The Herald from the Far Beyond/Elixir of Thosart
The Elixir of Lord Thosart
Cast of Characters:
Sir Hulvolk: An obsessed inspector.
The King: King of the forsaken realm.
Farmer: The first victim.
Lord Thosart: Alchemist, and Lord with great intellect.
So it Begins,
Far away, beyond the Crimson Barricade lies a tower infested with wolves. The wolves guard a secret so treacherous and miserable that to even speak of the tower would terrify your bones and rattle your ears with a haunting howl. Yet, it is in the interest of the Most High to educate you in all Sautican tales, even about the things we detest and abhor.
In this tower, beyond the wolves den and beneath the sarcophagus of Lord Thosart, in an urn trapped behind the ribcage of the Lord’s pupil, unfortunately buried with his master, lies a slim parchment. This parchment would bring about terror and the near collapse of an innocent Kingdom. The corpse which conceals this document was not buried with sanctity or respect. It was bare to the dirt succumbing it.
The life of Lord Thosart was spent toiling day and night over alchemic literature. Studying and probing its boundaries. He was a man of rare character. He was a man who had understood the nature of his existence and firmly, boldly, tried to defy it. Upon his death, his potions, medicines and scrolls were confiscated by the King for inspection. At first, most of what they found had been harmless and beneficial, and the Lord was given a grand ceremony in honour of his life. The King even attended his funeral.
As the collection was inquired further by the King’s inspector, Sir Hulvolk, a slim parchment was discovered on the last page of a thick scroll detailing the final experiment of Lord Thosart. This parchment revealed to the inspector a secret success of the deceased Lord. It unveiled a recipe for creating a potion that would resurrect the dead, granting the recipient supposed immortality. Sir Hulvolk was astonished to find this truly awful recipe, but he was too intrigued to dismiss it! If it was in fact true that the Lord had solved the quest for immortality, then Sir Hulvolk had recovered the treasure map of a lifetime. He resolved to keep it to himself and tell no one. From the discovery of this parchment, the inspector would scheme his fortune and everlasting power. The recipe was titled “A Cause of Reanimation.”
At the homestead of the inspector, on the Hilly Plainside, Sir Hulvolk decrypted the recipe of Lord Thosart. He spent months gathering the ingredients, both ordinary and exotic, and the instruments to which the potion would require for processing. Sir Hulvolk poured all his focus into this task and ignored his life. Whenever a neighbour or an official came to seek him, he either avoided them or sent them away. He had become a recluse. There were many things he did not understand about alchemy and alchemical methods of refining. He tried to speak casually with local apothecaries or distillers to learn all he could, but they only knew so much. None were a match for the advanced wisdom of Lord Thosart. One night, the inspector laid a heist in the castle and stole the entire collection of Lord Thosart’s alchemy library from the King’s private storage.
More time passed, nearly a year and a half, for the inspector to trace the steps of his now obsessed over patron to catch up to the level required to truly understand how to prepare the recipe. He acquired or built all the devices alchemists use, an alembic, a calcinatory, a retort, a cauldron and two different types of furnaces, one suitable for metal work and a smaller one for intense concentrated heat. These were all required to fulfill the recipe. But the inspector was rushing and only tried to understand what would help him create the potion. He did not take the time to master the principles of alchemy, nor the morality behind such power. Inevitably, this flaw would be his doom.
On the eve of the full moon of Kanor, Sir Hulvolk was finally ready to make Lord Thosart’s elixir. Fully bearded, unkempt and disordered, the mad inspector was ready to receive what he sought after for so long. He began the process exactly as he thought he should. He included all the material the parchment asked for, and put them in all the places he thought they should be entered. His time was not wasted, as he was by now a fairly skilled alchemist. No doubt you realize what he lacked. This man lacked the control to restrict himself, just like Lord Thosart, when advancing into the unknown. The two men had become similar, comparable, and practically indistinguishable. Lord Thosart’s mode of life had become Sir Hulvolk’s. Sir Hulvolk had inherited and carried on the legacy of the late Lord.
The elixir was completed. The liquid was poured into two vials, one bigger than the other. The inspector had prepared a test candidate to see if he succeeded. In a cage beside the workstation was a fluttering bird, captured to be experimented on by an alchemist void of regard for life. The bird was throttled by the unrelenting hands of the inspector and its beak was pried open without sanctity. A mere sip was poured into the little mouth from the smaller vial. A moment passed and the moon trolled the night sky.
