Modern Necromancy Quest Thread Number 2

MODERN NECROMANCY QUEST THREAD NUMBER 2
A heavy pounding on your door jerks you out of your sleep, heart thudding in your chest.
"Michael, Mom says to come downstairs and eat breakfast at a reasonable hour. There's bacon!" Mia's voice carries well through the thin door, and you can hear the barely-hidden satisfaction at getting to wake you up early on a Saturday. When you don't answer right away, she knocks again, even louder than before.
"Yeah, I heard you! Don't need to break my door!" You can hear Mia laugh and head downstairs, no doubt excited for a whole day at tennis camp. You personally don't get the excitement behind wacking a ball back and forth across a court all day, but hey, you're probably not a good sample. After all, you're the kind of guy who performs dark ceremonies in his basement in the dead of night on roadkill.
That's when it hits you. Everything had seemed so normal, you'd almost forgot about it, but the baggie labeled "SKUNKBRO" is still sitting in the drawer of your nightstand, confirming every crazy thing that happened...unless you're just going nuts. Not likely, considering how real everything felt, and how sane you currently feel. You still have a hard time accepting it though, in the face of such overwhelming normality. In any case, it's time to go downstairs.
A pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt later, you're heading down to the kitchen. Your Dad's frying an egg while your mom sprinkles sugar on a grapefruit and your sister shovels down some cornflakes. You snag a crispy piece of bacon off the table and spread jam on some swiftly-made toast. You're starving. Guess violating the sanctity of a skunk's soul really takes it out of you.
"You see this story about the walking corpse?" Your dad asks, gesturing to the newspaper on the counter. He's a middle-aged man, but still vigorous, with not too much grey in his dark hair or his well-trimmed beard. He still beats you occasionally when the two of you shoot hoops in the driveway, though less often than he used to.
"Yeah, David sent a link to some news story about it to me a while ago. I thought that was a few months ago, though? Why's it in the paper now?" you ask through a mouthful of toast, spraying a few crumbs in your sister's direction.
"Another one happened. Second in as many months! I hope they clear it up soon, or we're gonna be known as the zombie town. The tourists will be awful." He adds this last bit with a little chuckle, sliding his egg out of the pan and onto a plate.
Another body getting up off the slab and just walking out of a morgue? No way that's natural. And considering what you learned about the nature of death last night, it certainly suggests some very disturbing things.
"The paper say where it happened?" You ask innocently, trying to sound only vaguely curious.
"Yeah, St. Marciana's, just downtown. They've caught a lot of flak over it, some people are saying they're just letting body snatchers walk right in."
Somehow you doubt that's the real issue.
Scarfing down the last of your toast, you grab your backpack (with a flashlight, pocket knife, a notebook, the Grimoire of Barnaby Sikes, and Skunkbro's bone carefully packed away inside) you start out the front door.
"Where are you off to, Michael?" calls your mom from the kitchen. She's a little older than your dad, though not by much, but seems to move a bit slower than he does. She's more likely to spend a little time in the garden or the study than out jogging or swimming like him.
"Just meeting some friends!" You answer automatically, ducking out before she has a chance to ask any more questions. Standing on the front step though, you realize, you don't know.
Where are you going?
You duck briefly back into the kitchen and look for an offering for skunkbro. Hmm...last time, the libation was blood and wine and he seemed to enjoy that well enough, so meat's probably a good idea. You look for bologna, but with your dad on his recent health-food kick, the closest thing you can find is some extra-lean turkey, still raw and bloody. It'll have to do. You tuck it in the baggy with skunkbro's bone, an awkward affair with everybody eating breakfast just a few feet away. You manage it without anybody noticing though, and soon you're back outside.
>>251349
You make a mental note to stop by St. Marciana's later. This walking corpse thing seems like a sure-fire indication of the other necromancer Skunkbro mentioned last night.
>>251282
Hmm...well before you get too involved with another possible necromancer, it's probably a good idea to try to find this Jacob character's grave. Trying to talk to him might be a bit above your paygrade for the moment, though. You haven't even looked at that chapter of the grimoire. At the least, you'll find his last name, which could be useful.
So you hop on your bike, it being a beautiful day and you not wanting to bother asking to borrow the car for such a short trip, and pedal over to the cemetery. It takes a while longer than you would have thought, and you end up going past it a couple of times. It's tiny, barely the size of your front yard at home, and tucked back from the road a bit, surrounded on every side by willow, birch, and cedar that look nearly as old as the headstones, which is really saying something. On the plus side, it probably won't be too hard to find Jacob in such a small area. On the other hand, most of the inscriptions on the graves are barely even legible.
The graves seem to increase in age as you meander towards the back of the unnamed cemetery, until you see one marker that looks somewhat out of place. While most of the others are leaning over, weather-worn and covered in lichens, this one looks nearly new. Hardly daring to hope, you crouch down to read the name etched into the granite.
"Jacob Rawlins
Beloved Teacher
1930-1985"
Jacob Rawlins...certainly sounds right. There's always the chance it's just a normal guy who happens to share a normal-enough first name with the real Jacob, though. You look around the grave a little, wondering if it'll be marked somehow. On the back, near the base, you see another bit of etching.
Brushing away the dirt, it looks suspiciously like the circles drawn in the grimoire. This guy's probably your man then. That's when you notice the spot of disturbed earth in front of the tombstone, right above the grave itself. It could be nothing, and you don't really want to get caught digging around on top of graves...
You decide it's best to take a look around the graveyard before going any further than a careful look. There might be other clues, and even if there aren't, you'll make sure you're alone before doing anything "questionable".
As you said before, it's a pretty small graveyard, and dark from all the overhanging trees, with more moss than grass. There are a few winding paths that twist through the headstones though, and you pick one and walk along, peering at the aged stones. Most of the people buried here seem to have died a good while ago, at least a hundred years or more. From what you can see, Jacob is by far the most recent addition.
As you go along the path, eyes cast down at the tombstones, you almost don't notice the old woman before you bump into her. Where did she come from? In such a small cemetery it's not like there's a lot of room for somebody to hide. Maybe she was in the small caretaker's hut...that you also had somehow not noticed upon entering the graveyard, despite it being painted in bright pastels.
The old woman is dressed in a patchwork dress that reminds you of the quilts your grandmother used to make before she passed away, all clashing colours and vibrant patterns. Upon closer inspection, some of the squares have odd images in them, stylized eyes and hands, geometric patterns...it's weird, to say the least.
"And just what are you doing in my graveyard, young man?" The woman demands. You start a little, realizing you've been standing there just staring for a few moments.She's shorter than you, but somehow manages to look down her nose at you all the same, wisps of white hair caught behind a pair of coke-bottle glasses.
"Oh, um, hello there ma'am! Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I just found out that a man I was interested in might be buried here, thought that I'd take a look around, pay him a visit."
"More likely coming to knock over gravestones and spray paint everywhere, maybe bring all your friends here for a party!" the woman snaps, looking you over suspiciously. "What's his name?"
You hesitate for a moment, but it seems best to give her the name of somebody who actually is in the graveyard, and stick as close to the truth as possible. You're not quite sure what, but something about this woman seems to strongly discourage deceit.
"Jacob, I think his last name was...Rawlins?" You manage to give quite a show, chewing your lip a bit as you pretend to struggle to remember.
"You're looking for Jacob Rawlins?" her eyebrows furrow further, and she takes a step closer to you, breathing in a deep whiff of air through her hooked nose. After a moment, she seems to relax, and shakes her head a little, as if in disappointment.
"Ach, I should have seen it sooner. You've got the reek of death about you, boy! Maybe I am getting too old for this..." she peers up at you a moment, adjusting her monstrously thick glasses. "Or perhaps you're still fresh, not quite saturated with the stink of it yet. How long has it been, boy?"
"W-what?" you stammer out, a little anxious by how close to accusations her questions are getting. What was it the skunk spirit had said just last night? Don't get caught? And now, here you were, told you reeked of death!
"How long have you been practicing that foul art?" she shakes her head and gives a muffled sigh "I'm not one to talk, I admit. Never dabbled with corpses, that was a bit too much for me, but stuck these old fingers in quite a few pies." She lifts her withered hands up for you to see. At least half her fingers are crooked at the knuckles, burned and stained and scarred all over.
How do you respond?
You start to deny everything, but realize that this woman would not only see through such a thing, she probably wouldn't take too kindly to anything less than total honesty. So you spill.
"Okay, I admit it. I got my hands on a grimoire, but the most I've done is summon the shade of an animal." The woman looks at you thoughtfully, seeming a little less annoyed than before.
