying the difference when that flesh wasn't up to the task. The older and more desiccated the body was, the more inefficient the zombie would become, drawing on the necromancer deeply in order to move at all.
The skeleton was different. It had no flesh, in fact, the less organic tissue attached to the bones, the better, as it would interfere with the magick. Instead, the Bone Stitching Skill would provide the means through which the undead would move itself. From what he was able to interpret of the skill after waking, it was somewhat akin to magical sewing. By weaving threads of magick, the Necromancer was able to bind the joints together and provide the 'sinew' that would allow the creature to move. The better quality the thread, the more skilful the 'sewing', the better the skeleton would be able to move.
If Tyron was going to raise a human skeleton, he didn't want to do a poor job of it. That would be disrespectful. While he was at it, if he was going to take the risk and infiltrate the graveyard again, then he wanted his next minion to have a more promising and useful life than his first. Poor Mrs Jessup, she deserved better.
"To be fair, have you tried the stew?"
Worthy stood still for a moment.
"It's a pretty damn good stew," he admitted.
A laugh came from the kitchen behind him, followed a moment later by Meg herself, wooden spoon in one hand and apron on, she looked every bit the plump innkeeper's wife.
"You heard me coming," she accused her husband with a smile as she prodded him with the spoon, "you knew you'd be eating stale bread and bones if you had ought to say against my food."
The high levelled Harmmerman pretended clumsiness as he fended off the spoon assault of his wife.
"I'd never dream of talking down on your food. Oi! Would you - ... Leave off woman!"
Finally growing tired of the relentless poking, the doughty innkeeper's hands blurred and Meg found herself suddenly spoonless. Non-fussed, she shrugged her shoulders before turning her beaming smile on her nephew.
"Nice to see you again, Tyron. Hope you're ready for a feast! I've made extra tonight."
Looking at the goofy pair, the young man knew that this cheerful act was half natural and half put on to help him feel better. He felt his throat constrict as his emotions threatened to rise to the surface. His aunt and uncle were good people and it was hard to deceive them. For a moment he felt he should be open with them, reveal his situation and trust in their advice, but something stopped him.
He forced out a smile.
"Thanks, Aunt Meg. I'd love something to eat."
The Cook smiled warmly and seized back her spoon from her husband before bustling back into the kitchen to serve him a bowl. Worthy just chuckled and shrugged defensively.
"To think I used to smite beasts and monsters for a living. Now I get bullied in my own Inn."
"And you've never been happier," Tyron told him.
"Aye, that's true," Worthy grinned before reaching out a large hand to rustle his nephew's hair. "Don't worry about what you told me earlier lad," he said, "once your parents get home, we'll work out the best path for you. Whatever you want to be, your mother'll know a way to make it happen. That woman knows more about the hammer Classes than I do myself!"
Tyron looked down and swallowed the lump in throat before he nodded. Mercifully, his relatives gave him some space once they'd put food in front of him and he ate it with haste before he cleaned up after himself and quietly left. Deep down, he didn't want to tell his family the truth, because once he did, the decision of what to do next would no longer belong to him alone. As much as possible, he wanted the choices that would decide his future to be his own. He recoiled from the idea of surrendering that control.
Perhaps the Gods were right about him after all.
Chapter 6: RebirthSeveral hours later, Tyron awoke to find himself lying on the floor, his entire body stiff and sore from resting on the hard wooden floor. Above him his parent's treasures glittered from their places mounted on the walls but he had no thought for them. The influx of stats he'd gained had changed him forever. He marvelled at the change, at the way his mind felt sharp and clear, his body tougher and even his thoughts seemed more firm and sure.For someone just going from level one to two, he'd gained a lot of stats, way more than was the norm. His Class provided a lot of stats for being in its initial state, five was above average for sure, but six from the sub-class was unheard of. Even four would be considered good. He thought about it a bit more as he levered himself up from the floor.Considering he still didn't really know how to level Anathema, or at least, the ideas he had were all bad, it kind of made sense the rewards would be high. He wasn't going to go around desecrating holy sites or seeking out recently deceased beloved community members to purposely raise as undead. The idea was to keep a low profile, not piss off everyone in town and leave a trail to follow. As he stood and took his bearings, Tyron steadied his thoughts and tried to calm down. He'd read about this sort of feeling, the euphoria that came from the first level up.The stats of a human rose naturally as they aged, but always slowly such that it was hard to notice a difference when they changed. After someone received their first Class and gained three or four stat points at once, the feeling was incredible. After gaining an incredible eleven stats, as well as two new skills, it was little wonder that he'd been unable to remain conscious.Normally a person would want to lay low after making such a dramatic change to their body and capabilities, allow themselves to slowly adjust to the new normal, but Tyron rejected that line of thinking. He didn't have the time to take things slow, tonight was another chance to test his new Skills and he wasn't going to waste it.He took care to destroy the ritual paper covered with his Status information before leaving the room, burning the paper to ash using one of his father's flame enchanted weapons on the wall. Being meticulous, he gathered the ash and spread it on the hearth. Since he hadn't been living here much, there was no coals there at the moment, but he would soon fix that. Once the remains of the paper had been spread amongst the remains of a wood fire, no-one would be able to trace the ritual he'd performed.Given that it was early afternoon, Tyron rushed to make his preparations for the evening. He gathered together the money his parents had left behind for him, usually far beyond what he would need but he found himself grateful for their careless attitude towards money for a change. Funds in hand, he hurried to the market to acquire what he needed. The town was still suffering from the previous nights of revelry when he walked the cobbled roads. People moved in slow motion, nursing their sore heads from too much drink and more than once he was forced to alter his path to avoid suspicious stains on the ground.He was a little concerned that the market wouldn't be open but was pleasantly surprised