The bird sat in the palm of the inspector frozen in death. Then, without a sound, life re-entered its body! The bird leaped out of his palm and flew around the room. Amazed, the inspector fell to the floor, not even bothering to retrieve the bird who escaped through an open window.
- “I have done it!” He yelled triumphantly!
He swelled with exaltation! There were no more barriers in his life! He had achieved what no single being had achieved before him, immortality! Without hesitation he continued with his diabolical plan. He would kill himself, drink the potion of reanimation, awaken and conquer the world.
He lay down on the table in his dining room, placed the bigger vial opened beside his mouth, with the lid touching his lips, he then raised a blade above his heart. He would stab, drink, and then rise as a god.
He stabbed, squirmed, and knocked the elixir to the ground spilling it all over the floor. Gasping with blood flowing from his mouth, he dropped to the floor to sup what little liquid he could from the dirty ground beneath the table. Too little too late, and too far to reach what was left of the smaller vial, the inspector ceased to live.
Silenced by his own demise, his corpse stayed still.
The next morning the sun rose on a peaceful calm day. No one had known about the vile activities of the inspector, but the realm was unaware of what horror they were about to witness. For the little bird that escaped the laboratory of the soulless alchemist carried with it an infectious infliction. From the beak of the bird to the crawl of an insect to the back of a dog to the bitten arm of a farmer, the foul virus spread. Within the farmer a war of good versus evil waged. It was health and the divine spark versus the evil creation of the inspector. The elixir was a power wretched, foul and corrupting of human flesh. The farmer, to the misery of his family, died one afternoon sick beyond cure. To the misery of the Kingdom, he awoke again that evening!
Emerging from the fresh dirt of his grave, the farmer crawled to the surface! A powerful hunger drove this creature, this monster; it was a hunger for blood. The beast attacked wild animals that befell its hunt. Tearing their throats and guzzling the red flow of life the creature was unsatisfied. More and more the monster scoured for blood. It came upon a sleeping farmhouse, the very one of his former family.
Inside, the family slept a solemn sleep after a tiring day from the funeral and mournful emotions. The lost head of the household would soon return to them, this time without the love or kindness remembered of him. The creature assaulted the window and clambered into the small undefended entrance. The noise alerted the mistress of the house who frighteningly inspected the house with a dull blunt weapon. She found the culprit eating the head of her young daughter. Shrieking and paralyzed, she was overpowered and devoured. Three more demons would awaken. Three more creatures would walk the night.
The undead moved with an awkward pace. They were aware of each other but not hostile as they did not contain the nourishment they required. Blood from a living entity was the only prize for these foul beings.
Soon, the family reached the small village tucked near the King’s castle. They prowled over the dirt path spreading out towards the homes. Smash after bite, the homes were awakening with a shocking brutality. Screams filled the night, so much that the living was alerted to an attack. The guards raced into the village to discover the commotion. They found before them a gang of vicious corrupted villagers. A battle ensued.
More alarms were raised as the village flooded with blood. Death laughed as he became richer, then cried as his new wealth returned to life. It was an unfair tease. The Royal Militia mobilized inside the castle, still unsure of exactly what was happening. When the main gate opened they were besieged by a mob of their friends and neighbours, hungry to invite them to their macabre existence.
This battle was more decisive for the living soldiers. Their skills and discipline dispatched their foes with precise exactness. Bodies pilled up and blood stained the castle floors. Soon enough, the militia secured the gate and entered the village. They were determined to eradicate every last living corpse. After fire and the sword, the village was cleared.
The King watched as his capital village was destroyed by this wave of calamity. When the undead fell by the righteous sword, pure of the virus, they did not rise again. When the blood of the undead made contact with the living, they were turned into the creatures. This they learned through the experience of misfortune and this they practiced to save themselves from damnation.
By the next afternoon, pyres sent smoke thick into the sky cremating every body recovered. The horrible night was over. The menace was over. At least it was over for them, in their area, the creepy crawlers who were first preyed on by the bird, and the bird itself, remained at large. They were living in death to spread their evil purpose. They were the harbingers of the Undead Scourge!
The Kingdom recovered from the unholy attack.
After a thief entered the home of the inspector, the body, the many detailed notes, and the small vial, were discovered.
The plot was learned by the King, and the defiled body of the inspector was buried beneath the chamber of Lord Thosart’s crypt protecting the secret parchment within his chest. It was his last act in service of the King. His body would become home to the evil it unleashed.
May the Most High forbid such a thing to happen again, and may the measures taken by this tragic Kingdom keep the secret safe. Should these events transpire again, beware!