"Well I won't say I totally approve of such behaviour, but it's more than a lot could have done, and that's worth something. Whose grimoire did you manage to get a hold of? Yate's? Dee's?"
"Uh, Barnaby Sikes'." She chews her lip a moment, seeming lost in thought, and mumbles a little to herself.
"Sikes...yes I think I remember him. Bare basics, isn't he? Seven summons and a bit about resurrecting? As I said, I don't bother with such things myself, but you do hear things, working in a place like this. Well, it could be worse, but I'd advice working out wards real quick, if you plan on doing much more than a little shade work. Not that shades are anything to scoff at, mind you; heard stories of a man got rich working with shades back in the '60s. Espionage and all that. 'Course he met a rather sticky end when some string-worker traced one of his lookouts back to him. Found down in the river with a silver knife in his-" You're not sure which was worse, the constant snapping questions and distrust, or this sort of endless rambling, even if it is friendlier.
"Any suggestion on where I could learn about wards?" You break in, getting the sense that the longer you let her wool-gather, the longer it'll take to get her back on track. She seems a bit taken aback.
"Well, sonny, you were just over by Jacob's grave, weren't you? He'd been the one to talk to. Are you a necromancer or not?"
"Well...I haven't really gotten to the bit about human shades yet." You mumble, uncountably embarrassed. "Couldn't you show me something?"
"Oh, I don't know about that..." the old woman mutters, suddenly looking terribly uncomfortable "I just do a bit of witching every now and then, you know? A dream or two, a few potions, selling off herbs...I'm not sure I'd be much help."
"You sell herbs?" This seems to perk the old woman up a bit, bringing her back into her area of expertise.
"Oh yes, yes! That's mostly how I make my living out here. The internet's been wonderful for that, you know. No more waiting for a stranger to stroll through town and trying to get a clear enough look to figure out if they're just some vagrant who's going to give you a funny look the moment you offer them henbane and hellebore. You know, I figure at least half of my regulars don't even work with herbs? Just normal people who like the look of dried leaves sitting in jars! Ha! That reminds me of a sale I once made in Prague a long time ago-"
"What kind of herbs do you usually sell?" Is this how she normally talks? Or is she just lonely, maybe? It's not like she'd get a lot of traffic out here on the edge of town, tucked away in such a secluded spot. You feel a little bad for her, just an old woman, living in a graveyard with not much of anybody to talk to.
"Oh, if it'll grow on this plane of existence I've got a sprig of it somewhere. I've spent more'n half of my life figuring out how to get it all to play nicely together, and now I'm reaping the benefits. Why, are you looking for something? I have to warn you, my prices can be steep for rarer things."
You try to recall everything you needed for the Lesser Physical Form section you'd read last night. Cedar, Mullein, and Aconite were the main things, if you remembered correctly. Cedar was easy enough to find, and mullein grew like a weed around here, but aconite? You didn't even know what it looked like, much less where to find it.
"Well, I was looking at one of the spells in Sikes' grimoire, and I noticed it called for aconite. You wouldn't happen to have any on hand, would you?" The woman pauses for a moment, then snaps her fingers as if she'd just remembered something.
"Yes, I know just the spot!" With this exclamation, she turns on the spot and rushes into the caretaker's hut, slamming the door behind her. After just a little while longer than you think it would take to comb every inch of the small, brightly-painted hut, she flings the door open and comes out with a small burlap bag. Reaching in, she pulls out a dried, feathery-looking leaf.
"Aconite!" she proclaims, replacing the leaf in the bag. "Now...that should last you a good while, and its guaranteed potency. Be careful with it now, it's not called aconite for nothing. The Greeks named it that, you know, since it was such a good poison. A-konos, meaning without struggle, since that's how you died. They also gave it one of its other names, wolfsbane. Used it for hunting wolves, they did, dipped their arrows in it before they went out. As for why its called monkshood, that's simple enough if you've ever seen its flowers, and a monk as well I suppose. That reminds me-"
"Actually, that's quite good, thank you. Also, a lot of these...spells, or whatever, call for a few herbs. Would you mind if I bought them off you when I get around to the more uncommon ones?"
"Oh, not at all, dearie! I love to have the business, and a bit of company around here never hurt. Maybe there's plenty of talk to be had in a graveyard for the likes of you, but it gets too quiet around here for my liking sometimes."
"I'm sure it does. How much did you want for the aconite?" You reach into your back pocket to grab your wallet. It can't be that expensive, and you do tend to carry a good amount of cash around.
"Well, for a bag about this size, which is my minimum, of course, it's about $200." You freeze, and look at her askance. "Sorry, I'm quite firm on that."
$200? You groan inwardly; you know you should have taken that summer job when Dad brought it up. But flipping burgers? You just couldn't stomach it, and now look at where it's gotten you. You might be able to pay for it, but what about the next time you need some herbs, or just want to have some fun? Damn...
"That's...a bit much for me to pay." She looks indignant, and you quickly backtrack "I'm sure it's quite a fair price for such a quality product, but I'm not exactly rolling in dough." The old woman seems mollified, but not terribly sympathetic.
"I'm sorry dear, but I just can't go any lower. I'm barely making a profit as it is, you know, and I've got to get by somehow."
"I completely understand. Is there some other method of payment you'd consider? Maybe some way I could work it off? I could help in your hut or around the graveyard, or maybe summon something for you once I've learned a bit more?"
"Oh, I'll have nothing you've summoned wandering around my hut, you hear me? Could be I'm just old and prejudiced, but what goes in the ground ought to stay there. It's one thing, you doing that in your own home, but in my graveyard? Not so long as I'm still kicking. And I'm afraid you wouldn't last terribly long in there." she jerks a thumb back towards the hut as she talks, speaking thoughtfully
"Too many things a bit too dangerous for a beginner. Although, there was something you could do for me. A little something you might be able to retrieve." Her eyes grow hungry, and she seems just a bit less like a kindly old grandmother. She continues on, her voice still sweet.
"You see, I haven't been able to go into the town proper for a while. Long walk for old legs, and all that. Think you might pick something up for me from the bakery? Just a recipe, is all. They might not want you to take a look at it, but you're a clever boy, aren't you? I'm sure you can figure a way around that. So, what do you say? Will you help a poor old lady fetch a recipe from town?"
Though a little thrown off by her sudden (if subtle) change in demeanor, you have to admit, it seems like a pretty good deal. After all, it's not like you're trading your first-born or anything. You look up to see the old woman looking at you expectantly.
"So, I get you the recipe and you give me the wolfsbane? Deal."
"Wonderful! Thank you so much, dearie, it means so much to me. You know the bakery, right? The little place, right across the street from the library in town. The recipe should be in the manager's office, in a locked chest. I don't know where the key is, but I'm sure you have ways to get around something as simple as a lock, right, little necromancer? Anyway, you mustn’t be seen doing anything strange in there, no matter what. It could cause serious problems for the both of us. Get the recipe, or at least a copy of it, and bring it back here quick as you can, alright?"
You nod obediently, repeating the instructions to yourself to remember them. Bakery, across from library, manager's office, don't be seen. Easy enough. It seemed like there was more to this than a guide to making extra-fluffy scones, but you don't suppose it mattered too much, so long as you got what you needed and the old woman got hers.
"Anything else I need to know before I head out?" You ask, wanting to be certain you have all the info before you go plunging into something like an idiot.
"Hmm, that should be everything, but..." The woman begins running her hands along her sagging, quilted dress. You realize that at least half of the patches are actually pockets, stuffed with important (and no doubt magical) items. After a few moments of searching, she brings out what looks like a necklace. It's a short length of rawhide with a bit of woven grass on the end, shaped into a wonky sort of cross. Bemused, you take it, and when she gestures for you to put it on, you do.
"Just a bit of a good-luck charm. I'll want it back when you bring the recipe, but for now it'll make things just a bit easier on you. Safe journey!"
You thank her briefly for the necklace, and get back onto your bike.
Pedaling hard, you head for the pleasantly-laid out downtown area. There's a well-groomed park with a playground, plenty of touristy boutiques and stationery stores, and of course, mountains of those little cafe diner places serving locally-sourced food. This time of year, you're bound to blend in with all the other kids off school looking for a way to maintain their sanity in the face of overwhelming amounts of free time.
On the way there, you notice the weather's changed nicely. Earlier, it looked like it was going to rain, but now the clouds dissipated and it's a beautiful day, perfect for cycling. Nearly every intersection clears up just as you arrive, and even the mosquitoes, normally a real pain this time of year, aren't really bothering you. Huh. Guess it's just good luck.