to find the stalls and shops doing a quiet trade. He made his purchases without issue, refusing to stop and haggle, much to the disappointment of the traders. They increased their proficiency much faster with vigorous haggling and it was considered rude not to give them the opportunity to flex their skills, but he didn't want to waste any time.The moment he arrived home, he dropped his goods on the table, separating out the logs he'd filched from behind his uncle's inn and getting the fire going immediately. He watched the wood smoulder and crackle with satisfaction before he turned to his next project. The butcher frequently traded in bones, usually purchased for pets to gnaw on and such, but he was a touch surprised when young Tyron had entered the shop and asked for a full lamb carcass. Didn't the boy live on his own? Maybe he was putting on a celebratory feast after getting his Class sorted, or welcoming his parent's home? They'd be right pleased to see such a filial son.Heart filled with warm feelings, the butcher had handed over the produce as Tyron had run a critical eye over the bone structure.With the carcass on his kitchen table, Tyron could feel himself itching to get to work. First, he meticulously inspected every inch of the ex-lamb, running his hands and eyes across each sinew, poking and prodding at the bone and joints as he tried to understand what his Corpse Appraisal Skill was telling him.Since the body was incomplete, missing the head, feet and offal, it was not possible to raise a proper zombie, even if it were human. To even animate the thing would take a monumental effort that the budding Necromancer was confident he wasn't capable of. That wasn't what he'd made the purchase for anyway. Satisfied that he'd learned what he could, Tyron unlocked the trophy room once more and emerged with a gleaming dagger in his hand. Of all the short blades in that room, he was confident that this was the sharpest. He knew this since he'd tested most of them over the years, when his parents were away.Corpse Appraisal had done all it can, now it was time for Corpse Preparation to take the stage.For the next hour, Tyron took a crash course in butchery as he tried to remove as much meat from the bones as he possibly could. It was tiring work and his aching body, not nearly recovered from his exertions last night, protested fiercely as he worked. It was a rough job. If the butcher had been able to see the miserable pile of hacked up and shredded flesh he heaped next to the skeleton, he'd have wept at the poor knife-work just as much as the waste. Hands and sleeves stained red from his work, Tyron was satisfied with the result. He took a moment to catch his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, staining his face without realising it, and thought about his next step.During the ritual, he'd learned a new skill, Bone Stitching. With the bare knowledge nestled in his head since awakening, he knew what it was for, but he knew he'd want to practice before trying it on human remains. A Zombie required some flesh to remain in order to be raised, the fresher the body, the better the zombie would be. The reason being, as Tyron understood it, the magic provided acted as the catalyst to allow the creature to utilise the rotting flesh to move, supplying the difference when that flesh wasn't up to the task. The older and more desiccated the body was, the more inefficient the zombie would become, drawing on the necromancer deeply in order to move at all.The skeleton was different. It had no flesh, in fact, the less organic tissue attached to the bones, the better, as it would interfere with the magick. Instead, the Bone Stitching Skill would provide the means through which the undead would move itself. From what he was able to interpret of the skill after waking, it was somewhat akin to magical sewing. By weaving threads of magick, the Necromancer was able to bind the joints together and provide the 'sinew' that would allow the creature to move. The better quality the thread, the more skilful the 'sewing', the better the skeleton would be able to move.If Tyron was going to raise a human skeleton, he didn't want to do a poor job of it. That would be disrespectful. While he was at it, if he was going to take the risk and infiltrate the graveyard again, then he wanted his next minion to have a more promising and useful life than his first. Poor Mrs Jessup, she deserved better."To be fair, have you tried the stew?"Worthy stood still for a moment."It's a pretty damn good stew," he admitted.A laugh came from the kitchen behind him, followed a moment later by Meg herself, wooden spoon in one hand and apron on, she looked every bit the plump innkeeper's wife."You heard me coming," she accused her husband with a smile as she prodded him with the spoon, "you knew you'd be eating stale bread and bones if you had ought to say against my food."The high levelled Harmmerman pretended clumsiness as he fended off the spoon assault of his wife."I'd never dream of talking down on your food. Oi! Would you - ... Leave off woman!"Finally growing tired of the relentless poking, the doughty innkeeper's hands blurred and Meg found herself suddenly spoonless. Non-fussed, she shrugged her shoulders before turning her beaming smile on her nephew."Nice to see you again, Tyron. Hope you're ready for a feast! I've made extra tonight."Looking at the goofy pair, the young man knew that this cheerful act was half natural and half put on to help him feel better. He felt his throat constrict as his emotions threatened to rise to the surface. His aunt and uncle were good people and it was hard to deceive them. For a moment he felt he should be open with them, reveal his situation and trust in their advice, but something stopped him.He forced out a smile."Thanks, Aunt Meg. I'd love something to eat."The Cook smiled warmly and seized back her spoon from her husband before bustling back into the kitchen to serve him a bowl. Worthy just chuckled and shrugged defensively."To think I used to smite beasts and monsters for a living. Now I get bullied in my own Inn.""And you've never been happier," Tyron told him."Aye, that's true," Worthy grinned before reaching out a large hand to rustle his nephew's hair. "Don't worry about what you told me earlier lad," he said, "once your parents get home, we'll work out the best path for you. Whatever you want to be, your mother'll know a way to make it happen. That woman knows more about the hammer Classes than I do myself!"Tyron looked down and swallowed the lump in throat before he nodded. Mercifully, his relatives gave him some space once they'd put food in front of him and he ate it with haste before he cleaned up after himself and quietly left. Deep down, he didn't want to tell his family the truth, because once he did, the decision of what to do next would no longer belong to him alone. As much as possible, he wanted the choices that would decide his future to be his own. He recoiled from the idea of surrendering that control.Perhaps the Gods were right about him after all.
