Fire spat an unkindly illumination in the large stone room.Gray tile, already slick with blood, caught the hellish light, its hue transforming to a grisly crimson. Bits of bone and discarded flesh were strewn about the central blaze, sizzling beneath the intense heat. The awful stink of butchered meat lay heavy about the hall.
Durgoth ignored the gruesome sight in the same way he ignored the moans and pitiful cries of the faithful who lay wounded and bleeding at his feet. Instead, he concentrated on the hulking figure standing naked before him. Nearly eight feet tall and brutally constructed, the creature was all muscle, sinew, and vein-a mass of bulging flesh and bone held immobile in the rigor ofdeath.
The cleric sighed once in satisfaction, inspecting the vessel in front of him. Days of painstaking preparation had brought them to this moment. Endless hours of study and toil transformed the monastery’s ancientrefectory into a focal point of the Dark One’s power, until the sacrifice began.Everyone had contributed-a bit of flesh here, a limb there, and in the case ofthe most faithful, their entire bodies-all given freely to build the creaturebefore him. Only the seer had resisted, struggling weakly until Durgoth removed his head and fused it, mouth still open in mid-scream, upon the cold shoulders of the vessel.
Now, all that remained was the final prayer, the ancient rite that would infuse the mass of flesh before him with the dark power of Tharizdun. Durgoth breathed deeply and recalled the hallowed text. At first, his mouth refused to form the words; the ancient phrases withheld their dark meanings from him. Sweat beaded down his face and his hands trembled, for he knew that his Master would brook no failure here. Without an outlet, the accumulated power would rise up and destroy him, like a swollen river bursting its dam.
Years of study and self-discipline took over just as Durgoth’s will was about to break. An easy calm stole over him. He opened hismouth again, and this time the words spilled out, sibilant as asps. There was a moment of stillness as his voice echoed in the vast hall. The cleric feared that he had made a mistake in reciting the ritual-until he felt a presence in hismind as horrifying as it was intangible. He resisted a shudder as Tharizdun’spower flowed through him, a vast wave of darkness that threatened to sweep away everything in its path. The cleric cried out beneath the force of the god’swill, struggling to keep the spark of his life flickering beneath the divine assault. Finally, the vessel of flesh before him twitched twice and Durgoth felt the pressure ease off of his mind. Secure in the knowledge that he would survive, he gathered what little resources he had remaining and plunged toward the final blessings, ending the dark prayer with a shriek.
Silence descended upon the ancient hall. Even the most grievously wounded held their sobbing tongues. The cleric rose wearily to his feet, not remembering the moment he had fallen to his knees, and stared at the misshapen creature. It twitched twice more in the silent room before giving a great shudder. When at last it turned its gruesome face to survey the hall, Durgoth could see that its eyeless sockets held a darkness more absolute than night.
“Golem,” he nearly shouted, “whom do you serve?”
Far more quickly than he had thought possible, the creature turned to face him and opened its mouth. At first, he could see it struggle for speech, its swollen black tongue squirming in its mouth like a blood-gorged leech. It gained some control, however, and after a few moments managed a thickly voweled response. “Y-you, blessed one. By the will of my Master, I serveyou.”
The hall erupted into spontaneous murmurs, as the once-miserable cultists writhed in holy fervor. Durgoth accepted their adoration and gave back twice more to great Tharizdun. Gently, almost as if he were congratulating his own child, the cleric placed his hand upon the construct’sshoulder.
“Good,” he replied to his latest triumph. “That is very goodindeed.”
His power spent, Durgoth turned from the golem and regarded his flock. Men and women, grievously injured by their own hands, were sprawled in clumps before him, muscle and bone exposed to the air where they had sawed off limbs and flesh as a gruesome offering to their god. One of them reached out a bloodied stump and tried to touch the clerics robe. Durgoth curled his lips reflexively and kicked out at the offending cultist-angered by the woman’saudacity. His person was inviolate, a precept he drilled into his followers’heads from the moment they arrived at the monastery.
He watched the mewling cultists for a few moments more. Their ecstatic cries reminded him of the pitiful moans of jhapeth addicts, men and women who had long-since given away their humanity, losing themselves in the seductive comfort of that narcotic root. Like the jhapeth-lost, these cultists represented the castoffs and dregs of the Flanaess, fugitives that he had welcomed in Tharizdun’s name.
And now they would be the instruments of the Dark One’sfreedom.
He called Jhagren over with an absent wave of his hand, quietly satisfied at the monk’s quick response. Behind him, Durgoth could feelthe presence of the golem looming in the shadows. If his pock-faced advisor felt any discomfort at the constructs presence, the red-robed man didn’t show it. Hesimply bowed once as he approached and regarded Durgoth with his usual even expression. The cleric smiled, but waited a few moments before speaking. For all the mystery that surrounded this man, he knew that it was tied closely with the Scarlet Brotherhood. Perhaps Jhagren felt that he could steal the codex and deliver it to the Order in Hesuel Ilshar, or perhaps he was simply a spy. Either way, Durgoth enjoyed testing the man’s patience.
“What do you say, Jhagren? It appears that our lord has trulyblessed us.”
Jhagren nodded impassively. “Indeed, we have been blessedDurgoth.”
“Now, my friend,” Durgoth said, in that slightly superiortone that he knew must make the monk yearn to send his hand striking at the soft cartilage of his throat, “it is time to prepare for our journey. Tharizdun hasgranted us a great boon this day, but we will still need support for our expedition.”
“Yes, blessed one,” Jhagren replied. “The tomb we seek liesmany weeks to the south, beyond the kingdom of Sunndi. I have already contacted some associates of mine. We shall meet them in the Nyrondese city of Rel Mord, and from there we will strike out for the Vast Swamp.”
“Good,” Durgoth said. “Will we have difficulty remaininginconspicuous in the city?” He motioned, indicating the golem behind him.
“No, blessed one. The companions who will accompany us on ourjourney know several, shall we say ‘less-traveled’, ways into Rel Mord. And,like any large city, there is no dearth of innkeepers who are willing to look the other way as long as they have enough gold coins to distract them.”
The cleric nodded, confident that the always-efficient monk had everything in order. “Excellent,” he replied. “Then I leave you to find whatable-bodied help you can to load our boats for travel. We leave in two days’time.”
He gestured once, knowing that the golem would follow him out as he left the room. Durgoth had done some research on his own. The tomb they sought was none other than Acererak’s, an ancient wizard who, it was said, hadsought to conquer even death. Legends surrounded Acererak’s tomb, rumors and oldtales of magic and treasure beyond the imagination. And danger. Those heroes who set out after Acererak’s legacy never returned.
Durgoth smiled.
There would be plenty of opportunities to make sure Jhagren met with an accident. And then the world would be his.