You make record time to the area, and park your bike just down the block from the bakery. It's open for business and doing a brisk trade, with a case of fresh muffins, croissants, and artisanal breads prominently displayed just inside the open door. You catch the smell of it all the way down here, and to be honest, it's mouthwatering. No wonder the old lady wants one of their recipes.
You duck behind the nearest building, into one of the smaller alleyways. Despite the well-kept facade, the "low-traffic" areas around here are just as unpleasant as anywhere else.
You open up your backpack and dig through, pulling out the baggie labeled "SKUNKBRO" in black sharpie. You take out the bone and the raw turkey, a little uncertain of how this offering thing works. Figuring it's worth a shot, you place the bone on the ground and leave the meat on top of it, then call the spirit you summoned last night.
"Spirit, I summon you, and give you this offering." It's not exactly Shakespeare, but you figure it'll do.

After a moment, it does, the raw meat seeming to sink down into the bone, which glows with that familiar blueish light before the skunk's shade forms above it.
"Traditionally, offerings of meat are burnt, and are composed mostly of fat and viscera." are its first words, delivered in the same gravelly tone as last night. "However, I thank you for the meat. What do you require?"
"Well, before we do anything else, do you have preference for what I give as offerings?" You ask. The skunk shade looks surprised.
"It is not typical for a necromancer to ask his shades of their desires. However...I do prefer the flesh and fat of birds, burned, to other offerings. Thank you."
"No problem. Now, look, do you see that shop over there? The bakery?" The skunk nods. "Well, I need to get a recipe from a back room, some sort of manager's office. It should be in a wooden chest. Do you think you could fly over there and look for it? And if you find it, read it and come back here to tell me what it says?"
"Of course. I will be back shortly." the shade dissolves into a cloud of blueish particles and darts toward the bakery. No one reacts as the shade flies in the front door, of the bakery, then goes out of sight from where you're standing. A tense minute later, it returns by the same route, and re-materializes, a translucent blue skunk, in front of you.
"Do you have the recipe?" The skunk shade shakes its head, appearing almost...embarrassed? "Why not? What happened?"
"The chest was made of elder wood, and blessed by a priest. The blessing was a long time ago, but I cannot enter it." You almost roll your eyes. Of course, that would have been almost too easy otherwise. Now for the more direct route.
"Well, can you find the key?"
"Yes. I saw it on my way out of the bakery. It is in the pocket of a man in a green shirt, with light hair." Well, that makes things difficult. Peering out around the corner, you look for the man the skunk shade described. You see him almost at once, a tall and muscular man with close-cropped blonde hair, wearing khakis and a green polo shirt with the bakery's logo on it. Guess he's the manager.
You figure you might try to pick the lock, if you can just get into the office. You scrounge around the bottom of your bag and find a couple of paperclips from the school year, as well as a granola bar more than a few months bad. They should do nicely.

You pick up the skunk's bone and casually walk over to the bakery with the shade beside you, taking a look at the hand-painted sign on the awning. "Our Daily Bread," huh? Hell of a name. You step inside and take a look around. Looks like it's not just a bakery, but a sort of cafe, with a number of tables set out and more than half of them occupied. After a few moments of standing there, taking everything in, the man you assume to be the manager comes up behind you.
"Can I help you, sir?" he asks with a thoroughly genuine smile, none of the forced politeness of most retail workers. He stands a full head above you, but looks you square in the eye regardless.
"Actually, yes!" You say, putting on what you hope is a winning smile. "I was wondering if there's a bathroom in here I could use?" The man's smile dims a little--apparently he's not too thrilled about the idea of someone who's not a paying customer using the facilities--but he points to a narrow hallway off to the edge of the cafe area.
"Right through there. Men's bathroom is second on the right. Can't miss it."
"Thanks!" You walk over toward the bathroom, and glance over at the skunk shade, still by your side.
"The manager's office is just beyond the bathrooms, around the corner." it says, just as loud as ever. You start to shush it, but stifle the urge. Nobody else can see it, after all. You're just a little nervous.
As soon as you reach the relatively secluded hallway, you check to make sure nobody's looking, and walk quickly past the bathrooms and around the corner. You see the only door and try the handle. Locked. Dammit.
"Can you do anything about this?" you ask the shade, which nods and dissolves into the blueish mist. It flies into the lock, and after a moment, you hear a click. You try the door again and it opens. Nice
The skunk shade is standing on the other side of the door, once again in its normal animal form. It looks a little...off, though.
"You alright, buddy?" You ask, curious.
"It takes a lot of energy to effect the material world, even something as small as that. Until I receive another offering, or you release me for a time, I will be unable to repeat the feat." it answers, even sounding haggard. You make a note to find an offering for the poor guy.
You close and lock the door behind you and walk over to the chest, paperclips at the ready.
Just before inserting the makeshift picks into the locks, something occurs to you.
"Hey, there anything I should be careful of before I try opening this thing up?" you ask the shade, who shakes his head.
"I cannot see into it. There are no wires or sensors leading out of it, however, so a mundane alarm is unlikely."
"Thanks. Keep watch, let me know if anybody comes near the door." You murmur, and go to work. Thankfully, like all teenage boys with too much time on their hands, you've watched a couple of youtube tutorials on how to do this sort of thing. You end up using the pocketknife you packed as a sort of torsion wrench, raking the tumblers with one of the paper clips. It's not terribly fast going, as as you work, you find yourself talking to the skunk shade.
"Hey, do you mind me calling you Skunkbro? Do you want to be called something else?" you ask, keeping your voice low in case anybody comes nearby. Without moving away from the door, he answers.
"You may call me what you wish. While alive, I did not have what could be called a name."
After a couple of minutes work, you actually manage to get the thing open! You're lucky it was a simple lock; it would have been just about impossible to unlock anything more complicated than a 50-year-old chest with your tools.
You open up the chest, more than a little nervous.
Inside, there are a couple of binders and a large green folder.
You reach into the chest and check the binders. They're labeled for the last three years, 2013-2016. A quick skim through reveals they're just inventory and stock records. How many pounds of flour in, how much of each type of baked good out. It's pretty interesting actually, seeing how it all works, but you've got significantly bigger fish to fry at the moment. You carefully replace the binders back as close to how they were when you opened it as possible, and reach for the green folder. It feels almost empty.
Inside is a single sheet of paper, some weird glossy type that catches the light and shimmers a bit when you look at it from the right angle. Holding it up to the light streaming in through the large picture-window in the office, it reminds you a little of those old holographic cards you used to collect. On it seems to be a fairly normal recipe for some type of stew. You wonder why the hell a recipe for stew would be in a locked chest in the manager's office of a combination bakery-cafe. You try to take a picture of it with your phone, but all you get is a blurry mess no matter how you focus it. Shitty camera.
"Hey, skunkbro, is there anything special about this piece of paper?"
The shade turns and looks over the paper, and nods.
"It appears to have some sort of glamour on it, an illusion. However, I cannot see through it." Just as he finishes talking, there's the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Skunkbro's ears prick up.
"There are two of them, coming this way. One is the manager."
Shit, shit, shit! You shove the paper back in the folder and put it back where it was, close the chest as quietly as you can, and look for someplace to hide. The room is pretty sparsely furnished, but there's a closet in the corner. You open the doors, to find a bunch of cardboard boxes, all filled with the same type of binders that were in the chest. You manage to scooch some of them over and wedge yourself in the back corner, closing the closet door behind you. It's the crappy kind of door made of a bunch of plastic slats, so you'll be able to hear things okay, even if you can't see anything hidden behind the boxes.
The door swings open, passing cleanly through Skunkbro, and you hear two men walk into the room.
"So, what did you want to talk about, ma'am? And why was it so imperative it be in private?" asked the voice of the manager. It was hard to tell from your current position, but it sounded like he was sitting behind the desk.
"Well, I thought it best to warn you; there may be an attempt to access your safe, the one just above the chest there." This voice is unfamiliar, it sounds like a young woman. And what safe was she talking about?
"There is a safe hidden behind a painting above the chest. I apologize for not mentioning it earlier." You jump to hear Skunkbro's voice and look over to see his head sticking out of the wall, wearing the most forlorn expression it's possible for a skunk's ghost to wear. You shake your head; it doesn't really matter.
"Oh, and what makes you think that?" the manager sounds totally professional, but somehow you got the feeling he wasn't really taking her seriously.
"I heard a...a friend mention how much money you rake in over the weekend. He said that if he wanted to, it would be easy enough to waltz in and break it open. But that's not the important thing. What matters is that you increase security to this room." Her lie comes out lamely even to your ears.
