A man sprant through the fields. His sandals pacing on the path, "Zahak!" He yelled atop his lungs, but his huffing muffled the sound, "Zahak!" Once again, he gave it his all, his voice traveling and reverberating along the crops and the trees, but he got no response. Exhausted, the man leaned over, resting his hands on the knees, taking a few giant breaths, "huff, huff, huff."
"Where is that child? Huff, huff. The beasts have been attacking, huff, huff, constantly for days now, huff, huff, why does he keep… huff… running around?" The man straightened up, taking one last, huge breath while cracking his back.
He grabbed the black cloth wrapped around his arm and tightened it up. Making his entire outfit run closer with his skin. Black cloth completely enveloped him, showing only his hands, face, and feet. Quite an enigma among his people, however, just like the rest of the men, he wore a cape, though, still black, of course. His clothes weren't with no charm at all, along the cloth wrapped around his arms, there were golden stripes. Similarly, his torso had thin purple lines that wrapped around each other on his belly, creating quite an unmissable pattern of a big human skull.
He took a look at the surrounding fields, shielding his view from the sun. His completely black eyes perfectly reflected everything on the land. Undead beings limping around, zombies, skeletons, hollows,… Their clothes were hardly more inspiring than that of a man observing them. They lacked the simple patterns, and their clothes were definitely more ragged and worn out. Zombies wore some aprons and hollows were wrapped up. Unfortunately, most of the skeletons weren't even wearing any. Even those who tried to hide their bones wore nothing but loose transparent robes. However, on each pot, there would at least be one undead with a nice, good-looking, big straw hat.
They would stand on a bit of an uplift and, similarly to the man, observe others as they slaved in the fields. Maybe point at one here and there and produce some weird sounds, like a potato trying to talk, but workers seemed to understand.
A man in black beckoned someone closer with a raised hand. "Hey, any of you saw Zahak pass by?"
The straw-hatted undead just shrugged his shoulders and produced a rough sound. Once again, the black-eyed man puzzled over it, stroking his beard, his concern growing further.
At that moment, a loud explosion echoed all over the fields. The man jumped, quickly looking in different directions before focusing his gaze toward, the not-so-distant mountain. "The battle has started, it seems. I hope those soldiers will be alright, but now Zahak's the main issue." He slammed his fist into his palm. "Damn, that child. I told him a million times by now not to leave the village while beasts are attacking. But no, he just can't listen." His palm smacked his forehead, leaving a red trace. "I can only hope his brother won't pick up his habits." Sighing, he continued his search, walking along the stone path toward the village, hoping he simply missed him the first time around.
A few minutes of stepping along it and his feet landed on the wood of the small bridge. He tapped to the other side and finally, hatch roofs came into view. People's chatter slowly filled the man's ears. Three passengers passed by the man, waving at him with bright smiles. Two men had colorful capes on their shoulders, filled with patterns of animal skulls, their wide-legged trousers and sandals looking quite comfortable.
"Have you seen Zahak anywhere?" He returned their greeting with a question.
"Sorry, haven't seen him." He made a wrong step, accidentally placing his foot on the piece of multicolored cloth trailing on the ground. Lady suddenly fell into his hands as her bare feet left the ground, he barely caught her, the skulls on his cape dwarfing those on lady's dress, embracing them, preventing her fall.
The man in black missed most of it, but the laughter that came from behind him helped to ease his own worries as he arrived at the entrance of the village. To his right stood a big house, well-kept, with a black and purple painting on the front wall. The picture showcased a man standing on top of some kind of platform with his arms held up, showing a skull to the sky while beneath stood a number of undead.
A man looked at the painting for a second. He has lived for forty years in this house, yet this painting always makes him stutter. It wasn't the only house with a painting around. In fact, every house that had people living in it had some painting on the wall facing the street, but in his eyes, this one was special.
Some people with crunched backs in ponchos with masks past him while chattering, breaking the man out of his slight trance. "Hey, do you know where Zahak is?"
"Nobody ever knows where that son of yours is. You ought to scold him more." The man, with a rough voice, waved his finger at the man before clicking his tongue before waddling away.
Exhaling, the black-robed man took a step toward the tall wooden fence next to the house. "If those old bones don't know where he is, there is no way anyone else knows. Maybe Esen, but he would probably be with him if he knew." Shaking his head, he opened the door. "Hmm, well, I can hope that he is in his room, can't I?" He continued thinking while taking a few steps before getting to the front door. He looked up, an animal skull hanging above the door. He gave a slight bow with his head and knocked three times before entering the house.
The house had been divided into a few rooms. Black curtains had been hung over each entrance and the walls were covered in small animal and human bones. "Zahak!" He called for him, slogging through the house. His voice was quite soothing now. "Are you here?" He entered the room behind one curtain before the slight shine he still had in his eyes disappeared, a slight breath escaping his mouth.
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He took a few steps. "Damn it, kid, where are you?" He let the words out with a tremble. His voice was quiet, but it was not supposed to be.
His eyes circled the room while he got closer to the mostly empty desk. It was well kept, but on it only laid a single paper in the middle and a book on the side. His head darted toward the corner of the room. He lurched, quickly getting to the bookshelf that filled the majority of the wall. Squinting his eyes, he inspected the book before lifting his hand and trailing two fingers along one.
[The history of Qabri: Importance of Farming?]