"Oh, I don't know about that. I appreciate your concern, but I think we'll be alright. Thank you for--"
"You will keep a closer eye on this room. It is important that you do this. Do you understand?" The young woman's voice again, but...different, somehow. It sounded like there was an echo of her voice just a half-second behind the original and deeper, but there was more to it than that. The sound of it was nearly impossible to describe. There was a long pause, and you breathe shallowly, terrified the dust of the closet could make you sneeze.
"Y-yes, of course." The manager. But why had he suddenly changed his mind? "I will keep a closer eye on this room. It's important." The girl giggled, and it sends a shiver up your spine.
"Thanks, then! Oh, and I have a few more questions to ask you..." You hear her chair move back on the carpet, and the manager's chair creaks as he stands. They move out of the office, closing the door behind them.
You wait until Skunkbro informs you they're at the end of the hall and dash out of the closet. You move as quickly and quietly as you can over to the chest, open it back up and slip the recipe out of the folder, placing it carefully in your backpack so it doesn't get torn or crumpled too badly. You close the chest, once again putting everything in its proper place, and gesture for the skunk shade to check the hallway. It's all clear, and you duck out, walking quickly into the bathroom.
After such a close call, it's a relief to be able to sit in the stall for a moment and take a breather, before walking out, washing your hands, and leaving the bathroom.
As luck would have it, you almost bump into the manager as you leave the bathroom. He seems a little off, somehow. His eyes look a little glazed over, and his 100-watt smile seems a bit more plastered-on than before. You thank him profusely for the use of the bathroom to which he gives a perfunctory nod, and walks back to the office. What the hell did that girl do?
You leave the bakery quickly and head back to your bike, releasing Skunkbro for the time being. You probably won't need him again today, and it feels mean to keep him around in his exhausted state if you're not absolutely depending on him.
The bike ride back to the cemetery is quick enough, and the same good fortune you had on your way over follows you coming back as well. Again, you make excellent time, and it's just getting into the afternoon when you chain your bike up to the rusted iron gate outside the graveyard.
"Hello? I'm back!" you call, realizing that you don't even know the old woman's name. Before you have too much time to think on it, however, she bustles out of the hut and, on seeing you, hurries over.
"Ah, yes! The necromancer boy! Did you get the recipe?" that hunger is back in her eyes again, her smile just a little off-putting.
"I'd like to go someplace else to talk, if you don't mind." You give the old woman a significant glance, turning to look briefly over your shoulder. She looks confused at first, then nods.
"Oh, come into the hut for just a moment. I'll be with you so it should be alright." Without waiting for an answer, she takes your hand and pulls you into the pastel-coloured hut. You close your eyes and peek out, not quite sure what you're expecting...but it wasn't this. It's just a normal hut, maybe couple few hundred square feet, max, with herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry, a bed, and a stove in the corner. The old woman must have seen your face, since she gave a little laugh.
"Don't worry, young necromancer. This shed has many chambers, and anyone who's strong enough to listen in would just bust the door down. Now, do you have the recipe? Why did you want to come in?"
You reach into your backpack and pull out the shimmering paper.
"I'm pretty sure it's got some kind of glamour on it, but I couldn't see through it." The old woman takes the paper and, reaching into one of her many multicoloured pockets, sprinkles a bit of something on it, muttering to herself. The shimmering of the paper fades, and it seems she's pleased with whatever's actually written on the paper.
"Well done, noticing it was a glamour." she says, tucking the paper away "Not many as new as you would have noticed anything off about it." You blush, and don't feel the need to tell her about Skunkbro's contribution on that front.
"So what happened that you needed a private place to talk?" she questions, and you tell her the whole story. The blessed chest, the girl, what the manager looked like, all of it. By the end, she looks a bit grim.
"Sounds like an enchantress." Catching your puzzled look, she explains "Basically, imagine a hypnotist that isn't all smoke and mirrors. It might have been her that put the glamour on the paper as well. In any event, it's for me to deal with now, not you. Here's the aconite, and a little something extra in the bag as well, for being so quick about the task." She hands over the burlap bag, and you return the good luck charm to her.
You leave the shed with a fond farewell and a reminder to come back soon, closing the door firmly behind you. It's late in the afternoon by now, but you've still got a good few hours before the sun sets, courtesy of long summer days.
What now?
You're about to head off into the woods surrounding the cemetery to collect some plants, but suddenly remember why you were here in the first place. Jacob! You hurry over to his grave, remembering the disturbed patch of earth you'd been about to investigate before you ran into the old woman. You figure if she has any objections now, it won't really be an issue, so without further ado, you start to scrape away the dirt.
Only a few inches down, you find a small wooden box, light in color and neither painted nor varnished. There is, however, a symbol burned into the top. It's hard to tell at first because of the dirt, but it's clearly a circle with a line through the middle. Weird. You try to open the box, pulling at the obvious seam, but it won't open. You try all four sides, looking for hinges or some kind of puzzle, but there's nothing. Twisting, pulling and pushing various parts of it all prove fruitless.
You replace the dirt and tap it down a bit, and tuck the box into your bag along with the aconite and the rest of your stuff.
You spend another few minutes combing over the grave, but there doesn't seem to be anything else there, or at least nothing you can see right now. Having dealt with a glamour once already, you're a little on edge about the difference between what's there, and what you can see.
Satisfied that there's nothing else to be found, you ride back a bit closer to your house before dismounting and ducking off the road, into the woods. It's darker than you expected, the canopy especially thick, but there's still enough to see by.
You gather a good quantity of cedar bark from fallen limbs and standing deadwood, and plenty of mullein as well. There are a few other herbs that the book recommends that you're not familiar with, but a bit of googling and you gather up a few extras to make sure things go well tonight.
By the time you're satisfied, the sun is starting to set, but you make it back home in time for dinner. When asked about your day, you give unspecific mention of friends and the library, but not much beyond that. Later that night, you lie in bed, waiting for the sound of the TV to turn off so you can go downstairs and get everything ready.
Finally, it does. You slide out the bag of aconite and the other ingredients you collected from under your bed, along with the grimoire
Wondering what good the Lesser Physical Form summoning would be, you decide to crack open the grimoire and read the chapter associated with it.
Skipping over the rituals for now, you read through the other half of the chapter, focusing on the abilities and uses of LPFs.
The Lesser Physical Form is best seen as something of a halfway point between the Simple Shade and the Greater Physical Form. It is valuable in combat, but not as strong or as able to soak up damage as is the Greater Physical Form. It is swift, but not nearly as mobile as is a Simple Shade. It's greatest asset is its ability to interact with the material world in a way the purely spiritual Shade cannot, while maintaining an energy and intelligence that the Greater Physical Form loses in its emphasis on the purely physical.
Famous are the tireless skeletal mounts that many necromancers ride into battle, the legions of bones that lead many a dark wizard's forces, even the featherless, fleshless birds that carry messages to their more mundane servants. Summons given Lesser Physical Form are also renowned for their use as household servants, intelligent enough to prepare the simpler and more tedious aspects of many rituals and chores and free their master to put his time to better use.
There's more, of course, but it's mostly accounts of battles in which necromancers won, and suggestions for where to source partial remains. Unfortunately for you, the latter section is hopelessly out of date, suggesting you strike up a friendship with the cat-catcher and the tanner.

>>255806
>>255833
Going back to the earlier chapter, it has something of a warning in front.
Lazy apprentices may be tempted to use the remains they gathered for earlier chapters for multiple rituals, but this is NOT ADVISED. A single ritual brings the essence of a creature to the material plane and binds it to a physical item. Attempting to bind a single being's essence to multiple physical constructs can only result in instability, and ultimately, the destabilization of all involved.
Looks like you won't be using Skunkbro's bones tonight...still, you'll try to pick them up if they're still there. Can't hurt, and it's best to keep anybody else from getting to them as well.
You start to read over the section of the chapter regarding the ritual itself.
The ritual seems somewhat similar to the previous one, if more complex.
As before, a dry place with plenty of room must be found, and the circle drawn. This time, the circle is different. Rather than a spiraling series of looping circles, it's primarily a group of triangles, arranged in such a way that some of their lines form a curve, then dissolve into a set of jumbled points and angles. It looks like a real bitch to copy over. And also as before, three candles must be lit and places around the circle for Birth, Life, and Death, the gateposts of our existence. The libation must be prepared of warm wine, though more than a pinprick's worth of blood is needed on this occasion. Cedar for strength, mullein to cleanse and strip away flesh, and aconite to connect to death's realm. Wild mint for vitality, burdock to ensure its loyalty, and nettle, if it can be found, for skill. Thankfully, you've already gathered all of these, and have them ready. There is an additional step, once the remains have been gathered, no more than 7 out of every 10 bones being missing. An offering must be made. This is best chosen as meat, as close as possible to the animal's own flesh. This ensures a strong binding to their bones, once the libation is poured over the ashes, carrying them onto the scaffold that will contain their spirit. Without this, the bond will last at most a day, or less in daylight, and the ritual will have to be repeated. For this reason, it may be skipped in times of great hurry, or when the longevity of a summoned form is not an issue.
Hmm, interesting.
So, what to do first? You've still got the chalk from last night, and all the herbs are ready. Wine's downstairs, so it looks like the hardest part by far will be finding some more remains...
Well, you figure the best place to get a bunch of bones is a butcher's shop, or maybe the Halal market? You're pretty sure they do their own butchery. In any event, you'll need a temporary shade to put everything together and help you figure out which bones are which, so you mix some extra shade's libation and pour it into a waterbottle, wincing when you prick your finger for the blood. The things you do to commit crimes against nature.
You pull your dad's work truck out of the driveway. No way in hell you're carrying a sheep's worth of bone's back on your bicycle. Good thing he's got the bed rhino-lined.
On the way down to the store, you flick your high-beams on at just the right moment, and catch a flash of white off the side of the road. You don't realize what it was at first, and actually drive a few more miles before you realize. At that point, you pull about the fastest u-turn you can manage and get back there in a heartbeat. You pull the truck over and hop out quick as could be, turning on the flashlight and realizing that yes, you're just that lucky.
It's a deer.
More accurately, it's a buck. A huge, dead, buck. Must have been at least four and half feet at the shoulder, 300 pounds. It looks like it's been dead a while, actually, most of the flesh gone, but a good couple of chunks remaining here and there. You immediately put on the pair of rubber gloves you brought and get to work loading it into the tarp on the back of the truck. It's not too fast, especially since you're trying to get all the bones you can, but you've gotten everything into the bed soon enough. You're whistling all the way home.
You bring down the book and try as best you can to copy over the circle, but you just can't seem to get the lines right! Even with the yardstick you managed to get a hold of, it doesn't go well at all. Finally, after several abortive attempts, you realize you'll just have to go get a rag, clean it up, and try again. Sighing heavily, you head back outside, intending to go back into the house and get a rag, but first it's probably best to look for something a little...smaller than the buck. It'll be good to have a somewhat less conspicuous minion on hand for messages or espionage.
After a few minutes hunting around, you manage to find a little robin that cracked its head flying into a neighbor's greenhouse. Bad luck for it, good luck for you. You pick it up and bring it back to the basement as well, then head back into the house for cleaning supplies. Chalk is surprisingly hard to clean up without something to scrub with.
"Michael? Is that you?" asks a yawning voice. You freeze. It's Mia, on the stairwell, looking at you in confusion and certainly not full awake. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
You freeze, slowly putting the rag back in the cupboard. She doesn't seem to notice, whether because of the low light or her tiredness. You don't really care.
"Oh, um, damn, you caught me, Mia. I was going to take the car and sneak out to meet some friends." You invent. It doesn't sound that good to you, but she seems to love the idea. She gains a wicked-looking grin, seeming to wake up a bit more.
"I caught you? Isn't that just a bad string of luck on your part?"
"Yes. Yep. It is really is."
"And if a good little sister were to catch her older brother sneaking out when he's not supposed to, she'd tell their parents, right? For her own brother's good?" She's completely alert now, staring at you, that wicked grin widening just a little more. In all honestly, it's hard to be scared of her after summoning spirits and dealing with everything else you have today. Still, you can't have your parents knowing about this, and she does like to be in control...so you let her think she has you.
"Well she might, but I hope you won't, Mia. Please? I'm begging you here, okay? I'll owe you a huge favour, redeemable whenever you want."
"Just how big is this favour?"
"Whatever you want, call it in whenever, okay?"
"And if you don't keep that promise, you'll get grounded 'til college." she says, clearly relishing the though, loving the idea of having that much power over you. Maybe you're not really the worst one in this family after all. "Keep an ear to the ground, Michael, because I'll be calling this one in for sure." With another one of those smiles, she heads back up the stairs to bed.
Welp, that'll certainly cause problems in the future. Nothing to be done for it now, though. You head back downstairs and successfully clean off your last attempts at the circle, setting up a few lights to help you see better in the dark basement
This time, when you go to copy the diagram over from the book, something's different. You can picture the whole thing in your head, really see it in your mind's eye. You get into a rhythm, drawing a line, moving the stick, drawing another line, and before long, you've got something close to a perfect respectable circle there on the floor. You get the feeling that next time you decide to make this circle, it'll be easier. You decide to start with the bird first, and place that in the center of the circle, cutting out some meat and the guts. It's a nasty job, but it'll be worth it to have a cool skeletal bird friend. The libation is mixed and in the bowl, so it's just lighting the candles, burning the "offering", then calling it.
You light the candles easily enough, and with a bit of kerosene from the garage the bird's viscera burns down pretty quickly. The smell is...unpleasant, to say the least. Like a mixture of sewage and charred meat--which is, you suppose, appropriate considering what it is you're burning.
Soon enough it's gone about as far as it'll go, and you pour some of the libation over it, soaking into the ashes.
Now it's just calling the spirit.
Feeling the urge, you start to speak.
"O creature of the skies, hear my voice and return to his world! Your bones lay vacant here tonight, awaiting the embrace of your spirit. I offer you wine to slake your thirst, blood to sate your hunger for life, and the opportunity for your wings to grip the wind once more!"
You can feel the summons grow in power as it continues, until, as last night, the last syllable echoes around the basement, somehow growing louder rather than softer with each reverberation. The libation and the ashes of the offering sink down, soaking into the bones of the robin, imbuing them with power. They begin to glow that now-familiar harsh blue, brighter and brighter.
Unlike before, however, the light didn't dissipate away from the bones. It seemed instead to concentrate itself around them, as though being drawn in like water to a magical sponge. The light dims just a little once it's been completely absorbed by the bones, then goes out completely. For a moment, you're afraid it didn't work. The bones just sit there.
"Spiri-" You begin, cut off by a shout of surprise as the disorderly pile of bones reorients itself, bits and pieces of the skeleton flying around the room only to zoom back towards the center and fit themselves perfect back into the (un)living jigsaw puzzle reforming there. Before the space of a minute has passed, a bird's skeleton is standing alertly in the center of the circle, looking at you expectantly with empty eye sockets.
"Spirit? Are you well?" You ask, more than a little nervous. A voice answers you at once, but you have a hard time believing it came from the little bird's skeleton before you. It's high, clear, and feminine, like you imagine a young opera singer might sound, utterly devoid of accent or emotion.
"Quite." the voice answered, the bird hopping around a little, fluttering its wings just as it might have in life. "What do you require of me, Lord?"
You clear your throat, a little anxiously.
"Thank you for coming to me, ma'am. You're kind of my first physical summon, so, uh... Can I ask you what kind of things you're capable of? Like can you fly or not, do I dismiss you or do you stay summoned at all times...?"
The bird-form looks at you, a little surprised.
"Certainly I can fly." With a swift flap of its wings, it rises into the air, and circles the room before landing back in the circle. "After all, they say it's the nature of a bird that makes it fly more than its feathers. I am capable of remembering up to a few paragraphs of speech or text and repeating it back verbatim. I can carry a few grams of weight, though not much more than that. I will not tire so long as I am summoned, though I may drain some of your energy if I am asked to perform strenuous work and not given offerings to sustain me. Any any point you may release me, and the essence that maintains this shape will leave. Then it will be merely a pile of bones until I receive an offering, a libation, and a call. Is that not how your master described it?"
"Uh, I'm a bit more...self-taught. I have a grimoire, but no master."
"How unlucky." the form answers dispassionately. After an awkward moment's pause, you speak again
"How fast can you fly?"
"A little faster than a living robin, roughly 40 miles per hour. I believe that is the correct unit. I can maintain that speed for six hours or so, at which point I would require an offering or some of your energy directly. Is there anything else? A task you would have me perform? Or will you release me now?" Out of context it sounds like a plea, but in that cold, emotionless voice, it's merely a question. No expectations, no impatience, just a question.
"A few more questions, perhaps a task. Are there any offerings you prefer above others?"
"Human blood is my wont, though not much. When you wish to call, smear a little on my skull, add the libation, and call, and I will come. It is best to keep all of the bones in one place, though I can pull them together, given a few hours."
"O...kay." That's certain an unsettling offering, though fairly convenient, you suppose. Not hard to get, and you've always got a ready supply of it. Hopefully. "Here's the question that may lead to a task. I have reason to believe there's an enchantress in this town, perhaps more than one. Would you be capable of locating her, or at least feeling if there are others as well?"