He glanced at his fingers, which were now full of dust.
"That kid still refuses to listen," Sighing, the man's gaze continued to trail along the shelf. Most of the books were dusty, but his pupils finally found a few clean ones. Their covers shone, but the pages were clearly worn out.
[The history of Qabri: Raise the Undead]
[The history of Qabri: Avoid Backlash]
Typical books for their family, however, there was another one the man was not so familiar with.
[Theory on Magic Strength and Amount]
Man thoughtfully hummed, "Can I really not find a way to make this child understand our role?" Sighting his sight darted toward the dried plant in the middle of the room, a bunch of papers with a bunch of drawings and writing on them were scattered around it making somewhat of a semicircle around the fading, flattened pillow.
Leaning down, he picked a few papers up and flipped through them quickly. Numbers organized the drawings, seemingly representing days. Plant was completely fine at first and then slowly withered. Here and there it would get slightly better, one day even going from almost completely dead to completely fine. Unfortunately, her state was completely the same as before just the next day.
He aligned the edges of the papers and then carefully placed them back on the floor before he picked up a few more.
[Day 1: I just got a Violet Gutroot. I think he needs a name though, maybe Flowey. No, it's too simple. Willow, yeah, Willow is pretty good. Well, unfortunately for Willow, he is about to be dehydrated, can't exactly find a way to reanimate him while he is alive. Sorry little guy.]
…
[Day 8: Well, Willow is finally ready, now how should I start this…Simple reanimation spell doesn't work, I guess that should've been obvious, maybe if I alter it around the middle…Well, that didn't work either. Maybe I should change the use of the spell rather than its structure. Instead of using it as a named spell if I used it as a movement or word-based one, it would produce a better result.]
[Day 9: Nothing I did yesterday worked, maybe it needs outside influence. For now, I decided to just put in a bit of water before performing a spell but it hardly changes results, maybe I should start coming up with a new spell from the ground up?]
…
[Day 21: Oh, it worked, it worked! Willow is alive, I'm not sure whether he is safe to consume yet, and even less sure about whether she will have the same properties but this is step, I will tell the potion guy about it from a house with sun painting, I'm sure he will be able to help.]
[Day 22: Um, it seems Willow is back to his dead self, damn, I don't get it, this never happened to me with animals, and I haven't seen this happen with humans, maybe one of the family history books will have an answer? Well, though it failed, it is a step in the right direction, I just don't know how to move forward.]
…
The papers end on day twenty-nine with no progress from day twenty-two.
The man in black robes glanced at the plant with a bit of a sad look on his face. He picked up a jug of water next to it and poured a little of it into the pot before he began to laugh.
"Qabri is still a Qabri, I guess, ey?" He chuckled. "It always ends back in farming at the end. I should try to be more understanding. Great Elder always speaks of ventures like this in his 'young days'. I guess curiosity just comes with talent, ha Willow?"
The man glanced up, looking at the window, he squinted as something caught his eye. He walked up to it and leaned over the frame, his head peeked through the blinds and exited the house.
A bunch of people ran to the middle of the village, some commotion was going on. The man sighed not expecting it to be anything important but then a guttural scream filled the entire village. Something crept up his back. A concern for his child came back, but now in a different form.
He jumped through the window and ran down the road till he saw a bunch of people dressed in colorful capes, long-flowing dresses, and ponchos gathering around something. He tore through the crowd in panic before he saw a one-armed man in the middle. He held a crying baby in his remaining hand.
"HELP!" He screamed desperately.
A woman walked up to him. A beautiful young woman.
Esi? The black-robed man thought and looked at the boy who walked just behind her. Esen? So Zahak truly isn't with him.
***
Esi was by many considered to be the most beautiful woman in the village, there were few who could match her in that department, but the poor lady had no one besides her son, her husband died a few months back when he went on a hunt in the Great Swamp. The news hit the entire village as the man was the only warrior they had. They were heavily protected by the empire but with a constant exchange between the soldiers they didn't understand the terrain. Kurt was the only one who could help them, maybe the weird old man up the village who lives in seclusion could do so but he wasn't bothered by such things. This made their safety very compromised.
***
Seeing Esi walking up to the man, Hakim's interest in this situation dwindled but his worry remained. "ZAHAAAAAAK!"
...
"Yes, father?" The voice came from the crowd.
The man's eyes widened. He ran past everyone and saw his son, standing just outside the circle of people. He dashed toward him and hugged him tightly. Almost choking his heir to death. "Oh, son. Thank the dead you are back." He squeezed him even more.
"Yead... I'm fine." He managed to say while struggling to breathe.
The man looked up, seeing two women just behind him. He gave Zahak a pat on the back before he stood up. "Thank you, thank you, for bringing my son back I almost died of worry."
A blond woman with a scar smiled, but it looked kind of forced, "It's fine, it's fine."
Another scream came from the crowd. And the women's heads perked up. "Boss!?" They screamed before they ran into the group. "Boss!?" They ran to the man who was on his knees in the middle of the circle.
The father and son looked at them, their completely black eyes refelting everything.
"Make sure to thank the ladies, okay!" Hakim said.
"Okay!"
"Now let's go home, that man was right, I ought to scold you more." The man slapped his son on the back of the head.
"Ouch!" He rubbed it a little. "WHAT?!"
"No what, come here." He grabbed the boy's ear and dragged him along.
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