"I will try, but there are many wards designed to protect against creatures like me. I cannot promise success."
"Very well...one more thing--I was going to raise that buck in the corner, as well. Can you think of any reason this could lead to me being harmed?"
"Not directly, no. So long as you've included all the correct herbs in your libation, you should be perfectly safe. There may be some who would object to your raising any animal, but that wouldn't be specific to the buck."
"Thank you."
"Oh, also, could you fly...two streets down, and tap on the glass of the 2nd floor bedroom of the house with the purple door, numbered 315? Continue to do so until you wake someone up, and immediately fly away, okay?"
"Yes, sir. Do you still wish me to search for all enchanters and enchantresses within the town, despite the chance for failure?"
"Yes, please do so. Specifically, the enchantress is female, possibly near a local bakery named, "Our Daily Bread." Be careful, as the woman has enchanted the owner, and may do the same to you, should you get careless. Best of luck, friend." Robin quirks her head at you in an eerie mimic of a living bird.
"Those who have crossed the river Styx are harder to charm than you would suspect, Lord."
"Good to know. Anyway, you have your mission. Return to the basement when you're starting to run low on energy. I don't want to lose your bones."
"Yes, my Lord. I'll be off now." With these words, Robin flits up off the ground and out a small window, caked with grime and offering no view but the underside of the Remic family porch.
You pause for a moment, and consider whether or not you ought to raise the buck tonight, or wait. You might be able to figure out the Greater Physical Form soon, and from everything you've read so far it might be best to save the buck's remains for that...but you're not really sure. You've got the circle all set up now, and you're not even sure of the advantages that the Greater Physical Form has over the Lesser version. After another bit of deliberation, you figure you might as well raise it tonight, and find more bodies later if you have to.
It's a bit of a job, moving the half-rotted remains into the center of the circle without smudging anything, but you manage it well enough. There's plenty of libation left, so you light up the offering of venison with the remainder of the kerosene and wait for it to finish burning. When the only thing left is smoking ashes, you pour out the mixed wine and herbs onto it, extinguishing the last glowing cinders and carrying the potency of the offering down into the bones below. You check the candles are still burning, and clear your throat, raising your hands above the circle.
The words come to you, seeming to flow off your tongue unbidden, coming off your lips as though the spirit of the buck itself implanted them into your mind, even if they sound a little silly to you.
"Oh great and mighty Buck.
Thou hits like a truck.
But was struck by a truck.
Come to me and smite the truck!"
Everything happens more quickly this time, seems more fluid, more practiced. The echoes of your voice rebound over and over around the space as the blue light grows, then fades as the power pours into the bones, imbuing them with energy and magic.
The bones go through a similar dance to rearrange themselves as Robin's did, but seem to go more slowly. It could be that hers was unusually fast? It's possible it was also the difference in size.
In any event, after a few moments, the buck is standing before you in the center of the circle, looking directly at you, an impressive (and slightly scary) rack of horns almost scraping the low ceiling of the basement.
"Spirit?" You ask, bracing yourself for any strange voice or mannerisms it may have. When it speaks, it sounds a little confused, and its voice sounds...strange. It's certainly masculine, and sounds like a young man, maybe a few years older than you, and very lightly accented. You're not sure, but it reminds you vaguely of Turkey, or maybe other parts of the middle east.
"Y-you are my master, yes? I am uncertain of much, but I know this. What must I do? I am sorry, I am newly dead, and many things are strange to me."
"Well, you can answer some questions. First, do you have any preference when it comes to offerings?"
The buck stops to think, then answers, not sounding too sure.
"Wine. Just wine."
"Fair enough, that should be doable. Now..." you have to work to keep the excitement out of your voice. "Are you strong enough to let me ride on your back?"
Again, it takes a second to respond.
"I feel stronger in this body than I was before. I think I could carry you quite a long way before I would need another offering. Many miles, very quickly."
"Excellent! Now, could you find a secluded place in the forest, someplace nearby? Preferably somewhere that nobody would get to by mistake, that's hard to find if you don't know where it is. Far enough away that I can perform my rituals in peace, and store summons without being concerned about them being found."
The buck nods, and starts towards the stairs of the basement at once, then freezes.
"Oh! I am sorry, would you like to accompany me? As I said before, I should be able to carry you."
"HELL YEA-" You start to shout, too enthused by the idea of RIDING AN UNDEAD DEER to care about noise levels before calming down a minute and finishing your affirmation a little embarrassed "I mean, uh, yes. Yes I would."
When you open the door, you get a whiff of clean, cool night air, and realize to your chagrin, that the entire basement, as well as your clothes, probably smells like a barbecue gone horribly wrong. You might be able to get away with that once or twice, but you'll definitely be taking advantage of whatever sort of spot you can find in the forest.
The two of you leave the basement, and he obligingly kneels down to let you climb on...but you hesitate. Those spinal bits don't look really comfortable, especially if you're going to be laying your tender keister on top of them for any length of time. You need some padding.
"Back in a second." You say, ducking back into the basement. Thankfully, a corner of the thick rug is already tearing off, so it's not too hard to expedite the process. You end up with a good sized chunk of carpet, which you carry back upstairs and throw over the waiting deer-form's back before climbing on.
He stands up abruptly, and you almost fall off, only saving yourself from the drop by snatching at the skeletal mount's neck bones to correct.
"Are you seated comfortably?" the buck asks, head swivelling around to face you. You nod, and he starts off at a quick canter, ducking into the woods and easily navigating the tangled brush, thickly packed trees, and other obstacles of the forest. You have to say, it certainly feels like you made the right choice. It feels like you're fairly flying along, compared to having to bushwack through on foot. The hardest part is just staying on the damned thing...
After a few minutes of sliding back and forth, you start to get the hand of it. There's a particularly large bit of spine protruding right near the edge of your carpet-saddle, and you use that as a sort of anchor. Between a tight grip on that and holding on with your legs, you manage a decent upright position in the saddle. The buck seems impressed, though that might just be your imagination seeing a blank canvas and taking the chance.
It's been about 20 minutes in the saddle (which you estimate would have been at least double that walking, maybe a little more) when the Buck stops, and looks over its shoulder at you. "Will this do?" it asks, sounding...hopeful. Like a puppy who's just performed the right trick.
"Wait a second, let me take a look around real quick." You gesture for him to kneel, and he does so, letting you dismount more easily. Your eyes, adjusted to the on the ride, can see fairly well.
It's a large clearing, that's for sure. Roughly circular, maybe 10 or 15 paces in diameter. Mostly clear, with a few small bushes here and there. Those'll need to be cleared if you're having any sort of fires out here for offerings, but it shouldn't be too much trouble. A couple minutes with a pair of hedge shears and they'll be down to size.
You can't hear a roadway, and even when you were on the buck's back, you didn't see any lights or houses nearby. This seems like a pretty good place.
"Yeah, this is a pretty good spot, but it would help if there was a spot near here for me to store ingredients and remains...any place like that around here? Maybe a hollow tree, or a cave?"
The buck nods, excitedly.
"Yes, yes! Just over here! I saw it when we were coming over!" He gallops off, apparently forgetting to ask if you want a ride. Fortunately, he doesn't go far, just a minute or two away from the clearing. When you catch up, he's waiting patiently by a bit of a rocky outcropping in a small hill. It's...a little underwhelming, and he must notice your expression even in the dark, because he immediately starts explaining.
"I-it's not just this! Look, underneath there, right in the rock!"
At his gestures, you crawl under the outcropping and find a small fissue, almost tunnel-sized, in the base of the rock. It's hidden pretty well by the surrounding boulders and the rock itself, and you know you could camouflage it further with not too much effort. It's just wide enough for you to fit your shoulders, but it'd be a tight fit. You can't quite see the back, but it seems at least big enough for you to fit...and certainly big enough for whatever ingredients or small piles of remains need to be kept out of the rain.
"That's really good, Buck!" you say, once you've awkwardly backed out of the crevice and stood up. "I'm impressed you saw something like that!" If an undead skeletal deer, raised from the dead by dark sorceries could blush, he would have.
"There aren't any hunters traps or hides around here, right? No trails or game cameras to suggest somebody comes through here on a regular basis?" Buck looks thoughtful, and shakes his head, his antlers nearly getting caught in a few trailing vines.
"I didn't see any, but I'll look around some more, okay?" Again, he darts off into the darkness, leaving you to head back to the clearing. You'll need something to put your circles on...maybe some rolled up wallpaper, or a tarp or something? How big do the circles have to be, anyway? You've been drawing them about six feet in diameter since that's about as big as you can comfortably make them, but what happens if they're smaller? Does it matter? Something to look into, you suppose.
While you've been wondering about the rules behind your necromancy, Buck returns, and you can tell even before he speaks that he's got good news.
"Nope, nothing! There was a little trail, but it was too small for hunters. They wouldn't have fit." A game trail of some kind, then? Maybe for wolves, or deer. Somehow, you get the feeling that nothing alive will want anything to do with the area that, as the old woman from the graveyard put it, "reeks of death."
"Hey, do you happen to know anything about necromancy? Specifically, does the size of the circle I use to summon things matter?" The buck pauses, seems to think for a moment, and responds.
"Well, not really. I wasn't there very long, but I sort of got the feeling that none of the animal shades knew very much about necromancy. We can talk about how things feel, and what we can do, but sometimes it can be really hard to explain. Coming through the circle felt like going down a tunnel out of a mist and coming out into a bright day. I don't know how to say it other than that." Well that's certainly interesting information. You make a mental note to ask your other summons about circles as well, and confirm Buck's impression that none of the other animals had anything to offer when it came to magic.
"Huh. Thanks, Buck, that really helps. I'm gonna walk around the woods a little bit, take sort of a look around. Stay nearby, and come if I call, okay?" He nods, and you wander more or less randomly through the forest surrounding the clearing. It's much darker in here than the clearing, not much moonlight able to pierce through the thick layers of leaves above. It's difficult to tell in the dim light, but it seems there are a few useful plants scattered among the undergrowth. Definitely worth coming back here during the day to check things out more thoroughly. The old cemetery lady is nice and all, but you're not sure you'll always be able to afford her prices.
After a while looking around the forest, you're pretty sure you've seen all the little animals dens and fallen trees there are to see, and head back to the clearing. Buck is waiting patiently, neck outstretched, looking up at the moon in what would be a truly badass album cover.
You wonder if you should bring him back to the house; he probably won't get in the way, but his pile of bones isn't exactly small. Might be a good idea to release him and go back on your own. Then again, it'd take an annoying amount of time (and energy) to get between home and here without him...
You pull out your phone and turn on the GPS, then take a screenshot of the coordinates it gives. You're real deep in the forest at this point, and you want to know you can get back when you need to. Huh, it looks like you're in almost the exact center of the woods, about as far away as possible from...anything. Well done Buck.
Done with that, you gesture for him to come back over and he does. Rather than waiting for your skeletal mount to kneel down, you take a few steps and vault up, regretting this dashing action as soon as you land on those bone protrusions. The carpet is officially not enough padding.
The ride back is pretty uneventful, aside from a close call with a convertible and an astoundingly drunk driver, but that's over quickly enough and you arrive home safe and sound. You've decided to go with the best of both worlds; Buck can go back to the clearing, and then you'll release the binding. The only problem is, you need to be touching his physical form to do that. Easy solution? His physical form isn't too tightly tied together. You yank off one of the bones at the end of his tail and tuck it into your pocket. You'll wait a half hour or so, then use it to release him. That should be more than enough time for him to find a safe spot to ditch his physical form.
When you need to summon him again...? Well, you're not 100% sure, but the book said something about it being a bit harder on everyone involved, and taking a little longer as well if the whole physical form isn't together. Oh well, you can decide whether or not you need to summon from a distance at a later date.
You clean up downstairs, then sneak back into the house, being as quiet as you can. You head upstairs, take a quick shower, and finally collapse onto your bed.
It's been a really long day.
Do you want to do anything else before you unbind Buck and fall asleep?
Though tired, you haul the grimoire out and turn to the next section, the one on Greater Physical Forms. There are a couple scribbles in the margins of the first page that catch your eye. Written in blue pen, they seem to be suggestions for additions to the ritual. One reads "Comfrey for buried ones." next to a paragraph on the correct formula for libations, and another, after a section about finding sufficient animal remains, is just one word, heavily underlined. "Dowsing"
Weird. For some reason, you hadn't thought of it, but this book is definitely second hand. In hindsight, it's weird that we haven't seen any sort of markings before this point. You'd at least have expected a doodle or something. You guess necromancer kids are all pretty serious about this stuff, and return to the actual book.
The Greater Physical Form is most usefully understood as a purely physical summon. Novices who have experience with ethereal and lesser physical summons may expect an intelligent being with a personality, goals, and occasionally a name. They will be disappointed. The Greater Physical Form creates a powerful creature, double or tripling raw strength and durability at the cost of awareness, speed, and consciousness. The summon will be, essentially, a robot, to be ordered about by you or your lessers as you see fit.
Besides the obvious, there are other drawbacks associated with this summon as well. The same Hermetic aspects that give it such brute power also bind it very tightly indeed to its physical form. Once these bonds are broken, they cannot be restored. This boils down to a simple rule; Greater Physical Forms cannot be casually bound and released as other can. Once summoned, they stay summoned until released, at which point they stay released. Clearly, this is a massive drain on their limited essence. To maintain their essence, a Greater Physical Form is empowered to locate their own offerings. This usually takes the form of flesh and blood of the type most similar to their own, and depending on activity level, may be consumed as rarely as every week, or as frequently as every ten hours or so. They can also be sustained by dedicated offerings as other summons are, but few necromancers bother with this.
Despite its shortcomings, the Greater Physical Form makes an excellent soldier above all else. It is capable of sustaining extreme damage without acknowledgement and will continue to its goal until destroyed or given a fresh order. It does not sleep, though it is slower than most living soldiers, and eats less frequently even in times of heavy exertion."
Wow. That's certainly impressive. Time to look over the section detailing the ritual itself.
Flipping the page, you think to yourself that you really should try to get some sort of outfit for doing rituals and such in. Maybe a robe, or a tux? You'll figure something out
Though tired, you haul the grimoire out and turn to the next section, the one on Greater Physical Forms. There are a couple scribbles in the margins of the first page that catch your eye. Written in blue pen, they seem to be suggestions for additions to the ritual. One reads "Comfrey for buried ones." next to a paragraph on the correct formula for libations, and another, after a section about finding sufficient animal remains, is just one word, heavily underlined. "Dowsing"
Weird. For some reason, you hadn't thought of it, but this book is definitely second hand. In hindsight, it's weird that we haven't seen any sort of markings before this point. You'd at least have expected a doodle or something. You guess necromancer kids are all pretty serious about this stuff, and return to the actual book.
The Greater Physical Form is most usefully understood as a purely physical summon. Novices who have experience with ethereal and lesser physical summons may expect an intelligent being with a personality, goals, and occasionally a name. They will be disappointed. The Greater Physical Form creates a powerful creature, double or tripling raw strength and durability at the cost of awareness, speed, and consciousness. The summon will be, essentially, a robot, to be ordered about by you or your lessers as you see fit.
Besides the obvious, there are other drawbacks associated with this summon as well. The same Hermetic aspects that give it such brute power also bind it very tightly indeed to its physical form. Once these bonds are broken, they cannot be restored. This boils down to a simple rule; Greater Physical Forms cannot be casually bound and released as other can. Once summoned, they stay summoned until released, at which point they stay released. Clearly, this is a massive drain on their limited essence. To maintain their essence, a Greater Physical Form is empowered to locate their own offerings. This usually takes the form of flesh and blood of the type most similar to their own, and depending on activity level, may be consumed as rarely as every week, or as frequently as every ten hours or so. They can also be sustained by dedicated offerings as other summons are, but few necromancers bother with this.
Despite its shortcomings, the Greater Physical Form makes an excellent soldier above all else. It is capable of sustaining extreme damage without acknowledgement and will continue to its goal until destroyed or given a fresh order. It does not sleep, though it is slower than most living soldiers, and eats less frequently even in times of heavy exertion."
Wow. That's certainly impressive. Time to look over the section detailing the ritual itself.
You start to get into the ritual section, but then change your mind. You really don't have any use for a warrior right now. The only interesting thing you've gotten out of this chapter so far has been in the margins. You shut the grimoire after marking your place, and slide it back under your bed. You pull out Buck's bone, reasoning that he's had plenty of time so far to reach the clearing and hide himself, and hold it tightly in your hand, speaking the simplest possible unbinding incantation you can think of.
"Spirit, I release you. Return to your native realm."
The bone releases a small puff of motes of that blue light which fade quickly. Guess the release worked. You put the bone in your drawer with Skunkbro's, and lie down in your bed. You wonder for a moment about releasing Robin, but remember that in your instructions, you reminded her to return to the basement when she felt she was getting low on energy. You wish you'd asked her to come tap on your window or something, so as to get news of her search sooner, but the risk of her getting spotted might have been too great for that.
You chuckle to yourself, remembering your little prank on your friend earlier, wondering how he reacted to a skeletal bird tapping at his window, and turn off the light. You lie back down, close your eyes, and sleep the sleep of the dead.
This time, there's not banging on your door to wake you, but you can hear people eating breakfast downstairs, so you reason you probably woke up fairly early on your own. No reason not to make it a lazy Sunday morning though.
You lie in bed for a while, savoring the half-awake drowsiness you've managed to achieve, until the need to answer the call of nature grows too great. Sliding out of bed, you cross the hall to the bathroom, take a piss, wash up a bit, and come back. Sitting on your bed, you scratch your chin, thinking about the day. You remember wanting to investigate the reports of walking corpses from St. Marciana's Hospital yesterday, but with everything that happened...you're not surprised you never quite got the chance. That'll probably be somewhere on the agenda, even if it's not necessarily at the top.
The lady at the graveyard had also mentioned learning about warding. You flip through the grimoire looking for something about it, scanning over each page and wishing the damn thing just had an index, but only find a few brief mentions. You get the sense that a ward is sort of like a force field that either blocks or absorbs magical energy. Looks like it's relatively simple to create a ward to prevent eavesdropping or spying by magical entities (including shades and physical forms, but not magicians themselves) and more difficult to create a ward to keep magic out entirely (preventing any spells from crossing the barrier of the ward, but not from occurring inside the barrier). Seems like it could definitely be useful to learn that sort of thing, especially with an enchanter and at least one other necromancer in town. But who the hell are you supposed to learn it from? The old woman already backed out of that one, and she's the only other magic-user you know. She might change her mind if you did another errand for her, but after last time, you're not sure that's worth the risk. Maybe there's something at the library?
Finally, there's the mysterious wooden box you found buried at Jacob Rawlin's grave with neither hinges nor lock. You certainly have reason to believe it's important, but it won't open despite your best efforts, and you're afraid to try forcing it open in case you break it (or activate some ancient necromantic trap. It's not a very big box either...is spending your time trying to open it even a good use of your energy? What could be inside?
That's a lot of questions, and it's still early in the morning. Time for pants and breakfast.
You dress and head downstairs and remind yourself to try to steal some chicken or turkey breast if you can, fatty as possible, for Skunkbro's offerings. Your mother's writing something in her day planner, Mia standing next to her looking like she's about to burst. Your mother looks up when you walk in, and flashes a smile. Dad isn't in the kitchen; probably out on an early morning jog.
"Hey, Michael! Have anything planned for today? If you don't, you could come help out at Mia's summer orientation! They're always looking for upperclassmen to volunteer, and I'm sure you'd score some brownie points with the teachers just for showing up." Mia looks as though she's just been stabbed.
"Mom, have him show up and spend the whole day acting like a goober and embarrassing me?! Why would you do that?"
"Oh, don't be silly, honey. I'm sure all your friends will love him, and he might not even be working in the same area you're visiting. Besides, you're showing up to learn from the older students, he's showing up to teach the younger ones...it's a nice harmony, isn't it?" she beams, as if that settles the question. Mia glowers at you, clearly not enthused with the idea. "So, Michael, want to go? It'd mean a lot to me!"
You think for a second. Mia seems pretty against it. If you said yes, you might be able to get her to waste the 'favour' you owe her when she demands you change your mind. Then again, she might just hold onto it and then you'd be stuck giving freshman tours of the school all day. Mom also seems jazzed about the whole idea, but she probably won't hold it against you.
You turn, look Mia directly in the eyes, and feel your smuggest, shit-eatingest grin stretch across your face.
"Why yes, Mother, I would simply love to go!" You answer, feeling true joy as a battle of emotions rushes across Mia's face. You can tell she thinks for a minute about calling in the favour, and thinks hard. Then, she just gets a determined look, and doesn't say another word. Oh well, worth the loss of the day just to bug her like that, you suppose. You might be able to just go chill in the bio labs and listen to music...or maybe even steal one of the specimen jars the teacher keeps dissection animals in. That would certainly be interesting.
"Oh, I'm so glad you decided to come, Michael! We'll be leaving in just a few minutes, so hurry and get ready. You'll probably want a notebook and something to write with, just in case, and maybe a snack as well."
"Alright, thanks Mom." You say, and inhale a bowl of cereal before heading upstairs to pack your backpack. Notebook and pens, easy enough. Grimoire, definitely. iPod and headphones, yup...hmm. Should you bother bringing Skunkbro's bone? What about Buck?
Aw shit, that's right! Robin will probably be unbound down in the basement by now. Do you want to try to hurry over and resummon her before you head out, or wait until you get home this afternoon? It's a tough call.
You decide on bringing Skunkbro for sure. It will never be a bad idea to have access to an extra set of eyes. So you take out the baggie containing his bone and head downstairs. For some reason, you have this one song stuck in your head. The lyrics are a bit fuzzy. Something about the fate of lice...? You pass your mom coming down the stairwell, and she smiles at you.
"Nearly ready?"
"Almost set, just grabbing some food like you said." You flash a smile back at her and head down the stairs, into the kitchen. Mia is still sitting at the table, and only looks up to glare at your for a second before going back to her phone. Wonder who she's texting. You open up the fridge and throw an apple into the bag, then, checking to make sure Mia isn't looking, pull a bit of defrosting turkey breast out, along with a bit of the fat that your dad was kind enough to trim off. You head back upstairs briefly, wrapping the meat around Skunkbro's bone and holding a lighter to it. to your surprise, it goes up like a ball of lint soaked in kerosene, and when you call, Skunkbro arrives, looking pleased with himself, and thanks you for the offering. You head back downstairs, Skunkbro quickly checking the basement to make sure Robin is down there.
"Alright, I'm good to go." You announce as your mom walks into the kitchen, a largeish purse on her shoulder. "You coming to the orientation too?" She shakes her head, giving a small grin.
"No, Mia asked me not to. I'll be doing errands all day." You nod, and the three of you head out the door, Mia leading and in more than a little bit of a hurry.
You all hop in your mom's car--a minivan, of course. Skunkbro comes through the car door and assures you that, yes, Robin's physical form is there. The ride over to the school is pretty uneventful, save for Mia's list of very specific instructions to make sure you don't embarrass her in front of anybody. You tune it out for the most part, still humming that song. You arrive after a few minutes and get out of the car, joining the steady stream of incoming freshmen excited to learn about the high school they'll be attending for the next four years. The seniors (like you) are easy to pick out of the crowd; they're more jaded, less like gawking tourists. You see a few people you know, none of them very well, and exchange a few friendly nods and waves. It's hard, but you avoid casting too many glances at Skunkbro as he casually passes through legs, leaving a trail of people complaining about goosebumps in his wake.
You're all separated by a stout woman passing out "Hello, My Name Is" stickers and assigning locations in the front lobby. You get a sticker and a curt "Art Wing" before being summarily dismissed.The Art wing is on the second floor, just above the English hallway and next to the Bio labs. The school is (like many others) a large square donut with annexes sticking out here and there.
Before heading to the Art wing, you struggle against the flow of underclassmen and find Mia. She hasn't met up with anyone yet, and looks terribly pouty.
"Hey, sis?" You say, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention in the crowd. She turns and gives you a scathing look.
"What, Mr. I'm-going-to-ruin-a-perfectly-good-
"Well first off, that's my middle name, not my last. Secondly, figured I'd give you a heads up. I'm probably gonna be in the art wing, maybe bio, so steer clear if you don't want any of your friends falling in love at first sight." She seems a little less annoyed, and nods, but doesn't thank you for the information. You make eye contact with Skunkbro and after a significant gesture, he seems to understand what you want. As you walk away, he scurries up her spine. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see her shiver, but keep your malicious giggling to yourself.
You head around the building the long way, getting a chance to wave to another few casual acquaintances--some people you share classes with or have a locker near, nobody you really know. You pass the Bio and chem labs on your way to the art wing, and decide to duck in for a quick minute, check things out. Looks like whoever's assigned to this area has yet to arrive, since it's just a bunch of starry-eyes freshman milling around being scared of titration setups.
Goffston High is pretty well funded, so the labs are decent enough. Rows of black lab tables, gas nozzles, one of those weird smart-board things and a projector up front. Couple of laptops in a locked cabinet near the back, and a door the the storage cupboards. That's where they keep all the interesting (read: dangerous) chemicals and the animals for dissection.
You get a weird sensation of being watched and glance over to one corner of the class and catch a girl staring at you intently. She turns bright red immediately and drops her head to a sketchbook she's drawing in, long brown hair hiding her face. Fucking freshman girls, they're an emotional hazard to themselves and everyone around them.
You turn back towards the door.